Betrayed Birthright

SECRET HERITAGE

Abigail Mayfield hopes her stalker won’t follow her to Texas—until someone breaks into her new home, leaving behind a photo of her late parents with a mysterious child. This time, with her guard dog at her side, the widowed music teacher refuses to hide. She can’t uncover why someone is after her by herself, though, not when the threat escalates from break-ins to attempts on her life. After saving her from a sniper’s bullet, FBI agent turned small-town sheriff Noah Galloway makes Abigail’s safety his personal mission. With the investigation taking them cross-country on the trail of her long-dead parents, the widowed single father can’t risk leaving his son an orphan. But Abigail needs him...because somewhere, buried deep in her past, lies a secret worth killing for.

Abby had a sick feeling.

Maybe sensing her discomfort, Noah stepped closer. “I’m not leaving your side, Abby. Not until we find out what’s going on.”

She took a deep breath. “I appreciate everything you’ve done, but I have my dog and my gun. I want you to leave.” Her heart was pounding. She needed time to process the information he’d unearthed about her parents.

With a locked jaw, he stood. “Fine.” That was all he said before he walked out.

Quickly packing a bag, she called Bates to her side and locked the door behind them. She needed to talk to Grammy. She had the sinking feeling her grandmother knew more about her parents than she let on.

She opened the car door when she spotted something on the seat. The dog released a low growl when Abby tensed, staring at the item in horror. It couldn’t be...

In shock, she backed away. Her life was spinning out of control and nobody could stop the madness.

Dear Reader,

The inspiration for this book came from my very own choir director. She is also a piano teacher, and I often marvel at the talent it takes to play the piano and teach voice lessons. I enjoyed creating a strong but soft woman. Southern women love hair, makeup and clothes, but have also been known to dig a fence-post hole or two. And, of course, my hero is thrown off balance when faced with such a contradictory lady. I hope you enjoy reading about Abby and Noah’s adventures as much as I enjoyed writing them.

Liz Shoaf

Betrayed Birthright is Liz Shoaf’s first published inspirational novel. She’s been writing for many years, and hopes this is the beginning of a long and fulfilling career. When not writing or training her dogs for agility trials, Liz enjoys spending time with family, jogging and singing in the choir at church whenever possible. To find out more about Liz, you can visit and contact her through her website, www.lizshoaf.com, or email her at phelpsliz1@gmail.com.

Betrayed Birthright

Liz Shoaf

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For even your brothers and the household of your father, even they have dealt treacherously with you, even they have cried aloud after you do not believe them, although they may say nice things to you.

—Jeremiah 12:6

A special note to my dad, Reverend Kermit E. Shoaf, from your baby girl. You armed me with faith and courage to face whatever comes my way, and I thank you for that. I miss you and can’t wait to see you again when my time is at hand.

To my editor, Dina Davis, and her boss, for taking a chance on a newbie. And a special shout-out to all the various departments at Harlequin who work so hard to make dreams come true.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

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

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

ONE

Abigail Mayfield gripped the covers, fear icing the breath in her throat as she strained to hear the noise again. A slight sound had disturbed her sleep. She closed her eyes against the darkness and listened intently. An unnatural silence greeted her. The wind was calm and no tree branches brushed against the side of the house because she’d had them removed after buying the property.

Her eyes blinked open when she heard a small scratching sound. The stalker is here! She had moved all the way across the country for nothing. She struggled to breathe and goose bumps pimpled her arms until a cold, wet nose nudged her neck.

In slow increments, Abby forced herself to relax and silently thanked her grandmother for helping her find a trained protection dog before she moved to Texas.

“Bates,” she whispered, “did you hear that noise, boy?”

The seventy-pound, playful but dead-serious-about-his-job, black-and-tan Belgian Malinois grabbed her blanket with his teeth and tugged it off the bed. That was answer enough.

