Chasing Castles (Finding Focus #2) Read online

  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.

  As I pick up my purse and keys, my phone rings in my hand. I let out a relieved sigh until I see that it’s not Deacon who’s calling.

  “Hello?”

  “Cami.” Sam’s voice comes over the phone, and he sounds worried, which makes my heart beat even faster, and my knees feel weak. I don’t even need him to tell me something’s wrong. I know it. I can feel it deep in my bones.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, already having to force the emotions out of my voice.

  “There’s a fire at the restaurant. I’m on my way there now. Where’s Deacon and Micah?”

  “Deacon’s there,” I tell him as I try to convince myself that everything’s fine. He’s fine.

  Maybe he’s the one who called the fire into the fire department?

  Maybe that’s why he didn’t answer?

  It could be something small.

  “The Chief said he got a call from some guy driving down the highway. He called me on his way out because he couldn’t get ahold of the boys.”

  “Yeah, I heard them . . . the sirens.” My voice sounds foreign to my ears, like it’s far away. For whatever reason, I’m still standing in the middle of the gallery, holding my phone tightly to my ear with one hand and gripping my keys so hard with the other that they’re leaving an indentation. “I called Deacon,” I tell him. “No answer.”

  “Everything’s fine, Cam.” Sam’s reassuring voice reaches out, but my mind is all over the place. “I’m sure everything’s fine. I’ll call you once I get there.”

  “No,” I practically scream over the phone as the haze I’ve been under lifts a little. “I’m coming. I’ll be there.” Without a second thought, I run out the door.

  I’ve been chasing after Deacon Landry for practically my entire life. With our wedding one week from today, I refuse to lose him now.

  Camille

  Past

  “GIRL, YOU’RE LOOKIN’ HOT TONIGHT,” Stacey gushes. “All the boys are gonna be stuck on you like glue.”

  Stacey Guidry is my best friend. Well, she’s my best girl friend. We’ve been close since the first day of kindergarten, and she knows almost everything about me.

  What she doesn’t know is that I don’t care if the boys like how I look tonight; I only care about how one boy looks at me. That one boy who is truly my best friend and has been my entire life. The one boy who’ll never feel for me the way I feel about him because he’s my brother’s best friend and only thinks of me as a little sister.

  Deacon Samuel Landry.

  The Deacon Samuel Landry, first son of the wealthy lawyer Sam Landry and his wife, Annie. Deacon lives in a gorgeous plantation home that’s been in his family for generations and is a star football player at our high school. Girls want to screw him, and boys want to be him. He’s perfect in every way, but the best thing about him is that he doesn’t think of himself that way. To most people, he’s the life of the party but, when he’s with me, he’s quiet and thoughtful. He has a good head on his shoulders, and he already knows what he wants in life. I consider myself very fortunate to be able to see both sides of Deacon. I just wish he could see the real me, as well.

  “Hello! Earth to Cami!” Stacey waves her hand in front of my face, bringing me out of my thoughts. “Good grief, girl. Daydreamin’ again? You always have your head in the clouds.” Stacey is teasing me, but she’s right—I often have my head in the clouds, so to speak. I sometimes find it’s easier to deal with life by escaping into a fantasy from time to time.

  A fantasy where my mom is still alive.

  A fantasy where I’m not constantly under the watchful eye of my brother.

  A fantasy where I can spread my wings and be free.

  A fantasy where Deacon Landry sees me for more than just a little sister.

  “I wasn’t daydreamin’; I was thinkin’. There’s a difference, you know.”

  “Uh huh. Which boy were you thinkin’ about? Jared? Connor? Henry? You know they all like you.”

  “Well, I don’t like them. They’re so immature and dumb,” I say, scowling.

  “Of course, they are, silly! They’re barely fifteen years old, which is the prime age for teaching them how to treat a girl, if you know what I mean. They’ll mature in no time.” Stacey giggles and turns her attention to her reflection, fluffing out her curly hair.

  Sure, I know what she means. I’ve kissed a few boys, but Stacey has gone as far as second base. That certainly makes her more of an expert on boys than I am, and I’m okay with that.

  Because I just want one boy.

  It’s been said that high school football is everything in Texas, but I think it must be that way everywhere in the south. I learned from my dad, here in Louisiana, that Friday nights are for high school football, Saturdays are for college football—SEC only, please and thank you—and Sundays are for watching the pros play. All weekend activities center around those three things in the fall, and we are to say an extra prayer of thanks for the invention of TiVo for the rare occasion when we have no other choice but to miss a game.

