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  Stan

  I had plans, big plans, but all that changed the night Bel Evans darkened my doorstep.

  Stan Remington is the go-to man. What he doesn’t know about Onslow means one of two things: it doesn’t exist or it hasn’t happened yet.

  And when it comes to Onslow, for Stan, being an only child means a guilt-riddled sense of duty to help out at his parents’ caravan park every summer of his life: same old town, same old story.

  Until Belinda Evans.

  The wild and insipid doctor’s daughter who spends summer holidays with her family at Remington’s Caravan Park, but she’s not Stan’s problem; that is, until she sabotages his planned weekend escape. Now Stan finds himself not only caretaking the caravan park on his own, but responsible for Bel as well.

  Just the two of them.

  Under the one roof.

  For one long, long weekend.

  In a world built by mundane routine and small-town boredom, this summer promises to be anything but boring.

  Stan

  C.J. Duggan

  Stan

  By C.J. Duggan

  Copyright 2014 by C.J. Duggan

  Amazon Edition

  Stan

  A Summer Series Novella

  Published by C.J. Duggan

  Australia, NSW

  www.cjdugganbooks.com

  First Amazon edition, published 2014

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including recording, scanning, photocopying or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written consent of the author.

  Disclaimer: The persons, places, things, and otherwise animate or inanimate objects mentioned in this novel are figments of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to anything or anyone living (or dead) is unintentional.

  Edited by Marion Archer

  Copyedited by Anita Saunders

  Proofreading by Sascha Craig

  Cover Art by Keary Taylor Indie Designs

  This ebook formatted by White Hot Ebook Formatting

  Author Photograph © 2014 C.J. Duggan

  Stan is also available as a paperback at your favourite retailer.

  Contact the author at [email protected]

  Table of Contents

  Intro

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Other Titles

  Dedication

  Praise For

  Quote

  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

  Epilogue

  Next Book

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  A Summer Series Novella

  May be read as a stand alone or in the following order:

  The Boys of Summer

  Stan

  An Endless Summer

  Max – Pre Order

  That One Summer

  Ringer

  Forever Summer – Pre Order

  Look out for

  Paradise City

  Paradise Road

  www.cjdugganbooks.com

  Dedicated to Micky D, the sweetest man I know.

  You are living proof that nice guys do get the girl.

  PRAISE FOR

  The Boys of Summer

  Summer Lovin'

  This book kept me up until the wee hours of the morning because I literally could not force myself to put it down – I just had to know what happened. Everything about The Boys of Summer absolutely blew me away.

  Claire – Claire Reads

  Best Contemporary Read of your Life

  I cannot begin to describe the love I have for this book. The Boys of Summer is a story about self-discovery and first true love that will stay with you for a long time after you read it.

  Hannah – A Girl in a Café

  Fun, Flirty, Fantastic

  All in all, if you're looking for a lovable and intense read, then this is for you. C.J. Duggan has convinced me she belongs in the contemporary market and I cannot wait to read more from her.

  Donna – Book Passion for Life

  An Australian Gem

  You won't regret buying this one; you'll totally fall in love with the story and all of the characters. C.J. Duggan knows how to write a book you'll just be drawn into! I'm already waiting for the next one – impatiently, might I add! The Boys of Summer is an Australian gem!

  Seirra – Dear, Restless Reader

  Simply Perfect

  Everything about The Boys of Summer was fantastic!!! C.J. Duggan has written an amazing story and she was able to perfectly capture the Aussie summer, fun times with friends both new and old, and all the feelings of falling in love with the boy of your dreams. Bring on book two!!!

  Tracey – YA Book Addict

  Sweet, Intoxicating, Exciting

  The Boys of Summer is a wonderful example of just how deliciously sexy, sweet and charming summer-fling books can be! A book that gives you goose bumps, makes you swoon over its incredibly handsome male cast, gets you hooked on the clever plot line and, ultimately, sends you out feeling all warm inside, satisfied and with a wide smile on your face.

  Evie – Bookish

  “Don’t tell me the sky’s the limit when there are footsteps on the moon.”

  Anon

  Chapter One

  Bel

  Okay, so Stanley Remington got hot. When did that happen?

  I secretly watched him from across the caravan park. Secretly, as in I casually sat slumped in my fold-out fishing chair, my head held high in innocent wonder as my curious gaze strained sideways, hidden behind my shades.

  He stood on one of the dirt tracks, one of many that wound their way through the park, linking each other in a series of labyrinth-like discoveries. Chiselled wooden signs were the only guide for survival, unless you stumbled across a Remington, as this fortunate retired couple had done.

