“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 kno
w 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.
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