Kitabı oku: «The Protectors: Defending His Own / Guarding Jeannie»

The Protectors
Defending His Own
Beverly Barton
Guarding Jeannie
Beverly Barton

www.mirabooks.co.uk

Defending His Own

About the Author

A born romantic, BEVERLY BARTON fell in love with The Beauty and the Beast epic at an early age, when her grandfather bought her an illustrated copy of the famous fairy tale. Even before she learned to read and write, Beverly’s vivid imagination created magical words and fabulous characters inside her mind.

After her marriage to the “love of her life” and the births of her two children, Beverly continued to be a voracious reader and a devoted moviegoer, but she put her writing aspirations on hold until her children were teenagers. In her mid-thirties she returned to her former passion – writing – as a hobby, but, before forty, she decided that she wanted to make writing a full-time career.

Beverly believes she has had it all, just not all at the same time. She devoted herself to her husband and children and considers herself one of the many selfless “supermums” who put their family’s needs first. At every age of their lives, from infancy to adulthood, Beverly’s children have been a true joy to her.

Having a fantastic family and fabulous friends, as well as making a living doing the one thing she has loved doing since childhood, Beverly considers herself truly blessed.

To several very special ladies whose friendships have

meant so much to me over the past few years.

Thank y’all for your support and encouragement:

Jean Tune, JoAnn Courtney, Helen Everett

and Marsha Hunt.

Prologue

She must have taken the wrong turn off Cotton Lane. There was nothing out here but a bunch of cotton fields and an endless stretch of dirt road, apparently leading nowhere except in and out of the fields.

Deborah Vaughn slowed her dark blue Cadillac to a stop, shifted the gears into Park and picked up the piece of paper on which she’d written the directions. Despite the protection of her sunglasses, Deborah squinted against the sun’s blinding glare. Holding up her hand to shield her eyes, she glanced down at the map and instructions she’d brought along to help her find the new development property her real estate firm had just purchased. Damn! She had turned off too soon.

Glancing around, she didn’t see anywhere to make a turn, and she certainly had no intention of backing her car all the way to Cotton Lane. She’d just have to go a little farther and find some place to turn around.

Shifting the gears into Drive, she drove on. Within a few minutes she spotted what appeared to be the burned-out remains of an old shack. A wide, weed-infested path, marred with deep ruts, ran straight from the dirt road to where a shiny black Ford pickup had parked in knee-high grass behind the still-standing brick chimney.

Loud, pulse-pounding country music blared from the truck’s radio.

Deborah assumed the truck belonged to the farmer who had planted the acres of cotton. She drove her Cadillac onto the path, intending to back up and head out the way she had come. The sun’s glare blocked her vision, allowing her only partial vision of the open truck door. A man jumped out of the driver’s side, and yelled a warning. She glanced toward the back of the truck where two men stood, one holding a gun to the other’s head.

Sunshine reflected off the metal on the gun in the killer’s hand. The gun fired. The wail of a steel guitar blasted from inside the truck. Deborah screamed. Blood splattered from the dead man’s head. The killer turned abruptly and stared at the Cadillac, at the woman inside, then released his hold on the body. His victim slumped to the ground.

Deborah recognized the killer from his picture in the paper. She couldn’t remember his name, but she knew he was somehow connected to that outlaw gang headed by Buck Stansell.

The man who’d leaped out of the truck pointed toward Deborah’s car.

Dear God, she had to get away! Shifting the car into reverse, she backed out of the bumpy path and then headed the Cadillac toward Cotton Lane. She heard the truck’s engine roar to life. Glancing back she saw the killer aim his gun out the window.

The Caddy sped down the dirt road, the black truck in hot pursuit. While the driver veered the truck off the side of the dirt road, partially into the open field, the killer aimed his gun toward Deborah. The truck closed in on the car, the truck’s hood parallel to the Cadillac’s left rear bumper. The killer fired; the bullet shattered the outside mirror. Deborah cried out, but didn’t slow her escape, didn’t take her eyes off the road ahead of her.

A cloud of dust flew up behind the Cadillac, providing a thin veil of protection between her and the men determined to overtake her. The truck picked up speed just as Deborah saw Cotton Lane ahead of her. Another bullet ripped through the driver’s door.

They intended to kill her. She had no doubt in her mind. She’d seen the killer’s face, the man who had murdered another in cold blood. She could identify him. And he knew it.

The minute she turned the Caddy onto Cotton Lane, she sped away from the truck. She had to escape. Had to find help. But who? Where? The police!

She didn’t dare slow down enough to use her cellular phone. She had to make it to the police station before her pursuers caught her.

Where the hell was the police station in Leighton? Think, dammit, Deborah! Think!

She crossed Highway 72, paying little attention to whether or not traffic was coming from the other direction. The sleepy little town of Leighton, Alabama lay straight ahead. The truck breathed down her neck like a black dragon, the killer’s gun spitting deadly lead fire.

A bullet sailed through the back glass, embedding itself in the dashboard. Deborah ran the Caddy straight through the town’s one red light. The black truck slowed, but continued following her.

Deborah brought her car to a screeching halt at the side of the police station, a small metal building on the right side of the narrow street. Glancing behind her, she saw the black truck creep by. Lying down in the front seat, she eased open the door, crawled out and made a mad dash to safety.

A young officer jumped up from behind a metal desk when Deborah ran inside the station. “What the hell’s going on, lady? You look like the devil’s chasing you.”

“He is.” Deborah panted, wiping the perspiration from her face with the palm of her hand. She grabbed the approaching officer’s shoulders. “I just witnessed a murder.”

“You what?” The young officer’s face paled. “Come on in and sit down.”

“I don’t want to sit down,” Deborah screamed. “They’re out there. Two of them. The killer and the man who was driving the truck. They followed me all the way into town. They shot at me. They were trying to kill me!”

“Good God!” He shoved Deborah aside, drew his 9mm handgun and rushed outside.

The female officer who’d been listening to the conversation rushed over to Deborah and followed her when she headed for the door. Looking up and down the street, Deborah didn’t see the truck. She leaned against the doorpost.

“Are you all right?” the woman officer asked.

“I will be.”

The male officer let out a long, low whistle when he saw Deborah’s Cadillac. “Good thing they didn’t get a lucky shot or you’d be dead, ma’am.”

“They’re gone, aren’t they?” Deborah asked, realizing they wouldn’t have hung around, making it easy for the police to arrest them.

“Yes, ma’am, looks that way.” He walked toward her, shaking his head. “Just where did this murder take place?”

“Out past some cotton fields, somewhere off Cotton Lane.”

“Don’t suppose you recognized either man in the truck or the man you say they murdered?”

“I only recognized one of them,” Deborah said. “The killer. He’s one of Buck Stansell’s gang. I remember seeing his picture in the paper when he went to trial a few months ago on drug-related charges.”

“Lon Sparks?” the officer asked. “You saw Lon Sparks kill a man?”

“Yes, if that’s his name…I saw him kill a man. Shot him in the head. Blood everywhere. All over the dead man. All over the killer.” Deborah trembled, her hands shaking uncontrollably.

“Damn, ma’am, I sure wouldn’t want to be in your shoes. Lon Sparks is a mean bastard, if you’ll pardon me saying so.” The officer returned his gun to his holster.

“Shut up, Jerry Don, can’t you see she’s already scared out of her wits.” Putting an arm around Deborah’s shoulder, the female officer led her back inside the station. “We’d better get hold of the chief and then call the sheriff. If the killing took place out past Cotton Lane, then it’s a county matter.”

“Everything will be all right,” Jerry Don said. “You’re safe here with us, Miss…er…Miss…?”

“Deborah Vaughn.”

“Come on over and sit down, Miss Vaughn, and tell me exactly what happened,” The female officer said.

“May I use your phone first?” Deborah picked up the telephone on the officer’s desk. “I’m expected at home for dinner and my mother will worry if I’m late.”

Her hands trembled as she dialed the number. “Mother, I’m afraid I’ll be running a little late. You and Allen go ahead and have dinner without me. No. No, everything’s all right. I just ran into a little car trouble out here in Leighton. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Nothing she couldn’t handle. That’s right, Deborah. You’re tough, aren’t you? You can handle anything that’s thrown your way. You don’t need anyone to take care of you. You’ve been taking care of everyone else for so long, you wouldn’t know how it felt to admit you needed someone.

Well, it looked like the time had come. If the police wanted her to live long enough to testify against a cold-blooded killer, someone was going to have to protect her from Buck Stansell’s outlaws.

Chapter One

He had sworn he’d never come back to Sheffield, Alabama. But never say never. Ashe McLaughlin had discovered that anyone so absolutely certain often wound up eating his own words. And in his case, the taste was mighty bitter.

He had been gone eleven years, and little had changed. Except him. He had changed. He was older. Smarter. Harder.

He chuckled to himself. Harder? Hell, folks in northwest Alabama had considered him a real bad boy, one of those McLaughlins from Leighton, his daddy nothing but a white trash outlaw. But Ashe hadn’t been as tough as everyone thought. He had hated the legacy of poverty and ignorance his family had given him. He’d wanted more. He’d fought long and hard to better himself. But Wallace Vaughn had destroyed Ashe’s dreams of being accepted in Colbert County.

Eleven years ago he’d been told to leave town or else—or else he would have done jail time.

Now, here he was returning to a town that hadn’t wanted his kind. He couldn’t help wondering if anyone other than his grandmother would welcome him home. He supposed Carol Allen Vaughn would be glad to see him. After all, she’d been the one who’d asked him to take this job. He was probably a fool for agreeing to act as Deborah’s bodyguard.

Deborah Vaughn. No amount of time or distance had been able to erase her from Ashe’s memory.

He parked his rental car in the circular drive in front of the old Allen home, a brick Greek Revival cottage on Montgomery Avenue. His grandmother had once been the housekeeper here for the Vaughn family.

