Chapter 3
Celeste woke early as was her habit and saw it was morning. The sun was peeking over the mountains and for a split second, she almost expected to hear the coffee brewing as her father always did. She frowned. The coffee was brewing! She scrambled out of bed and grabbed her robe, throwing it over her and tying it as she was coming down the stairs.
She heard whistling coming from the kitchen. Last night flashed in her mind. Of course. Chris is here. Chris was in the kitchen flipping something yellow in the skillet. Her stomach growled when she smelled bacon and eggs. His glacier-blue eyes were bright. “Good mornin’. Care for a triple-flipped omelet?”
“You made breakfast.”
He grinned at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “’Course I made breakfast. I heated up the gravy last night. Biscuits are still soft. Coffee’s done.”
Celeste went over to the coffee pot and froze. He had set out a small bowl of sugar and a small creamer. There was already half the creamer gone. She nonchalantly glanced over to him and noticed the coffee mug next to him. She fixed herself a cup and tasted it. The coffee tasted fabulous. Either that, or it was because Chris was there, waiting.
“It’s great.”
“Thank you ma’am.” He flipped the omelet onto a plate. Celeste saw he had already fixed himself one. The biscuits and gravy were beside it. The same for her plate. She took hers and her coffee, shouldering the door into the dining room. She stopped and he nearly ran into her. “Oh, I set the table this mornin’.”
After she set her food down, she frowned at him. “What time did you get up this morning?” She had noticed him wearing a watch the day before.
“Oh, about five. Why?”
“That’s a little early.”
“Ever heard the phrase ‘go to bed with the chickens’?” At her head shake, he chuckled. “Get up with the rooster, go to bed when the chickens do.”
Celeste laughed. “I’m guessing you grew up on a farm.”
“Nothin’ wrong with that.”
“They have farms in New York. Way up north. But I’ve never been there.” She used her fork to cut off a piece and tasted it. It didn’t taste like the rubbery stuff she would get from the store. “Mm. Wow.” She closed her eyes, savoring the taste.
He didn’t say anything. She knew he was smiling, hearing the scratching of his fork on the plate. First the biscuits and gravy. Now this. Wonder if he’ll stay? That thought made her cough on her coffee.
“Don’t inhale, darlin’.” Her heart fluttered when he called her the term of endearment. She mentally chided herself for imagining living there with him. Her dreams came to an abrupt end when she heard him mention the breaker. “I’m gonna check on the breaker, see what I can do.”
“This morning?”
“Yeah. I’ll see about the electricity problem.”
Celeste’s shoulders fell slightly. Then he’ll leave. I’ll never see him again. She stiffened, remembering he was a professional. “So what will happen when the electricity comes back on?”
“There’s still that guy out there.” He said with a soft growl in his throat. Celeste chose that time to tell him about her strange elderly neighbor, Charles Manigault and meeting his Rottweilers. She paused in her story when she saw his eyes go stormy blue. “Why didn’t you tell me yesterday?”
“Only after the dogs hit the door and you said someone was out there who called the dogs off, did I remember. I’m sorry I didn’t mention it before.”
Celeste glanced over to Chris’s plate and saw it was half-empty as he took it back to the kitchen. Celeste had finished most of her omelet. She had lost her appetite as well. Abandoning her plate at the table, she started to head upstairs. She felt a firm hand on her shoulder.
“Celeste? I’d advise you to git out a shotgun or rifle from wherever you keep it. Put it by your bedroom. The ammunition, too. I’ll clean it for ya.”
“Thank you. You can’t call the police. There’s no electricity.”
“I know. Can’t you take your van?”
“I’ll try.” She followed him outside, and he stopped on the porch, swearing. Celeste peeked around his broad shoulder, and her heart sank. The dirt under the van was soaked and the air was filled with the smell of gasoline. “The bastard drained the gas.”
Celeste ducked around him and raced to her car. She groaned in frustration when she saw her car was drained as well. She slammed her fist on the hood and swore in what her father called sailor’s language. She heard Chris cough. She glanced up and saw something stuck in the front door. “Chris.”
He looked where she was looking. He pulled off the paper and Celeste nearly ran up the stairs. On it, written in flowing script, was You have until Friday to leave. Otherwise, if you don’t, I will make sure you never do.
Without saying anything, Celeste went inside and up the stairs. Where did Papa keep the rifles? Forgetting to get dressed for a moment, she went inside each bedroom, looking under the beds, pulling out each rifle, shotgun, and pistol she found. The boxes of ammunition were in the closets.
