Witness

by Beverly Barton

  Unsmiling, every nerve in her body tense, Deborah glared at Ashe. “Perhaps, after I’ve wished George a happy birthday and given him his present.” She held up the shiny golden gift.

  When Ashe guided Deborah past Whitney, Deborah paused. “You look lovely tonight, Whitney. But then I’m sure you already know that. No doubt every man at the party has told you at least once.”

  Whitney grinned, a rather shaky grin, one that didn’t reach her eyes, one that didn’t begin to compare with the smile spreading across Deborah’s face.

  “And you look adorable,” Whitney said, giving Deborah a quick hug. “And aren’t you the lucky one, having Ashe McLaughlin as your escort. But then, I suppose Aunt Carol is paying him extra, isn’t she?”

  “And he’s worth every cent.” Deborah tugged on Ashe’s arm. She led him away from her cousin, down the hallway and into the ballroom.

  Ashe and Deborah heard Peanut Haygood’s hardy chuckle, but neither turned around to see Whitney’s reaction.

  “When did you learn to play hardball?” Ashe asked.

  “When my father died and I had to take responsibility for his business as well as my mother and Allen.”

  “Let’s find George and give him his present.” Ashe ran his hand up and down Deborah’s arm. “I want to dance with you.”

  Deborah wasn’t quite sure what she thought or how she felt. A mixture of anger and exhilaration rioted along her nerve endings. All the old jealousies she’d felt for her cousin had come racing to the forefront when she’d walked out of the ladies’ room and seen Whitney wrapped around Ashe. But when she had won their verbal sparring match, she’d felt as if she were walking on air.

  She couldn’t help wondering what would happen if she spent the night in Ashe’s arms, dancing with him here at the country club. Perhaps the safest course of action would be to give George his present, stay long enough to appease her social set’s curiosity and make a quiet, discreet exit. If Whitney indulged in her usual weakness for champagne, there was a chance she might make a scene later on. And Deborah wanted to avoid a real confrontation that would put her in the spotlight.

  The whole town knew she was the prosecution’s star witness, and that her life was in danger. And she had no doubt that Ashe McLaughlin’s constant presence at her side had set tongues wagging. What would they say once Ashe had shown everyone that their relationship was intimate?

  She didn’t give a damn what they would say. She never had. She’d always been a lot like her mother. Carol Allen Vaughn had known who she was—an Allen—and had never considered herself subject to the rules and regulations of the society biddies. And no one had ever dared question Carol’s judgment or suggest her actions were inappropriate. In that respect, Deborah was her mother’s daughter.

  But Carol had given in to Wallace Vaughn’s authority, always the dutiful wife. If only her mother had gone against her father’s wishes. If only—

  “Deborah, such a smashing dress!” George Jamison III smiled his widemouthed, white-toothed smile and gave his cousin-in-law a peck on the cheek. “For me?” George eyed the gold foil-wrapped gift.

  “Oh, yes. This is for you.” Deborah hadn’t realized that while she’d been thinking, Ashe had led her straight to the birthday boy. Although boy was hardly the appropriate word for a balding man of forty. Then again, perhaps boy was the correct word to describe George, who, in many ways, was far more immature than Allen.

  “I’ll just put it here with my other goodies.” George laid the gift on top of a stack of presents arranged on the table behind him. “I suppose Whitney greeted y’all at the door. She’s such a marvelous hostess. And she does love a good party.”

  “Yes, she met us in the hallway, actually,” Deborah said.

  Ashe tightened his hold around Deborah’s waist. “Happy birthday, George.”

  George glanced at Ashe, his long, thin nose slightly tilted upward. He made no move to offer Ashe his hand. “McLaughlin.” George’s pale gray eyes met Ashe’s vibrant hazel glare. “I was surprised to hear you’d come back to Sheffield to act as Deborah’s bodyguard. Of course, we’re all pleased that someone is looking out for her. I understand that you’re highly qualified to handle brutes like Buck Stansell. Then, of course, it must be a help that you’ve had ties to those people all your life.”

  “Yes, it is a help.” Ashe lifted the corners of his mouth just enough to hint at a smile, but he knew George Jamison would recognize the look in his eyes for what it was. Contempt. Dislike. Disgust.