  Stan’s arms pointed and flailed animatedly as he pointed over his shoulder and then to the map that the silver-haired man held in his hand. His wife stood by his side, her eyes narrowed in deep concentration as if studying and secretly taking in each direction like she really didn’t trust her husband to remember. I couldn’t hear anything other than the occasional outburst of laughter from the couple as Stan charmed them out of their stress and into comfort.

  Nope, you won’t die today.

  The shirtless, tubby man that sported nothing more than a painful pair of high-waisted shorts and a towel draped over his shoulder, tapped Stan on the shoulder with gratitude as he belly laughed. At his parting words, his wife smiled adoringly up at Stan, as if he was Superman or something. Stan smiled small at first, hanging on every word the couple had to say before his mouth pressed into a blinding beam of white. The sun almost glinted off them. But it wasn’t that that made my head turn slightly; it was the loud and genuine laughter that burst out from him. My eyes narrowed. He wasn’t
merely humouring them, he was actually being … nice. Pfft.

  I cast my eyes forward; I felt in danger of gaining a headache or going permanently cockeyed from eyestrain.

  So Stanley got hot, so he was still sickeningly nice, and helpful and blah, blah, blah. I would never forgive him for yelling at me for running around the park pool.

  I remember it as if it were yesterday. I was chasing my brother around the pool, and Stan had called out as he passed by:

  “Hey, no running!”

  Okay, so at the time it seemed a lot more dramatic than it actually was, and, yeah, he had a point. But when you’re sixteen years old and trying to wreak revenge on your older brother for nearly drowning you in the pool, logic and safety don’t come into it. Still, that was a few summers ago now, and, hell, we all made mistakes. In fact, I was living proof of that, for I had made the single biggest mistake of my life. It was called a haircut circa 1994 Winona Ryder in Reality Bites. My friends and I thought if there was ever a haircut to replicate, then this was the one. My friend Naomi and I, as always, were the only two who had the guts to go through with it. And, of course, she looked amazing and I looked like the animated fairy girl from FernGully. The difference being Naomi had the patience and the flyaway hair to grow it out, I didn’t. So here I was still looking like a boy. Cropped black hair that I wedged under my baseball cap with the illusion of protecting my fair skin against the sun’s rays, but it was mostly to hide my shit-awful hair.

  So much can happen in a few summers and that is exactly what it had been since my family, the Evanses, came back to the shore of Lake Onslow. Even though it had been a while, it wasn’t exactly a foreign place; I grew up here, actually went to school here for a while, I would even go so far as to say a greater wedge of my heart belonged here, although I would never admit that to my parents. Mum and Dad loved Onslow, and chose it as the recurring family holiday destination. My dad, Doctor John Evans, had been the local GP here for over twenty years so I knew his heart was well and truly tied to the place, especially when the locals still referred to him fondly as Doctor Evans, or Doc, but very rarely John.

  But now we called Maitland home, a larger populace where you were unlikely to run into a patient and little to no one knew who you were. A foreign concept to our family, and it took some getting used to. Still, it was never the anonymity or a change my parents were after, I knew that much from overhearing adult conversations. Nope, it was money.

  Bigger, better wage was key, as was the testament of our luxurious caravan we housed in Remington’s Caravan Park. It stood out a mile away, a stark white house on wheels with cherry wood cabinetry and marble counter tops. Many people stopped by to say hello in the beginning, but mainly to marvel at the craftsmanship of such a beast of a caravan, no one more impressed than Stan’s dad, Glen, who was amazed that it had its own shower and toilet room.

  “Well, bloody hell, would you look at that?” he said, opening the shower door in wonder, his eyes wide and alive in amazement.

  How much did this set you back?

  Yeah, the van was spacious, luxurious, but never more so than now, now that my older brothers weren’t here to annoy the living shit out of me. No Grant trying to kill me in the swimming pool, no Ben trying to kill me with his silent farts; the only thing that was set to kill me was boredom or my younger brother’s incessant questions about everything.

  “Why are they laughing?” Alex asked; it was his tenth question in as many minutes.

  “Maybe they’re laughing at you?” I replied, as I casually thumbed through my Cleo magazine.

  “They are not,” my brother snapped.

  I would have probably stirred him some more, but Mum was hovering nearby and I didn’t fancy getting yelled at to remember how ‘sensitive’ my brother was. I guess I would cut him some slack; after all, he was only eight.

  I sighed, chucking my mag aside and stretching my arms to the sky, hearing the bones click and pop.

  Bored, bored, bored.

  I yawned, and moved my head from side to side, stiff from sitting for so long.

  God I was bored, so bloody bor—

  I froze mid-stretch, my eyes locked onto the sight of Stan Remington as he made a clear-cut path toward our van, made a direct, straight line toward … me.

  Chapter Two

  Stan

  The Evanses were back?

