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Over His Head
Carolyn McSparren
This was supposed to be paradiseThat's why Tim Wainwright moved his three children to Williamston, Tennessee, population 123. It was to be a refuge from the tragedy that had fractured their lives, a place where Tim could forget his mistakes.That's what the place meant to Nancy Mayfield. The veterinary technician thought she had finally achieved balance and peace in her life, and had put her past behind her.Except no one and no place is perfect–not even Williamston. But maybe two imperfect people make one whole lot of sense.
“I kind of, you know, backed into your car.”
“You what?” Nancy pushed past the teen and his father and down her front steps. Her Durango had been shoved four feet closer to her porch by the hippo-sized Suburban hard up against its rump. Her rear bumper was dented, the right taillight in shards and her right rear tire was flat. “What on earth happened?”
“My son, here, decided to move the Suburban into our driveway.”
“Yeah, I guess I hit Reverse,” the kid said. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“It was the fault of a malevolent universe?” his father snapped. “This unfortunate creature is Jason Wainwright, my son.”
“Look, you. I need my car right now—I have an emergency. I’ve got to help save a dog that was mauled by a pit bull.” She grabbed Jason by the sleeve. “Come on. You and your daddy are going to drive me to the clinic, wait for me if it takes all night and drive me home, or I swear to God I’ll have you locked up for driving without a valid Tennessee driver’s license.”
“I can’t leave my two younger children alone,” Wainwright said.
“Can’t your wife look after them?”
“I don’t have a wife.”
Dear Reader,
Since I began writing about Creature Comfort Veterinary Clinic, readers have been asking me to tell Nancy Mayfield’s story. Well, here it is.
Nancy was a professional equestrian until a terrible accident put an end to both her career and marriage. Now after years of struggle, she has a job she loves as a veterinary technician, good friends and neighbors, and her own quiet cottage in a tranquil village.
Until Tim Wainwright moves in across the street with his three strange children.
Suddenly she’s fighting desperately to avoid getting caught up in the family’s problems at the same time she’s drawn to Tim. She was an awful stepmother, and never intends to take on that role again.
Meanwhile, Tim is struggling to be a good father at the same time as he’s falling in love with a woman who doesn’t want any family, and definitely not one as dysfunctional as his.
Can they get together? Read and find out.
Enjoy!
Carolyn McSparren
Over His Head
Carolyn McSparren
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
“I LOVED WILLIAMSTON when I was a kid. So will you.”
Tim Wainwright turned his Suburban from the highway onto a narrow county road. A small sign said, Williamston, Tennessee, Population 123. He accelerated past it and hoped the kids hadn’t noticed that number.
Sometime in the ten years since his grandfather’s funeral cortege had wound along this road to the cemetery, the county had paved it. Thank God. After the horrors of the drive from Chicago, even in an air-conditioned Surburban, Tim didn’t think he could have faced the last leg of his trip on rutted gravel in a cloud of hot July dust.
His children would mount a full-scale rebellion at the thought of living down a gravel road. He took a deep breath and willed his shoulders to relax. He glanced over at Jason, who stared mulishly out the side window. He’d refused to say a word since they crossed the bridge over the Mississippi River, driving straight through Memphis and out the other side.
Jason’s buzz cut would have time to grow so that he wouldn’t start school totally bald. He’d fight losing the two earrings in his right ear, but they’d have to go as well. Maybree Academy had a strict dress code. That meant buying him clothes sized for a teenager rather than an African bull elephant.
From what he’d seen of the student body when he came down to interview, Maybree students preferred the preppy look. He prayed Jason would knuckle under to peer pressure and go preppy as well.
He could see Eddy in his rearview mirror, slumped against the armrest, either sleeping or pretending to. As glad as Tim was that Jason had stopped complaining, he wished Eddy would say something, anything more than to ask for orange juice at breakfast. If only he’d cry. Just once. Stoicism might be okay for Marcus Aurelius, but it was damned unhealthy for a seven-year-old kid.
