Defending His Own

Prologue

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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 1

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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 Havilland 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 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 2

« ^ »

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 gift 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 Stansell 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 came 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 3

« ^ »

"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 anymore. 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?"

Ashe McLaughlin issued orders to the office staff of Vaughn & Posey, the men obviously intimidated, the women enthralled. Standing six-foot-three, broad-shouldered and commanding in his gray sport coat, navy slacks and white shirt, Ashe was the type of man to whom no one dared utter a word of protest.

Listening to Ashe give orders, Deborah waited in her office doorway, Neil Posey at her side. When the staff, one by one, turned their heads in her direction, she nodded her agreement with Ashe. He'd made it perfectly clear to her before they arrived at work that he would be in charge of her life, every small detail, until she was no longer in danger.

Ashe turned to Annie Laurie, who had worked as Neil's secretary for the past five years, and was doing double duty as Deborah's secretary while hers was out on maternity leave. "Carefully check all of Deborah's mail. Anything suspicious, bring to me. And I'll open all packages, no matter how innocent looking they are. Understand?"

"Of course, Ashe." Despite her mousy brown hair and out-of-style glasses, plain little Annie Laurie had grown into a lovely young woman.

Deborah tried not to stare at Ashe, but she found herself again inspecting him from head to toe as she had done at breakfast this morning. No wonder all the females in the office were practically drooling. Although his clothes were tailored to fit his big body, on Ashe they acquired an unpretentious casualness. He wore no tie and left the first two buttons of his shirt undone, revealing a tuft of dark chest hair.

"Who does he think he is coming in here issuing orders right and left?" Neil Posey whispered, his tone an angry hiss. "When you introduced him as your bodyguard, I assumed you would be giving him orders, not the other way around."

"Ashe can't do the job Mother hired him to do unless I cooperate." Deborah patted Neil on the shoulder. "Ashe is here to protect me. He's a trained professional."

"He hasn't changed. He's as damn sure of himself as he ever was." Neil took Deborah's hand in his. "I don't like the idea of that man living in your house, sleeping across the hall from you."

"He could hardly protect me if he stayed at a motel."

"Why Ashe McLaughlin? Good grief, Deb, you were in love with the guy when we were in high school." Neil's eyes widened. He stared directly at Deborah. "You don't still … the man doesn't mean anything to you now, does he?"

"Lower your voice." She had told Neil time and again that she couldn't offer him more than friendship. She'd never led him on or made him any promises. Perhaps it was wrong of her to go out with him from time to time, but he was such a comfortable, nonthreatening date.

"I'm sorry," Neil said. "It's just I'd hate to see him break your heart. You mooned around over him for years and all he could see was Whitney."

"Yes, Neil, I know. Can we please change the subject?"

Deborah caught a glimpse of Ashe going from desk to desk, speaking personally to each Vaughn & Posey employee. Ashe looked up from where he was bent over Patricia Walden's desk and smiled at Deborah. He'd seen her staring at him, watching while Patricia fluttered her long, black eyelashes at him. Deborah forced a weak smile to her lips.

"Look at him flirting with Patricia, and her a married woman!" Neil sucked in his freckled cheeks, making his long, narrow face appear even more equine than usual.

"Neil, close the door, please. We need to discuss the Cotton Lane Estates. I'm afraid we've allowed my situation to interfere in our moving ahead on this project."

Neil closed the door, followed Deborah across the room, waited until she sat, then seated himself. "We have the surveyor's report. No surprises there. I've had Annie Laurie run a check on the deed. Everything is in order. Mr. and Mrs. McCullough have agreed to our last offer. I'd say, despite your problems, things are moving ahead quite smoothly."

"We should have had this deal wrapped up a week ago. Have Mr. and Mrs. McCullough come in today and let's get everything signed, sealed and delivered. We've still got several months of good weather, so if we can give Hutchinson the go-ahead, he can move his crews in there and cut the roads we'll need before we divide the land into one-acre lots."

"I'll give the McCulloughs a call. Since he's retired, they shouldn't have any problem driving down from Decatur this afternoon."

"Fine. And thanks for handling things while my life has been turned upside down lately."

Neil smiled, that wide-mouthed grin that showed all his teeth. "You know I'd do anything for you, Deb. Anything."

The door opened and Ashe McLaughlin walked in, making no apologies for interrupting. "Make time at lunch to go with me to see Sheriff Blaylock. I want to arrange for one of his men to keep an eye on you tomorrow while I do a little investigating on my own."

"I don't think that's necessary," Neil said. "Whenever you need to do your investigating, I'll be more than happy to stay with Deborah."

"Neil—" Deborah wanted to caution her friend, but she didn't get the chance.

"Look, Posey, I appreciate the fact you're Deborah's friend, but you're a realtor. I'm a professional bodyguard. If I can't be at Deborah's side, I want another professional to be there. One of the sheriff's deputies."

"I can assure you that I'd die to protect Deborah."

"That may be so, but once they kill you, what would keep them from killing her?" Ashe ignored Deborah's pleading look that said not to crush Neil Posey's ego. But Ashe didn't give a damn about Posey's ego. He simply wanted to make sure the man understood he wasn't equipped to play hero. "Do you own a gun? Do you carry it with you? Have you ever killed a man?"

