Married To A Rock Star

By Tami Parrington

Out in the country, Karen and her two teenaged children have a new neighbor-Isaiah Highland, who is anything but the farm type. Isaiah is a rock-star looking for peace, starving for privacy, and he's found them both...and a whole lot more. Swept into a world of fame, fortune, and betrayal, Karen finds herself in a world far removed from her little farm. Two separate worlds.... Worlds bound to collide... When they do Isaiah and Karen will have to choose between their own versions of paradise...and each other.

"Married to a Rock Star gives new meaning to the phrase, 'be
careful what you wish for'. It's a wild ride, filled with humor and insight,
into an enigmatic world."

--Pamela Kock, Romance Book Reviews

"Intrigue, infatuation, and attraction are the setting
for this fast paced romance novel by Tami Parrington. Married to a Rock Star begins with a fast pace, heightens in the middle of the novel, and runs high
from there with emotional conflict. Fasten your seat belts for this flight into
the characters portrayed within this wonderful novel"

--Shelia Jordon, Woman on Writing Romance Reviewer

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tami Parrington
• Release date: May 3, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476126050

Tami Parrington

I was an only child. Coupled with the fact that I was raised by depression era grandparents, and the generation gap was extreme I was alone a lot as a child. That sounds pretty maudlin, and my grandparents loved me, and I them. I had a good life, but the situation was what it was, and I spent a lot of my time in my own head. What that did for me was show me that–it wasn’t such a bad place to be. I could create my own world. The one I really wanted to live in, or sometimes, the ones I didn’t want to live in. I could explore my own reality and many other realities. I could tear about society’s ideals, my own ideals and create better ideals–or sometimes just find out what happened when you really did follow the rabbit down the rabbit hole. Those early days set up a love for both creating my own worlds and stories, and getting lost deep in other people’s worlds. I was an avid reader from a very early age. The love for words was born and while it may have lingered unattended once in awhile, it never really goes away. All my life I’ve been a writer and explorer of the human condition, the world and visions of what life could be.

Book preview

Married to a Rock Star

Tami Parrington

Copyright 2002 by Tami Parrington

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MARRIED TO A ROCK STAR

By

Tami Parrington

CHAPTER ONE

Balance in life was a tricky thing. Every time she thought she had a solid position it had a way of throwing her. How did one learn to maintain an even keel?

Very carefully, Karen Meade thought as she knelt on the bed shifting to stay upright. With binoculars raised, she leaned on the windowsill and peered out across the field.

Mom?

Looking over her shoulder Karen raised her finger to her lips to silence her fifteen-year-old son that stood in the doorway shaking his head.

Teenagers were another one of life's little tosses. They were heaven's way of reminding you that you were never on firm ground.

What are you doing? he asked, climbing across the bed to stare out the window beside his mother. Aw Man. It’s just a moving van.

Yeah, and I want to see who’s moving in. So hush.

The house across the field had been empty for four years. Karen didn’t remember anyone coming to look at the place. Now there was a truck in the driveway. Men unloaded boxes and furniture into the old farmhouse, but so far, she hadn’t caught a glimpse of anyone besides the men in moving company uniforms.

I hope they have kids, Bobby said continuing to stare out the window. Boys, he added looking over at his mom hopefully. Teenage boys.

Karen smiled. It had been hardest on her son when her husband died. Life was tough enough out in the rural farm community with neighbors few and far between and the closest town over six miles away. It was tougher still when you were the only man in the house with two women. Even if one of the women, her seventeen-year-old daughter, was gone most of the time doing whatever seventeen-year-old girls do.

Life was tough on a forty-year-old widow, too, out in the middle of cornfields and cows. The ten-acre field between the two houses was raw testament to her failure to work the farm alone. She was determined to continue their dream. When her husband died she vowed to go on, but the empty field, four weeks past planting date, was a constant reminder of her inability.

There had been a family in the old farmhouse before. A closed factory in town meant relocation for many local families, and they had been one of them. Karen missed having a neighbor she could walk across the field and visit with. She longed for someone to talk to, commiserate with about kids, life, husbands; and she really missed having a husband to complain about.

