Page 1 of Conail

Chapter 1

He was stumbling drunk. No, he corrected himself as he took another swallow of the very pricey scotch. Not stumbling. He could find his way around and he was reasonably steady. He knew who he was, didn't he? A drunken leer lurked at the corner of his mouth, teasing the dimple on the left.

He knew his name. Conail Ian Mc… McIntyre? Mc… something. Shit, he was losing control of his faculties.

"McLaughlin!" He almost shouted with the relief of finally making the connection.

He knew his name and realized he was in his apartment. Picking up the bottle, he also noticed that his hands were shaking. Damn, how did that happen? He wondered. Perhaps it was time to switch to coffee. But he wanted to slide into oblivion, and the only way that was going to happen was to get stinking drunk. It helped that he did not have to go in tomorrow. It was almost Saturday, wasn't it? He peered blearily at the calendar on his desk.

Yes! It was still Friday night. The worst night of his life, or one of the worst nights of his life. His former best friend and his former fiancée at the same function -- together, married and with the kid that should have been his.

He had played it cool. That was him. Cool, collected and downright cynical. He laughed bitterly. A part of him could appreciate the fact that they had looked even more uncomfortable than he had.

How old was the kid now? One -- a year old. It was time he put it aside and got on with his life. His mother kept telling him that. He could see the worry in her eyes. Bless her soul. She was a princess... no! He shook his head. A queen among women. The last of the species who remained faithful. The others were faithless, including that soulless bitch who had wrenched his heart from his chest.

No more, he vowed earnestly. No more putting himself out there and trusting another woman. He was through. Take what they have to offer and be done with it. That was what he'd been doing.

"You're making them win darling," Eleanor had said in her quiet cultured voice. "You deserve happiness."

Did he? He stared at the bottle and realized to his surprise that it was almost empty. Which meant he was going to have a bitch of a hangover come morning. But that was fine. He could stay in -- wake up late for a change. He had promised to have dinner with his mother. But he could use the morning to recover from his drunken binge.

This was the last of it, he vowed. No more. Life goes on. Having your heart crushed does not mean you roll over and play dead. He had a company to run. McLaughlin Enterprise was one of the premier producers of farming equipment in the world. And he was the damn CEO. He had to go on, people depended on him.

Lifting the bottle, he swallowed what was left and put it away. His stomach was churning, and he was still dressed in the suit he had worn to the function. He chuckled softly, taking in the askew tie and the jacket he had discarded when he came into the bedroom.

His bladder was overflowing, sending him swiftly to the bathroom. The cream and gold décor swam before his eyes, and he had to brace a hand against the tiles to recover his balance. What the hell had possessed him to start drinking? And why was he letting them get to him this way?

Flushing, he walked carefully over to the double sink and stared at himself in mock amusement. He looked like crap. Sable brown hair was sticking up in all directions and the pupils of his gray-green eyes were dilated and bloodshot. Christ! He certainly did not look like the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar company. His employees would run in the opposite direction if they caught sight of him now.

Deciding that a shower was in order, he stripped where he stood, tossing the designer threads carelessly on the immaculate floor. And hoping that he would not drown in the process. Stepping into the huge stall, he touched a button and ducked his head beneath the stinging spray. And wondered what the hell he had done to deserve any of it.

As the water cascaded over his body, he felt a semblance of clarity beginning to wash over his muddled thoughts. The alcohol had done its job in numbing the pain, but now it was time to face the harsh reality of his situation. He couldn't hide forever in the haze of intoxication.

He closed his eyes and let the water pummel his body, willing it to cleanse not just his skin, but also his troubled mind. His thoughts drifted back to the moment he had seen them together, his former best friend and fiancée, now a family. The image was seared into his brain, a constant reminder of what he had lost.

But he couldn't dwell on it any longer. As his mother had wisely pointed out, he deserved happiness. And he was determined to find it, even if it meant clawing his way out of the abyss of despair he had fallen into. There was more to life than this betrayal, and he had to believe that better days were ahead.

He turned off the shower and stepped out, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he padded back to the bedroom, glancing at the empty bottle on the nightstand. That was the last of it, he vowed again. No more drowning his sorrows in alcohol. It was time to take control of his life, to focus on the things that mattered.

His company, McLaughlin Enterprise, was thriving, and he needed to be the leader his employees expected him to be. He couldn't afford to let his personal life interfere with his professional responsibilities. He had worked too hard to let it all slip away now.

He dressed in comfortable clothes and glanced at the calendar once more. Tomorrow was a new day, a chance to start fresh. He would spend it with his mother, as promised, and maybe even confide in her about his recent struggles. She had always been his rock, and he knew she would offer the support and guidance he needed.

*****

While he was sleeping off a monstrous hangover, another man was up and about in the dawning of the new day, surveying the land or what there was of it.

Colin Smith stood on the slight incline and could almost imagine that he could see clear to the other county. But that was just his imagination talking. He could barely see past old Mr. Fitzgerald's broken-down barn, and past that to the patch of wooded area that covered several acres of county land. It was early, too early for the sun to make its way over the horizon. And too early for him to start going about his chores, such as they were.

He loved this part of the day best, when he could step out and breathe in the sweet air. And be alone with his thoughts. Albeit troubling ones. Somewhere to his left, squirrels and other creatures scurried about their business. A black bird called out and then another answered. The wind whipped through the darkened leaves of poplar and cedar trees. A rooster crowed as if heralding the new day and giving the signal to wake up.

He would go about collecting eggs soon enough and commence with the feeding. The pigs would be hungry by now and the cows would start looking for something to munch on.

The farm was not much, not anymore. They did not have a lot of animals to keep the place afloat. The vegetables his mama had faithfully toiled over all spring would be wilting in the brutal summer heat. The same went for the flowers.

Slipping his hands into the pockets of his old, faded denims, he rocked back on his heels and hunched broad shoulders. He was an impressive looking man, topping over six feet, with muscles bulging from manual labor. His hair was tightly coiled on his scalp and hidden under a ratty hat that had seen better days. His face was angular and looked tough, softened by dimples if he happened to smile. Mahogany eyes gleamed with intelligence and had a touch of sadness that was brought on by the state of affairs.

His father's stroke had mostly contributed to what was not happening at the farm. Clive Smith had spent all of his life on the farm, having been born right here to parents who had tilled the land. Now he could barely shuffle about and was feeling as useless as a newborn baby. Oh, he was not one to complain. He had a strong belief in the Almighty and relied heavily on hisfaith. It was what was keeping him sane. That and the fact that his son was now taking his place.

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