"No, I don't own a gun and I most certainly have never killed another human being." Neil shuddered, obviously offended at the thought.

"It's all well and good to be willing to die to protect Deborah, but it's just as important to be willing to kill, or at least maim an assailant, in order to protect her."

"I'll arrange to go with you to see Charlie Blaylock," Deborah said, her tone sharp. She wanted Ashe to know how displeased she was with him. There had been no need to humiliate Neil. "Thank you for your offer, Neil. I'd feel completely safe with you, but…" She nodded in Ashe's direction. "Mother is paying Mr. McLaughlin a small fortune, so I plan to get our money's worth out of him."

"Yes, well … I understand." With shoulders slumped, Neil slinked out of Deborah's office like a kicked dog.

She marched across the room, slammed shut the door and turned on Ashe. "How dare you make Neil feel less than the man he is! What gave you the right to humiliate him that way?"

"My intention wasn't to humiliate Neil. Hell, I have no reason to dislike the man, to want to hurt him. My intention was to show him that he's useless as a bodyguard."

"Did you have to do it in front of me?" She looked down at her feet. "Neil has a crush on me."

Ashe laughed. "That must be the reason Annie Laurie can't get to first base with him."

Deborah snapped her head up, her eyes making direct contact with Ashe's. She smiled. "I've done everything but offer to pay for their wedding to get Neil interested in Annie Laurie. He can't seem to see past me to take notice of what a wonderful girl Annie Laurie is and how much she adores him."

Ashe stared at Deborah, his expression softening as he remembered another stupid man who had been so blinded by his passion for one woman that he'd allowed a treasure far more rare to slip through his fingers. Unrequited love was a bitch.

"I'm sorry if you think I was too rough on Neil. Annie Laurie had told me he liked you, but I had no idea he fancied himself in love with you. I'll tread more lightly on his ego from now on."

"Thank you, Ashe. I'd appreciated it."

A soft knock sounded at the door, breaking the intensity of Deborah's and Ashe's locked stares.

"Yes?"

Annie Laurie cracked open the door, peeked inside and held out a bundle of mail. "I've checked through these. The one I put on top looks odd to me. Whoever sent it used one of Deborah's business cards as a mailing label."

"Hand me that letter and place the others on the desk," Ashe said.

Annie Laurie obeyed Ashe's command. Deborah glanced from Annie Laurie's worried face to the letter in Ashe's hand. She waited while he turned the envelope over, inspecting it from every angle. He held it up to the light.

"Does this look pretty much like the other letters you've received?" he asked.

"The others were typed," Deborah said. "This is the first time they've used my business card."

Ashe walked over to Deborah's desk, picked up her letter opener and sliced the envelope along the spine. Lifting out a one-page letter, he laid the opener down, spread apart the white piece of stationery and read aloud the message, which had been typed.

"Don't show up in court. If you do, you'll be sorry."

Deborah glanced at Annie Laurie who seemed to be waiting for something. "Is there something else?" she asked.

Tilting her head to one side and casting her gaze downward, Annie Laurie smiled. "Megan stopped by to see you. She's got Katie with her."

"Oh." Deborah returned Annie Laurie's smile. "I suppose everyone's passing Katie around as if she were a doll. Tell Megan I'll be out in just a minute."

Annie Laurie slipped out of the office, silently closing the door behind her.

"What was that all about? Who are Megan and Katie?"

"Megan is my secretary. She's on maternity leave. Katie is her two-week-old baby girl."

Ashe shook his head. "You've just received another threatening letter and you're concerned with coochie-cooing over your secretary's new baby?"

"I've received a letter very similar to the one you hold in your hand every day since Lon Sparks was arrested," Deborah said. "And I get at least one threatening phone call a day. But it isn't every day that Katie goes for her two-week checkup and Megan brings her by to see us."

Ashe grinned. God bless her, Deborah hadn't really changed. Not nearly as much as he thought she had. And certainly nowhere near as much as she tried to make everyone think. Underneath all that tough, career woman exterior lay the heart of the sweet, caring girl she'd been years ago. He supposed he should have realized that Deborah was perfectly capable of handling both roles, that sophistication and success didn't exclude the more nurturing qualities that made Deborah such a loving person.

"You go visit with mother and baby," Ashe said. "I'll phone Sheriff Blaylock and let him know we'll be stopping by around noon. We'll let him add this letter to his collection."

"It won't do any good." Deborah opened the door. "There are never any fingerprints, nothing unique about the stationery. They're all mailed from Sheffield. And the typewriter isn't much of a clue. Hundreds of people in this area have access to the same brand."

"Whoever's doing this is experienced. He's no amateur."

"Buck Stansell may be a redneck outlaw, but he's a professional redneck outlaw."

"Yeah, his family's been in the business for several generations." Ashe glanced around Deborah's office. "Kind of like the Vaughns have been in real estate for three generations."

"Don't assume that I'm taking the threats lightly," she said, her hand on the doorpost. "I'm shaking in my boots. But I have a business to run, people who count on Vaughn & Posey for their livelihoods. And I have a mother who's in bad health and a ch … a brother who's only a child."