  “We can’t stay too long,” Deborah said. “I don’t like to leave Mother alone.”

  “I quite understand.” Glancing across the room, George waved at someone. “Do enjoy yourselves. I’m sure this is a bit of a treat for you, McLaughlin. Finally getting to come to the country club through the front door. Rather different from the last time you were here, isn’t it?”

  “George, you’re being—” Deborah said.

  “You’re right.” Catching sight of Whitney dancing with the young man she had cornered earlier, Ashe nodded in her direction. “Eleven years ago you and I were the only two guys Whitney was seeing.”

  “How dare you!” George’s thin, white cheeks flushed pink.

  Ashe led Deborah away from George, quickly ushering her through the crowd and onto the dance floor.

  “That was a horrible thing to say to George,” Deborah said.

  “I was justified, don’t you think?” Ashe pulled her close, leaning over to nuzzle her neck with his nose.

  She gulped in a deep breath of air. “Yes, you were most definitely justified. George always has been a little snot! He’s so immature.”

  “A little snot?” Ashe chuckled. “I guess that does aptly describe George, doesn’t it?”

  Deborah loved the feel of Ashe’s arms around her, the security of his strength, the sensuality of his nearness. She didn’t know what she had expected to happen tonight. Between Ashe and Whitney. Between Ashe and George. But she certainly hadn’t expected to feel so light and free and thoroughly amused.

  It suddenly hit her that neither she nor Ashe were the same two people who had left this country club eleven years ago. They had both grown up.

  Ashe was no longer in awe of the wealthy social set that ruled the county. His dreams weren’t wrapped up in a sexy package called Whitney Vaughn. He wasn’t an angry, outraged, spurned lover.

  And Deborah no longer saw herself as a wallflower beside her exquisite cousin. Any residue of leftover jealousy she might have once felt disappeared completely. She was strong. She was successful. She was attractive.

  And Ashe McLaughlin wanted her!

  They moved to the music, giving themselves over to the bluesy rendition of an old Glenn Miller song. They spent nearly an hour on the dance floor, wrapped in each other’s arms. Occasionally Deborah noticed some curious stares and heard a few whispered innuendoes. None of it mattered, she told herself. She and Ashe were presenting themselves to the world as lovers. She could not allow herself to think otherwise. When the danger to her life ended, Ashe would be gone.

  But during the duration of his stay, they could become lovers. She didn’t doubt for one minute that Ashe wanted her. He had made that abundantly clear. The question was did she dare risk giving herself to him? Did she dare risk falling in love with him all over again? How could she become his lover and continue lying to him about Allen?

  “Are you about ready to leave?” Ashe whispered, then kissed her ear.

  Deborah shivered. “Yes. I think everyone has seen us and drawn their own conclusions.”

  “We don’t have to go back to your house.” Ashe ran his hand up and down her back. “We could find some place to be alone.”

  “No. I’m not… Just take me home. I can’t handle a repeat performance of that night eleven years ago when we left the country club together.”

  “It wouldn’t be the same. We aren’t the same,” he said. “We’d both know what we were getting into this time.”

&n
bsp; “That’s the problem, isn’t it? At least for me.”

  The music came to a end. Couples left the dance floor, while others waited for the next set to begin. Deborah pulled away from Ashe, intending to make a quick exit. Ashe jerked her into his arms, grasped the back of her head with his hand and kissed her, long, hard and devouring. Every rational thought went out of her head.

  When she was weak and breathless, he ended the kiss, draped his arm around her shoulders and escorted her off the dance floor, past a glaring Whitney and her openmouthed guests.

  “Every person in this room knows you’re mine,” he whispered as they walked out into the hall. “And since they’re aware of my reputation, no one will doubt that I’m the kind of man who’d kill to defend his own.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  DEBORAH FOLDED THE blueprints and laid them aside. She couldn’t seem to concentrate on the plans for Cotton Lane Estates, although she had promised Vaughn & Posey’s backers a detailed report on their present subdivision project.

