CLOSE TO THE HEART
Westen Series, Book 5
Suzanne Ferrell
Suzanne Ferrell Productions
Copyright © 2019 by Suzanne Ferrell
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
Acknowledgments
The Ferrell team always deserves a big thank you!
I’d like to think my cover artist, Lyndsey Lewellen of LLewellen Designs. Your covers are making the fictional town of Westen come alive!
And my editor, Jo Davis. Thanks for helping make this story the best it could be!
A special thank you to Jeanne and Cooper Adams for their knowledge of baseball tryouts! #BoysOfSummer fans!
Author’s note
Dear Reader,
Thank you so much for trying my Indie published book. I understand that there are many options for you to spend your money on and am honored that you chose one of my books. For that reason my team and I strive to put out the best product we can from the awesome cover design through the entire editing and formatting process. For my part, I hope to deliver an entertaining story that keeps you wondering what’s going to happen next.
If at the end of this book you find you simply loved the story and characters, please consider giving it a positive rating or review. In this brave new book world, the only way for a good story to find its way into the hands of other readers is if the people who loved it let others know about it. We authors appreciate any little bit of help you can give us.
If, when you reach the end of this story, you think, “Wow, I’d love to know what’s next in Suzanne’s world of characters,” then consider joining my newsletter mailing list. I only send out newsletters a few times a year, plus extra ones in anticipation of any new releases, so it won’t be flooding your inbox on a weekly basis, but will keep you abreast on any changes I may have coming.
Also, I love to hear from readers. If you have any questions or comments, or just want to say “hi”, please feel free to visit my webpage for some extra tidbits or check out my Pinterest boards. You can connect with me via Facebook, Twitter or through my email: [email protected]
Now the important part: Here’s Daniel and Melissa’s story. I hope you will love them as much as I did while writing Close To The Heart.
Suzanne
Dedication
For Aria, writer and book lover.
One of the nicest people I’ve ever known, with a wonderful sense of humor and the kindest of hearts.
Love you, Grandma Suzy
Contents
Acknowledgments
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
Epilogue
Newsletter sign-up
Afterword
About the Author
Also by Suzanne Ferrell
1
A death trap waiting to happen.
Daniel Löwe stood in the living room of the ranch-style farmhouse and surveyed the chaos all around him, his anger growing with every passing second.
Pizza boxes and Styrofoam takeout cartons strewn all over the tables, furniture, and floors. Half-eaten food still in some, not to mention the bags of chips and junk food wrappers everywhere. Clothes, papers, beer cans and empty wine bottles littered the remaining space. Ashtrays full of ashes, cigarettes and doobie ends added to the place’s ambiance. The smell stank of old weed and body fluids, enough to gage him.
He’d seen enough episodes of reality hoarder shows to know that under the debris probably lived a colony of cockroaches, possibly mice or rats, and enough of their fecal mater to condemn the place.
The thing that set this place apart from all those shows was the drug paraphernalia lying around in the clutter. Burnt candle stubs and lighters used to heat the drug from a paste to a liquid. Stainless steel spoons with burn rings and latent crystals clinging to them, evidence of cooking the drugs. And discarded syringes and needles, probably contaminated with frequent use.
His hands curled into fists.
It was a wonder Lexie hadn’t become injured or contracted hepatitis or AIDS from living in this place. One accidental puncture wound from these things and she could’ve been doomed.
A firm hand clamped down on his shoulder.
“Don’t think about it, Daniel,” his boss, Sheriff Gage Justice said from behind him as if reading his mind. “Lexie is safe at the Westen House thanks to you.”
Daniel shook his head. “Doesn’t change the fact her mother had this filth around her, even abandoned her alone here.”
“True.” Gage moved past him further into the mess to check out the kitchen. “But our priority here today is to take pictures of the situation, so Libby Reynolds can use them in court next week to get legal custody of her for the State.”
Libby, the county social worker wanted all the evidence she could get to assure the little girl was safely removed from her mother’s custody. It had taken nearly a month to get back out here after the blizzard and subsequent snowstorms had put anything but emergency services on the Sheriff’s radar. Now that the first good thaw made roads passable, Gage had shifted Lexie’s situation to the top of the heap.
“Once she gets custody, what happens to Lexie?” Daniel asked, lifting the camera and clicking off some pictures.
“That’s going to be up to Judge Rawlins. More than likely she’ll go into foster care.”
That gave Daniel pause. “She should stay with Melissa Davis at Westen House. She’s happy there.”
“I’m not arguing with you. Problem is the town council set Westen House up as a half-way house for troubled teens, not foster kids. Lexie’s only six. Not quite an appropriate place for her.”