  It wasn’t as if I had doubted the old man’s handwriting in the book, but it had been a while; well, two years to be exact since they had been here. People come and go. One caravan had been housed here for fifteen years and no one had so much as unzipped its annex. Still, pay your rates and come and go as you please, that was our motto. I ran the fluro yellow tip of my highlighter over the Evans’ name, even gave them a little tick. It was a welcome return; the Evanses were good people and Dad liked his fishing endeavours with Doc from time to time. I could probably even stop by and see if Grant wanted to grab a cold one later on.

  I slammed the reservations book closed. Weary from a day only half done, I grabbed my sunnies and keys that hung up by the door, flipping the ‘Be right back’ sign, before I shut and locked the door. Business was booming; the park was at full capacity. You had to be careful not to trip over any dozing bodies in sleeping bags if you cut through the camping ground, as I found myself doing. Walking briskly, swinging the keys around my finger, whistling a low, cheerful tune of innocence, my shades gave me the luxury of determining which way best to avoid someone, anyone. You could never quite tell what people wanted, and they always wanted something. So many questions, I felt like a tourist information guide recommending local eateries, water sport activities, shopping, walking treks, best local wine and anti-inflammatory creams for heat rash; I was actually really surprised by the amount of bullshit I kept in my head. All of it based on something to do with Onslow. Try as I might, unlike most of my mates, I could never escape Onslow. Well, okay, not that I had really tried, but on some days I really just wanted to get away, even just for a weekend. Away from questions about pool towels and broken vending machines. I just wanted to disappear. And that was exactly the plan for this weekend. I was going to see what Ringer was up to, jump in the boat, and just head out to the bigger lake systems, no tourists in sight. If I knew someone that was as passionate as me about getting away from overweight, sunburnt westerners it was Ringer.

  Skimming my way through the thicket of bushes was a shortcut toward the walking trek on the other side. I wound my way toward the low-lying ground of the park, in the clearing where vans were nestled closer near Lake Onslow’s shore. It was prime real estate for holiday seekers and it was where the Evanses had rented a site for the past seven years; even after all this time their van stood out like no other. A bright white, 30ft spaceship with a navy annex attached. They were back all right. From the peak of the dirt trek I looked upon the village of caravans, peppered with people busying themselves for the lunch time BBQs. Doc’s wife, Lisa Evans, was fussing over pegging up swimwear, little Alex (who wasn’t so little anymore) sat on a large esky swinging his feet with a thud every other second as he struggled to control his genuine excitement with life. Doc himself was nowhere to be seen but knowing him he had popped down to the local RSL to catch up with a few locals. My attention snapped to the rolled up magazine that thwacked across Alex’s legs followed by a pained whine that echoed over the caravan park.

  “Muuuuuum, Bel hit me!”

  “Tell him to stop banging his feet on the esky!” Belinda yelled equally as loud.

  Belinda Evans.

  An involuntary curve lifted the corner of my mouth as I watched on. The slow inhale as Lisa Evans’ shoulders shifted in a way where she was praying to God to give her strength as she pegged clothes on the line more violently.

  “I swear, if you two don’t stop your bickering.” She swung around with a look that could melt glaciers.

  The threat fell on deaf ears as neither Bel or Alex flinched.

  Don’t laugh, I told myself, as I sl
owly made my way down the dirt track to close in on the action and say g’day.

  I was almost home free until I heard the familiar sound that made my own shoulders shift in defeat.

  “Excuse me, young Stan.”

  I turned, masking my contempt, as I spotted Mr and Mrs McClean, my resolve thawing as I saw their beaming smiles and suddenly felt bad for being put out by them.

  “Sorry to bother you,” said a pouting Mrs McClean.

  I smiled brightly as I doubled back toward them. “No bother at all.”

  ***

  “Hello, Bel-INDA.”

  My shadow fell over her as I stood before her, blocking out the sun. Most people would be annoyed by me blocking out their sun tanning op, but not her. As always, she was avoiding it. So I would have thought she might have thanked me instead of looking up at me with no amusement whatsoever. Even after she peeled off her sunglasses and looked up at me with a deadpan stare.

  “Hello, Stan-LEY.” Her reply was laced with sarcasm.

  My brows pinched at the old familiarity from the doctor’s insipid daughter. I wasn’t sure what had led us to always refer to each other rather sarcastically by our full names, but it was no doubt in an effort to try and piss each other off. And judging by our mirrored expressions, even after all this time it still worked.

  I hated when she called me that.

  I ignored her, my focus shifting toward Lisa Evans who, unlike her daughter, offered a genuine warm smile.

  “Hello, Stan, it’s so good to see you.”

  “Yeah, it’s been a while.”

  “I was only saying to John it’s been too long since we spent Christmas in Onslow.”

  “You’re staying on for the New Year, I hope?”