As quietly as possible, she slid out of bed, grabbed her cell phone off the nightstand, along with the Glock 19 pistol her grandmother had given her last year for Christmas. She might appear to be a harmless Tinker Bell—and had been called that on occasion—but appearances were deceiving. While growing up, her grandmother made sure she knew how to handle a gun.

“God, I need a little help here,” she whispered as they moved toward the bedroom door. The dog glued to her side bolstered her confidence. Bates would attack an assailant, but his main job was to protect her; at least, that’s what the trainer had said during the handler classes.

Tinkling glass hit the kitchen tile floor and left no doubt that someone was breaking and entering. At the top of the stairs, Abby took a deep, steadying breath. She buried her fear—the way Daddy had taught her—dialed 911 with one hand and held the pistol loosely at her side with the other. She had the advantage at the top of the stairs. If someone tried to come up, she’d fire a warning shot.

“Nine-one-one. Is this an emergency?”

Having turned the volume down before leaving the bedroom, Abby held the phone close to her ear. “This is Abby Mayfield. Someone is breaking into my house,” she whispered.

“Ma’am, leave your phone on and keep it with you. We can track you through your cell if circumstances change, but for now, give me your address.”

Abby swallowed hard. She knew what that meant. They could track her if the assailant removed her from the house. “My address is 135 Grove Street, Blessing, Texas.”

“Stay hidden if you can. We’ll have a squad car there as soon as possible.”

Abby didn’t respond because the sound of soft footsteps climbing the wooden stairs reached her ears. This scenario was the reason she’d removed all the carpet and installed wood and tile floors. She raised the Glock and Bates released a low, snarling growl. Bless his heart. The sweet animal she knew and loved sounded as if he wanted to rip someone’s throat out, and he probably would if it came down to it.

The footsteps stopped and Abby sensed the menace and hatred floating up the stairs in a thick wave of dark emotion. Whoever it was meant her harm. But why? Who disliked her that much? The police in North Carolina had asked her that question and she still had no answer.

A siren wailed in the distance. Quick footsteps raced back down the stairs and out the kitchen door. Her legs wobbled. Abby plopped onto the top step and blew out a relieved breath. Her dog licked her face and she hugged him close. “Thanks for the help, Bates. I know you’d probably be happier as a police dog, but I sure am glad you’re with me.”

The trembling in her body started small, but gained momentum as the police cruiser swerving into her driveway illuminated the front of her house.

* * *

Noah Galloway pried his eyelids open and squinted at his wristwatch—it was 3:15 a.m.—when his cell phone belted out “God Bless America,” his call tune for dispatch. He came fully alert within seconds. “Galloway.”

“Sheriff. We have a B and E in progress at 135 Grove Street. Nine-one-one transferred the call.”

Night calls were rare. B and Es, even more so in their small town. Grabbing his jeans, he dressed with one hand and held the phone to his ear. “You on your way over?”

“Yes, sir. I’m in my car right now. I’ll be there in three minutes. Don’t you worry none. I’ll take care of Dylan while you’re on duty.”

He thanked Peggy Sue—his dispatch officer and dedicated babysitter—shoved his gun into his holster, threw on a jacket and raced down the hall. Stepping quietly into his son’s room, he reassured himself that Dylan was safely tucked in bed and left the door cracked on his way out.

Peggy Sue was climbing the steps to the front porch as he opened the door.

“Isn’t that the address for the church’s new choir director?” It was a small town, and as sheriff, he made it his business to keep tabs on everything going on.

“Yes, sir. I can’t imagine anyone breaking into a choir director’s home. It’s blasphemous, is what I think.”

Noah ignored the small talk. “Is Cooper on his way?”

“Yep, I called Coop first. Y’all should arrive there about the same time.”

Before hopping into his car, he glanced back at Peggy Sue, an older woman who had taken him and Dylan under her wing when they moved to town.

She grinned. “Don’t worry. I’ll hold down the fort.”

Noah gave a curt nod and ducked his head as he folded his long frame into the squad car. He estimated he’d arrive at the scene within five minutes. Grove Street was located on the outskirts of town, where quite a few older homes had been built during the town’s more prosperous days.