"Who has access to your business cards?"

"What?"

"Could just anybody get one of these cards?" Ashe waved the envelope in the air.

"Oh, yes, anybody could get one." Deborah walked into the outer office. "Megan, we're so glad you stopped by. Who's got Katie? Come on, Helen, give her to me."

Ashe stood in the doorway, watching Deborah hold her secretary's baby. She looked so natural, as if cuddling a baby in her arms was something she did all the time. Why wasn't she married, with children of her own? A woman like Deborah shouldn't be single, still living at home with her mother and little brother. She should be hustling a pack of kids off to school and baseball games and cheerleader practice. She should be holding her own child in her arms.

Ashe didn't mean to eavesdrop, but when Megan pulled Deborah aside into the corner near her office, he remained standing just behind the partially closed door.

"I want to thank you again for the bonus you gave me," Megan said. "Bennie is so proud, he would never have accepted the money if you hadn't convinced him it was a bonus and that Mr. Posey had given the same amount to his secretary. Annie Laurie even went along with our little fib."

"It was a bonus," Deborah said. "A baby bonus. I think every baby should have a fully equipped nursery."

"We could never have afforded everything without that bonus. And after that, you didn't have to bring another gift to the hospital." Megan looked down at the pink-and-white ruffled dress her daughter wore. "It looks beautiful on her, don't you think?"

Ashe closed the door. Still the do-gooder. Still the tenderhearted pushover. No, Deborah hadn't changed. She was older, more beautiful, more experienced and certainly more sophisticated. But she was still the girl he'd considered his friend, the girl with whom he would have trusted his soul.

Was it possible that she had no idea what her father had done to him? Had he misjudged her all these years? Maybe she hadn't run to Wallace Vaughn and cried rape. But even if she hadn't falsely accused him, she'd still told her father that the two of them had made love. Surely she would have known how her father would react.

Even after Ashe had left town, Wallace Vaughn had slandered him. It had become public knowledge that Deborah's father had run Ashe McLaughlin out of Sheffield.

All the old feelings came rushing back, bombarding him with their intensity. All the love, the hate, the fear and the uncertainty. Maybe Carol Vaughn had been right. He hadn't returned to Sheffield before now because he was afraid to face the past, to find out the truth, to confront Deborah and Whitney.

But he was back now, and there was no time like the present to meet the ghosts of his past head-on.

Chapter 4

« ^ »

Charlie Blaylock had been a friend of her father and Deborah suspected he'd always had a soft spot in his heart for her mother. He asked about Carol every time he ran into Deborah, and his concern certainly seemed a bit more than neighborly.

Deborah tried to relax as she sat in Charlie's office listening to him explain the details of the Lon Sparks case to Ashe, and exactly what he could and could not do to protect Deborah against Buck Stansell and his bunch of outlaws.

"When Carol asked my advice about hiring a private bodyguard for Deborah, I was all for it." Charlie gazed out the window that overlooked the parking area. He moved with a slow, easy stride, all six feet five inches, three hundred pounds of him. "We don't have a smidgen of proof that Buck and his boys are involved in the threats Deborah's been receiving. If we had any proof, we could make a move to stop them. But even if we caught the guy who's making the phone calls, Buck would just have somebody else take up where he left off."

"I'm planning on paying a visit to Lee Roy and Johnny Joe." Ashe stood, walked across the room, and stopped at Charlie's side. "I want you to have one of your men stay with Deborah while I drop in on my cousins."

Charlie lifted his eyebrows. "When were you planning on visiting the Brennan brothers?"

"Tomorrow. Bright and early."

"I've tried to tell Ashe that I've survived for a couple of weeks now without his constant protection." Deborah squirmed around in the uncomfortable straight-back chair in which she sat. "I'll be perfectly all right at the office for a couple of hours."

"I'll have somebody stop by the house around seven in the morning and stay with Deborah until you finish your business and get back to Sheffield." Charlie laid his big hand on Ashe's shoulder, gripping him firmly. "I was surprised when Carol told me she was hiring you. Last I'd heard, you were still in the army. The Green Berets, wasn't it?"

"I left over a year ago." Ashe looked down at Charlie's hand resting on his shoulder, all friendly like.

Ashe figured Charlie Blaylock knew exactly what his old friend, Wallace Vaughn, had done to him eleven years ago. Although Charlie had been sheriff even then, Wallace had brought the district attorney with him when he'd had his little talk with Ashe. And Sheffield's chief of police had been waiting right outside the door, waiting to arrest Ashe if he hadn't agreed to leave town and never return. But Charlie would have known what Wallace had been up to, perhaps had even given him a little advice on how to get rid of that white trash boy who had dared to violate Wallace's precious daughter.

Charlie gave Ashe's shoulder another tight squeeze, then released him. "Carol wants you here. She's convinced herself that nobody else can protect Deborah. I'll do everything I can to cooperate with you."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Removing the most recent threatening letter from his coat pocket, Ashe dropped it on Charlie's desk. "You might want to have this examined, but I'd say it's clean."