  Naturally, the stands are almost full when my dad drops Stacey and me off at the gate so that he can find a parking spot. He doesn’t have to worry about finding a seat because he’ll be standing with his buddies against the fence. They’re the real referees of the game. If you want to know the true score, ask them.

  Before squeezing through the crowd and making our trek up the bleachers, we stop at the concession stand to buy a few snacks to tide us over until halftime. And that’s when I hear her.

  “See that spot right over there under the bleachers?” she asks. “That’s where Deacon kissed me yesterday after football practice.”

  If there’s one girl I hate in life, it’s Marcy Bernard. Marcy is a senior, and she thinks she’s better than everybody. She’s also a stuck-up busy-body, and now she’s a liar too. Normally, I can channel the voice of Deacon’s mom, Annie, and simply ‘bless her heart’ and walk away, but there’s no way I can let her get away with spreading lies, especially when I know they’re not true.

  “Get me a Coke and popcorn,” I tell Stacey, handing her two dollars. “I’ll be right back.”

  I walk closer to where Marcy and her group of simple-minded followers are standing.

  “What do you want, Camille? You want in on the details of my love life, too?” She smiles, brushing her hair over her shoulder, and her friends laugh. But I play it cool, barely managing to contain my eye roll.

  “Yeah, no. I’m just here to let your friends know that you’re full of shit.”

  Marcy gasps. “You can’t talk to me like that, you stupid little sophomore. What do you know anyway?”

  “What I know is that, after practice yesterday, Deacon drove me home.” I don’t add that my brother, Tucker, and Deacon’s brother, Micah, were with us, because . . . well, because it isn’t important. “I was waiting for him at his truck and watched him leave the field house and walk straight to me.” That part is true. Deacon had obviously showered after practice because his dark, wavy hair was still wet when he waved goodbye to his teammates and headed to his truck. He was beautiful, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off him.

  Hands on her hips, Marcy glares at me. “Just because Deacon was nice enough to give you a ride home doesn’t mean you’re his girlfriend or anything.” She snorts, like that’s the farthest thing from the truth. “You’re just a little girl with a crush. Deacon doesn’t want you; he wants a real woman.”

  Her words go straight to my gut as she plays on my insecurities, but I’ll be damned if I let her know. “Well, when he finds a real woman, I’ll be sure to tell you because another thing I know about De
acon is that he has taste. He can spot bullshit a mile away, and he would never be seen with a tramp like you.”

  Before Marcy can speak again, I feel an arm wrap around my shoulders and pull me back. Unfortunately, it’s not the arm I want to be wrapped around me. That arm is getting ready to throw the first snap of the game. And I’m gonna miss it because I’m down here getting ready to engage in my first-ever fist fight with Marcy. My blood is still boiling when Tucker’s smooth voice comes on the scene. I love him, and I love that he always wants to come to my defense and be my protector, but he is always sticking his nose in my business.

  “Now, now, ladies. What seems to be the trouble here?” he asks.

  Marcy huffs and crosses her arms over her chest, pushing her boobs up. “Your sister thinks she knows everything about Deacon Landry and can’t accept the fact that he wants me instead of her,” Marcy tells him.

  Shaking off Tucker’s arm, I turn and face him. “Marcy was telling her gaggle of groupies here that Deacon kissed her yesterday after practice, and I simply explained that she was lying through her teeth.”

  “Is that right?” Tucker’s grin grows wider. I know he loves this. He loves putting Marcy in her place and calling her out on her bullshit. There’s no love lost between my brother and Marcy Bernard. She can’t stand that he won’t worship at her feet like the majority of boys at French Settlement High School. She’s never been able to weasel her way in with Micah or Tucker, and she sure as hell has never succeeded with Deacon, which is why I feel the need to put her in her place.

  “Well, ladies,” he starts, focusing his attention on Marcy’s friends. “I’m sorry to say that your leader is, in fact, pullin’ your legs. You see, Deacon went home with us yesterday. And there was no kissin’ of any sort, except for when Micah and I were makin’ out with the Johnson sisters against the fence before we left.”

  “But—” Marcy tries to argue, but Tucker shuts her up by covering her mouth. I watch in satisfaction as her face turns six shades of red behind his hand and her eyes practically bug out of her head.

  “And, as for your insinuation that Cami likes Deacon as anything other than a friend, you couldn’t be more wrong. My little sister is way too good for a dumbass like Deacon Landry, and he knows he’d better stay away from her.” His eyes turn from the girls to me, and I watch as his stare turns into a glare. “Otherwise, I’ll have to kick his ass.”