Over His Head
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.
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âI kind of, you know, backed into your car.â
âYou what?â 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. âWhat on earth happened?â
âMy son, here, decided to move the Suburban into our driveway.â
âYeah, I guess I hit Reverse,â the kid said. âIt wasnât my fault.â
âIt was the fault of a malevolent universe?â his father snapped. âThis unfortunate creature is Jason Wainwright, my son.â
âLook, you. I need my car right nowâI have an emergency. Iâve got to help save a dog that was mauled by a pit bull.â She grabbed Jason by the sleeve. âCome 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 Iâll have you locked up for driving without a valid Tennessee driverâs license.â
âI canât leave my two younger children alone,â Wainwright said.
âCanât your wife look after them?â
âI donât have a wife.â
Dear Reader,
Since I began writing about Creature Comfort Veterinary Clinic, readers have been asking me to tell Nancy Mayfieldâs 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 sheâs fighting desperately to avoid getting caught up in the familyâs problems at the same time sheâs 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 heâs falling in love with a woman who doesnât want any family, and definitely not one as dysfunctional as his.
Can they get together? Read and find out.
Enjoy!
Carolyn McSparren
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
âI LOVED WILLIAMSTON when I was a kid. So will you.â
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 hadnât noticed that number.
Sometime in the ten years since his grandfatherâs 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 didnât 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. Heâd refused to say a word since they crossed the bridge over the Mississippi River, driving straight through Memphis and out the other side.
Jasonâs buzz cut would have time to grow so that he wouldnât start school totally bald. Heâd fight losing the two earrings in his right ear, but theyâd 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 heâd 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 heâd 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 hadnât even played his Game Boy on the drive down. Just sat and stared.
Angieâs black hair bounced in and out of his field of vision in the mirror. Usually he forbade headphones. Heâd 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.