Daniel fanned one hand out over the disastrous, health-hazard. “It’s way more appropriate than this place.”
“Again, not arguing,” Gage said, heading to the front door. “First, we get pictures and evidence, then we get custody, and after that we find the best place for the little girl. Speaking of evidence, the crime lab people from Columbus should be here by now. I’d better go out and track them down.”
Once again left alone in the house, Daniel forced his ire into the background and focused on getting as many pictures of the place as possible. Gage was right, getting custody away from Lexie’s mother, Rose Cochran, as quick as possible was the most important thing.
Satisfied he had enough images of every angle in the living room, kitchen, and equally nasty bathroom, he headed to Lexie’s bedroom in the back. He stopped in the doorway of the only neat room in the house remembering the last time he’d been here.
The toys on the shelf were stored neatly. The dresser top had a stuffed animal and a book on top. The floor was neatly picked up. He moved his flashlight to the bedside table. It had a lamp and a book. Then he scanned the bed. At first, he thought it was just a pile of
blankets.
Then the pile moved.
Shit!
He moved the flashlight towards the head of the bed. The pile of blankets moved again and little fingers moved the edge of the covers. He stared into huge dark blue eyes in a pale oval face.
“It’s okay, Lexie. It’s Deputy Daniel from the Sheriff’s department. I’m here to help you and your mom.” As soon as he said it, he had to wonder where her mother was. Could she be in the basement? Injured? She certainly wasn’t anywhere on the main floor.
Didn’t matter at the moment. Right now he needed to get inside to that little girl before she froze to death.
Moving as fast as the deep snow would let him, he headed back to the front door. He paused for a moment to catch his breath and slow his heartrate.
A faint sound came from northeast of the house. The motor of a snowmobile. Cleetus was on his way. Not waiting for the big man, Daniel tried the knob again. Still locked. He took a step back, turned slightly then rammed his left shoulder into the door. The wood around the jamb was old and splintered under the force of his weight. The door slammed back against the wall.
He shook off the snow and stamped his feet out of habit, then hurried through the clutter and debris straight back to Lexie’s room. Careful not to scare her, he slowly opened her door. “Lexie, it’s Deputy Dan again. Remember me? I helped at the school safety program in the fall.” Thank God, he had, maybe she’d remember him.
He moved further into the only clean place in the house. “Lexie, honey can you hear me?”
Slowly, like a little bear coming out of hibernation, she moved the covers down off her head. Her lips trembled and her body shook. She appeared to be about five or six. “Where’s…mama? Did…she…bring…you?” she said between shivers.
“Your mama’s not with me, sweetie,” he said, coming over to squat in front of the bed.
Removing his glove from one hand, he stroked her head and her cheek. Her skin was cold. Gripping her hand in his, he warmed her little fingers with his body heat. He prayed she hadn’t gotten frostbite.
“When was the last time you saw your mama?” he asked, counting the blankets on the bed. There were five quilts piled on top of her. Smart girl.
“Before the snow started falling.”
And at that moment, Daniel’s heart broke for the little girl. And his need to punish her mother for her actions became a palpable thing.
What if he hadn’t come by that day? It had already been twenty-four hours after the blizzard started when he found her alone in the house, buried under her covers for warmth. If another day had passed, he might’ve found her frozen, dead.
A wave of nausea hit him. He doubled over his knees, inhaling deeply and slowly exhaled waiting for the sick feeling to go away. As it did, anger filled its spot.
After several minutes, he straightened and took a few more photos of Lexie’s room before entering. The neatly organized room with its cheerful colors—mostly from the many drawings the little girl had hung to decorate her walls—gave him a sense of peace. It was such a contrast to the rest of the place. What stuffed animals she had were lined up on the top of a bookshelf in one straight line. On the shelf below, was a row of books.
Squatting down, he studied them. First there were picture books. Then came those Little Golden Books and Dr. Seuss books her remembered reading when he was a kid. All were arranged in their respective groups. Suddenly, the level of reading jumped to chapter books, some with pictures in them, some without. All were well-read with the corners of the covers rounded and frayed, like Lexie had read them over and over. Or had her mother simply picked them up at a used bookstore?
Another book rested on the bedside table. He crossed the room, removed his latex-free gloves and picked up the book. It looked newer than the others, not quite so over-read.
A picture stuck out of the pages about one-third of the way from the beginning as if Lexie was using it as a bookmark. He opened to the spot. A younger Lexie—maybe three—an elderly lady and a thirty-ish woman with hair the same color as Lexie’s smiled at him.
Rose Cochran in happier days.