"Another one?" Charlie asked. "This has become a daily occurrence, hasn't it?"

"I expect you'll notify the big boys, keep them informed on every detail. Let them know that I've arrived, if you haven't already called them." Walking across the room, Ashe held out his hand to Deborah. "Let's go get a bite of lunch."

Deborah started to take his hand, then hesitated when Charlie spoke.

"What makes you think anybody else is involved in this case?" Charlie picked up the envelope from his desk, glancing at it casually as he turned it over.

"Buck Stansell has the drug market cornered in this county. And if Corey Looney's death was drug related, the DEA is already unofficially involved." Ashe dropped the hand he'd been holding out to Deborah.

She glanced back and forth from Charlie's flushed face to Ashe's cynical smile. The big boys? The DEA? No one had told her that Corey Looney had been executed because of a drug deal.

"What are y'all—" Deborah began.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Charlie laid the envelope on his desk, rested his hand on the back of his plush leather chair and looked Ashe straight in the eye.

"My boss is a former agent," Ashe said. "All Sam Dundee had to do was make a phone call. I know everything you know, Blaylock. Everything."

"Stop it, both of you!" Deborah jumped up, slammed her hands down on her hips and took a deep breath. "I have no idea what y'all are talking about, but I'm tired of you acting as if I'm not in the room. I'm the person whose life is in danger. I'm the one who should know everything!"

Ashe grabbed her by the elbow, forcing her into action as he practically dragged her out of Charlie's office. "I'll tell you whatever you need to know at lunch."

"Whatever I need to know!" She dug in her heels in the hallway.

Ashe gave her a hard tug. She fell against him and he slipped his arm around her. "It's a beautiful fall day. Let's pick up something and take it down to Spring Park for a picnic."

Deborah jerked away from him. She couldn't bear being this close to him. Despite their past history, she could not deny the way Ashe made her feel—the way no other man had ever made her feel.

"What was all that between you and Charlie?" Deborah stood her ground, refusing to budge an inch, her blue eyes riveted to Ashe's unemotional face. "For a minute there I thought he wanted to take a punch at you."

Ashe glanced around the corridor, listening to the sound of voices from the adjoining offices. "This isn't the time or the place."

"Just tell me this, is the DEA involved in this case?"

"Unofficially." Ashe grabbed her by the arm again. "Come on. We'll get lunch, go to the park and talk."

"All right." She followed his lead, outside and into the parking lot.

She didn't resist his manhandling, macho jerk that he was. Ashe's brutally masculine qualities had fascinated her as a teenager. Now they irritated and annoyed her. Yet she had to admit, if she was totally honest with herself, that she couldn't imagine any other bodyguard with whom she'd feel more secure.

There was a strength in Ashe that went beyond the normal male quality. It had been there, of course, years ago, but she recognized it now for what it was. Primitive strength that came from the core of his masculinity, the ancient need to beat his chest and cry out a warning to all other males.

Deborah shivered. Everything male in Ashe called to all that was female within her. If he claimed her, as he once had done, would she be able to reject him? A need to be possessed, protected and cherished coursed through her veins like liquid fire, heating her thoughts, warming her femininity.

When he opened the passenger door of his rental car and assisted her inside, she glanced up at him. Her heartbeat roared in her ears. Ashe hesitated just a fraction of a second. He looked at her lips. She resisted the urge to lick them.

"Where's a good place to get take-out close by?" He shut the door, walked around the hood of the car and got in on the driver's side.

"Stephano's on Sixth Street has good food." She clutched her leather bag to her stomach. "It's on the left side of the street, so you may want to turn off on Fifth and make the block."

When she returned home this evening, she'd tell her mother that this wasn't going to work, having Ashe as her bodyguard. Even if he kept her safe from Buck Stansell, another few weeks of being near Ashe would drive her insane.

Ashe picked up a couple of meatball subs, colas and slices of sinfully rich cheesecake. Gazing down into the bag, Deborah shook her head.

"This is too much food. I can't eat all of this. I have to watch my…" She left the sentence unfinished. She'd been about to tell Ashe McLaughlin that she had to watch her weight. Of course she had no need to tell him; he could well remember what a plump teenager she'd been.

"Splurging one day won't spoil that knockout figure of yours." Ashe kept his gaze focused on the road as he turned the car downward, off Sixth Street, and into the park area beneath the hill.

He thought she had a knockout figure? Was that the reason he couldn't seem to take his eyes off her all morning? Why he watched every move she made at the office? The thought of Ashe approving of her figure sent pinpricks of excitement rushing through her. Idiot! she chastised herself. You shouldn't care what he thinks. You shouldn't care what any man thinks, least of all Ashe. He didn't want you when you were a plump teenager, and you don't want him now. So there.

Liar! Good or bad. Right or wrong. You still want Ashe McLaughlin. You've never wanted anyone else.

"Is there a woman in your life back in Atlanta?" she heard herself ask, then damned herself for being such a fool. How could she have asked him such a question?

Ashe parked the car in the shade, opened his door and turned to take their lunch bag from Deborah. "No one special," Ashe said. "Women come and go, but there's been no one special in my life since I left Sheffield eleven years ago."