Walking up to the front door, he hesitated before ringing the bell. He’d never been allowed to enter the house through the front door but had always gone around to the back and entered through the kitchen. He remembered sitting at the kitchen table doing his homework, sharing milk and cookies with Deborah, and sometimes her older cousin Whitney. That had been a lifetime ago.

He rang the doorbell. What the hell was he doing here? Why had he allowed Carol Vaughn’s dare to goad him into returning to a town he hated? Deborah needs you, she’d said. Are you afraid to see her again? she had taunted him.

He was not afraid to see Deborah Vaughn again. After ten years as a Green Beret, Ashe McLaughlin was afraid of nothing, least of all the girl who had betrayed him.

A plump, middle-aged woman opened the door and greeted him with a smile. “Yes, sir?”

“I’m Ashe McLaughlin. Mrs. Vaughn is expecting me.”

“Yes, please come inside. I’ll tell Miss Carol you’re here.”

Ashe stepped into the gracious entrance hall large enough to accommodate a grand piano as well as a large mahogany and gilt table with an enormous bouquet of fresh flowers in the center. A sweeping staircase wound upward on the left side of the room.

“If you’ll wait here, please.” The housekeeper scurried down the hall toward the back of the house.

He’d been summoned home. Like a knight in the Queen’s service. Ashe grinned. Better a knight than a stable boy, he supposed. Why hadn’t he just said no? I’m sorry, Mrs. Vaughn, but whatever trouble Deborah has gotten herself into, you’ll have to find someone else to rescue her.

God knows he had tried to refuse, but once he’d heard that Deborah’s life was in real danger, he had wavered in his resistance. And Carol Vaughn had taken advantage of the weakness she sensed in him.

“Ashe, so good of you to come, dear boy.” The voice still held that note of authority, that hint of superiority, that tone of Southern gentility.

He turned to face her, the woman he had always thought of as the personification of a real lady. He barely recognized the woman who stood before him. Thin, almost gaunt, her beautiful face etched with faint age lines, her complexion sickly pale. Her short blond hair was streaked with gray. She had once been full-figured, voluptuous and lovely beyond words.

She couldn’t be much more than fifty, but she looked older.

Caught off-guard by her appearance, by the drastic change the years had wrought, Ashe stared at Carol Vaughn. Quickly recovering his composure, he took several tentative steps forward and held out his hand.

She clasped his big, strong hand in her small, fragile one and squeezed. “Thank you for coming. You can’t imagine how desperately we need your help.”

Ashe assisted Carol down the hallway and into the living room. The four-columned entry permitted an unobstructed view of the room from the foyer. The hardwood floors glistened like polished metal in the sunlight. A blend of antiques and expensive reproductions bespoke of wealth and good taste.

“The sofa, please, Ashe.” She patted his hand. “Sit beside me and we’ll discuss what must be done.”

He guided her to the sofa, seated her and perched his big body on the edge, not feeling comfortable in her presence. “Does Deborah know you sent for me?”

“I haven’t told her,” Carol said. “She’s a stubborn one, that girl of mine. She’s always had a mind of her own. But she’s been a dutiful daughter.”

“What if she doesn’t agree to my being here?” He had known Deborah when she was seventeen, a plump, pretty girl who’d had a major crush on him. What would she look like now? And how did she feel about him after all these years?

“Mazie, please bring us some coffee,” Carol instructed the housekeeper who stood at the end of the hallway. “And a few of those little cakes from the bakery. The cinnamon ones.”

“Refreshments aren’t necessary, Mrs. Vaughn. Really.” Ashe felt ill at ease being entertained, as if his visit were a social call. “I’m here on business. Remember?”

“Mazie, go ahead and bring the coffee and the cakes, too.” Carol turned her attention to Ashe. “Times change, but good manners don’t. Of course my mother would be appalled that I had welcomed a gentleman, unrelated to me and not a minister, into my home when I am quite alone.”

“Coffee will be fine, Mrs. Vaughn.”

“You used to call me Miss Carol. I much prefer that to the other. Your calling me Mrs. Vaughn makes us sound like strangers. And despite your long absence from Sheffield, we are hardly strangers, are we, Ashe?”

“No, ma’am, we’re not strangers.”

“Mazie has prepared you a room upstairs. I want you with Deborah at all times.” Carol blushed ever so lightly. “Or at least close by.”

“Has she received any more threats since we spoke two days ago?”

“Mercy, yes. Every day, there’s a new letter and another phone call, but Charlie Blaylock says there’s nothing more he can do. And I asked him why the sheriff was incapable of protecting innocent citizens.”

“Has a trial date been set for Lon Sparks?” Ashe asked.

“Not yet. It should be soon. But not soon enough for me. I can’t bear the thought of Deborah being in danger.”

“She just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Ashe knew what that was like. And he knew as well as anyone in these parts just how dangerous Buck Stansell and his band of outlaws could be. For three generations, the Stansell bunch, along with several other families, had cornered the market on illegal activities. Everything from prostitution to bootlegging, when the county had been dry. And nowadays weapons and drugs dominated their money-making activities.

“She insists on testifying.” Carol glanced up when she saw Mazie bringing the coffee. “Just put it there on the table, please.”

Mazie placed the silver service on the mahogany tea table to the left of the sofa, asked if there would be anything else and retreated to the kitchen when told all was in order.

“Do you prefer your coffee black?” Carol asked.

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” When his hostess poured the coffee and handed it to him, Ashe accepted the Haviland cup.

“I will expect you to stay in Sheffield until the trial is over and Deborah is no longer in danger.”

“I’ve already assured you that I’ll stay as long as is necessary to ensure Deborah’s safety.”

“And I will send the sum we agreed upon to your agency in Atlanta on a weekly basis.”

“You and I have come to an agreement on terms,” Ashe said. “But unless Deborah cooperates—”

“She will cooperate.”

Ashe widened his eyes, surprised by the vigor of Carol Vaughn’s statement. Apparently her fragile physical condition had not extinguished the fire in her personality.

The front door flew open and a tall, gangly boy of perhaps twelve raced into the living room, tossing a stack of schoolbooks down on a bowfront walnut commode.

“I made a hundred on my math test. See. Take a look.” He dashed across the room, handed Carol his paper and sat down on the floor at her feet. “And guess what else, Mother? My team beat the hel…heck out of Jimmy Morton’s team in PE today.”

Carol caressed the boy’s blond hair, petting him with deep affection. “I’m so proud of you, Allen.”

The boy turned his attention to Ashe, who stared at the child, amazed at his striking resemblance to Deborah. Ashe’s grandmother had mentioned Allen from time to time in her letters and phone calls. He’d always thought it odd that Wallace and Carol Vaughn had had another child so late in life. When Wallace Vaughn had run Ashe out of town eleven years ago, the Vaughns had had one child—seventeen-year-old Deborah.

“Who’s he?” Allen asked.

“Allen, this is Mr. McLaughlin. He’s an old friend. He and Deborah went to school together.”

“Were you Deborah’s boyfriend?” Allen scooted around on the floor until he situated himself just right, so he could prop his back against the Queen Anne coffee table.

“Allen, you musn’t be rude.” Carol shook her index finger at the boy, but she smiled as she scolded him.

“I wasn’t being rude. I was just hoping Mr. McLaughlin was here to ask Deborah for a date. She never goes out unless it’s with Neil, and she told me that he isn’t her boyfriend.”

“I must apologize for Allen, but you see, he is very concerned that Deborah doesn’t have a boyfriend,” Carol explained. “Especially since he’s going steady himself. For what now, Allen, ten days?”

“Ah, quit kidding me.” Allen unlaced his shoes, then reached up on top of the tea table to retrieve a tiny cinnamon cake. He popped it into his mouth.

Ashe watched the boy, noting again how much he looked like Deborah as a young girl. Except where she had been short and plump with small hands and feet, Allen was tall, slender and possessed large feet and big hands. But his hair was the same color, his eyes an almost identical blue.

“Hey, what do we know about Mr. McLaughlin? We can’t let Deborah date just anybody.” Allen returned Ashe’s penetrating stare. “If he gets serious about Deborah, is he the kind of man who’d make her a good husband?”

The front door opened and closed again. A neatly attired young woman in a navy suit and white blouse walked into the entrance hall.

“Now, Allen, you’re being rude again,” Carol said. “Besides, your sister’s love life really isn’t any of our business, even if we did find her the perfect man.”

“Now what?” Deborah called out from the hallway, not even looking their way. “Mother, you and Allen haven’t found another prospect you want me to consider, have you? Just who have you two picked out as potential husband material this time?”

Carrying an oxblood leather briefcase, Deborah came to an abrupt halt when she looked into the living room and saw Ashe sitting beside her mother on the sofa. She gasped aloud, visibly shaken.

“Come in, dear. Allen and I were just entertaining Ashe McLaughlin. You remember Ashe, don’t you, Deborah?”

“Was he your old boyfriend?” Allen asked. “Mother won’t tell me.”

Ashe stood and took a long, hard look at Deborah Vaughn…the girl who had proclaimed her undying love for him one night down by the river, eleven years ago. The girl who, when he gently rejected her, had run crying to her rich and powerful daddy.

The district attorney and Wallace Vaughn had given Ashe two choices. Leave town and never come back, or face statutory rape charges.

“Hello, Deborah.”

“What are you doing here?”

She had changed, perhaps even more than her pale, weak mother. No longer plump but still as lovely as she’d been as a teenager, Deborah possessed a poise and elegance that had eluded the younger, rather awkward girl. She wore her long, dark blond hair tucked into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. A pair of small golden earrings matched the double gold chain around her neck.

“Your mother sent for me.” Ashe noted the astonished look on her face.

Deborah, still standing in the entrance hall, gazed at her mother. “What does he mean, you sent for him?”