At least he was no problem to dress. Tim could probably drape a tarpaulin over him without his noticing. He hadn’t even played his Game Boy on the drive down. Just sat and stared.
Angie’s black hair bounced in and out of his field of vision in the mirror. Usually he forbade headphones. He’d prefer that his children not go deaf before they reached twenty. Today, however, the headphones and portable CD player had been a blessing. She had zoned out on her latest techno-rock band.
“You must admit,” Tim said to Jason, the only one who’d be able to hear him, “This is beautiful country. Look at all the trees, the fields, the open space.”
“Yeah,” Jason said with a wave of his hand. “Look at all the malls, the pizza places, the movie theaters. Yeah, we’re gonna love it.”
“Look, Jason, I realize this is culture shock, but once you get used to the freedom…”
Tim saw his son actually turn his head to look—no, sneer—at him.
“Freedom. Right. Freedom is not riding to school in the morning with my father, spending all day with him spying on me and riding home with him in the afternoon. Freedom is a new Mustang.”
“In your dreams. We’ll be lucky if we can afford a thirdhand VW for you. Besides, the legal age for a license is sixteen in Tennessee, not fifteen, and then it’s restricted.”
“It would be,” Jason whispered. “Goddamn prison.”
“Watch your language.”
“Sure, like you watch yours.”
Tim let that pass. There was a certain amount of truth in it. Since Solange’s death he didn’t watch his language as much when the kids were around.
This was what she had wanted. Maybe not to move to the middle of nowhere in West Tennessee, but to move out of Chicago, find someplace to live with open spaces, a bigger house in a small town. No crime. Kids free to ride their bicycles or skateboards without fear.
Away from Solange’s mother.
He hadn’t listened. And so she’d died.
Now he was taking control of his family’s destiny. Time to haul on the reins and stop the runaway stagecoach before it turned over and killed everybody. He grinned. Even his clichés were turning country. “I’ve told you how great my summers were down here when I was a kid. You used to think they sounded pretty cool.”
“I used to think storks brought babies,” Jason said.
“You mean they don’t? Okay, I promise you there will be occasional access to malls and movies and maybe even pizza. But you’ll have to earn your privileges. Get an after-school job. Earn that VW. Pay for your own gas once you get it. Money’s going to be tight. And no more running wild because your grandmother can’t keep up with you.”
Jason held out his wrists. “Yeah. Freedom, just like you said. Just put the cuffs on now, Mr. Policeman, sir.”
“Jason, I’m tired, you’re tired, we’re all tired. It’s hot, we’ve driven all the way from Chicago, and I’ve had enough of the sarcasm.”
“Shouldn’t you call that creative interaction, Mr. Vice Principal, sir?”
“I’m just a lowly English teacher now, Jason.” He longed to stop the car, lean across the console separating them and slap the kid silly. He’d always believed in nonviolent alternatives to physical punishment for children and had never raised a hand to his three. He knew their grandmother did from time to time, and he suspected Solange had swatted a behind or two.
Every day Tim worked with abusive parents and abused children. He knew the damage abuse caused both.
Today, however, he was discovering how kids could drive a seemingly rational adult crazy. He took a deep breath. He needed to calm down and chill out before he started yelling. That never did any good and left him feeling guilty afterward.
He took another deep breath, then several more before he said, “Granddad taught me to fish for crappie and catfish in the creek that runs through the farm, and during the summer we took picnics down to the pond and swam. He taught me to paddle a canoe. We can rebuild the dock, buy a new canoe—”
“Skinny-dip with the local milkmaids.”
Tim could hear the leer in Jason’s voice. Doggedly he kept going. “I had a great bag swing by the pond. You could swing way out over the water and drop. Can’t do that in a swimming pool.”
“Who’d want to?”
“I have to pee.” Angie had taken off the earphones and was leaning against the back of his seat. “Stop at a gas station.”