  She lifted the cup of warm coffee to her lips and downed the sweet liquid. Clutching the coffee mug in her hands, she closed her eyes. In a few days, Lon Sparks’s trial would begin and she’d be called on to testify. The waiting had been almost unbearable, not knowing what might or might not happen. She couldn’t give in to her fears and allow the likes of Buck Stansell to frighten her into backing down from doing what she knew was right. But sometimes she wondered what her mother and Allen would do if anything happened to her. Her mother’s health was so precarious, and Allen was still so young. What if he lost both her and her mother?

  Ashe McLaughlin had a right to know he had a son. That’s what her mother had told Deborah’s father years ago and that’s what she kept telling Deborah now. If anything were to happen to the two women in Allen’s life, he would still have his father.

  But how could she tell Ashe the truth? She and her mother had kept the true circumstances of Allen’s birth a secret for ten years. What would Allen do if he suddenly discovered that the two people he loved and trusted most in the world had been lying to him his whole life?

  No, she didn’t dare risk losing Allen’s love by telling Ashe the truth. She had no way of knowing how Ashe would react and whether or not he’d tell Allen everything.

  Her mother had warned her that sooner or later Ashe would have to be told. Deborah had decided that it must be later, much later. She had to be strong. Just a little while longer. Ashe wouldn’t stay in Sheffield if she wasn’t in danger. He would walk out of their lives and never look back, the way he’d done eleven years ago. She could trust him with her life, but not with her heart—and not with Allen’s future.

  When she heard a soft knock at the door, Deborah opened her eyes. “Yes?”

  Annie Laurie eased the door open. “Mr. Shipman’s on the phone. He says it’s urgent he speak to you.”

  “Mr. Shipman? The principal at Allen’s school?”

  “Yes, that Mr. Shipman.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Annie Laurie.” Deborah picked up the telephone and punched the Incoming Call button. “Hello, Mr. Shipman, this is Deborah Vaughn. Is something wrong?”

  Ashe slipped by Annie Laurie and into Deborah’s private office, closing the door behind him. Deborah glanced at him.

  “Ms. Vaughn, you need to come to school and pick up Allen,” Mr. Shipman said. “I’m afraid there’s been a problem on the playground during PE class.”

  “Has Allen been in a fight?” Deborah asked.

  Ashe lifted his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders as if saying “Boys will be boys.”

  “Oh, no Ms. Vaughn, I didn’t mean to imply that Allen had gotten himself into any trouble. Quite the contrary. It seems that when the fifth graders were playing softball during PE, a stranger approached Allen. Your brother won’t tell us what the man said to him, but Allen seems terribly upset. I thought it best to phone you immediately.”

  “Yes, yes, you did the right thing, Mr. Shipman. I’ll be right over.” Deborah’s heartbeat throbbed loudly in her ears, obliterating every other sound, even Ashe’s voice. “Please, don’t leave Allen alone. Make sure someone is with him until I pick him up.” Deborah returned the phone to its cradle.

  When Deborah didn’t respond to his questions, Ashe grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her gently. “What’s going on? Has something happened to Allen?”

  “A strange man approached Allen on the playground during PE. Mr. Shipman said the man upset Allen.” Deborah clutched the lapels of Ashe’s jacket. “What if— Oh, God, Ashe, what if Buck Stansell sent someone to hurt Allen?”

  “Did anyone besides Allen get a good look at this man? Did they see whether he was on foot or driving?”

  “I didn’t think to ask, dammit.” Releasing her hold on Ashe, Deborah walked around to the front of her desk. Yanking open the bottom drawer, she lifted out her leather bag and threw the straps over her shoulder. “I have to pick up Allen and take him home. I have to make sure he’s all right. If anyone dares harm him, I’ll—”

  “I’ll take care of anyone who threatens Allen, in the same way I’ll handle anyone who threatens you.” Ashe held out his hand. “Give me the keys to your Caddy. I’ll drive. On the way over to the school, pull yourself together. Allen doesn’t need to see how upset you are.”

  Deborah took a deep breath. “You’re right. It’s just that, in the back of my mind, I kept wondering if and when Buck Stansell would target Mother or Allen. Oh, Ashe, I can’t let anything happen to Allen.”