She reached over and gave her son a hug. She was a surprised that he didn’t withdraw. Her once cuddly boy, now turned teenager, didn’t appreciate open signs of affection from mom. It just wasn’t cool.

It’s still not nice to spy. Bobby grinned at his mother who stuck her tongue out in response and continued to peer through the binoculars. Hey look! he shouted.

Karen saw it before Bobby said a word. It wasn’t often you saw a car like that. In fact, Karen couldn’t remember once having seen a limousine out there. There wasn’t even a limousine company that she knew of within a hundred miles.

The only business’ that survived in the tiny communities that sprung up inside the cornfields were; granaries, where farmers sold their crop and purchase seed for the coming year, butcher shops, where farmers sold livestock, and bars where farmers relaxed after a long day in the hot sun. For everything else they drove the hour and half to the city, which was closer than most of them preferred.

Karen watched as the white car pulled in the driveway of the old house. The contrast of styles made the abandoned farmhouse look even more dilapidated.

Wow! Bobby’s eyes were wide with excitement. Man, oh man, I sure hope they have kids. But his wide smile quickly left as a figure climbed out of the car, stood and looked around, alone.

She hated the look of disappointment on his face. They’d had enough of those to last a lifetime. He had a right to hope for something, no matter how small.

Maybe the rest of the family is coming later. That wouldn’t be that unusual you know—a man coming ahead to get things together before the rest of the family comes. Karen said it with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, but she didn’t feel it, and her own heart fell a bit as well.

So much for a walk across the field to commiserate, even if he was as good looking as a man can get from several hundred feet away. He was a man. Karen put the binoculars down and climbed off the bed. Come on, let’s get some dinner, it’s getting late.

She walked into the kitchen and gently stirred the pot of stew that had been simmering during her watch.

Tomorrow she would take a bowl of stew and a loaf of fresh bread over and greet her new neighbor. Then she'd find out if there was a family on the way, or, if her gut feelings were correct, and he really was alone.

He didn’t look the farmer type. Never mind the fact that he arrived in the long white limo. He was neatly decked out in crisp black jeans and a black silk shirt—a city boy right down to the black boots tipped in silver. Pretty, very pretty--but he was definitely not country. If he were alone, he probably wouldn’t last long.

###

Karen rolled over in bed, the sunlight breaking through the windows wasn’t what was waking her though; it was the loud pounding coming from across the field.

Damn, what time is it? She propped herself up on one arm and tried to focus on the red digital numbers of the alarm clock across the room. Six-twenty? Who the hell starts pounding at six-twenty in the morning? She pulled on a faded pair of jeans and an old sweatshirt to cut the early morning chill. Mumbling faded curses at the injustice of life and inconsiderate neighbors she stumbled into the kitchen to start the first pot of coffee of the day.

###

Stepping out the back door with her cup of coffee in her hand along with a welcome basket, she laughed to herself. The old country tradition, the welcome wagon with ladies carrying welcome baskets full of goodies to help newcomers settle in and feel at home was pure fiction. There hadn’t been anyone to welcome them when they moved to the country fifteen years ago.

She had waited, too. She thought that was the way it was supposed to be. As long as she was there it would be. If she had anything to say about it, that is.

Karen stopped abruptly when she rounded the corner of the house on her way to the adjoining field that stretched out between her house and the new neighbors. Her mouth dropped open when she saw men in hard hats laying bricks as they talked and laughed. Cement trucks idled on the rock driveway their spinning bellies full of cement. Utter chaos lined the far border of her field. Tall columns of brick rose from the ground and in between each, a stretch of black wrought iron fencing with imposing spikes at the top.

Oh very neighborly, she quipped out loud. Walking slowly she fought the desire to turn back and bury her head under the covers. Angry and confused, yet drawn to the commotion, she continued. If nothing else, it was interesting. Beyond the cement trucks she saw more men working on the outside of the house. A surge of hope sprung in her heart when she saw a new car in the driveway. Surely someone had to drive that in—someone that hadn’t arrived in the limousine.

Walking past the workers, she smiled at their stares as she boldly stepped over piles of bricks. She dodged mortar buckets, trowels, and various toolboxes as they gawked. Ignoring them she watched for signs of life in the house. Hoping for a glimpse of a female counter-part to the slick young man that had stood by the limo the day before, but it remained curiously empty looking.

