Watch Over (The DeLuca Family Book 1)
Page 1
Table of Contents
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
Epilogue
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Watch Over
By Amy Reece
Watch Over
Copyright © 2017 by Amy Reece.
All rights reserved.
First Print Edition: July 2017
Limitless Publishing, LLC
Kailua, HI 96734
www.limitlesspublishing.com
Formatting: Limitless Publishing
ISBN-13: 978-1-64034-146-3
ISBN-10: 1-64034-146-3
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
This one is for all my fellow introverts who know how much energy it takes to interact with actual living people. Dogs are so much easier.
Table of Contents
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
Epilogue
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Chapter One
Melanie
It was the cat’s fault. She certainly never would have gotten involved if it hadn’t appeared in her life, much preferring to keep to herself and mind her own business. She wasn’t even a cat person, for heaven’s sake! She wasn’t much of a dog person, either, but now she had one of each, apparently. Fluff had belonged to Aunt Karen, and Melanie had made a deathbed promise to take care of the small white mutt. Who else would understand Fluff needed his food heated for exactly eight seconds in the microwave and would only eat from the Blue Willow dishes? Of course Melanie had promised to continue to care for the elderly little mop. Sigh.
As for the cat, she’d seen the paw prints first. She was rinsing her dishes in the sink and noticing how much dust had accumulated on the bay windowsill when she frowned and leaned in for a closer look. There was definitely a trail of small animal prints in the thick dust and what looked like a butt print where something had sat and stared out the kitchen window. What the…? Melanie glanced across the room at Fluff, curled up in his little bed, and shook her head. “Some guard dog you’ve turned out to be.”
The cat itself showed up the night after Aunt Karen’s funeral. It must have come in through the doggy door, but Melanie was too busy crying to notice. She’d held herself together all day long through the funeral and reception at the church, and was finally able to allow her emotions free rein. It scared the crap out of her when the cat jumped on the table and began purring and rubbing its furry little face against hers, as if trying to cheer her up.
She picked up the chair she’d knocked over and sat down to pet the ginger cat, who sat on the kitchen table staring at her. “Where in the world did you come from?” There was no collar. “You look like you’ve been through the ringer.” The cat had a torn ear and rough coat. She found a can of tuna in the pantry and added a small bowl of milk beside it as the cat made short work of the meal before leaping back on the kitchen table to lick its paws.
“Make yourself at home,” Melanie muttered as she put the cat’s dishes in the dishwasher. “Doesn’t this bother you at all? This cat just waltzed into your home and took over.” She addressed the words to Fluff, who continued to snore in his little blue bed. “Apparently not.”
She put it out before she retired for the night, but it was sleeping on the end of her bed the next morning. It left soon after breakfast, but returned later that night and every night for the next week. She started calling him Cooper, and finally broke down and bought him a blue collar and heart-shaped nametag. She’d made a vet appointment for him too, but they couldn’t get him in until next week.
The note was attached to his new collar; she felt it when she pulled him on her lap as they settled in to watch Wheel of Fortune the next day. She didn’t really care for the game show, but it had become a habit when Aunt Karen was still alive and she’d continued to watch for some reason. “What’s this?” She unfolded the small piece of notebook paper, Pat Sajak forgotten for the moment.
Dear Nice Lady,
I love my new collar and ID tag. Thanks for taking such good care of me and giving me a warm place to sleep every night. The nice man two doors down is writing this note for me on account of my not having opposable thumbs. He noticed me leaving your house this morning. He’s a pretty nice guy and I’ve been spending my mornings with him recently. I especially enjoy helping him read his newspaper. I like to lie on it and make sure it doesn’t get away, which is a very important job, let me assure you. Every once in a while I take a bite out of one of the pages if I dislike what is written there. This morning I felt compelled to bite the sports page when the man read the score from the Astros/Braves game and said a naughty word. I wanted to express my solidarity with him in his disappointment over the Astros’ loss.
It is with some regret that I have to inform you that, while I like the color blue, I am definitely a female and feel the name “Cooper” may be a bit masculine. The nice man calls me CJ. What do you think about it? I like it a lot.
