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The Protector's Promise
Shirlee McCoy
Who could want to hurt a little girl in a pink princess dress?Grayson Sinclair vows to find out who's after his widowed neighbor and her child. Without getting emotionally involved. Family life isn't for him, but he won't let some deranged person destroy the lovely home Honor Milone has made for her daughter.From strange "gifts" left on her doorstep to attempted murder, someone means deadly business. Grayson promises to protect Honor and the little girl who sneakily stole his heart. Just in time. For the threat is closer to home than anyone realizes.
“Do you think the sheriff has found anything?”
Honor’s voice was calm, without the anxiety he’d seen in her eyes.
“If he has, he’ll let us know,” Grayson replied.
“Hopefully soon. The girls are scared. I want to be able to tell them everything will be okay.”
“Who will tell you that, Honor?”
She met his eyes. “I’m an adult. I don’t need anyone to.” She stepped out into the cold, cutting off their conversation.
Grayson followed, tensing when he saw the sheriff’s grim expression. He’d found something.
“Ms. Malone, can you come with me, please?”
Honor walked toward the sheriff, aware of Grayson’s gaze as she did so. His intense focus was as warm as a physical caress, tempting her to reach back, take his hand, allow the support he’d offered.
She wouldn’t.
Not even for tonight.
She wouldn’t allow herself to depend on him. That could only lead to heartache.
SHIRLEE MCCOY
has always loved making up stories. As a child, she daydreamed elaborate tales in which she was the heroine—gutsy, strong and invincible. Though she soon grew out of her superhero fantasies, her love for storytelling never diminished. She knew early that she wanted to write inspirational fiction, and began writing her first novel when she was a teenager. Still, it wasn’t until her third son was born that she truly began pursuing her dream of being published. Three years later she sold her first book. Now a busy mother of four, Shirlee is a homeschool mom by day and an inspirational author by night. She and her husband and children live in Washington State and share their house with a dog and a guinea pig. You can visit her Web site at www.shirleemccoy.com.
The Protector’s Promise
Shirlee McCoy
For when your faith is tested, your endurance
has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when
your endurance is fully developed, you will be
strong in character and ready for anything.
—James 1:3–4
To Sara. The darker the night,
the more beautiful the sunrise.
And in loving memory of Willetta Ruth Pothier
who once told me that I had capable hands.
I didn’t understand then. I do now. May I prove
to be as capable of sacrifice, of service
and of love as she was.
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
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
ONE
Something woke Honor Malone from deep sleep, the scratchy scrape of it pulling her from dreams of the green hills and cool mists of her native Ireland. She lay silent for a moment, listening to the old bungalow settling and to the quiet whisper of her daughter’s breath. Neither was the thing that had woken her. Something else had dragged her from peaceful sleep. She sat up, her heart pounding, her mind racing with images she’d rather forget—a dark shadow, a knife, blood.
The past, she reminded herself. That was in the past, now.
She was in a new home in a new neighborhood. There was nothing to be afraid of. No way that the ugliness that had touched her life could have followed her from St. Louis. She probed the shadows anyway, searching the room for anything out of place. Moving boxes stood against one wall waiting to be unpacked. Her nurse’s uniform hung from a hook on the closed bedroom door. Outside, the wind howled, pushing through the cracks in the house’s old windowpanes and leaving the air in the room chilly and damp.
Honor shoved aside the heavy quilt her mother had sent as a housewarming gift and stood shivering in her flannel pajamas. Her daughter lay in the bed across the room, and Honor went to her, wanting to assure herself that the four-year-old was okay. Lily lay on her side, sleeping deeply. Safe. Cocooned in blankets and sheets. Just as she should be.
A soft scraping sound froze Honor in place, the noise discordant against the backdrop of wind. Scrape. Tap. Scrape. Like a stick scratching against the window.
Or a knife.
Shirlee McCoy
Who could want to hurt a little girl in a pink princess dress?Grayson Sinclair vows to find out who's after his widowed neighbor and her child. Without getting emotionally involved. Family life isn't for him, but he won't let some deranged person destroy the lovely home Honor Milone has made for her daughter.From strange "gifts" left on her doorstep to attempted murder, someone means deadly business. Grayson promises to protect Honor and the little girl who sneakily stole his heart. Just in time. For the threat is closer to home than anyone realizes.
“Do you think the sheriff has found anything?”
Honor’s voice was calm, without the anxiety he’d seen in her eyes.
“If he has, he’ll let us know,” Grayson replied.
“Hopefully soon. The girls are scared. I want to be able to tell them everything will be okay.”
“Who will tell you that, Honor?”
She met his eyes. “I’m an adult. I don’t need anyone to.” She stepped out into the cold, cutting off their conversation.
Grayson followed, tensing when he saw the sheriff’s grim expression. He’d found something.
“Ms. Malone, can you come with me, please?”
Honor walked toward the sheriff, aware of Grayson’s gaze as she did so. His intense focus was as warm as a physical caress, tempting her to reach back, take his hand, allow the support he’d offered.
She wouldn’t.
Not even for tonight.
She wouldn’t allow herself to depend on him. That could only lead to heartache.
SHIRLEE MCCOY
has always loved making up stories. As a child, she daydreamed elaborate tales in which she was the heroine—gutsy, strong and invincible. Though she soon grew out of her superhero fantasies, her love for storytelling never diminished. She knew early that she wanted to write inspirational fiction, and began writing her first novel when she was a teenager. Still, it wasn’t until her third son was born that she truly began pursuing her dream of being published. Three years later she sold her first book. Now a busy mother of four, Shirlee is a homeschool mom by day and an inspirational author by night. She and her husband and children live in Washington State and share their house with a dog and a guinea pig. You can visit her Web site at www.shirleemccoy.com.
The Protector’s Promise
Shirlee McCoy
For when your faith is tested, your endurance
has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when
your endurance is fully developed, you will be
strong in character and ready for anything.
—James 1:3–4
To Sara. The darker the night,
the more beautiful the sunrise.
And in loving memory of Willetta Ruth Pothier
who once told me that I had capable hands.
I didn’t understand then. I do now. May I prove
to be as capable of sacrifice, of service
and of love as she was.
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
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
ONE
Something woke Honor Malone from deep sleep, the scratchy scrape of it pulling her from dreams of the green hills and cool mists of her native Ireland. She lay silent for a moment, listening to the old bungalow settling and to the quiet whisper of her daughter’s breath. Neither was the thing that had woken her. Something else had dragged her from peaceful sleep. She sat up, her heart pounding, her mind racing with images she’d rather forget—a dark shadow, a knife, blood.
The past, she reminded herself. That was in the past, now.
She was in a new home in a new neighborhood. There was nothing to be afraid of. No way that the ugliness that had touched her life could have followed her from St. Louis. She probed the shadows anyway, searching the room for anything out of place. Moving boxes stood against one wall waiting to be unpacked. Her nurse’s uniform hung from a hook on the closed bedroom door. Outside, the wind howled, pushing through the cracks in the house’s old windowpanes and leaving the air in the room chilly and damp.
Honor shoved aside the heavy quilt her mother had sent as a housewarming gift and stood shivering in her flannel pajamas. Her daughter lay in the bed across the room, and Honor went to her, wanting to assure herself that the four-year-old was okay. Lily lay on her side, sleeping deeply. Safe. Cocooned in blankets and sheets. Just as she should be.
A soft scraping sound froze Honor in place, the noise discordant against the backdrop of wind. Scrape. Tap. Scrape. Like a stick scratching against the window.
Or a knife.
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