Karen jumped back quickly as another car plowed in to the drive, dodging workers and equipment and only missing her by inches. Her carefully guarded cup of coffee splashed as she jumped. Holding it out away from her she growled at the splattered pattern across the front of her sweatshirt. Well, this is sure to make a great impression. She wiped away the coffee, eyeing the stain on the green material.

Karen watched as the driver of the offending automobile stepped out and walked to the entrance of the drive, where he quickly climbed into the passenger side of a waiting car and sped off. She looked again at the abandoned auto. An old classic and completely out of place, it stood silent, as if aware of its surroundings and embarrassed by them. She walked to the door at the rear of the house and knocked lightly, not sure anymore if she really wanted someone to answer.

Slowly, the door opened and a tall figure stood in the entrance peering at her. He squinted in the sunlight that invaded the inner darkness, then smiled. Karen gripped the handle of the basket tightly to steady her nerves. The sunlight was no match for the brilliant radiance that came from his smile.

She felt awkward and embarrassed but remained determined.

I’m sorry to bother you. I’m your new neighbor. I just came to say, ummmmm, welcome to the neighborhood. She smiled and looked down at the basket she held. I brought this over. I thought maybe your wife-- she stopped, realizing that the man before her was most definitely alone in the house, and his hand was conspicuously bare. --Or you. She smiled shyly as she held out the basket. -- Could use a little starter while you got your things unpacked.

She was grateful he didn’t laugh as he took the basket from her. She had begun to feel way out of her league, holding the simple wicker basket filled with stew, bread, fresh eggs, and the makings for coffee.

He was striking.

There was nothing out of the ordinary about his dress that day. Although even in the old jeans and T-shirt he wore, he still didn’t look like a farmer. There was something about him. His hair was long, past his shoulders. Normally she would have thought it odd and out of place on a man, but on him, it was nice. On anyone else, the shiny boots with the sparkling silver tips and heels would have looked strange when mixed with jeans that had obviously seen better days, but on him, they were fitting.

What it was she really couldn’t name. He had an aura that seemed to shine from his eyes. Well, I’ll be heading back. Interesting project you’ve got going on there. She pointed towards the wall being erected. Kids? She waited hopefully for a reply. There had to be some reason for the huge wall of brick and iron. It just wasn’t your ordinary farm type fencing—certainly for livestock it was overkill.

Sorry, no kids. Would you care to come in? He stepped back and waited for her to accept his invitation.

I really shouldn’t, I don’t want to bother you. She felt the disappointment in her heart transfer to her voice. She really had hoped for a family. Why in the world would a man like this move here?

It’s no bother. Tell you the truth I’m dying for a cup of coffee. He looked at the basket and its contents. I’d love some company.

Karen looked again at the iron fencing with its imposing spikes. It didn’t look much like he wanted company—ever. She shrugged then followed him through the house to the kitchen.

It may take me a few minutes to find the coffee maker. He rummaged through boxes, pushing each aside when it lacked the desired machine. If he had packed the boxes himself, she would never have known it. He seemed surprised at some of the contents he came across as he rifled through them in his search.

Mind if I help, Mr-- Ummmmm, Mr--?

Oh, I’m sorry. He smiled and blushed as he held out his hand. Isaiah, Isaiah Highland.

Karen Meade. She took his hand. It was soft, smooth, and very warm. Her belly twisted and her chest tightened at the sensation of her hand in his. Let me guess. She began, looking down at his palm. Not a farmer. He looked embarrassed and shook his head. No kids. She looked around at the empty house, No pets. She glanced out the still uncovered windows. No livestock. Her eyes came back to rest on the face in front of her. So. What’s with the fence?

He withdrew his hand and went back to looking through the boxes, ignoring the question studiously.

Hey, lookie here. Found it! Holding up the coffee pot and reaching in with his free hand to retrieve the rest of the machine, his smile was once again on high beam.

She felt compelled by his smile but was hard pressed to cover the darkness created by his evasion. A simple thing like the subject of a fence didn’t seem to her to be the type of question that would be hard to answer, or require evasive maneuvers.