“Now, dear, please come in and let’s talk about this matter before you upset yourself.”

“Allen, please go out in the kitchen with Mazie while I speak with Mother and Mr. McLaughlin.”

“Ah, why do I have to leave? I’m a member of this family, aren’t I? I shouldn’t be excluded from important conversations.” When his sister remained silent, Allen looked pleadingly at his mother, who shook her head.

“Do what Deborah says.” Carol motioned toward the hallway. “This is grown-up talk and although you’re quite a young man, you’re still not old enough to—”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Allen jumped up and ran out of the room, his eyes downcast and his lips puckered into a defiant pout.

“What’s going on?” Deborah marched into the living room, slamming her briefcase down atop Allen’s books on the antique commode. She glared at Ashe. “What are you doing here?”

“As Ashe said, I sent for him.” Tilting her chin upward, Carol straightened her thin shoulders.

“You what?”

“Calm yourself,” Carol said.

“I am calm.” Deborah spoke slowly, her teeth clenched tightly.

“Ashe works for a private security firm out of Atlanta.” Carol readjusted her hips on the sofa, placing her hand down on the cushion beside her. “I’ve hired him to act as your bodyguard until the trial is over and you’re no longer in any danger.”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing.” Deborah scowled at Ashe. “You’ve brought this man back into our lives. Good God, Mother, do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“Don’t speak to me in that tone of voice, Deborah Luellen Vaughn! I’ve done what I think is best for everyone concerned.”

“And you?” Deborah looked directly at Ashe. “Why would you come back to Sheffield after all these years? How on earth did my mother persuade you to return?” Deborah’s rosy cheeks turned pale, her lips quivered. “What—what did she tell you?”

“I told him that your life had been threatened. I explained the basic facts.” Carol turned to Ashe. “This is what he does for a living, and I’m paying him his usual fee, isn’t that right, Ashe?”

“This is strictly a business arrangement for me,” Ashe replied. “My services are for hire to anyone with enough money to afford me.”

Where was the sweet girl he’d once known? The laughing, smiling girl who’d been his friend long before she’d become his lover one hot summer night down by the river. He had never regretted anything as much as he had regretted taking Deborah’s virginity. He’d been filled with rage and half drunk. Deborah had been with him that night, trying to comfort him, and he had taken advantage of her loving nature. But she’d paid him back.

“I don’t want you here. Keep a week’s salary for your trouble.” Deborah nodded toward the door. “Now, please leave.”

“No!” Reaching out, Carol grabbed Ashe by the arm. “Please, don’t leave. Go in the kitchen and have some cookies with Allen.”

“Mother! Think what you’re saying.”

“Please, Ashe. Go out into the kitchen for a few minutes while I speak with Deborah.”

Ashe patted Carol on the hand, then pulled away from her. “I won’t leave, Miss Carol. It would take an act of congress to get me out of Sheffield.”

He smiled at Deborah when he walked past her, halting briefly to inspect her from head to toe, then proceeding down the hallway and through the door leading to the kitchen.

Heat and cold zigzagged through Deborah like red-hot and freezing blue shafts of pain. Ashe McLaughlin. Here in Sheffield. Here in her home. And he’d seen Allen!

“He can’t stay.”

“Come over here, dear.” Carol patted the sofa seat. “You’ve needed him for such a long time, Deborah, but now more than ever. You know I disagreed with your father’s assessment of Ashe, but I loved your father and never would have gone against his wishes. But once Wallace died, I begged you to let me contact Ashe. He’s kept in touch with Mattie all these years. We could have asked him to come home at any time.”

“He kept in touch with his grandmother, not with us. He left this town and didn’t look back. He never once called me or wrote me or…” Deborah crossed the room, slumped down on the sofa beside her mother and folded her hands in her lap. “I need to phone the office and let them know I won’t be back in this afternoon. I had planned to just drop Allen off, but I saw the car in the drive and wondered who…I don’t want Ashe McLaughlin here.”

“But I do.” Carol’s blue eyes met her daughter’s blue eyes, stubborn, determined and equally strong. “We both know that I’m only in remission. The cancer could worsen at any time and I’ll have to go in for more surgery. I could die without ever seeing you happy.”

“You honestly think Ashe McLaughlin can make me happy? Get real, Mother.” Deborah lowered her voice to a snarling whisper. “The man seduced me when I was seventeen, dropped me like a hot potato and left town two months later, never bothering to find out whether or not he’d gotten me pregnant.”

“I think you should know that—”

“If you’re convinced I need a bodyguard then have the private security agency send someone else. Tell them we want someone older or younger or…Hell! Tell them anything, but get rid of Ashe.”

“I believe he still cares about you.” Carol smiled, deepening the faint lines in her face.

“Mother!”

“It’s been eleven years, Deborah, and you haven’t had one serious relationship in all that time. Doesn’t that tell you anything about your own feelings?”

“Yes. It tells me that I’m a smart girl. I learn from my mistakes.”

“It tells me that you’ve never gotten over Ashe McLaughlin, that somewhere deep down, in your heart of hearts, you’re still in love with him.”

Deborah couldn’t bear it. Her mother’s words pierced the protective wall she had built around her heart. She didn’t love Ashe McLaughlin. She hated him. But she knew only too well how fine a line there was between love and hate.

“I’ve hardly had time to date, let alone find the man of my dreams. Have you forgotten that I was in my senior year of college when Daddy died and I had to complete my courses for my degree and step in at Vaughn & Posey?” Deborah paused, waiting for her mother to comment. Carol said nothing.

“Then I had to earn my Realtors’ license and work damn hard to fill Daddy’s shoes at the firm,” Deborah said. “Over the last few years while other firms have floundered, I’ve kept Vaughn & Posey in the black, making substantial gains each year. Over the last five years, we’ve been involved in two different subdivision developments.”

Carol held up her hand, signaling acquiescence. “I know what a busy young woman you’ve been. But other people lead busy lives and still find time for romance.”

“I don’t need any romance in my life. Have you also forgotten how my foolishly romantic illusions about love nearly destroyed my life eleven years ago?”

“Of course I haven’t forgotten. But there’s more at stake than my desire to see you and Ashe settle things between you. Your life is in danger—real danger. Charlie Blaylock can only do so much. You need twenty-four-hour-a-day protection, and Ashe is highly qualified to do the job I’ve hired him to do.”

“What makes him so highly qualified?”

“He was a Green Beret for ten years and joined, what I am told, is the best private security agency in the South. If you won’t agree to his staying here for any other reason, do it for me. For my peace of mind.”

“Mother, really. You’re asking a great deal of me, aren’t you? And you’re putting Allen at risk. What if Ashe were to suspect the truth? Do we dare take that kind of chance? How do you think Allen would react if he found out that everything we’ve told him is a lie?”

Tears gathered in the corners of Deborah’s eyes. She blinked them away. No tears. Not now. She cried only when she was alone, where no one could see her. Where no one would know that the strong, dependable, always reliable Deborah Luellen Vaughn succumbed to the weakness of tears. Since her father died, she had learned to be strong—for her mother, for Allen, for those depending upon Vaughn & Posey for their livelihoods.

“Even if Ashe learns the truth, he would never tell Allen.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Intuition.”

Deborah groaned. Sometimes her mother could be incredibly naive for a fifty-five-year-old woman. “I don’t want Ashe McLaughlin to become a part of our lives.”

“He’s always been a part of our lives.” Carol glanced up at the oil painting of Allen at the age of three, hung over the fireplace beside the portrait of a three-year-old Deborah. “All I ask is that you allow him to stay on as your bodyguard until after Lon Sparks’s trial. If you feel nothing for Ashe except hatred, then his being here should do nothing more than annoy you. Surely you can put up with a little annoyance to make your dying mother happy.”

“You aren’t dying!”

“Please, dear, just talk to Ashe.”

Sighing deeply, Deborah closed her eyes and shook her head. How could she say no to her mother? How could she explain what the very sight of Ashe McLaughlin had done to her? Wasn’t she already going through enough, having to deal with testifying against a murderer, having to endure constant threats on her life, without having to put up with Ashe McLaughlin, too?

“Oh, all right, Mother. I’ll talk to Ashe. But I’m not promising anything.”

“Fine. That’s all I ask.” Gripping the arm of the sofa for support, Carol stood. “I’ll go in the kitchen and see how Ashe and Allen are getting along, then I’ll send Ashe out to you.”

Standing, Deborah paced the floor. Waiting. Waiting to face the man who haunted her dreams to this very day. The only man she had ever loved. The only man she had ever hated. Stopping in front of the fireplace, she glanced up at Allen’s portrait. He looked so much like her. Their strong resemblance had made it easy to pass him off as her brother. But where others might not see any of Ashe in Allen’s features, she could. His coloring was hers, but his nose was long and straight like Ashe’s, not short and rounded like hers. His jaw tapered into a square chin unlike her gently rounded face.

Now that Allen was ten, it was apparent from his size that he would eventually become a large man, perhaps as big as Ashe, who stood six foot three.

But would Ashe see any resemblance? Would he look at Allen and wonder? Over the years had he, even once, asked himself whether he might have fathered a child the night he had taken her virginity?

“Deborah?”

She spun around to face Ashe, who stood in the hallway. Had he noticed her staring at Allen’s portrait?

“Please come in and sit down.”

He walked into the living room, but remained standing. “I came back to Sheffield as a favor to your mother.” And because she dared me to face the past. “She sounded desperate when she called. My grandmother told me about Miss Carol’s bout with cancer. I—”

“Thank you for caring about my mother.”

“She was always good to Mama Mattie and to me. Despite what happened between the two of us, I never blamed your mother.”

What was he talking about? What reason did he have to blame anyone for anything? He’d been the one who had left Sheffield, left an innocent seventeen-year-old girl pregnant.