Sincerely,
CJ Catson
“What in the world?” She re-read the note and laughed softly at the way he’d written from the cat’s perspective. She bit her lip as she realized who the author must be. Two doors down to the left was an elderly widow, so it had to be the young guy two doors to the right, who’d moved in about six months ago. She’d only seen him from a distance, but she could tell he was good-looking: tall, dark hair, well built. He was a police officer—she’d caught glimpses of him in his uniform and he often parked his police car in his driveway—but he’d been gone for several months. She’d wondered if he moved or something. Actually, her writer’s imagination had dreamed up all sorts of scenarios that included him being deep undercover in a drug ring or organized crime syndicate. She’d seen several different young women coming and going when he was still there and figured he must be something of a ladies’ man. Should she respond to the note? What could possibly come of this? She shook her head and reached for a piece of stationary. Why should anything come of it? She would simply write back and tha
t would be the end of it. She thought for a few minutes, then wrote quickly and folded it up before she could reconsider.
There. He could respond or not. It was totally up to him.
***
Finn
Finn grinned and set the binoculars aside as he waited for the cat to arrive through the doggy door the previous residents had installed. He’d left it in place, thinking he might someday want a dog of his own. He realized the binoculars bordered on stalkerish, but a guy could only take so much daytime television. He wheeled his chair to the kitchen table and reached for his morning newspaper, pointedly ignoring the prescription pain medication sitting on the wooden lazy Susan. Tough it out, big guy! He was desperately afraid of getting hooked, so he only took them when the pain was unbearable. Instead, he popped two Tylenol and gritted his teeth.
“Mrow.”
“Morning, CJ.” Finn greeted his part-time pet as she leaped to the table and took up her usual position right in the middle of the sports page. “What have you got for me?” He’d watched through the binoculars as the cute girl two doors down had checked the note fastened to the cat’s collar before putting her down on the porch. Not that he was interested or anything. He’d simply noticed she was cute. What red-blooded guy wouldn’t? Thanks to the accident, he was in no fit state to start anything with anyone, no matter how attractive. Nor was he inclined. Tatiana had seen to that.
He unfolded the small scrap of pink paper and smoothed it on the tabletop.
Dear Nice Man,
The nice lady is shocked. It took her quite a while to even speak to me again. She thought I only visited her and was surprised to hear I spend the day with you. I told her it wasn’t at all personal; I just have a big personality and feel I must share it with all my fans. What would you and Nice Lady do without the privilege of feeding and housing me? I hope you both realize how lucky you are.
Now don’t be cranky, but Nice Lady doubts your assessment of my gender. She wants to know how you can tell. She also wants to know what CJ stands for.
Sincerely,
Cooper Catson
P.S. Nice Lady hopes you have a nice day.
He chuckled aloud, startling the cat. “Is she as feisty as this note makes her sound?”
The cat stared at him, but didn’t answer. She returned to her grooming, licking her paw and wiping it across her torn ear.
“Nothing? Come on! Give a guy a break. She sits in that house all day and I can’t tell what she does. I don’t see a boyfriend—or a girlfriend, for that matter. What’s her story?” He backed his wheelchair away from the kitchen table and found some more notebook paper in his desk. He chewed on the end of his pen while he tried to decide what to write. He heard a key in the front door, but most of his attention was devoted to writing the note.
“Hey, Finn. How are you feeling this morning?” His sister, Cara, leaned down to kiss his head before setting the grocery bags she carried on the counter.
“Like I got hit by a car. Did you remember to get milk?” He didn’t look up from the note.
“Hilarious, really. And yes, I got milk. Did you eat anything for breakfast yet? You shouldn’t take your pain meds on an empty stomach.” She popped two pieces of bread in the toaster as she spoke.
Finn dropped the pen and wheeled away from the table, heading into the living room.
“Where are you going?” Cara called.
“I’m looking for Mom. I hear so much nagging I’m sure she must be around here somewhere.”
“Ooh, you’re in a sassy mood this morning. Get your busted up ass over here and eat something.” She set a plate of toast and a glass of orange juice in front of him as he returned to the table. “Since when do you have a cat?” She scooped the feline into her arms.
“She’s just visiting. Thanks for breakfast, sis. And for picking up the groceries.”
“No problem. Mom’s still freaking out about you being here by yourself. She’s sure you’re going to starve to death or fall out of your wheelchair. Oh, you’re a sweet kitty. Yes, you are,” she crooned to the cat in her arms. CJ was lapping it up, rubbing her face against Cara’s chin.
“Mom worries too much. I’ll be fine. I love her to death, but she was starting to drive me nuts.” He’d been staying with his parents since he was released from the rehab center, but had needed to return to his own home for his mental health. His parents were great, but the hovering was starting to get to him. He’d staged a rebellion and insisted on returning to his own house three days ago. His parents and siblings were taking turns stopping by with groceries and to do the various housekeeping chores he wasn’t able to manage yet. Well, that’s what his mom and sisters did. His dad and brothers were more likely to bring a pizza and a six-pack.
