Chasing Castles (Finding Focus #2)

BOOK: Chasing Castles (Finding Focus #2)
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Chasing Castles

Copyright © 2016 Jiffy Kate

Published by Enchanted Publications

First Edition: August 2016

ISBN 978-0-692-75859-5

 

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors’ imaginations and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance of actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author.

Enchanted Publications

www.enchantedpublications.com

Visit the author’s website at
www.jiffykate.com

 

Edited by: Nichole Strauss

Perfectly Publishable

 

Cover Design by: Jada D’Lee Designs

Jada D’Lee Designs

Cover images by: Dreamstime.com (stock photo)

 

Interior Design & Formatting by: Christine Borgford

Perfectly Publishable

 

She was the purest beauty

But not the common kind

She had a way about her

That made you feel alive

And for a moment

We made the world stand still

 

~Lady Antebellum

Table of Contents

Chasing Castles

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Epilogue

About the Author

Acknowledgements

Camille

Present

SITTING IN FRONT OF A
half-painted easel in the middle of my little studio with the window shades drawn for the perfect lighting, I stop painting and lay my brush to the side. As I wipe my hands on my smock, I listen closely as a siren from an emergency vehicle draws near.

Any sort of action is noticed in a town the size of French Settlement. If Ms. Becky burns a cake, the whole town knows about it. And the day Mr. Johnson’s truck got stuck in the pond, practically every person was there to witness the fire department getting it unstuck.

Yes, the fire department, because, generally, they don’t have a lot to keep them busy.

So, sirens this close to town, especially on a Saturday morning, are a rare thing.

I watch out the window and listen for a minute or two as the sirens seem to get closer. Unable to curb my curiosity, I walk from the back of the studio, through the gallery, and out onto the sidewalk.

No one is around. My SUV is the only vehicle on the street. So, it doesn’t surprise me when the sirens get further away. There must be something going on out on the highway.

My heart skips a beat because I hate thinking about anyone being in a wreck or anything like that. As I walk back into the gallery, I say a quick prayer for whoever it is. Normally, that’s enough to help me relax. I always pray when I drive by a wreck or see an ambulance fly by.

But, as I sit back down at my easel and pick my paint brush back up, my heart still feels like it’s in my throat.

As I wait for another minute, still hearing sirens off in the distance, I decide to calm my nerves with a call to Annie. Carter is staying out there with her and Sam this morning because my daddy and Kay went into Baton Rouge to buy a new sofa.

“Hey, honey.” Annie’s voice sounds calm and chipper, so I try to make my stomach take a cue from her.

“Hey, Annie.”

“How’s it going this morning? Everything alright?”

“I was calling to ask you the same,” I say, laughing at my paranoia. Since Carter came into my life, I have a tendency to be a bit over-protective. I now understand why my daddy was always keeping a tight rein on me when I was little. It would kill me when he wouldn’t let me do everything the boys did. But now I get it. I don’t know how I’d feel if Carter had been a girl. Being the mom of a boy is bad enough. It might be worse on some levels because boys can be such little dare devils.

“Everything is right as rain out here,” she says, with a clang of a pot in the background. “Me and Carter are whippin’ up some banana nut muffins.”

“Sounds delicious.”

“We’ll be sure to save you some.”

“Don’t let Deke eat them all.”

“You’re in luck. He went into the restaurant to finish up some paperwork.”

“I thought he was takin’ the day off.”

“Well, he said if you were gonna be busy all day at the gallery, he might as well get ahead on some ordering.”

“Okay,” I say, the nervous ball back in my stomach. “Did Micah go in with him?”

“No, Micah’s in Baton Rouge this mornin’. He must’ve stayed at the apartment last night.”

“Okay.”

“I think these muffins are ready to go in the oven. What do you think, Carter?” I can hear Carter telling her they’re ready. He loves being in the kitchen with Annie. I think he takes after his Uncle Micah in that sense. “Will we see ya for lunch?”

“Yeah, I should be done by then.”

After I hang up with Annie, I still can’t get the worry to go away. I think about taking a drive out to the highway just to check things out myself, but that would be silly. I’m not sure what’s going on, but whatever it is, I doubt they need an extra rubber-necker.

So instead, I sit back down on my stool and hit send on Deacon’s number, smiling as his handsome face comes up on the screen of my phone.

“It’s Deacon Landry. Sorry I missed your call. Please leave a message.”

I pull the phone away from my ear and frown at the screen, hitting end and immediately hitting the button to call again.

Voicemail.

Maybe he left his phone in his truck?

He does that sometimes.

Taking a deep breath as I try to stay calm, I begin to pace around the room as I call the restaurant. Normally, if Deacon’s doing paperwork, he won’t answer the phone, but if he’s at his desk and sees it’s me, he will.

After five rings, the long message for Pockets comes over the phone.

“Thank you for calling Pockets, Home of the Gator Pocket. Our hours are Monday through Thursday, eleven to eleven. Friday and Saturday, two to two. We’re located on Highway 16. You can’t miss us. Hope to see you soon!”

I don’t know why I listen to the entire message. It’s not like Deacon can answer once the voicemail picks up.

Staring at the phone, I hit redial for the restaurant, letting it ring until the message starts over.

Hang up.

Redial.

After three more tries, I call Deacon’s phone again.

Still no answer.

I can’t ignore the feeling in the pit of my stomach. There’s no way I can paint like this, so I might as well drive out to the restaurant and see for myself. I’m sure everything is fine, and I’ll have wasted fifteen minutes of my day, but I can’t relax until I know he’s okay.

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