“Mother has gotten it into her head that I need protection, and I don’t disagree with her on that point. I’d be a fool to say I’m not afraid of Buck Stansell and his gang. I know what they’re capable of doing. I saw, firsthand, how they deal with people who go against them.”

“Then allowing me to stay as your bodyguard is the sensible thing to do.”

How was it, he wondered, that years ago he’d thought Whitney Vaughn was the most beautiful, desirable creature on earth, when all along her little cousin Deborah had been blossoming into perfection? Although Whitney had been the woman he’d wanted, Deborah was the woman he’d never been able to forget.

“I would prefer your agency send another representative. That would be possible, wouldn’t it? Surely, you’re no more eager than I am for the two of us to be thrown together this way.”

“Yes, it’s possible for the Dundee Agency to send another agent, but your mother wants me. And I intend to abide by her wishes.”

Deborah glared at him, then regretted it when he met her gaze head-on. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her. As if…as if he found her attractive.

“You could speak to Mother, persuade her to agree to another agent.”

“Yes, I could speak to your mother, but I don’t think anything I say will dissuade her from having me act as your personal bodyguard.” Ashe took a tentative step toward Deborah. She backed away from him. “Why is it that I get the feeling Miss Carol would like to see something romantic happen between you and me?”

Deborah turned from him, cursing the blush she felt creeping into her cheeks. When he placed his hands on her shoulders, she jerked away from him, rushing toward the French doors that opened up onto a side patio. She grasped the brass handle.

“I’m not interested in forming any kind of relationship with you other than employer and employee,” Ashe said. “I agreed to act as your bodyguard because a fine, dear lady asked me to, as a personal favor to her. That’s the only reason I’m here. You don’t have to worry that I’ll harass you with any unwanted attention.”

Deborah opened the French doors, walked outside and gazed up at the clear blue sky. Autumn sky. Autumn breeze. A hint of autumn colors surrounded her, especially in her mother’s chrysanthemums and marigolds that lined the patio privacy wall.

Why should Ashe’s words hurt her so deeply? It wasn’t as if she still loved him. She had accepted the fact, long ago, that she had meant nothing to him, that Whitney had been the woman he’d wanted. Why would she think anything had changed?

Ashe followed her out onto the side patio. “It wasn’t easy for me to come back. I never wanted to see this place again as long as I lived. But I’m back and I intend to stay to protect you.”

“As a favor to my mother?”

“Partly, yes.”

She wouldn’t face him; she couldn’t. “Why else would you come back to Sheffield?”

“Your mother asked me if I was afraid to face the past. She dared me to come home.”

“And were you afraid to face the past?”

“I’m here, aren’t I? What does that tell you?”

“It tells me that you have a soft spot in your heart for my mother because she was kind to your grandmother and you and your cousin, Annie Laurie. And it tells me that you’re the type of man who can’t resist a dare.”

“If I’m willing to come back to Sheffield, to act as your personal bodyguard because it’s what Miss Carol wants, then it would seem to me that you should care enough about her to agree to her wishes. All things considered.” He moved over to where Deborah stood near the miniature waterfall built into the privacy wall.

Turning her head slightly, she glanced at him. He had changed and yet he remained the same. Still devastatingly handsome, a bit cocky and occasionally rude. The twenty-one-year-old boy who’d made love to her had not completely vanished. He was there in those gold-flecked, green eyes, in that wide, sensuous mouth, in those big, hard hands. She jerked her gaze away from his hands. Hands that had caressed her intimately. Hands that had taught her the meaning of being a sexual woman.

How could she allow him to stay in her home? How could she endure watching him with Allen, knowing they were father and son?

Was there some way she could respect her mother’s wishes and still keep the truth from Ashe?

“Let’s understand something up front,” Deborah said, facing him, steeling herself not to show any emotion. “I don’t want you here. I had hoped I’d never see you again as long as I lived. If I agree to your acting as my bodyguard until the end of the the trial, to please Mother, you must promise me, here and now, that once I am no longer in any danger, you’ll leave Sheffield and never return.”

“Do you honestly think I’d want to stay?”

“Promise me.”

“I don’t have to promise you anything. I don’t owe you anything.” He glared at her, into those bright, still innocent-looking blue eyes and wanted to grab her and shake her until her teeth rattled. Who the hell did she think she was, giving him orders, demanding promises from him?

“You’re still as stubborn, as bullheaded, as aggravating as you ever were,” she said.

“Guilty as charged.” He wanted to shout at her, to tell her she seemed to be the same little girl who wanted her own way. But this time she couldn’t go running to Daddy. This time Wallace Vaughn couldn’t force him to leave town. Nobody could. Most certainly not Deborah.

“We seem to be at an impasse.”

“No, we’re not. Once I settle in, pay a few visits on family and get the lay of the land, so to speak, you’re stuck with me for the duration.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he shook his head. “I won’t promise you anything, but I can tell you this, I don’t intend to stay in Alabama one day longer than necessary. And while I’m here, you don’t have anything to fear from me. My purpose is to protect you, not harm you.”

They stared at each other, face-to-face, two determined people, neither giving an inch. Finally Deborah nodded, then looked away.

“Dinner is at six-thirty, if you care to join us,” she said.

“Fine. I’ll be back from Mama Mattie’s before then.” Ashe hesitated momentarily, overwhelmed with a need to ask Deborah why. Why had she gone running to her daddy eleven years ago? Had his rejection made her hate him that much?

“I’ll have Mazie prepare you a room, if Mother hasn’t already seen to it.”

“Thanks.” There was no reason to wait, no reason to keep looking at her, to continue wondering exactly what it was about this woman that had made her so unforgettable. He tried to smile, but the effort failed, so he turned and walked back inside the house.

Deborah balled her hands into fists. Taking and releasing a deep breath, she said a silent prayer, asking God to keep them all safe and to protect Allen from the truth. A truth she had kept hidden in her heart since the day he was born, since the day she agreed to allow her son to be raised as her brother.

Chapter Two

As Ashe drove his rental car up Montgomery Avenue, into the downtown area of Sheffield, he noticed the new businesses, mostly restaurants—Louisiana, Milestones and New Orleans Transfer. Come what may, Southerners were going to eat well. Mama Mattie’s homespun philosophy had always been that if folks spent their money on good food, they wouldn’t need to spend it on a doctor.

Mama Mattie. How he loved that old woman. She was probably the only person he’d ever truly loved. The only person who had ever really loved him. He could barely remember a time during his growing up years when he hadn’t lived with her. He had faint memories of living in a trailer out in Leighton. Before he’d started school. Before his daddy had caught his mama in bed with another man and shot them both.

The courts had sentenced JoJo McLaughlin to life in prison, and that’s where he’d died, seven years later.

Mama Mattie had tried to protect Ashe from the ugly truth, from the snide remarks of unthinking adults and the vicious taunts of his schoolmates. But his grandmother had been powerless to protect him from the reality of class distinction, from the social snobbery and inbred attitudes of elite families, like the Vaughns, for whom she worked.

If he’d had a lick of sense, he would have stayed in his place and been content to work at the service station during the day and at the country club as a busboy on weekend nights. But no, Ashe McLaughlin, that bad boy who’d come from white trash outlaws, had wanted to better himself. It didn’t matter to anyone that he graduated salutatorian of his high school class or that he attended the University of North Alabama on an academic scholarship. He still wasn’t good enough to associate with the right people.

He had thought Whitney Vaughn cared about him, that their passionate affair would end in marriage. He’d been a fool. But he’d been an even bigger fool to trust sweet little Deborah, who professed to be his friend, who claimed she would love him until the day she died.

Crossing the railroad tracks, Ashe turned off Shop Pike and drove directly to Mama Mattie’s neat frame house.

When he stepped out of the car, he saw her standing in the doorway, tall, broad-shouldered, her white hair permed into a halo of curls around her lean face.

He had sent her money over the years. Wrote her occasionally. Called her on her birthday and holidays. Picked up special gifts for her from around the world. She had asked him to come home a few times during the first couple of years after he joined the army, but she’d finally quit asking.

She wrote him faithfully, once a month, always thanking him for his kindness, assuring him she and Annie Laurie were well. Sometimes she’d mention that Miss Carol had dropped by for a visit, and told him what a precious little boy Allen Vaughn was. But she never mentioned Deborah. It was as if she knew he couldn’t bear for her name to be mentioned.

Mattie Trotter opened the storm door, walked out onto the front porch and held open her arms. Ashe’s slow, easy gait picked up speed as he drew closer to his grandmother. Taking the steps two at a time, he threw his arms around Mama Mattie, lifting her off her feet.

“Put me down, you silly boy! You’ll throw out your back picking me up.” All the while she scolded, she smiled, that warm, loving smile Ashe well remembered from his childhood.

Placing her on her feet, he slipped his arm around her waist, hugging her to his side. She lacked only a few inches being as tall as he was. “It’s so good to see you again, Mama Mattie.”

“Come on inside.” She opened the storm door. “I’ve made those tea cakes you always loved, and only a few minutes ago, I put on a fresh pot of that expensive coffee you sent me from Atlanta.”

Ashe glanced around the living room. Small, not more than twelve by fourteen. A tan sofa, arms and cushions well-worn, sat against the picture window, a matching chair to the left. The new plaid recliner Ashe had sent her for Christmas held a fat, gray cat, who stared up at Ashe with complete disinterest.

“That’s Annie Laurie’s Mr. Higgins. She’s spoiled him rotten,” Mattie said. “But to be honest, I’m pretty fond of him myself. Sit down, Ashe, sit down.”

He sat beside her on the sofa. She clasped his hands. “There were times when I wondered if I’d ever see you again. I’m an old woman and only God knows how much longer I’m going to be in this world.”

“Don’t talk like that. You’ll live to be a hundred.”

Releasing his hands, she looked directly into his eyes. “Have you seen Deborah?”

“Yeah, Mama Mattie, I’ve seen Deborah Vaughn.”