  “Nothing is going to happen to Allen.” He took her hand in his. “I promise.”

  Within five minutes they marched side by side into Richard Shipman’s office where Allen sat, silent and unmoving, in a corner chair. The minute he saw Deborah, he ran into her open arms.

  “Give us a few minutes alone with Allen,” Ashe said to the principal, who immediately nodded agreement and exited his office.

  “What happened, sweetheart?” Deborah asked, bending on her knees, hugging her child close, stroking his thick blond hair. “Tell us everything.”

  Allen clung to Deborah for several moments, then glanced over at Ashe. “You can’t let them do anything to hurt her.”

  “Allen, will you tell me what happened?” Ashe reached down and patted Allen on the back.

  Allen shook his head, released his tenacious hold on Deborah, but still clung to her hand as she stood. “He walked up to me on the playground. I was waiting my turn at bat. He said he knew my sister and that he wanted me to give her a message.”

  “Oh, Ashe!” Deborah clenched her teeth tightly together in an effort not to cry in front of Allen.

  Laying his hand on Deborah’s shoulder, Ashe gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Had you ever seen this man before?”

  “No,” Allen said.

  “Come on, let’s go sit down over here on the sofa.” Deborah led Allen across the room to the small, leather sofa situated against the back wall between two oak filing cabinets. “I want you to answer all of Ashe’s questions. He’s here to help us. Do you understand?”

  “What—what do you want to know?” Allen looked at Ashe.

  “Would you recognize the man if you ever saw him again? Can you tell me what he looked like?”

  “Yeah, I’d recognize him, all right. He was big and ugly and he smelled bad.”

  “Sounds like somebody Buck would sent around to frighten a child,” Ashe said.

  “He didn’t scare me.” Allen tightened his hold on Deborah’s hand. “I told him off. If you don’t believe me, just ask Tripper Smith. He heard me telling that guy he’d better leave my sister alone.”

  Ashe knelt down in front of Allen. “I know you’re brave and that you’d fight for your sister.”

  Deborah forced a smile when she looked at Allen’s pale little face. “Did the man try to hurt you?”

  “Naw, he just said to give my sister a message. He said to tell you that if you show up in court Monday, you’ll be very sorry. And I told him th
at nothing he said or did would keep you from testifying against that murderer. And he said if you did, you were stupid. That’s when I tried to hit him, but he just laughed and walked away.”

  “Did your teacher see the man, or any of the other kids beside this Tripper Smith?” Ashe asked.

  “My teacher didn’t see nothing, but several of the kids saw him. Tripper’s the one who went and told Coach Watkins what had happened.”

  “Okay, Allen, why don’t you and Deborah go do whatever is necessary to get you checked out of school for the day. I’ll make a couple of phone calls and then we’ll be ready to leave.” Ashe wished he had the big, bad-smelling stranger in front of him right now. He’d teach Buck Stansell’s messenger that it wasn’t nice to go around frightening little boys, especially not a child under his protection.

  “Are we going home?” Allen asked. “Do we have to tell Mother what happened? She’ll just worry.”

  “We aren’t going home,” Ashe said. “I think you and Deborah and I should go somewhere for burgers and fries and then do something fun together this afternoon. How does that sound to you, Allen?”

  “Sounds great to me.” Allen looked at Deborah. “Can I really play hooky for the rest of the day?”

  “You bet you can.” Deborah stood. Allen jumped up beside her. “We’ll go get Allen checked out of school and wait for you in the office.”

  “I’ll only be a few minutes.” Ashe picked up the telephone and dialed the police department. “Allen, I know you don’t want to worry your mother, but we’ll have to tell her what happened when we go home.”

  Allen nodded. Deborah ushered him out of the principal’s office, thankful that Ashe McLaughlin was taking charge of the situation, thankful that she hadn’t had to face this alone. The thought that they had come together like a family—a mother, a father and their child—flashed through Deborah’s mind. She couldn’t allow herself the indulgence of such thoughts. Thinking of the three of them as a family could be dangerous.

  “I CAN’T EAT another bite.” Ashe shoved a French fry into Deborah’s mouth. She slapped his hand away.