Whitney, Deborah thought. Her cousin had been the only special woman in Ashe's life. Jealousy and pity combined to create a rather disturbing emotion within Deborah. Both feelings constituted an admission that she still cared about Ashe.

And she didn't want to care. God in heaven, she didn't dare care. He had taken her innocence, broken her heart and left her pregnant. What woman in her right mind would give a man like that a second chance?

But then, Ashe hadn't said or done anything to indicate he wanted a second chance.

"This place hasn't changed much, has it?" Ashe looked around Spring Park, a small area of trees, playground equipment and picnic tables surrounding a small lake fed by an ancient underground spring.

"It's a bit lonely this time of day and this late in the season. Most of the activity takes place over there—" Deborah pointed to the south of the park "—at the golf course."

Ashe chose a secluded table on the west side of the park, near a cove of hedge apple trees, their bare branches dotted with mistletoe. The spring's flow meandered around behind them on a leisurely journey toward Spring Creek. Laying down the paper sack, Ashe removed the white napkins and spread out their lunch. He handed Deborah a cup and straw. She avoided touching his hand when she accepted the offering.

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked, swinging his long legs under the picnic table.

Deborah sat across from him, gripping the plastic container of food as she placed the cola on the concrete table. "Why should I be afraid of you? You're here to protect me, aren't you?"

"I wasn't asking if you were afraid that I might physically harm you. We both know that's ridiculous. I'm asking why your hands tremble whenever you think I might touch you. And why you have a difficult time looking directly at me. Your eyes give you away, honey."

She undid the plastic covering her meatball sandwich. "I feel awkward around you, Ashe. I guess I'm just not as sophisticated as the women you're accustomed to these days. Maybe what happened between us in the past didn't affect your life the way it did mine."

No, Ashe didn't suppose what had happened between them had affected his life the way it had hers. She had gone on as if nothing had happened, secure in her family's love and support and Wallace Vaughn's money. Maybe she'd suffered a broken heart for a while until she'd found another boyfriend. But he had paid a high price for their night of passion. He had lost his dream. His big plans of becoming one of the area's movers and shakers had turned sour.

"You don't look like you've fared too badly." Ashe surveyed her from the top of her golden blond hair, all neatly secured in a fashionable bun at the nape of her neck, to the length of shapely legs partially hidden beneath the picnic table. "You're successful, beautiful and rich."

Did he actually have no idea what he'd done to her? Of course he didn't know about the child they had created together, but how could he have forgotten his adamant rejection, his cruel words of regret, his deliberate avoidance of her in the days and weeks following their lovemaking?

"Whenever we're together, I can't seem to stop thinking about… I suppose it's true what they say about a woman never forgetting her first lover."

Her words hit him like a hard blow to the stomach. He sucked in air. Why did she sound so innocent, so vulnerable? After all this time, why did the memories of that night haunt him? Why did the thought of a young girl's passionate cries still echo in his mind? "And a guy never forgets what it's like to take a virgin, to be her first. I never meant for it to happen. One minute you were comforting me and the next minute—"

"You don't have to tell me again that you wished it hadn't happened, that you regretted making love to me the minute it was over. You made that perfectly clear eleven years ago! Do you think I don't know that you were pretending I was Whitney all the while you were…"

Deborah lifted her legs, swung them around and off the concrete bench and jumped up, turning her back to Ashe. The quivering inside her stomach escalated so quickly it turned to nausea.

Dammit! Is that what she actually thought? That he had pretended she was Whitney? Yes, he'd thought he was in love with Whitney, but the minute she announced her engagement to George Jamison III, there at the country club where he worked, he'd begun to doubt his love. And when she had laughed in his face and told him he'd been a fool to think she'd ever marry a loser like him, all the love inside him had died. Murdered by her cruelty.

Ashe got up and walked over to Deborah. He wanted to touch her, to put his arms around her and draw her close. She stood there, her shoulders trembling, her neck arched, her head tilted upward. Was she crying? He couldn't bear it if she was crying.

"Deborah?"

She couldn't speak; unshed tears clogged her throat. Shaking her head, she waved her hands at her sides, telling him to leave her alone.

"I did not pretend you were Whitney." He reached out to touch her, but didn't. He dropped his hand to his side. "I might've had a few drinks to dull the pain that night, but I knew who you were and I knew what I was doing."

"You were—" she gasped for air "—using me."

How could he deny the truth? He had used her. Used her to forget another woman's heartless rejection. Used her to salve his bruised male ego. Used her because she'd been there at his side, offering her comfort, her love, her adoration.

"Yeah, you're right. I used you. And that's what I regretted. I regretted taking advantage of you, of stealing your innocence. But I didn't regret the loving."

The unshed tears nearly choked her. The pain of remembrance clutched her heart. He didn't regret the loving? Was that what he'd just said?

He grabbed her shoulders in a gentle but firm hold. She tensed, every nerve in her body coming to full alert. She couldn't bear for him to touch her, yet couldn't bring herself to pull away.