“She turned out to be a beautiful woman, didn’t she?”

“She was always beautiful, just not…not finished.”

“Miss Carol looks bad, doesn’t she?” Mattie shook her head sadly. “That bout she had with cancer a while back took its toll on her. She’s in remission now, but we all live in fear she’ll have a relapse.”

“She aged more than I’d expected,” Ashe said, recalling how incredibly lovely Carol Vaughn had once been. “But nothing else has changed about her. She’s still a very kind lady.”

“So is Deborah.”

“Don’t!” Ashe stood abruptly, turning his back on his grandmother, not wanting to hear her defend the woman who had been responsible for having him run out of town eleven years ago.

Mattie sighed. “I still say you judged her wrong. She was just a child. Seventeen. You rejected all that sweet, young love she felt for you. If she went to her daddy the way you think she did, then you shouldn’t hold it against her. My God, boy, you took her innocence and then told her you didn’t want her.”

“It wasn’t like that and you damn well know it.” Ashe needed to hit something, smash anything into a zillion pieces. He hated remembering what he’d done and what his stupidity had cost him.

“Don’t you swear at me, boy.” Mattie narrowed her eyes, giving her grandson a killing look.

“I’m sorry, Mama Mattie, but I didn’t come by to see you so we could have that old argument about Deborah Vaughn.” Ashe headed toward the kitchen. “Where are those tea cakes?”

Mattie followed him, busying herself with pouring coffee into brown ceramic mugs while Ashe devoured three tea cakes in quick succession. He pulled out a metal and vinyl chair and sat down at the table.

“They taste just the same. As good as I remember.”

He would never forget walking into the Vaughns’ kitchen after school every day, laying his books on the table and raiding Mama Mattie’s tea cake tray. More often than not, he and Annie Laurie rode home with Miss Carol when she picked up Deborah and Whitney from school.

Whitney had ignored him as much as possible, often complaining to her aunt that she thought it disgraceful they had to be seen with those children. He supposed her haughty attitude had given him more reason to want to bring her down to his level, and eventually he’d done just that. He hadn’t been Whitney’s first, but he hadn’t cared. She’d been hot and eager and he’d thought she really loved him.

All the while he’d been drooling over Whitney, he hadn’t missed the way Deborah stared at him, those big blue eyes of hers filled with undisguised adoration.

“Thinking about those afternoons in the Vaughn kitchen?” Mattie asked.

“What is it with you and Miss Carol? Both of you seem determined to resurrect some sort of romance between Deborah and me.” Ashe lifted the coffee mug to his lips, sipped the delicious brew and held his mug in his hand. “Deborah and I were never sweethearts. We weren’t in love. I liked her and she had a big teenage crush on me. That’s all there ever was to it. So tell me what’s going on?”

“Neither one of you has ever gotten married.”

“Are you saying you’d like to see me married to Deborah?” Ashe’s laughter combined a snicker, a chuckle and a groan. “It’s never going to happen. Not in a million years. Wherever did you get such a crazy idea?”

“You came back home when Miss Carol called and told you that Deborah was in trouble, that her life was in danger,” Mattie said. “In eleven years nothing I’ve said or done could persuade you to return. And don’t try to tell me that you came back because of Miss Carol. You could have sent another man from that private security place where you work. You didn’t have to come yourself and we both know it.”

“Miss Carol asked for me, personally. I knew how sick she’d been. You’ve told me again and again that you were afraid she might die.”

“So knowing Buck Stansell is probably out to stop Deborah from testifying didn’t have anything to do with your coming home? You don’t care what happens to her?”

“I didn’t say I don’t care. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to her.” When Miss Carol had first telephoned him and explained the situation, his blood had run cold at the thought of anyone harming Deborah. Despite what she’d done to him, he couldn’t help remembering the sweet, generous, loving girl he’d known since she was a small child. He had thought she didn’t matter to him, that he didn’t even hate her anymore. But he’d been wrong. He cared. He cared too damned much. Now that he’d seen Deborah again, he was worried that he couldn’t act as her bodyguard and keep their relationship on a purely business level. And that could be dangerous for both of them. If he was smart, he’d call Sam Dundee and tell him to put another agent on the first available flight out of Atlanta.

But where Deborah Vaughn was concerned, he’d never been smart. Not when he had ignored her to pay court to her older cousin. Not when he’d accepted her comfort and love when Whitney had rejected him. And not when he’d been certain she would never betray him to anyone, least of all her father.

Mattie poured herself a second cup of coffee, broke a tea cake in two and popped half into her mouth. Chewing slowly, she watched Ashe. When he turned around and caught her staring at him, he smiled.

“All right. I admit it. Part of the reason I agreed to Miss Carol’s request was because I don’t want to see anything happen to Deborah. There. I said it. Are you satisfied?”

Mattie grinned, showing her perfect, white dentures. “You ought to go have a talk with Lee Roy and Johnny Joe. They’re working for Buck Stansell, you know.”

“Yeah, I figured as much, since their daddy and mine were both part of that gang years ago, along with Buck’s daddy.”

“Well, I don’t trust Johnny Joe, but I always saw something in Lee Roy that made me think he was a mite better than that bunch of trash he came from.”

“Hey, watch what you’re saying, Mama Mattie. You’re talking about my family.” Ashe grinned.

“Your daddy’s family, not mine, and not yours. I think Johnny Joe took after his daddy and his Uncle JoJo, where Lee Roy reminds me a bit of your daddy’s sister. She wasn’t such a bad girl. She and your mama always got along.”

“You think Lee Roy and Johnny Joe know something about the threats against Deborah?” Ashe asked.

“Can’t nobody prove nothing, but folks know that Buck Stan-sell was behind that killing Deborah witnessed. Whoever’s been sending her those notes and making those phone calls, you can bet your bottom dollar that Buck’s behind it all.”

“What do you know about this Lon Sparks? I don’t remember him.”

“No reason you should. He showed up around these parts a few years back. I hear he come up from Corinth with a couple of other guys that Buck recruited when he expanded his drug dealings.”

“How do you know so much, old woman?” Ashe laid his hand over his grandmother’s where it rested beside her coffee cup.

“Everybody hears things. I hear things. At the beauty shop. At the grocery store. At church.”

“After I’ve settled in and made my presence known, I’ll take a ride out to Leighton and see how my cousins are doing.”

“You be careful, Ashe. Buck Stansell isn’t the kind of man to roll over and play dead just because Deborah’s got herself a bodyguard.”

“Don’t you worry. I’m not stupid enough to underestimate Buck. I remember him and his old man. I’ve come up against their type all over the world.”

“While you’re taking care of Deborah and Miss Carol and that precious little Allen, make sure you take care of yourself, too.” Mattie squeezed her grandson’s big hand.

The back door swung open and a tall, thin young woman in a sedate gray pantsuit walked in and stopped dead still when she saw Ashe.”

“Oh, my goodness, it’s really you!” Annie Laurie threw herself into Ashe’s arms. “Mama Mattie said you’d come home, but I wasn’t so sure. You’ve been away forever and ever.”

Mr. Higgins sneaked into the kitchen, staring up at Annie Laurie, purring lightly.

Ashe held his cousin at arm’s length, remembering the first time he’d seen her. She’d been a skinny eight-year-old whose parents had been killed in an automobile accident. Mama Mattie, Annie Laurie’s mother’s aunt, had been the child’s closest relative and hadn’t hesitated to open her home and heart to the girl, just as she had done for Ashe. “Here, let me have a good look at you. My, my. You sure have grown. And into a right pretty young lady.”

Blushing, Annie Laurie shoved her slipping glasses back up her nose. “You haven’t seen me since I was thirteen.”

Hearing a car exit the driveway, Ashe glanced out the window in time to see a black Mercedes backing up, a familiar looking redheaded guy driving.

“Your boyfriend bring you home from work?” Ashe asked.

Annie Laurie’s pink cheeks flamed bright red. She cast her gaze down toward the floor, then bent over, picked up Mr. Higgins and held him in her arms.

“Stop teasing the girl,” Mattie said.

“He’s not your boyfriend?” Ashe lifted her chin.

“He’s my boss.”

“Your boss?”

“That was Neil Posey,” Mattie said. “You remember him. He’s Archie Posey’s son. He’s partners with Deborah in their daddies’ real estate firm.”

“You work for Vaughn & Posey Real Estate?” Ashe asked. “I guess Mama Mattie told me and I’d just forgotten.”

“I’m Neil’s…that is Mr. Posey’s secretary. And he’s not my boyfriend. He’s Deborah’s…I mean, he likes her.”

“What?” Ashe laughed aloud. Neil Posey was Deborah’s boyfriend? That short, stocky egghead with carrot red hair and trillions of freckles.

“I’ve tried to tell Annie Laurie that Deborah isn’t interested in Neil just because he follows her around like a lovesick puppy dog.” Mattie shook her head, motioning for Ashe to let the subject drop. “Are you staying for supper? I’ve got some chicken all thawed out. It won’t take me long to fry it up.”

“Sorry, Mama Mattie, I’m expected for dinner at the Vaughns’, but I’m looking forward to some of your fried chicken while I’m home.”

“You be sure and tell Deborah and Miss Carol I asked about them,” Mattie said. “And, here, take Allen some of my tea cakes. He loves them as much as you used to when you were his age.”

Ashe caught an odd look in his grandmother’s eyes. It was as if she knew something she wanted him to know, but for some reason didn’t see fit to tell him. He shook off the notion, picked up his coffee mug and relaxed, enjoying being home. Back in his grandmother’s house. Back with the only real family he’d ever known.

Deborah checked her appearance in the cheval mirror, tightened the backs of her pearl earrings and lifted the edge of her neckline so that her pearl necklace lay precisely right. Ashe McLaughlin’s presence at their dinner table tonight had absolutely nothing to do with her concern about her appearance, she told herself, and knew it was a lie. Her undue concern was due to Ashe, and so was her nervousness.

