Page 42 of Trained By Her Daddy

Chapter 15

Three months later…

“Who knew Austin would have so many fun things to do in the fall? Hey, didn’t you graduate from the University of Texas? Oh my God, you must be a major Texas Longhorns football fan.”

Placing the Sunday paper down onto the table, John playfully adjusted his reading glasses so he could peer into my eyes. “Still doing research on your new Daddy?”

After a short nod, I clicked onto the school admissions link and read him the following information: “UT Austin is the first APA accredited School Psychology program in the nation. Our program uses the scientist-practitioner model to prepare students in understanding and enhancing the development of children and adolescents in context.”

His wink was slight. “My studies were not only necessary for work, but also proved useful for my family.”

“Did you complete your graduate work as well as your undergrad work there?”

“I did. Although there were many opportunities at the time to take my career in a different direction, I didn’t have the heart to be faithful to another football team,” he chortled heartily.

“I’m curious why you decided to become a licensed therapist instead of being employed in a school system or a mental health child guidance center?”

He cocked his head sideways. “I prefer to be my own boss, so to speak.”

“This article goes on to say that their program has a comprehensive and interdisciplinary perspective. Hmm. Right up your alley… so to speak.”

“We’ve been living together for quite a while, and this is the first time you’ve brought up my career path. Any reason for the sudden interest, my dear?” he retorted, crossing his arms.

“It just seems we’re always talking about me and my background.”

He folded the thick paper in half and pushed it to the side. “That’s because you’re much more interesting to talk about. But since you seem interested in my alma mater, maybe this would be a good segue to discuss why I love Austin in the fall.”

“With all the sunshine, music festivals and watering holes, I’d think most people would choose to visit this city in the summer.”

“True, but even though the autumn season here is brief, our city is packed with fun festivals. One of the most famous fall festivals in town is the Austin City Limits Festival, which is an incredible three-day live music expo that takes place in October at Zilker Park.”

My body excitedly shifted forward in the chair. “I’ve heard of Austin City Limits, and it sounds like a blast, but what about pumpkins and Halloween stuff?”

“If you’re into the scary scene, there are tons of Halloween-themed events. In fact, there’s a company that will drive you to our city’s scariest haunted spots inside an actual hearse, and then they’ll walk you through The House of Torment. Of course, if you want to go dancing, there are some popular themed poltergeist dance houses, but in full disclosure, I’m not much of a dancer.”

“And I think I’ll pass on the hearse ride, Daddy.”

The corners of his lips rose. “Fine. If you’re not into the scary stuff, then there’s the Boo at the Zoo nighttime spectacular—and Zilker Park’s haunted train rides are fun ways to celebrate Halloween.”

“I’ll bet the zoo would be a great place to visit at night, but how about a pumpkin patch? I’ve seen them in pictures, but I’ve never been to one. Are there pumpkin patches in Austin?”

“Yep, this city is surrounded by farms in every direction. During the fall, Barton Hill Farms in Bastrop has an annual harvest festival with corn mazes, food and lawn games. Jake used to love our yearly family trip to the pumpkin patch. And close to Halloween, there’s a haunted ghost tour through the farm.”

“Again, you’re bringing up scary stuff.”

“Sorry, princess. Wait a minute… aren’t you the one who writes grisly murder mysteries? Weren’t you once dubbed The Queen of Crime?”

“There is a difference between fictional serial killers and people who come back from the dead.”

He palmed his face with one hand and grinned. “Ahhh. I can hardly wait to hear your thoughts on that matter.”

“I pen crime fiction, not true detective stories. For some reason, I’ve always been fascinated by the psychological reason behind a killer’s obsession to murder, and most of what I write is a study into what makes the killer tick. You know, what kind of childhood he had—was the murderer abused, jealous, or simply unloved as a child? But science fiction is another story, and I have a real fear of ghosts. When I was a kid, I thought our house was haunted by members of my dad’s family. In the middle of the night, I could hear them walking around the house.”

“And what do you think they were doing there?”

“Probably encouraging me to move out.”

His hazel eyes twinkled with interest. “I see. Do you ever dream about the home you grew up in?”

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