"I told you I was sorry for what happened, that I regretted what I'd done." Ashe couldn't see Deborah's face; she kept her back to him. But in his mind's eye he could see plainly her face eleven years ago. There in the moonlight by the river, her face aglow with the discovery of sexual pleasure and girlish love, she had crumpled before his very eyes when he'd begged her to forgive him, told her that what happened had been a mistake. She had cried, but when he'd tried to comfort her, she had lashed out at him like a wildcat. He'd found himself wanting her all over again, and hating himself for his feelings.

"I've never felt so worthless in my life as I did that night." Deborah balled her hands into fists. She wanted to hit Ashe, to vent all the old bitterness and frustration. She wanted to scream at him, to tell him that he'd left her pregnant and she hated him for not caring, for never being concerned about her welfare or the child he had given her.

He turned her around slowly, the stiffness in her body unyielding. She faced him, her chin lifted high, her eyes bright and glazed with a fine sheen of moisture.

"When I took you, I knew it was you. Do you understand? I wanted you. Not Whitney. Not any other woman."

"But you said … you said—"

"I said it shouldn't have happened. It shouldn't have. I didn't love you, not like I should have. I couldn't offer you marriage. What I did was wrong."

She quivered from head to toe, clinching her jaws tightly, trying desperately not to cry. She glared at him, her blue eyes accusing him.

Dear God, he had hurt her more than he'd ever known. After all these years, she hadn't let go of the pain. Was that why she'd gone to her father? Is that why she'd accused him of raping her? Or had she accused him? Was it possible that the rape charges had been Wallace's idea? The thought had crossed his more than once in the past eleven years.

"Neither of us can change the past," he said. "We can't go back and make things right. But I want you to know how it really was with me. With us."

"It doesn't matter. Not anymore." She tried to pull away from him; he held her tight.

"Yes, it does matter. It matters to me and it matters to you."

"I wish Mother had never brought you back." Deborah closed her eyes against the sight of Ashe McLaughlin, his big hands clasping her possessively.

"She's doomed us both to hell, hasn't she?" Ashe jerked Deborah into his arms, crushing her against him. "I would have made love to you a second time that night and a third and fourth. I wanted you that much. Do you understand? I never wanted anything as much as I wanted you that night. Not Whitney. Not my college degree. Not being successful enough to thumb my nose at Sheffield's elite."

Her breathing quickened. Her heart raced wildly. She wanted to run. She wanted to throw her arms around Ashe. She wanted to plead with him to stop saying such outrageous things. She wanted him to go on telling her how much he'd wanted her, to tell her over and over again.

"Why … why didn't you tell me? That night? All you kept saying was that you were sorry." Deborah leaned into him, unable to resist the magnetic pull of his big body.

"You wanted me to tell you I loved you. I couldn't lie to you, Deborah. I'd just learned that night that I didn't know a damned thing about love."

"Ashe?"

He covered her lips with his own. She clung to him, returning his kiss with all the pent-up passion within her. The taste of her was like a heady wine, quickly going to his head. It had been that way eleven years ago. The very touch of Deborah Vaughn intoxicated him.

He thrust his tongue into her mouth, gripped the back of her head with one hand and slipped the other downward to caress her hip. He grew hard, his need pulsing against her. She wriggled in his arms, trying to get closer. Their tongues mated in a wet, daring dance. A prelude to further intimacy.

When they broke the kiss to breathe, Ashe dropped his hand to her neck, circling the back with his palm. His moist lips sought and found every sweet, delicious inch of her face.

Deborah flung her head back, exposing her neck as she clung to him, heat rising within her, setting her aflame. Ashe delved his tongue into the V of her blouse, nuzzling her tender flesh with his nose. Reaching between them, he undid the first button, then the second, his lips following the path of his fingers.

A loud blast rent the still autumn air. Ashe knocked Deborah to the ground, covering her body with his as he drew his 9mm out of his shoulder holster.

"Keep down, honey. Don't move."

"Ashe? What happened? Did—did someone shoot at us?" She slipped her arms around his waist.

Lifting his head, Ashe glanced around and saw nothing but an old red truck rounding the curve of the road, a trail of exhaust smoke billowing from beneath the bed. He let out a sigh of relief, but didn't move from his position above Deborah. He waited. Listening. Looking in every direction, lifting himself on one elbow to check behind them.

"Ashe, please—"

"It's all right." After returning his gun to its holster, he lowered himself over her, partially supporting his weight with his elbows braced on the ground. "I'm pretty sure the noise was just a truck backfiring."

"Oh." She sighed, then looked up into Ashe's softening hazel eyes. Eyes that only a moment before had been clear and trained on their surroundings. Now he was gazing down at her with the same undisguised passion she'd seen in them when he had unbuttoned her blouse.

Her diamond hard nipples grazed his chest. His arousal pressed against her. She needed Ashe. Needed his mouth on her body. Needed him buried deep inside her. Needed to hear him say that he wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anything or anyone.

"It's safe for us to get up now, isn't it?" She heard her own breathless voice and knew Ashe would realize how needy she was.

"I don't think it's safe for us anywhere, honey. We're in danger from each other here on the ground or standing up."

When he lowered his mouth, brushing her lips with his, she turned her head to the side. But she still held him around the waist, her fingers biting into his broad back.