Didn’t she have enough problems without Ashe reappearing in her life after eleven years? How could her mother have thought that bringing that man back into their lives could actually help her? She’d almost rather face Buck Stansell alone than have to endure weeks with Ashe McLaughlin at her side twenty-four hours a day.

Of course, her mother had been right in hiring a personal bodyguard for her. She had to admit that she’d considered the possibility herself. But not Ashe!

Ever since she had inadvertently driven up on the scene of Corey Looney’s execution, she had been plagued by nightmares. Both awake and asleep. Time and again she saw the gun, the blood, the man’s body slump to the ground. Even in the quiet of her dark bedroom, alone at night, she could hear the sound of the gun firing.

Shivers racked Deborah’s body. Chill bumps broke out on her arms. The letters and telephone calls had begun the day the sheriff arrested Lon Sparks. At first she had tried to dismiss them, but when they persisted, even the local authorities became concerned.

Colbert County’s sheriff and an old family acquaintance, Charlie Blaylock, had assigned a deputy to her before and during the preliminary hearing, but couldn’t spare a man for twenty-four-hour-a-day protection on an indefinite basis. Charlie had spoken to the state people, the FBI and the DEA, hoping one or more of the agencies’ interest in Buck Stansell’s dealings might bring in assistance and protection for Deborah.

But there was no proof Buck Stansell was involved, even though everyone knew Lon Sparks worked for Stansell. The federal boys wanted to step in, but murder in Colbert County was a local crime. They’d keep close tabs on the situation, but couldn’t become officially involved.

Charlie had been the one to suggest hiring a private bodyguard. Deborah had agreed to consider the suggestion, never dreaming her mother would take matters into her own hands and hire Ashe McLaughlin.

Closing the door behind her, Deborah stepped out into the upstairs hallway, took a deep breath and ventured down the stairs. When she entered the foyer, she heard voices coming from the library, a room that had once been her father’s private domain. Her mother had kept the masculine flavor of the room, but had turned it into a casual family retreat where she or Deborah often helped Allen with his homework. The old library was more a family room now.

She stood in the open doorway, watching and listening, totally unnoticed at first. Her mother sat in a tan-and-rust floral print chair, her current needlepoint project in her hand. She smiled, her gaze focused on Allen and Ashe, who were both sitting on the Tabriz rug, video-game controls in their hands as they fought out a battle on the television screen before them.

“You’re good at this,” Allen said. “Are you sure you don’t have a kid of your own you play with all the time?”

Deborah sucked in a deep breath, the sting of her son’s words piercing her heart. She couldn’t bear the way Allen looked at Ashe, so in awe of the big, friendly man he must never know was his father.

“I don’t have any kids of my own.” Ashe hadn’t thought much about having a family. His life didn’t include a place for a wife and children, although at one time, a family had been high on his list of priorities—eleven years ago when he’d thought he would marry Whitney Vaughn and carve a place for himself in local society. Hell, he’d been a fool in more ways than one.

“You should be thinking about a family, Ashe,” Carol Vaughn said, laying aside her needlework. “You’re how old now, thirty-two? Surely you’ve sowed all the wild oats a man would need to sow.”

Ashe turned his head, smiled at Carol, then frowned when he caught sight of Deborah standing in the doorway. “I haven’t really given marriage a thought since I left Sheffield. When a man puts his trust in the wrong woman, more than once, the way I did, it makes him a little gun-shy.”

Deborah met his fierce gaze directly, not wavering the slightest when he glared at her with those striking hazel eyes…gold-flecked green eyes made even more dramatic since they were set in a hard, lean, darkly tanned face.

Ashe realized that he could not win the game of staring her down. Deborah Vaughn had changed. She was no longer the shy, quiet girl who always seemed afraid to look him in the eye. Now she seemed determined to prove to him how tough she was, how totally immune she was to him.

With that cold, determined stare she told him that he no longer had any power over her, that the lovesick girl she’d once been no longer existed. Her aversion to him came as no great surprise, but what did unsettle him was her accusatory attitude, as if she found him at fault.

All right, he had taken her innocence when he’d had no right to touch her, but he’d told her he was sorry and begged her to forgive him. He had rejected her girlish declaration of love as gently as he’d known how. If he’d been a real cad, he could have taken advantage of her time and again. But he’d cared about Deborah, and his stupidity in taking her just that one time had made him heartsick.

But he had not ruined her life. It had been the other way around. She had almost ruined his a couple of months later by running to her daddy. Why had she done it? Had she hated him that much? Did she still hate him?

Carol glanced at her daughter. “Deborah, come join us. Mazie tells me dinner will be ready promptly at six-thirty.”

“She’s always punctual. Dinner’s at six-thirty every night,” Deborah said.

“She’s prepared Allen’s favorite. Meat loaf with creamed potatoes and green peas,” Carol said.

“Hey, pal, that’s my favorite, too.” Ashe elbowed Allen playfully in the ribs.

Allen leaned into Ashe, toppling the big man over onto the rug. Within seconds the two were wrestling around on the floor.

Deborah looked from father and son to her mother. Nervously she cleared her throat. When no one paid any heed to her, she cleared her throat again.

“Come sit down.” Carol gestured toward the tufted leather sofa. “Let the boys be boys. They’ll tire soon enough.”

When Deborah continued staring at Allen and Ashe rolling around on the floor, both of them laughing, Carol stood and walked over to her daughter.

“Allen needs a man in his life.” Carol slipped her arm around Deborah’s waist, leading her into the room. “He’ll soon be a teenager. He’s going to need a father more than ever then.”

“Hush, Mother! They’ll hear you.”

Carol glanced over at the two rowdy males who stopped abruptly when their roughhousing accidently knocked over a potted plant.

“Uh-oh, Allen, we’ll be in trouble with the ladies now.” Rising to his knees, Ashe swept up the spilled dirt with his hands and dumped it back into the brass pot.

“Don’t worry about it,” Carol said. “I’ll ask Mazie to run the vacuum over what’s left on the rug.”

Deborah glanced down at her gold and diamond wristwatch. “It’s almost six-thirty. I’ll check on dinner and tell Mazie about the accident with the plant.”

The moment Deborah exited the room, Allen shook his head, stood up and brushed off his hands. “What’s the matter with Deborah? She’s acting awful strange.”

“She’s nervous about the upcoming trial, but you know that, Allen.” Carol smiled, first at Allen and then at Ashe. “Our lives have been topsy-turvy for weeks now.”

“No, I’m not talking about that.” Allen nodded toward Ashe. “She’s been acting all goofy ever since Ashe showed up here today.” He turned to Ashe. “Nobody ever answered my question about whether you and Deborah used to be an item.”

“Allen—” Carol said.

“Deborah and I were good friends at one time.” Ashe certainly couldn’t say anything negative about his sister to the boy. “I’m four years older, so I dated older girls.”

“Deborah had a crush on Ashe for years,” Carol said.

When Ashe glanced at Carol, she stared back at him, her look asking something of him that Ashe couldn’t comprehend.

“She liked you, but you didn’t like her back?” Allen asked. “Boy, were you dumb. Deborah’s pretty and about the nicest person in the world.”

“Yeah, Allen, I was pretty dumb all right. I’m a lot smarter now.”

“Well, if Deborah gives you a second chance this time, you won’t mess things up, will you?” Allen looked at him with eyes identical to Deborah’s, the purest, richest blue imaginable.

“I’m not here to romance your sister,” Ashe said. “I’m here to protect her, to make sure—”

Carol cleared her throat; Ashe realized he was saying too much, that they wanted the boy protected from the complete, ugly truth.

“Ashe is here to act as Deborah’s bodyguard. You know, the way famous people have bodyguards to protect them from their overzealous fans. Well, Ashe is going to make sure the reporters and people curious about the trial don’t interfere with her life in any way.”

“The kids at school say Buck Stansell will try to kill Deborah if she tells in court what she saw that man do,” Allen said, looking directly to Ashe for an explanation. “Is that true?”

“No one is going to hurt Deborah while I’m around.” Ashe placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “And I’ll be here until after the trial, maybe a little longer.”

Carol Vaughn sighed. Ashe glanced at the doorway. Deborah had returned and was looking straight at him, her eyes filled with pain and fear and something indiscernible. Longing? Ashe wondered. Or perhaps the remembrance and regret of longing?

Deborah willed herself to be strong, to show no sign of weakness in front of Allen and her mother or in Ashe’s presence. She’d heard Ashe say that no one would hurt her while he was around. For one split second her heart had caught in her throat. He had sounded so determined, so protective, as if he truly cared what happened to her.

“Dinner is ready.” Damn, her voice shouldn’t sound so unsteady. She had to take control. “Is everything all right?”

“Fine,” Carol and Ashe said in unison.

Rushing across the room, Allen threw his arms around Deborah. “I’ll help Ashe protect you. You’ll have two men in your life now, and we’ll make sure nobody bothers you.”

Deborah hugged her son to her, threading her fingers through his thick blond hair. “I feel very safe, knowing that I have you two guys looking out for me.”

Carol Vaughn steered Allen and Ashe into the hall. “You two wash up and meet us in the dining room.” She slipped her arm around Deborah’s waist. “Come, dear.”

Carol managed to keep the conversation directed on Allen during the meal, telling Ashe about the boy’s exploits since early childhood. Deborah wished her mother didn’t have her heart set on reuniting them all. There was no way it would ever happen. She and Ashe didn’t even like each other. She certainly had good reason not to like Ashe, and it seemed he thought he had reason to dislike her.

“I told Mazie to save the apple pie for tomorrow night’s dinner,” Carol said. “Ashe brought us some of Mattie’s delicious homemade tea cakes.”

“I love Mama Mattie’s tea cakes,” Allen said.

