Shirlee McCoy - The Protector's Promise

Harder on Honor.

Harder on Candy.

Harder on Lily, who had only ever known their tiny apartment in the busy city. Lily, who thought that everyone should marry a prince and live in a castle. Lily who had her father’s dreams shining in her eyes.

The thought had the same bitter sting it always did, but Honor pushed it aside. She didn’t have time to waste mourning the past. Her girls were her priority. Her job, her faith were what pulled them all through the difficult times. This time would be no different.

She turned on the light in the small outdated kitchen, moving quietly as she put a kettle of water on the stove and pulled a tea bag from the canister on the counter. The window above the sink looked over the backyard, and again and again her eyes were drawn to the gray predawn scene. In the city, there had always been light and noise. Here, it was almost too quiet. Too dark. She’d get used to it eventually, she supposed. Just as she’d adapted to city life after living for years in the lush Irish countryside.

She smiled a little as she remembered the childhood years she’d spent exploring the beauty of God’s creation with her friends. Those memories were one of the reasons she’d moved to a small town in a rural area. The other reason was Candace’s decision to attend a Christian college in Lynchburg. Honor had wanted to stay close to her sister-in-law.

She’d also wanted to escape the memories that didn’t seem to want to let her go.

A cup of tea in hand, she walked into the small mudroom off the kitchen, grabbed her coat from the rack and shoved her bare feet into boots. Cold mist kissed her skin as she stepped outside. A few yards away from the back door, an old swing set stood neglected and worn, its skeletal limbs planted firmly in moist earth. Honor took a seat on a wooden swing, nursing the hot teacup in her hand, the still, quiet morning enveloping her. The silence of it, the beauty, carried her away from the anxiety that had been dogging her for weeks and muffled the wordless demands that had become almost too much for Honor to meet. Here, in the peaceful moments before the day began, she could finally hear the quiet voice of her Creator, whispering that everything would be okay.

A muted sound broke the silence. A branch snapping? Honor tensed, scanning the yard, her gaze finally caught and held by movement at the far end of the property. A line of shrubs separated her yard from the one behind it, and Honor was sure something had moved there. As she watched, a dark figure stepped into view. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Brown hair. Those were the only details she could make out.

All the details she needed to make out.

The teacup dropped from her fingers, shattering on the ground as she raced toward the safety of the house.

Grayson Sinclair called himself fifteen kinds of fool as he followed the fleeing figure across Oliver Silverton’s overgrown backyard. A squatter, probably. Someone who’d learned that the ramshackle place was empty and had decided to call it home for a night or two.

It wasn’t Grayson’s business, of course. Oliver had made it clear that he didn’t want help taking care of his property. Nor was he open to advice on how best to get the dilapidated house rented out.

After three years of living back to back with the property, Grayson had given up trying to help the old man who owned it. Still, when he’d glimpsed a light shining from a back window, he’d decided to investigate.

More to help himself than to help his neighbor.

The fact was, after two weeks of standing vigil over his brother’s hospital bed, wondering if Jude was going to live or die, Grayson needed something else to focus on. A problem he could actually solve.

A brother in New York, facing months of physical therapy and an uncertain future?

That he couldn’t fix.

A squatter in Oliver Silverton’s house?

Grayson could take care of that problem, and quickly.

He strode to the back door, the anger he felt out of proportion to the squatter’s crimes. He knew where his anger was really directed—at the hit-and-run driver who’d slammed into Jude while he’d been out of his car helping a stranded motorist.

Grayson turned the doorknob to the old house, expecting it to open as it had a few months ago when he’d put a stop to a group of kids who’d decided to have a party on the premises. To his surprise, the door was locked. A shadow passed in front of the window and the light spilling from it went out.

Did the squatter really think that would convince him to leave?

Grayson slammed a fist against the door, not worried about the force he was using. Not caring. The person inside the house had better open up and explain himself. Grayson wasn’t leaving until he did. “Open up. This is private property and you’re trespassing.”

There was no response, and Grayson pulled out his cell phone, determined to handle the problem with the same efficient ease with which he prosecuted criminals. He couldn’t help his brother, but he could do this.

And he would.

The phone rang once before Grayson’s friend Sheriff Jake Reed picked up. “Reed, here.”

“It’s Grayson. There’s a trespasser in Silverton’s place again.”

“When’d you get back from New York?”

“Half an hour ago.”

“And you’re at the Silverton place now?”

“Yeah, trying to kick out the trespasser, but he’s locked in and won’t budge.”

Jake laughed, the sound only adding to Grayson’s irritation. “Look, maybe you find it funny, but I’ve had a rough couple weeks and I’m not in the mood to deal with a vagrant who’s decided this is home. So, if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate you coming over and dealing with it yourself.”

“Hey, sorry, man. I know things have been rough. Tiffany and I have been praying for your brother. Most of the people in Lakeview have. How’s Jude doing?”

“He’ll be in the hospital for another couple of weeks. Then in a rehab facility. It’ll be a while before we know if he’ll ever walk again.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me, too. Now, are you coming over here or not?”

“I was already on my way when you called. Seems the new renter thinks someone is trying to break in.”

“Renter?” Surprised, Grayson stepped away from the door.

“Moved in last week. A nurse, her daughter and sister-in-law.”

“No husband?”

“Nope. Rumor has it, he’s deceased, but I haven’t actually met the woman or heard the truth from her.”

“She was out in the yard and saw me coming through the shrubs that separate our property. I must have scared her half to death.” Grayson’s anger fled, and he glanced at the darkened window. He could picture the poor woman cowering just out of sight, a phone clutched to her ear as she prayed the police would arrive before he broke down the door. He had a vivid image in his head—a woman in her forties or fifties. Widowed with a teenage daughter and an older sister-in-law who lived with them. Short. Round. Salt-and-pepper curls.

Terrified.

“You scared her enough that she called nine-one-one. I’ll have my dispatcher tell her you’re a concerned neighbor and there’s nothing to worry about. See you in a few.” Jake hung up, and Grayson hesitated. Should he knock again? Walk away? What was the protocol for this kind of thing?

Before he could decide, the door cracked open, an old-fashioned chain pulled tight across the space. “Grayson Sinclair?”

“That’s right.”

“It appears we’re neighbors, then.” Her voice held a touch of Ireland, its husky timbre reminding Grayson of cool fall evenings and warm laughter.

“It appears so. I’m sorry for frightening you. I’ve been out of town for a couple of weeks and hadn’t heard the place had been rented out.”