Over His Head. Carolyn McSparren

he will.” Then he ducked his head and all enthusiasm vanished. “He said we couldn’t have a dog yet. I could keep him here.” He stroked the pup’s head. “And I can pay you. My Gran’mere will send me some money if I ask her.”

      When he looked up at her, she wondered how she could ever have thought he was expressionless. Such longing, such sadness, such hope! What had happened to this child to make him close down? She’d have to find out. And if that Wainwright fellow had anything to do with it, she’d see him rot in hell.

      As if in answer to her summons, the doorbell rang again. Eddy jumped. “That’s my daddy,” he whispered.

      “Stay here.”

      “Do we have to tell him?”

      “Don’t worry, Eddy, I’ll handle it.”

      When she opened her front door, Wainwright stepped in without asking. “Have you seen my son? I can’t find him.”

      “He’s here,” she said, and turned back to the kitchen.

      “Eddy,” Tim rushed past her.

      Eddy hunched over the puppy’s nest.

      Tim squatted beside his son. “Eddy, don’t you ever do that again, you hear me?” Then he hugged the boy.

      If he was an abuser, he was good at concealing it. Nancy saw tears in his eyes.

      He held Eddy at arm’s length. “Son, you’re filthy. And no shoes. Where’ve you been?”

      “I went out. I thought I’d be back before you woke up.” Then, as if realizing he’d actually spoken more than a few words at a time, he seemed to shrink into himself. “I’m sorry.”

      She saw Tim gulp convulsively.

      “It’s okay, son. It’s good that you wanted to go out and explore. Just don’t go out alone again without telling me. Even if I’m still in bed, I’ll get up and go with you. Maybe we’ll all go. We definitely need to explore our land, but this is the country. There’s a whole bunch of new stuff you’re not used to—snakes and fast trucks and woods and streams. You could have gotten lost.” He drew back and glanced over his shoulder. “And what are you doing over here bothering Miss Mayfield?”

      No mention of their previous meeting. Thank God he chose to ignore it.

      Eddy looked down at the nest. The only visible portion of the pup was an inch of charred brown ear.

      “How about I make some coffee,” Nancy said. “I’ve also got OJ and a coffee cake. Sit down and let Eddy tell you about it. He’s a real hero.”

      Eddy gave her a grateful look. She winked at him. Whether Tim Wainwright liked it or not, his son had a dog. If she had anything to say about it, he’d keep it.

      CHAPTER SIX

      TIM SIPPED HIS COFFEE and watched with wonder as his son wolfed down his third piece of coffee cake. He was on his second glass of orange juice, as well. In the past year, Eddy had grown thinner and thinner. Tim gave him vitamins, made certain his mother-in-law kept the house filled with fruit and lunch meat as well as pastry and tried to believe the doctors who told him his son was perfectly healthy. Physically, maybe he was.

      Didn’t stop Tim from worrying. On the one hand, he had to watch his mother-in-law to keep her from stuffing Angie, already verging on pudgy, with French pastry. Jason could eat Chicago without gaining an ounce. Every calorie went straight up. Eddy seemed to have lost his sense of self-preservation when he lost his mother.

      Now, here he was swigging orange juice and actually kicking the rungs of the kitchen chair like a normal kid. He opened his mouth to admonish his son, then clapped it shut. If it didn’t bother her, it shouldn’t bother him.

      “So you see, he’s a hero,” Miss Mayfield said.

      “I’m going to look after him while Nancy’s at work,” Eddy said. He met his father’s eyes as though daring him to object.

      “The lady’s name is Miss Mayfield,” Tim said automatically.

      “Nancy,” she said, “I hate being called Miss Mayfield. Makes me feel as old as my grandmother.” She smiled at Eddy, who actually smiled back. “Nobody in Williamston stands much on ceremony. We all live too close to one another.” He saw her give a convulsive gulp as though she realized what she’d just said. She quickly poured Tim another cup of coffee without being asked and turned her back on the table.

      Lancelot had managed to stay on his good behavior until he smelled the coffee cake. He sat at Eddy’s feet and gave an occasional soft oink. Tim saw that Eddy was sneaking him bits of coffee cake under the table. He seemed to accept Lancelot as casually as he did the cats.

      Lancelot pushed his snout against Tim’s leg. One look into those eyes and Tim was forced to give him a bit of coffee cake himself.

      So far the only eyes he’d managed to avoid were Nancy’s. She seemed to be cooperating by avoiding his as well. Good. Better to forget the entire incident with the pig and the mirror. God that sounded like a fairy tale. Despite his previous resolution to stay aloof, he found himself grinning down at Lancelot.

      Besides, he couldn’t stay aloof when he was so elated that Eddy had found something worth fighting for.

      “Wonderful coffee,” he said. “Chicago coffee tends to be dark auburn unless you spend a fortune for it at Starbucks.” Actually the coffee could probably strip the bristles off Lancelot’s back, but at the moment, that was what he needed. He wasn’t used to 5:00 a.m. crises.

      “Thanks,” she said. “Be back in a minute.”

      He watched her go into what must be her bedroom. He could see the corner of a high, unmade bed through the doorway.

      She still wore her cutoffs and a T-shirt. Even seminaked and embarrassed in his bedroom, Tim had appreciated the sight of his new neighbor as she dragged that blasted pig down his hallway. A man who didn’t enjoy looking at her long legs and tight rear end would have to be dead. Tim wasn’t quite dead. He was, however, turning into a randy old man. Celibacy tended to do that to the male of the species.

      He realized he was getting hard, took an almighty gulp of coffee, scalded the roof of his mouth and drank half of Eddy’s orange juice.

      “Hey!” Eddy protested.

      Tim laughed. In the past eighteen months Eddy hadn’t cared enough about anything to feel proprietary. Even a little thing like begrudging his father a swig of orange juice was a major victory. He put down his son’s glass and topped it up from the pitcher on the table. “You realize you’ve drunk an entire orange grove there, son.”

      “Oh.” Eddy looked away and set his glass down untouched.

      Tim wanted to kick himself. “Joke,” he said. “Tell you what. We’ll bring Miss Mayfield—”

      “Nancy,” Eddy corrected.

      “—Nancy a gallon of OJ from the grocery.”

      At that moment Nancy came back into the kitchen. She had combed her short, brown hair, but those delectable nipples were still very visible under the thin cotton of her T-shirt.

      “I called Mike O’Hara,” she said. “He’s the sheriff. Lives a couple of miles outside town. He’s going to stop by on his way into the office. He wants to talk to you, Eddy, find out exactly where you found your pup.”

      Eddy’s terrified eyes went straight to his father’s face. “Do I have to?”

      “He’s a great guy,” Nancy explained. “He’s proud of you, too.” The look on Eddy’s face didn’t change. “Say, I thought I heard a whimper. You better go check on your puppy. Why don’t you move his bed into my bedroom?”

      Eddy slipped off his chair, went over to the corner, scooped up pup and towels, and disappeared through