Karen glanced around the kitchen and through the opening that led to the living area. Expensive furnishings including several antiques waited in the middle of the room to find their places. Untouched boxes lined the walls. It didn’t look like he was in much of a hurry to unpack. Isaiah grabbed a chair and placed it by the kitchen table that was covered with more boxes and motioned for her to sit.

Karen relaxed in the chair. The air was charged with silent electricity. He was handsome in the early morning light that filtered through the windows.

Coffee should be ready in a few, he said, retrieving a second chair. He sat down on the opposite side of the table and dropped out of view behind pile of crates. Well, this isn’t going to work now is it? He popped back up again and smiled over the boxes. He grabbed one and placed it on the floor, and then another, until they were all stacked neatly along the wall then sat back down.

They sat at the table staring at each other in silence as the coffee brewed making the only noise that filled the kitchen for several minutes. So. Kids? he asked.

Karen warmed at his attempted small talk and nodded. Two. My daughter, Annette, is seventeen. My son, Bobby, is fifteen. I have to tell you, he’s going to be really disappointed. He really had hoped for another teenager, preferably male, to move in.

She looked quickly away. The heat rose up to her cheeks. She was aware of the fact that there were other options besides single and married.

He wasn’t as young as she had first guessed. From her view from the window of her house he looked to be in his twenties. But now, looking at him from across the table, she guessed early to mid thirties. A man that age, with no children and no wife, or significant other female, had other options.

And, Mr. Meade? he asked. The smile left his face as he saw her begin to crumble. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up a bad subject. He reached across the table and took hold of her hand that had begun to shake. It was strong. He imagined it had pummeled its share of bread dough. His grandmother had hands like that, strong even a little rough, but kind and gentle.

No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be making such a silly scene here. Thanks for inviting me in. She rose to leave but his hand still held hers. She stood in the middle of the kitchen her back to him, wiping the tears with her free hand.

What about the coffee? He pulled her around to face him, taking her chin in his hand. He studied her face as a single tear trailed down her cheek. It was a plain face. Harder than he was used to seeing in the glittery world he came from. There the women were painted and oiled. It was often a shock to see what lay beneath the paint at the end of the day, but even then, money and pampering showed. Not here—here were the harsh realities of life.

Please, stay. He looked deep into her eyes and marveled at the life in them. Humor radiated from their depths and warmth came from her smile in spite of a life that was surely less than idyllic. He wiped the tears from her cheek gently with his fingers. Hey, the fence. You asked about the fence, right?

Karen looked up at him and suddenly she felt really good about this man. Wife or no wife, kids or no kids, whatever his preferences were, he was a good man. It’s okay, you don’t have to explain. I appreciate it though. And I’m sorry for the tears. It’s silly really, after all this time, to get so emotional. My husband passed away a little over a year ago. She brushed a sleeve across her face to wipe her eyes and drew in a deep breath. Thinking about her loss always brought tears.

Rarely, if ever, did she talk about it with anybody. She had tried in the beginning. Talking helped she had been told. First she tried talking to the pastor at church, but she didn’t need reassurance that he was in heaven. She needed him.

Then she tried her best friend, but those consolations left her bitter. Eileen still had her husband. So she had stopped talking. Preferring instead to keep her pain locked away, until now, in the presence of a stranger it came pouring out.

Well, I am sorry, it was too forward of me. He waited for her to sit back down before walking back around the table and sitting down again. And the fence-- He looked across at her with a sly smile. It’s for security, privacy, peace-of-mind. I suppose out here it must seem unnecessary. I’ll admit I’m not used to this type of area. But fences or no, you and your family are welcome anytime, okay?

Can I ask? Why here? Forgive me, but you don’t look like the farm type. There are plenty of estates up close to the city. Surely much grander places as well, she thought. The old house had been empty for four years and in that time its lonely abandon had taken its toll. It looked ready to fall down around them. He certainly didn’t appear to be in need of money. His well-manicured hands and dentist perfect smile along with a well-spoken continence were all sure signs of money.

Look at that. I just moved in and she's trying to get rid of me.

Karen gasped then relaxed when he smiled. I didn't mean it like that.