She heard Chris outside. Remembering he was still there, she opted for a tank top and shorts, wiping her brow from the humidity. I’ll be damned if someone takes my house away from me. My family home. Celeste carried the guns down the stairs and into the dining room, lining them against the walls like soldiers. When she went into the bedroom where Chris had slept, she paused to reflect how she had slept there in the same bed with her parents during a thunderstorm. Tears sprang to her eyes as she thought about the happy memories with her grandparents. To her, their spirits were there, with her on the property. She could feel an attachment to the place, like a cord tying her to it.
The creak of the stairs alerted her. She grabbed a pistol and whirled around, the muzzle coming to rest on Chris’s stomach. “Hey! It’s just me.”
“Sorry.” She lowered the weapon. “No electricity, no transportation, no nothing. We’re stuck here.”
“Yeah. And I can’t call anyone.”
“We can’t even use the rotary phone?”
“The line is cut. Seems like someone thought this out.”
Celeste felt cold anger creeping into her chest. “I’ll be damned if someone takes my family home away from me. Every generation except me has been born here in this house.” More tears came and she turned her head away, not wanting Chris to see her cry. His arms went around her, and she laid her head on his shoulder, the tears flowing.
She lifted her head and gasped a little as his mouth met hers. She stiffened, then relaxed. Taking that as a sign, his arms tightened around her, his mouth pressing more firmly. She wrapped her arms around his neck, tangling her fingers in his hair. Chris pressed her against his chest, she closed her eyes and buried her nose in his hair, inhaling the masculine musk. His hot breath was on her neck. She didn’t know how long they were like that. A noise outside alerted her. “Someone’s by the front door.” Her voice sounded like a whisper to her ears.
“Give me the gun. I’ll see who it is.”
Celeste realized she was still holding the pistol. She gave him the pistol and he held it, muzzle down. She crept forward, hearing the voices of Chris and another man. Her heart leaped when she saw it was an officer.
The officer noticed her. “Ma’am, this yer house?”
“Yes, it is. Someone’s cut our power and drained our cars of gas last night.”
“An’ ya didn’t hear nothin’?”
“No.”
“All right, I’ll talk to yer neighbor.” They thanked him and watched the officer walk away. Halfway to the car, several large shapes lunged out and tackled the officer. Celeste watched in horror as four Rottweilers cut off the officer’s screams when his throat was bitten.
“Inside. Get inside.” Chris pushed her through the front door. He slammed it and locked it, breathing heavily. Celeste felt a rush of panic mixed with anger. She realized her fingers were trembling and she knotted her fingers into fists.
“He’s not letting us leave.”
“Darlin’, he hasn’t killed us yet.”
“The-the note said, Friday, right? So if we try to send a message to someone-”
“How?” he demanded.
“I don’t know how!” she shouted at him. “I’ve never been in a situation where someone was trying to kill me with his dogs while I was locked up in my own house!”
“You’re from New York. Don’t they have stuff like this?”
“No. Usually if someone wants you dead, they kill you on the spot. They don’t drag it out. You grew up here.”
Chris licked his lips and frowned, thinking. “How many guns we got?”
“Guns? I didn’t count them. Functional weapons? Probably none.”
His mouth twitched. “And you said you haven’t cleaned them yet. Let’s get started.”
“Shouldn’t we tell someone about the dead police officer in the front yard?”
Chris’s blue eyes turned that stormy blue. “Who? Your neighbor? One is trying to kill you and the other neighbor is miles down the road. We’re not as close as you New Yorkers are. We’re more spread out. Not to mention, darlin’, there’s a madman with killer Rottweilers.”
Celeste threw up her hands as Chris marched past her into the dining room. She watched him as he took a .45 and broke it down into little pieces, his deft fingers placing the pieces in a strange order. When he was done cleaning, he put the gun back together, the pieces fitting like a puzzle.
He repeated the motions with the others and was finished by the time the sun was setting. Celeste abandoned her post by the threshold and went around lighting candles. I’ll be damned if I get killed in my own house. This was my family home, been in the family for generations. She wiped away the moisture in her eyes. I got to think of something.
She heard footsteps behind her. “What’cha thinkin’ ‘bout?” He asked softly.
“Nothing.”
“I’ve been thinkin’.”
“About?”
“What I said. If you cut across the back field, you can make it.”
Celeste turned around, facing him. “Back field? You said they were miles away, and besides, his dogs might get me. And I don’t plan on dying anytime soon.”
“Okay. Just a thought.”
“All right. Let’s get some dinner.”
Dinner was a quiet affair. Celeste didn’t have much of an appetite, and after picking at her food for twenty minutes, rose and said she was turning in. She took a quick shower and crawled under the covers, for once wishing her parents were alive. Her father would know what to do. He was a master marksman.
Sometime in the night, the covers lifted and Celeste felt a warm body next to hers. A warm hand found hers and squeezed it. In the darkness, Celeste smiled at the comforting touch.
The Watcher Page 3