"Eleven years ago, you weren't much more than a girl. What you felt was puppy love. And I was a confused young man who didn't have the foggiest idea what love was all about. But I was older and more experienced. I take the blame for everything." Ashe kissed her cheek, then drew a damp line across to her ear. "We're both all grown up now. Whatever happens between us, happens between equals. No regrets on either side. No apologies. I want you. And you want me."

She shook her head, needing to deny the truth. If she admitted she wanted him, she would be lost, if they came together again, for him it would be sex, but for her it would be love. Just like last time. She couldn't have an affair with Ashe and just let him walk out of her life after the trial. She couldn't give herself to him and risk having her heart broken all over again.

"Please, let me get up, Ashe. I'm not ready for this." She shoved against his chest. He remained on top of her, unmoving, his eyes seeking the truth of her words.

Nodding his head, he lifted himself up and off her, then held out his hand. She accepted his offer of assistance, taking his hand and allowing him to pull her to her feet. She brushed the blades of grass and crushed leaves from her dress, redid the open buttons and straightened the loose strands of her hair.

"I need to get back to work," she said, not looking directly at him. "Let's take this food back to the office with us. We'll be safer there. We won't be alone."

Without a word, Ashe gathered up their sandwiches, returning them to the paper bag. She was right. They'd both be a lot safer if they weren't alone. He intended to do everything in his power to protect Deborah, to make sure no harm came to her. But could he protect her from what they felt for each other? From the power of a desire too powerful to resist?

Later that day Ashe stood in the doorway of Allen's room watching Deborah help the boy with his homework. She played the part of his mother convincingly. He wondered how long she had substituted for Miss Carol. Ever since illness had sapped Miss Carol's strength and she lived in constant fear the cancer would return?

No one seeing Deborah and Allen together could deny the bond between sister and brother. Her whole life seemed to revolve around the boy, and he so obviously adored her.

While Allen struggled with the grammar assignment, he eased his right hand down to stroke Huckleberry's thick, healthy coat.

"Remember, Allen, it's rise, rose, risen," Deborah said. "Do this one again."

Nibbling on the tip of his pencil eraser, Allen studied the sentence before him. "Hmm-hmm."

Ashe remembered how Deborah had struggled with algebra. When he had tutored her, downstairs at the kitchen table, she'd sat there nibbling on her eraser, a perplexed look on her face identical to Allen's. Ashe had been the one who'd had trouble with grammar, and Deborah had helped him write more than one term paper.

Gripping his pencil in his left hand, Allen scribbled the sentence across the sheet of notebook paper, then looked up at Deborah. "Is that right?"

Checking his work, she smiled. "Yes, it's right. Now go on to the next one." She glanced up and saw Ashe. Her smile vanished. Standing, she moved her chair from Allen's right side to his left, shielding him from Ashe's view.

Why had she moved? he wondered. It was as if she were protecting Allen. But from what? Surely not from him.

Ashe walked into the room. Huckleberry lifted his head from the floor, gave Ashe a quick glance, recognized him as no threat and laid his head back down, his body pressed against Allen's foot.

"Hey, Ashe." Allen looked up from his homework paper. "I'm almost finished here, then we can play a video game on the computer."

"Maybe Ashe doesn't want to play," Deborah said, standing up, placing her body between Ashe and her brother. "We've had a long day. Maybe he wants to read or watch TV alone for a while."

"I'm alone all the time in my apartment in Atlanta," Ashe said. "I like being part of a family. Allen and I are pals. I think we enjoy doing a lot of the same things."

"Oh, I see." Did he spend all his time in his Atlanta apartment alone? She doubted it. A man like Ashe wouldn't be long without a woman. She pictured the entrance to his apartment. The thought of a revolving door flashed through her mind.

"Your sister used to have a problem with algebra," Ashe said, walking around Deborah to sit down in the chair she had vacated. "English grammar seems to be your downfall just like it was mine. I guess guys have a difficult time choosing the right words, huh?" Ashe glanced up at Deborah, who glared down at him.

"I don't have to sweat making good grades in anything except this." Allen punched his paper with the tip of his pencil. "I've got three more sentences to go, then watch out, Indiana Jones!"

Allen leaned over his desk, reading from his book. He jotted down the sentence, choosing the correct verb tense. Ashe watched the way his untutored handwriting spread across the page, like so much hen scratch. The boy's penmanship was no better than his own. Another shortcoming a lot of guys had in common.

Ashe noticed a crossword puzzle book lying on the edge of the desk. He loved working the really tough ones, the ones that often stumped him and stimulated his mind. He'd been a dud at English grammar, but he was a whiz at figuring out puzzles, even word puzzles.

Ashe picked up the book. "Have you got an extra pencil?"

Allen opened his desk drawer, retrieved a freshly sharpened number two and handed it to Ashe. "You like crossword puzzles, too?"

"Love 'em." Taking the pencil and sticking it behind his ear, Ashe opened the book, found the most complicated puzzle and studied it.

He felt Deborah watching him. What the hell was the matter with her? "Are you planning on hanging around and cheering us on while we play Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade?"

