Betrayed Birthright. Liz Shoaf

      Noah motioned Cooper to the back of his squad car and reminded himself that his deputy was new at the job. The eagerness shining out of Cooper’s eyes reminded Noah of himself many years ago, before disillusionment set in.

      Before he had a chance to put his plans into motion, a woman came careening down the front porch steps. He gauged her to be about five foot three, a little over a hundred pounds with long, soft-looking blond hair. Her eyes were rounded and her mouth formed a grim line. Dressed in pajamas decorated with big pink hearts, she yelled while pointing toward the side of the house.

      “He fled through the kitchen door when he heard your sirens. You’ll have to hurry if you want to catch him.” Her breath came out in short gasps.

      Noah nodded at his deputy. “Go ahead, Coop.”

      “Yes, sir.” Coop gave a crisp salute.

      He doubted the perpetrator was still in the area—the only reason Noah allowed Cooper to go after him. Keeping a close eye on the dog that had accompanied the woman outside—and the pistol that looked much too comfortable in her hand for his peace of mind—Noah made a closer assessment of the woman shivering in front of him. He estimated her to be in her midtwenties and her eyes were dark brown. Peering deep into those eyes, he recognized courage overlapping the fear.

      He shook off those fanciful thoughts. Though he’d heard the church had hired a new choir director, they’d never met. “Sheriff Galloway, ma’am. Maybe we should take this inside. The perpetrator has likely fled, but we don’t know that for sure.”

      She glanced around, as if coming out of shock. The neighbors’ lights had started blinking on and he knew people would soon be in the street demanding to know what was happening.

      “Where are my manners? Yes. Please come in.”

      Thinking she might be a little shaky from the ordeal, Noah placed his hand on her elbow but immediately released her when the dog gave a low warning growl. The animal’s posture and demeanor indicated intensive training. This wasn’t just a pet. The animal looked like a Belgian Malinois, a dog widely used by both the military and police. It sported a short, light brown coat and black covered its face. And why does a church choir director need a trained attack dog?

      “Control your dog, ma’am, and please hand me the pistol.”

      She blushed and he couldn’t help but notice that the pink in her cheeks matched the hearts on her pajamas.

      “I’m so sorry. Bates is a little protective,” she said, but after a moment she straightened her shoulders and looked him in the eye with a glint of determination. “No, I’m not sorry. My dog did his job tonight. He protected me.”

      His second impression of the woman reminded him of a soft Southern belle with some feistiness thrown in. Interesting combination. Noah glanced between the woman and the animal. “I take it he’s trained. Give him the release command and he’ll back off.”

      The petite woman faced her dog. “Time to be nice, Bates, baby. Sheriff Galloway is a friend.”

      His incredulity at her choice of command must have shown on his face when she turned around. Hands propped on her tiny waist, she lifted her chin a notch. “What?”

      He swallowed an appalled retort. “Nothing.” He would have used a more common “off” or “back” command, but that was her business.

      He glanced at the front door. “We should go inside. Let me make sure the house is clear.”

      She dutifully handed him her weapon. “I have a concealed-carry permit.” She sounded as if she was just waiting for him to ask to see it. When he stayed silent, she gave him a sweet, tentative smile, and his protective instincts flared to life.

      “And there’s no need to check the house. Bates would alert me if even a mouse dared to invade his territory.”

      “That may be true, but I still need to check the point of entry.”

      The dog had disappeared, but met them when they stepped into the house and moved to the kitchen through which she claimed the assailant had fled. Based on the broken glass pane, it was obvious how the intruder had entered the premises. The ground outside was dry and there were only slight impressions of shoes on the grass. Not enough for a print.

      “That windowpane will have to be replaced and you need a dead bolt on this door.”

      “I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”

      The window would be repaired before he left, but for the moment, he nodded and she led the way to the living room. Outside, the house reflected a Victorian style, and this room was decorated in the same theme. Shelves filled with picture frames lined one wall. They contained photos of children of all ages. A beautiful black, antique-looking baby grand piano was showcased in the room.

      As she sat down on a love seat, she smiled and stared, a fond look on her face, at the photographs. “Those are past and present students. I teach piano lessons in my spare time. I’m also the choir director at the local—the only—church in Blessing.”

      He sat on the couch across from her and stifled his protective urges. He knew nothing about this woman. She had moved to Blessing eight months ago, but he hadn’t been to church since his wife died two years earlier.

      “Ma’am, describe the break-in. Anything you can remember.” She looked so innocent sitting there, her feet tucked under her and her shoulder-length hair slightly mussed. But he knew looks could be deceiving. He’d learned that during his five-year tenure with the FBI before moving back to Blessing to run for sheriff.

      “I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Abby Mayfield.”

      Surprisingly, she was very detailed in her account of events. Almost as if she she’d done this before. Suspicious now, he asked the normal questions, but his gut screamed that there was much more to Abby Mayfield than met the eye.

      “Do you keep valuables in the house? Anything that might tempt a burglar?” Statistics showed that most thieves broke into empty homes when people were out of town. Not when they were asleep in bed. The perpetrator had a bigger chance of getting caught if people were in the house.

      Fiddling with a string on the bottom of her pajama top, she bit her lip, as if debating how much to tell. Noah leaned forward, placing his elbows on his thighs. “Ms. Mayfield—Abby—I can’t help you if you don’t come clean with me.”

      Her chin notched up and he was momentarily pulled into the deep pools of her dark brown eyes. He pulled back, refusing to go there. He had responsibilities now. A motherless, six-year-old son. Ms. Mayfield might appear as harmless as a newly unfurled flower, but he reminded himself again that looks could be deceiving.

      The dog settled at her feet, placing himself solidly between the two of them. She leaned down and rubbed his head.

      “I guess I have to trust someone and you look dependable enough.”

      He kept his expression all business when she lifted her eyes, as if she was assessing his trustworthiness.

      Releasing a sigh, she sat up straight. “I moved to Blessing, Texas, eight months ago because there were several incidents where I lived in North Carolina.” He didn’t miss the slight tremor in her voice. “There were two break-ins at my home, but praise the Lord, I had a high-quality alarm system. There was also—” she placed her hand on the dog’s head again, as if for reassurance “—a car that I’m pretty sure tried to run me down, but nothing that could be proven.”

      Noah made notes on the pad he had pulled out of his shirt pocket. “Did you report the incidents to the local police?”

      She nodded. “I sure did. They were very nice and did a thorough investigation. They questioned my coworkers at church, along with all my music students’ parents. They found nothing.” Her expression turned quizzical. “It’s the craziest thing ever. I don’t have one enemy that I know of, and it’s not as if I own anything valuable. I’m a choir director and