Isaiah nodded and studied her closer. He liked what he saw. Compassion and strength mixed together in a no nonsense package. Unlike the pampered dolls he was used to, she had a substance and power that belied her small frame. I’m searching, I suppose. Looking for a little piece of paradise.

His statement made her feel warm inside. She and Wayne had felt the same way along time ago. Maybe her new neighbor would be happy here after all. Maybe he'd do just fine. With a little love and lots of work, certainly this house could be that.

She accepted the cup of coffee he offered when it finished brewing. She watched in horror as he poured several teaspoons of sugar and an equal amount of cream into his own until there was barely any semblance of the original liquid in the cup in front of him. You know-- She smiled as he scooped even more sugar into the cup, if you put that in the fridge long enough, it’s pop not coffee.

She waited to see if he would respond with laughter or be upset that she was picking on him. She was relieved to see him smile and take a big gulp of the steamy liquid.

Beats the hell out of ‘Jolt’ any day.

Karen laughed and took a sip of her own coffee.

I have an idea. Isaiah spoke suddenly, as if struck by an idea that hadn’t occurred to him until that very moment. How about dinner?

Well, you hardly look like you’re prepared to offer dinner. The looks he had give a couple of the pans he had come across in his search for the coffee maker had left her pretty certain he hadn’t used one before anyway. Not yet at least. But, I’d be happy to have you over. Today’s Monday, that’s spaghetti night. Do you like Italian?

No. I mean, yes, I love Italian; but that’s not what I had in mind. How about dinner? Tonight, just you and me, some place-- extravagant. He looked up with his eyebrows raised, waiting for a ‘yes that would be wonderful’ or a slap in the face, there weren’t many other options.

I really shouldn’t leave the kids alone, but thanks, it was really nice of you to offer. She got up and walked towards the door. My invitation to dinner still stands. You’re welcome. Just pop on by around six if you change your mind. She ducked through the door before he could stop her, before he could ask her again, before she crumbled and gave in.

For goodness sake, he was hitting on her, and they had just met. She hurried away, thankful for the bright sunlight that would hide the flush in her cheeks as she stumbled across the cluttered driveway. She couldn’t deny the feelings that overwhelmed her at the thought. He was a handsome man, and he had hit on her. It had been a long time since she had felt so—good.

Isaiah sat at the table, his mouth slightly ajar, long after she left. That had been an option he hadn’t considered.

###

Six o’clock rolled around before Karen had time to think about it. Her day was busy as usual with the everyday chores of running the small farm. In spite of how far behind she always seemed to be now, it was never dull. Every moment was used to full advantage. 'Seize the day!' had been Wayne's favorite battle cry as they did their chores

I'd like to seize something, she would mutter back in response. Her brow furrowed. This was no time for memories.

The kitchen was full of the smells of spaghetti, fresh garlic bread, and corn on the cob. A smile replaced her frown as Bobby grated the Parmesan, getting more on the floor, the counter, and his shirt than in the bowl.

Just as she was about to pour the spaghetti into the strainer, there was a knock at the door making her jump. Hot water splashed about in the pot that she held. Swearing under her breath she wiped her hands on her shirt, the little bit of hot water that had sprayed over the edges of the pot, left a small red patch on the back of her hand.

Damn, she swore softly, grabbing the doorknob and swinging the door open.

Hello. Isaiah stood in the doorway, bottle of wine in hand. I hope I’m not late. He held the gift out to her. He hoped the startled expression on her face didn’t mean he had misjudged his welcome and she regretted her invitation.

Not at all. Come on in. You really didn’t have to bring anything. She smiled. He was there. She couldn't believe it. Her heart fluttered. She hadn’t thought he would come.

She watched with detached amazement as he gently took the hand she still held gingerly. Noticing the burn, he kissed it gently.

The tingle of his lips on her burning skin soothed her. She pulled her hand back, afraid to allow his lingering lips to

Reviews for Married To A Rock Star

[moriahjovan_1 · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

Great concept, great voice, bad execution.The point of an asshole alpha hero is the amount of groveling he has to do. No groveling and there were insecure, impressionable teenagers mixed up in his assholishness.