Jerking his head around, Ashe stared at Allen. Had he heard correctly? Had Allen Vaughn referred to Ashe’s grandmother as Mama Mattie?

“Mattie insisted Allen call her Mama Mattie.” Carol laid her linen napkin on the table. “She said that she liked to think of Allen as a grandchild.”

Deborah strangled on her iced tea. Lifting her napkin to her mouth, she coughed several times. Her faced turned red. She glared at her mother.

“Let’s have Mazie serve the tea cakes in the library with coffee for us and milk for Allen.” Easing her chair away from the table, Carol stood.

Allen followed Carol out of the dining room, obviously eager for a taste of Mattie Trotter’s tea cakes. Deborah hesitated, waiting for Ashe. He halted at her side as he walked across the room.

“You look lovely tonight,” he said. What the hell had prompted that statement? He’d thought it, and made the remark before thinking.

“Thank you.”

She wore blue silk, the color of her eyes. And pearls. A lady’s jewel. Understated and elegant.

“We’ve tried to protect Allen from the complete truth,” she said. “He’s so young. And he and I are very close. He was only four when Daddy died, and he tries to be our little man.”

“He knows more than you think.” Ashe understood her need to protect the boy; on short acquaintance he felt an affinity with Deborah’s brother and a desire to safeguard him. “Anything made public, he’s bound to hear sooner or later. You’re better off being up front with him.”

“Just what do you know about ten-year-old boys?”

“I know they’re not babies, that a boy as smart as Allen can’t be fooled.”

“It’s not your place to make decisions where—”

The telephone rang. Deborah froze. Ashe wished he could erase the fear he saw in her eyes, the somber expression on her face. “Have you had your number changed? Unlisted?”

“Yes.” She swallowed hard.

“It’s for you, Miss Deborah.” Mazie stood in the doorway holding the portable phone. “It’s Mr. Posey.”

Letting out a sigh, Deborah swayed a fraction. Ashe grabbed her by the elbow.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Deborah took the phone from Mazie, placed her hand over the mouthpiece and looked at Ashe. “Go ahead and join Mother and Allen in the library.”

“Neil Posey?” Ashe asked. “Has he changed any or do his buddies still call him Bozo?”

Deborah widened her eyes, glaring at Ashe as if what he’d said had been sacrilege. Go away. Now. She mouthed the words. Grinning, Ashe threw up his hands in a what-did-I-say gesture, then walked out of the room.

“Neil?”

“I thought perhaps you’d like to take a drive,” he said. “It’s such a lovely autumn night. We could stop by somewhere for coffee later.”

“Oh, that’s such a sweet thought, but I’m afraid…Well, tonight just isn’t good for me. We…that is, Mother has company tonight.”

“I see. I’m disappointed of course, but we’ll just make it another night.”

“Yes, of course.”

“See you tomorrow,” Neil said. “Yes. Tomorrow.” Deborah laid the phone down on the hall table.

Before she took three steps, the telephone rang again. She eyed it with suspicion. Don’t do this to yourself. Answer the damned thing. It’s not going to bite you.

“Hello. Vaughn residence.”

“Deborah?” the man asked.

“Yes.”

“Telling the sheriff what you saw was your first mistake. Testifying in court will be your last mistake.”

“Who is this?” Sheriff Blaylock had put a tap on their telephones, the one in her bedroom and the one in the library. Damn, why hadn’t she remembered not to answer the portable phone?

“This is someone concerned for your safety.”

“How did you get our number?” She gripped the phone with white-knuckled ferocity.

“Change it as many times as you want and we’ll still keep calling.”

“Leave me alone!” Deborah’s voice rose.

Ashe appeared before her, grabbed the phone out of her hand and shoved her aside. She stared at him in disbelief.

“Ms. Vaughn won’t be taking any more phone calls.” He ended the conversation, laid the phone on the hall table, then grabbed Deborah by the arm. “From now on, you’re not to answer the phone. Mazie or I will screen all the incoming calls.”

The touch of his big hand on her arm burned like fire. He was hard, his palm warm. She looked up at him, saw the genuine concern in his eyes and wanted nothing more than to crumple into his arms. It would be so easy to give in to the fear and uncertainty that had plagued her since she had witnessed Corey Looney’s death. Ashe was big and strong, his shoulders wide enough to carry any burden. Even hers. She wanted to cry out to him “Take care of me,” but she couldn’t. She had to be strong. For herself. For her mother and Allen.

“Please, don’t mention the phone call to Mother. It will only worry her needlessly.”

“Needlessly?” Ashe grabbed Deborah by the shoulders. “You’re so cool and in control. You’re not the girl I used to know. She would have been crying by now. What changed you so much?”

You did. The words vibrated on the tip of her tongue. They would be so easy to say, so difficult to explain. “I grew up. I took on the responsibilities Daddy left behind when he died so suddenly.”

Ashe ran his hands up and down her arms. She shivered. For one instant he saw the vulnerable, gentle girl he’d once liked, the Deborah who had adored him. “You won’t answer the telephone, at home or at work.”

“All right.”

“And I won’t mention this call to Miss Carol.”

“Thank you.”

He could barely resist the urge to kiss her. She stood there facing him, her defiant little chin tilted, her blue eyes bright, her cheeks delicately flushed. God, but she was beautiful. But then she always had been. Even when he’d fancied himself in love with Whitney, he hadn’t been immune to Deborah’s shy, plump beauty.

“If you ever need to let down your defenses for a few minutes, to stop being strong all the time for your mother and brother, I’ll be around.” He released her, but continued looking directly at her.

She nodded her head, turned and walked away from him.

He didn’t want to care about her. Dammit! All these years he’d never been able to forget her. Or the fact that she had betrayed him to her father. Or that she had been a virgin and he had taken advantage of her. And he could never forget when she’d told him she loved him that night, he had seen a depth of emotion on her face he’d never seen again.

He waited in the entrance hall for a few minutes, wondering how the hell he was going to do his job protecting Deborah from the bad guys, when what she desperately needed was protection from him.

Chapter Three

“Mother had Mazie put your bag in here,” Deborah said. “One of the guest rooms. It’s right across the hall from mine.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Ashe followed her into the room. Over the years he had stayed in some fancy places. It wasn’t as if the finer things in life impressed him the way they once had. But even now, after all these years, he couldn’t suppress the satisfaction of knowing he’d be sleeping in a guest room at the Vaughns’ house.

Deborah flipped on the overhead light, revealing a room done tastefully in shades of tan and green. The antique oak bedroom suite, masculine in its heavy lines and massive size, would have overwhelmed a smaller room.

“Mother’s room is to the right.” Deborah returned to the hall. Ashe stood in the doorway. “And that’s Allen’s room.” She pointed to the open door from which a blast of loud music came, then quieted. “He forgets and plays it too loud sometimes, but he’s trying to be more considerate, for Mother’s sake.”

“I suppose it’s been difficult for her trying to raise a young boy, alone, especially at her age.” Ashe caught a glimpse of Allen darting around in his room, apparently straightening things.

“Mother is an incredible lady, but she hasn’t been alone in raising Allen. I’ve been with her, taking as much responsibility for him as I possibly could.”

“I’m sure you have. I just meant she’s raised him without a father, without a man around to help her.”

Deborah noticed Ashe watching their son. No! She had to stop thinking that way. Allen Vaughn was her brother.

“He’s picking up because he plans to invite you in. He has a lot of questions to ask you about being a bodyguard.”

“He’s quite a boy, isn’t he?” Ashe looked at Deborah. “He reminds me of you. Same coloring. Same quick mind.”

“Yes, Allen and I are very much alike.” But there are things about him that remind me of you, she wanted to say. Even before Ashe had come back into their lives, she had found similarities between Allen and the man who had fathered him. Now that they’d be together all the time, would those similarities become even more apparent?

“He’s big for his age, isn’t he?” Ashe asked. He’d thought it strange that Allen was so tall for a ten-year-old. Deborah couldn’t be more than five-four, about the same height as Miss Carol; and Wallace Vaughn had been short and stocky.

“Yes.” She smiled, thinking about how Ashe had looked as a boy of ten. He had been a part of her life for as long she could remember. He’d come to live with Mattie Trotter when he was only six, right after his mother’s death. Deborah had grown up accustomed to seeing Ashe in the kitchen and out in the garden, during the summers and after school, until he’d grown old enough for part-time jobs.

“What are you thinking about?” Ashe couldn’t quite discern that faraway look in her eyes. Whatever thoughts had captured her, they must have been pleasant.

“I was thinking about when we were kids. You and little Annie Laurie, Whitney and I.” She could have lied, but why should she? They could not change the past, neither the good nor the bad. What had happened, had happened.

“How is Whitney?”

Deborah hadn’t thought Ashe’s interest in her cousin would create such a sharp pain inside her heart. Don’t do this to yourself! It doesn’t matter any more. Whitney is not your rival. You don’t love Ashe McLaughlin.

“She’s as well as anyone could be married to George Jamison III.”

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“It means that George is quite content to live off Whitney’s money, and the two of them have never had children because Whitney is too busy trying to raise the little boy she married.”

“I’d say Whitney got what she deserved, wouldn’t you?” He could remember a time when he had longed to make Whitney Vaughn his wife. He’d been a fool. She had wanted Ashe for one thing and one thing only. She had enjoyed the sense of danger and excitement she found having an affair with a bad boy her friends considered beneath them.

“She could have married you, couldn’t she? You never would have deserted her. And you wouldn’t have lived off her inheritance.” Deborah turned toward her room.

Ashe gripped her by the elbow, pulling her toward him. Jerking her head around, she glared at him. “Your cousin didn’t want to marry me. Remember?” he said. “She thought I wasn’t good enough for her. But you didn’t think that, did you, Deborah?”