“Whatcha writing?” Cara leaned over his shoulder.
“Nosy much? It’s a note to CJ’s owner.”
She snatched up the note. “CJ? Her tag says Cooper. Nice Lady? You don’t know her owner’s name?”
Finn sighed and ran his hand over his jaw, realizing he badly needed a shave. Personal hygiene was something of a challenge when he was stuck in a wheelchair. “God, Cara. Stop talking for two seconds and I’ll answer your infernal questions. And give me back my note.”
“Don’t pay attention to the nasty-tempered man, Kitty. He’s just cranky because he’s hurting and won’t take his pain pills.”
Not much got by his sharp-eyed sister. “Yeah, well, I don’t want to get through all this just to end up a junkie. Tylenol is fine. Now do you want to hear the story or are you going to keep harassing me?”
“I’m done harassing you. For the moment.” She handed him back the sheet of paper.
He reluctantly chuckled and told his sister how the cat had shown up on his second morning home, slipping in the front door when he’d opened it for the mailman, who was kind enough to hand Finn his newspaper and mail when he delivered a package and realized his customer was in a wheelchair. He’d promised to keep it up until Finn could manage for himself. The cat had since discovered the dog door and now made daily use of it. “She showed up with the brand-new collar and tag yesterday. I sent a note back, attached to the collar, letting the owner know the cat’s female and I call her CJ.” He handed her the note he’d received in return.
Cara read it, smiling. “She sounds fun. Do you have any idea which neighbor it is?”
“Two doors down on the left.” He winced as he realized he’d given too much information. Damn. He’d never been able to keep anything from Cara.
“How do you—oooh!” She’d spied the binoculars. “How Jimmy Stewart of you, Finn!” She leapt out of her chair, released the cat, and danced into the living room to grab them up. “So, has anyone murdered his wife and chopped her into tiny pieces?”
“Not as far as I can tell, but the old lady across the street has been digging in her flower beds, so maybe there’s hope.”
Cara laughed. “I thought you were crazy when you bought a house in this senior citizen neighborhood, but maybe it’s more exciting than I expected.” She peered out the window through the binoculars for a few moments. “I can’t see any sign of Nice Lady.”
Finn had bought the house six months ago when his former partner’s wife, a real estate agent, had told him what a great deal it was. Small, neat, with a gorgeous yard and old, established trees, the one-story brick house was perfect for a single guy who was tired of throwing away money on rent. The older, quiet neighborhood appealed to him and he’d had visions of settling down and starting a family. He was twenty-nine and it was starting to feel like the right thing to do. He’d been on the verge of asking his girlfriend to move in, had actually been thinking about it during his run that morning nearly three months before. It was the last thing he’d thought about until he woke up ten days later in the hospital. “She doesn’t poke her nose out very often. I’ve only seen her a couple times.”
“Well, maybe Miss CJ will help you meet her and a few more of your neighbors. Who knows?”
/>
“Yeah, who knows?” But he only said it to shut Cara up.
Chapter Two
Melanie
Dear Nice Lady,
Nice Man says you should never doubt him, at least when it comes to pets. He says he and his five siblings had every possible pet known to man when they were growing up, including a piglet. The sure-fire way to tell I am indeed a girl is to 1) lift my tail. Go ahead. I’ll get over the indignity eventually. 2) The opening just under the tail is the anus. Below the anus is the genital opening, which is round in males, and is a vertical slit in females. See? Mine is quite vertical, isn’t it? Therefore, I am a girl. The nice man wants me to assure you he is not really an insufferable know-it-all and is willing to call me Cooper if it’s important to you.
On the off chance you’re not terribly attached to the name Cooper, CJ stands for Calamity Jane. He won’t tell me why he calls me that and I am quite irritated with him. I certainly hope you will have the courtesy to explain his rude laughter. I don’t like when people have fun at my expense. I am twitching my tail at him as he writes. I may have to bite him. I’ll let you know.
Sincerely,
CJ/Cooper Catson
P.S. Nice Man hopes you have a nice day too.
Melanie chuckled and kissed the cat’s head. “Well, Cooper, it appears he has a sense of humor. I wonder what his name is?” She had no intention of actually finding out, of course. That wasn’t an option. No, she’d stay in her aunt’s house—hers now, she supposed, although it didn’t seem real yet—and mind her own business. She wasn’t a hermit by any stretch, but she worked from home and preferred to keep to herself in her leisure hours. There weren’t many of those between her graphic design clients and her writing, but she had a very limited social circle and she liked it that way. She wasn’t good with people she didn’t know.