Was the elderly lady Lexie’s grandmother? The one who’d knitted the pink socks he’d used to protect the little girl’s hands and feet from the cold the day he’d rescued her? If so, was she still alive? And where was she?
The questions weighing heavily on him, he closed the book, leaving the picture where Lexie had marked her place, and read the title.
The Never Girls #1: In A Blink by Kiki Thorpe.
He flipped it over to read the back and smiled. A story about four girls being whisked off to Neverland to have their own adventure.
So much for the Lost Boys. Lexie liked books about girl adventurers. And why not? Given the condition of her living environment, he understood Lexie needing to escape it into the imaginary world of books.
He slipped the book into his coat pocket and headed back to the front room to leave the evidence collection to the lab techs. In his opinion there wasn’t much salvageable in the place, it should all go to the dump. Even Lexie’s clothes, which appeared as thread-bare as the ones he’d found her in. But he could give her back her book to find some comfort.
The bus will be here in five minutes. Don’t forget your lunches!” Melissa Davis called to the four young men stomping around overhead.
They sound like a heard of elephants.
She smiled. She wouldn’t want it any other way. They were acting like normal teenage boys. Loud, active, rushing towards their day and their futures. So different from the sullen, wary teens who’d been living in the house when she’d taken over as in-residence foster mom last fall.
Part of the problem had been their backgrounds. Each had various levels of abuse, neglect and run-ins with the law. The other problem had been Todd Banyon, the man who’d previously run Westen House, and died in a horrific fire he’d started.
It had taken her a few weeks to find her way with the boys, but she had two things going for her. First, a belief that each person was worthy of respect. Respect from others and respect for themselves. Something she was learning as well with her weekly counseling sessions and meeting with other survivors of domestic abuse.
The second thing easing her into her new role was her love of baking. After making her mother’s ginger snap recipe one afternoon, two of the boys had tentatively joined her in the kitchen for an after-school snack. They talked about school, cracked jokes on each other and gave her a little look into their personalities. She’d learned something that day. Boys were more willing to talk when you fed them.
Maybe that’s where the old adage, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, came from?
Too bad it hadn’t worked on her ex-husband, Frank Compton. Of course that adage assumed the man actually had a heart to begin with, which Melissa could attest wasn’t true of Frank. The man was a monster, incapable of loving anyone. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He could love someone, as long as that someone was Frank Compton.
Feet pounded down the stairs. She turned to see three of her four boys hurry through the kitchen towards the counter where the sack lunches she’d packed for them sat.
“Thanks Miss. D. See ya, Shrimp,” Bryan said, patting the little girl seated at the counter, eating her waffles, on the head as he passed by.
“Love PB and J day, Miss. D,” Colt said, snatching both his lunch and a berry from Lexie’s plate with a grin.
“You ate yours already,” the little girl said with a pout.
“Still hungry, Shrimp,” he said and followed Bryan through the backdoor.
“Hey, Shrimp, you gotta eat faster,” Trent said, as he too stole a berry then grabbed his lunch. “Thanks, Ms. D. Geoff! Get a move on it! Bus is pulling up,” he yelled up the stairs and dashed for the door.
“Tell Mr. Mike to hold on a second,” Geoffrey yelled as he ran down the steps, snagged a lunch and darted out the door.
Melissa followed him onto the porch. “You g
oing to be here for dinner tonight, Geoffrey?” she yelled as the tall, lanky brunette reached the bus just behind the others.
He turned and shrugged. “Depends on if Joe and I finish the paint job at that new quilt store in town.”
“Get a seat, Hamilton,” Mike Karkosak, the fifty-ish bus driver said to him and waved out the open bus door to Melissa. “Got six more stops yet. Can’t have you making everyone else late.”
Melissa turned from the door to find Lexie holding her head in one hand and staring at her food with her lips pressed tightly together. In the month the little girl had been living at Westen House, this was the first time Melissa had seen her angry.
Picking up her mug of hot spiced tea, she sat in the chair across from the little girl. “Did that waffle do something to make you mad at it?”
Lexie shook her head.
“So, the berries must have done something wrong?”
Again, Lexie just shook her head, this time her lips relaxing a bit.
“Well, that settles it. The milk must be the problem.”
Without lifting her head, Lexie looked up through her lashes at Melissa and shook her head, her lips fighting the urge to lift in a smile. “Food can’t make you mad.”
“Sure it can. If someone burns it, your food can make you mad.”
“No, the person who burnt it makes you mad.”
Melissa took a long drink of her tea before continuing. “What if the food is too salty or too sour to eat? That can make you mad.”
Close To The Heart (Westen Series Book 5) Page 1