He said her name all soft and sexy and filled with need. The way he’d said it that night. She tried to break away, to force herself into action, to terminate the feelings rising within her. No, she had never thought she was too good for Ashe. She had adored him for as long as she could remember and held her secret love in her heart until the night he’d turned to her for comfort.

He had taken the comfort she’d offered—and more. He’d taken all she had to give. And left her with nothing.

No, that wasn’t true. He had left her with Allen.

“Did you change your mind, later? After—” Ashe began.

“No, I…The difference in our social positions isn’t what kept us apart and we both know it.”

“What about now?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” She looked at him, questioning his statement, daring him to ask her what she thought of the man who had come back into her life after deserting her eleven years ago.

“I’m the hired help around here.” His lips were so close that his breath mingled with hers. “Would Miss Deborah ever fool around with the hired help?”

“You’re being offensive.” She tried to pull away from him; he held fast. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears.

They stared at each other. Defiant. Determined. Neither backing down.

“Hey, Ashe, come in my room and let me introduce you to Huckleberry,” Allen called out from down the hallway.

Allen’s interruption immediately broke the tense spell. Deborah breathed a sigh of relief; Ashe loosened his hold on her arms.

“Allen, does Mother know you’ve brought Huckleberry inside?” Deborah asked as she eased her body away from Ashe.

A large tan Labrador retriever stood beside Allen, the dog’s tongue hanging out, his tail wagging as the boy stroked his back.

Ashe grinned. “Where does Huckleberry usually stay?”

“Outside,” Deborah said. “But occasionally Mother allows Allen to bring him inside.”

“Come on.” Allen waved at Ashe. “I want to show you my room. Deborah helped me redo the whole thing last year. It’s a real guy’s room now and not a baby’s room anymore.”

“Is your mother having a difficult time letting Allen grow up?” Ashe asked.

“Yes, I suppose she is. But he is the baby, after all.”

“Come on, Ashe.” Allen motioned with his hand.

“Coming?” Ashe asked Deborah.

“Yes, in a minute. You go ahead.”

Ashe gave Huckleberry a pat on the head when he entered Allen’s domain. He’d speak to Deborah and Miss Carol about allowing the dog to remain inside. A dog as big as Huckleberry could act as a deterrent to anyone foolish enough to break into the house.

Allen’s room was indeed a real guy’s room. Posters lined one wall. Dark wooden shutters hung at the windows. A sturdy antique bed, covered in blue-and-green plaid, and a huge matching dresser seemed to be the only antique items in the room. A color television, a CD player, a VCR and a tape recorder filled a wall unit beside a desk that held a computer, monitor and printer.

“This is some room, pal. I’d say your sister made sure you had everything a guy could want.”

“Yeah, she let me get rid of everything babyish.” Allen grabbed Ashe by the hand. “Come take a look at these. This is one of my hobbies.”

Allen led Ashe over to a shiny metal trunk sitting at the foot of his bed. Lying atop the trunk were two brown albums.

“What have you got here?”

“My baseball card collection.”

Deborah stood in the hallway, listening, waiting. How was she going to protect Allen from Ashe McLaughlin when she was finding it difficult to protect herself from him? The moment he’d pulled her close, the moment he’d said her name in that husky, sexy voice of his, she’d practically melted. No other man had ever made her feel the way Ashe did.

Damn him! Damn him for having the same dizzying effect on her he’d always had. Eleven years hadn’t changed the way she wanted him. If she thought she would be immune to Ashe’s charms, then she’d been a total fool. If she wasn’t careful, she’d wind up falling in love with him all over again.

She couldn’t let that happen. And she couldn’t allow Ashe to find out that Allen was his son.

Deborah walked down the hall, stopping in the doorway to Allen’s bedroom. Ashe and Allen sat on the bed, Huckleberry curled up beside them, his head resting on a pillow. A lump formed in Deborah’s throat.

Please, dear Lord. Don’t let anyone else notice what I see so plainly—the similarities in boy and man.

“How long were you a Green Beret?” Allen asked.

“Ten years.”

“Wow, I’ll bet that’s one exciting job, huh? Did you ever kill anybody?”

Deborah almost cried out, not wanting Ashe to discuss his life in the special forces with their ten-year-old son. She bit her lip and remained silent, waiting for Ashe’s reply.

“Yes, Allen, I’ve killed. But it isn’t something I like to talk about. It was my job to get rid of the bad guys, but killing is never easy.”

“That’s what you’re here in Sheffield to do, isn’t it?” Allen asked. “You’re here to protect Deborah against the bad guys, and if you have to, you’ll kill them, won’t you?”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” Ashe said. “But, yes, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Deborah safe.”

“How long have you been a bodyguard?”

“I started working for Sam Dundee last year, right after I left the army.”

“Why’d you leave the Green Berets?”

Deborah cleared her throat, stepped inside Allen’s room and gave him a censuring stare. “I think you’ve asked Ashe enough questions for one night. Save a few for later.”

“Ah, Deborah, can’t he stay just a little while longer?” Allen whined in a typical childlike manner. “I was going to ask him about the two of you when you were kids.” Allen turned his attention to Ashe. “Did you ever kiss Deborah when you two were teenagers?”

“Allen!” Deborah scolded, her voice harsher than she had intended.

“Yes, I kissed Deborah.” Ashe watched her closely, noting that she wouldn’t look at him, that she had balled her hands into fists and held them rigidly at her hips.

“I knew it! I knew it!” Allen bounced up and down on the bed. “You two were a thing, weren’t you?”

“No, Allen.” Deborah trembled inside, and prayed the shivers racing through her body didn’t materialize externally. “Stop jumping up and down on the bed.”

“You sure are being a grouch.” Settling back down on the side of the bed, Allen glanced back and forth from Deborah to Ashe. “What’s the big secret about you two being an item when you were teenagers? Is it a big deal that Ashe was your boyfriend?”

“We’ve told you that Ashe wasn’t my boyfriend,” Deborah said. No, he’d never been her boyfriend, just her lover for one night. One night that had changed her life forever. “We were friends.”

“Then why did he kiss you?” Allen asked.

Deborah looked to Ashe, her gaze pleading with him, then she glanced away quickly. “Sometimes an occasion arises when a friend might kiss another friend,” Deborah said.

The look on Allen’s face plainly said he didn’t believe a word of it.

“Deborah and I were friends all our lives,” Ashe explained. “Then not long before I left Sheffield, we thought we could be more than friends. That’s when I kissed her. But it didn’t work out. So you see, Allen, your sister was never actually my girlfriend.”

“Do you have a girlfriend now?”

“Allen!” Rolling her eyes heavenward, Deborah shook her head in defeat. “Enough questions for one night.”

Ashe laughed. “I remember being the same way when I was his age. I used to drive Mama Mattie nuts asking her so many questions. I guess it’s the age. The whole world is a mystery when you’re ten.”

“I guess it’s a guy thing, huh, Ashe?”

Allen looked at Ashe McLaughlin with such adoration in his eyes that Deborah almost cried. There had been a time when she, too, had adored Ashe. It was so easy to fall under his spell, to succumb to his charm. Maybe her son had inherited her weakness.

“Curiosity isn’t a guy thing,” Ashe said. “I remember a time when your sister’s curiosity got the minister in big trouble.”

“What?” Allen grinned, stole a quick glance at Deborah and burst into laughter. “Deborah did something she wasn’t supposed to do? I can’t believe it. She always does the right thing.”

“Well, she made the mistake of walking in on Reverend Bently and the new choir director, a very attractive lady,” Ashe said.

“I asked Mother, right in the middle of her study club meeting, why Reverend Bently would kiss Miss Denise.” Deborah smiled, remembering the utter horror on her mother’s face and the loud rumble of ladies’ voices rising in outrage as they sat in Carol Vaughn’s garden, dropping their finger sandwiches and spilling their tea.

“How’d you know, Ashe? Were you there? Did you see it happen?”

“Allen, that’s enough questions,” Deborah said. “You’ve got school tomorrow and I have work. Besides, Ashe hasn’t even settled in yet. Save the rest of your million and one questions for another day.”

“Ah…ahh…All right.”

“Deborah told me all about it when I stopped by to pick up Mama Mattie that evening after I got off from work. Your sister was only twelve then, and at that age she used to tell me everything.”

Not everything, Deborah thought. Not then, not later, and certainly not now. She never told him how much she loved him. Not until that night by the river. But he’d known she had a crush on him, just as he was aware, now, that she was afraid of him, afraid of how he made her feel.

“Deborah’s right, pal. It’s getting late.” Ashe ruffled the boy’s thick blond hair, hair the exact shade Deborah’s had been as a child. “I’ll be around for several weeks. You’ll have a chance to ask me a lot more questions.”

Deborah waited in the hallway until Ashe walked past her and toward his own room. He hesitated in the doorway.

“You were always special to me,” he said. “I trusted you in a way I didn’t trust another soul.”

She stood in the hall, staring at his back as he entered his room and closed the door. She shivered. What had he meant by that last statement? Was he accusing her of something? He had trusted her. Well, she had trusted him, too. And he had betrayed her. He had taken her innocence, gotten her pregnant and left town.

Whatever had gone wrong between them hadn’t been her fault. It had been his. He hadn’t loved her. He’d used her. And afterward, when she’d poured out her heart to him, he’d said he was sorry, that he never should have touched her.

Ashe McLaughlin had regretted making love to her. She could never forget the pain that knowledge had caused her. Even if she could forgive him, she could never forget what he’d said to her eleven years ago…But I don’t love you, Deborah. Not that way. What we did tonight shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry. It was all my fault. Forgive me, honey. Please forgive me.

Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. She walked the few steps to her open bedroom door, crossed the threshold, closed the door quietly and, once alone, wiped away her tears.

“All of Ms. Vaughn’s calls are to be screened. That means the caller must identify him or herself and must be someone Ms. Vaughn knows. Otherwise the call will be directed to me. Is that understood?”