His jaw clenched when he turned a street corner. Coop had flipped on his siren, and red and blue lights were streaming through the neighborhood. Nothing like alerting the perpetrator to our presence. Taking a deep breath for patience, he exited his patrol car just as his young, energetic deputy flung his car door open and presented himself as a target.

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 piano teacher. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt me.”

The exasperation in her voice almost made him smile. She was a cute wisp of air.

“During the investigation, did they delve into your family background?”

If anything, she became even more vexed. “There’s only me and my grandmother. My parents died in a car accident when I was six. They were both only children. Grammy is the only family I have left. She’s still in North Carolina. I’m trying to encourage her to move here, but I’m not sure what to do now. Whoever did those terrible things in North Carolina has apparently followed me to Texas.”

She shuddered and Noah had the sudden urge to take this petite woman home with him where he could protect her and keep her safe. Ignoring his thoughts, he scribbled in his notebook.

“Have you received any threatening letters or phone calls?”

“No, nothing.”

“Is that why you moved to Blessing? Because of the danger?”

“Yes, and because I didn’t want my grandmother to get hurt. She lived three houses down from me. The police didn’t even have a lead, and now this mess has followed me here.”

“How did you come to pick Blessing?”

For the first time, a full smile bloomed on her face and his heart lurched. He still missed his wife, but it had been two years since ovarian cancer had claimed her life.

“Grammy got really worried after the second break-in. The police were cruising the neighborhood every once in a while, but it didn’t stop the intruders. She hoped whoever was after me was local and would leave me alone if I moved across the country. We studied a map of Texas and she decided that Blessing, with a population of 967, would be a good place to move. It would be hard for the person after me to hide in such a small town.”

She leaned forward and grinned. “Did you know Blessing was founded in 1903? The leaders of the town changed the original name from Thank God to Blessing after the United States Postal Service rejected the first name and refused to deliver the mail. Isn’t that a hoot?”

Noah noted that Abby had a sweet, bubbly personality.

“Interesting piece of information. I grew up here and never heard that story. I’ll have to share it with my son. Is this the first incident that’s happened since you arrived in Blessing?”

Her smile slipped away, and he missed the warmth of it, but they had an intruder to catch and catch them he would. He was a tenacious investigator, if the media was to be believed. He may have left the FBI to run for sheriff in his hometown, but his instincts ran true. And if he admitted the truth, he was ready to sink his teeth into something more than lost dogs and domestic disputes.

He would do everything in his power to keep Abby Mayfield safe.

TWO

Abby studied Sheriff Galloway. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him. The break-in had done a number on her. She’d really believed she’d left whoever was trying to harm her behind in North Carolina. She could still hardly believe anyone hated her enough to try to run her down with a car or break into her house.

But what could a small-town Texas sheriff do that the authorities in North Carolina hadn’t been able to accomplish? Remnants of a newspaper article floated through her mind, and then it hit her. “You’re that famous FBI guy from New York.” Her heart beat faster. “You rooted out those mafia guys trying to kill the mayor and saved his life. It was all over the news.”

Sheriff Galloway surely stood over six feet and sported short, dark hair. He was a handsome man, in a rugged sort of way, but when those electric-blue eyes focused intently on her, memories of the newscasts filtered through her mind.

“I’m sorry about your wife.” It had been reported that his wife passed away, but at least he still had his son. She had lost her precious unborn baby boy after receiving news of her husband’s death several years earlier.

He glanced down at his notebook. “Thank you.”

For the first time since the whole mess started, Abby felt a stirring of hope. “Do you think you can find out who’s doing this to me?”

He raised his head. A steely glint filled his eyes. “I’ll do my best.”

Abby sensed a fierce determination. Once he’d picked up the trail of an enemy, he would never stop. He seemed trustworthy, but she wouldn’t care to be on the bad side of this particular lawman. His hunting instincts shone bright from his eyes. She privately pegged him as a good predator hunting very dangerous parasites.