"No. I just want to make sure Allen finishes his homework."

"I'll make sure he does. Go wash out your lingerie or something. Read a good book. Call your boyfriend." Ashe's expression didn't alter as he named off a list of alternatives to standing guard over her brother.

"I told you Deborah doesn't have a boyfriend. She won't give any guy the time of day." Allen never looked up from his paper.

Ashe glanced down at the puzzle. "What's another word for old maid?"

Allen smothered his laughter behind his hand, sneaking a peek at Deborah out of the corner of his eye.

"Try the word smart," Deborah said. "As in any smart woman dies an old maid, without having to put up with a man trying to run her life."

"Spinster." Ashe acted as if he hadn't heard Deborah's outburst. Jerking the pencil from behind his ear, he printed the letters into the appropriate boxes.

"Hey, you're left-handed just like me," Allen said, his face bursting into a smile.

Deborah's heart sank. No. She mustn't panic. A lot of people were left-handed. There was no reason for Ashe to make the connection.

"We seem to have a lot in common." Ashe couldn't explain the rush of emotion that hit him. Like a surge of adrenaline warning him against something he couldn't see or hear, touch, taste or feel. Something he should know, but didn't. And that sense of the unknown centered around Allen Vaughn. Ashe found himself drawn to the boy, in a way similar yet different from the way he'd been drawn to Deborah when they'd been growing up together.

"Ashe, I… We need to talk," Deborah said.

He glanced up at her. Her face was pale. "Can't it wait until later? Allen and I are looking forward to our game."

"This won't take long." She nodded toward the hallway.

He laid down the puzzle book and pencil, stood up and patted Allen on the back. "You finish your homework while I see what Deborah wants that's so important it can't wait."

"Hurry," Allen said. "I'm almost through."

Deborah led Ashe out into the hallway, closing Allen's bedroom door behind him. "Please don't let Allen become too fond of you. He's at an age where he wants a man around, and he seems to idolize you. He thinks you're something special."

"So what's the problem?" Ashe asked. "I like Allen. I enjoy spending time with him. Do you think I'm a bad influence on him?"

"No, that isn't it."

"Then what is it?"

"If you two become close—too close—it'll break his heart when you leave Sheffield. He's just a little boy. I don't want to see him hurt."

Ashe pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her downcast eyes upward, making her look directly at him. "Who are you afraid will get too close to me? Who are you afraid will be brokenhearted when I leave? Who, Deborah? You or Allen?"

She hardened her stare, defying him, standing her ground against the overwhelming emotions fighting inside her. "You won't ever break my heart again, Ashe McLaughlin. I know you aren't here to stay, that you're in Sheffield on an assignment, just doing your job. But Allen is already forming a strong attachment to you. Don't encourage him to see you as a … a … big brother."

"A father figure, you mean, don't you? Allen needs a father. Why hasn't Carol ever remarried and given him a father? Or why haven't you married and given him a brother-in-law?"

"I don't think my personal affairs or my mother's are any of your business."

"You're right." He released her chin.

"Please don't spend so much time with Allen. Don't let him start depending on you. You aren't going to be around for very long."

"What should I do to entertain myself at night?" he asked. "Should I play bridge with your mother and her friends? Should I watch the Discovery channel on TV downstairs in the library? Should I invite a lady friend over for drinks and some hanky-panky in the pool house? Or should I come to your bedroom and watch you undress and see your hair turn to gold in the moonlight? Would you entertain me to keep me away from Allen?"

Her hand itched to slap his face. She knotted her palm into a fist, released it, knotted it again, then repeated the process several times.

"If you hurt my … my brother, I'll—"

He jerked her into his arms, loving the way she fought him, aroused by the passion of her anger, the heat of her indignation. "I'm not going to hurt Allen. You have my word."

Ceasing her struggles, she searched his face for the truth. "And I don't want to hurt you, Deborah. Not ever again. No matter what we've done to each other in the past, we don't have to repeat our mistakes."

"You're right," she said breathlessly. "Do your job. Act as my bodyguard until the trial is over and the threats stop. There's no need for you to become a temporary member of the family. None of us need a temporary man in our lives."

Was that what he was? Ashe wondered. A temporary man. Never a permanent part of anything. Just there to do a job. It hadn't mattered before, that he didn't have a wife or children. That his life held so little love, so little commitment. Why had being back in Sheffield changed all that? Being around families again, his family and Deborah's, brought to mind all his former hopes and dreams. Dreams of living in one of the big old houses in Sheffield, of becoming a successful businessman, of showing this town how far he'd come—from the depths of white trash, from the McLaughlins of Leighton. And the biggest part of his dream had been the society wife and the children she'd give him. Children who would never know the shame he'd felt, would never face the prejudice he'd fought, would never be looked at as if they were nothing.

"I'll do my job. I'll be careful not to let Allen become too attached to me. And I won't come into your bedroom and make slow, sweet love to you. Not unless you ask."

He didn't give her a chance to say a word. Turning, he marched down the hall, opened Allen's door and walked in, never once looking back at Deborah.

"Hell will freeze over, Ashe McLaughlin, before I ever ask you to make love to me again!" she muttered under her breath.

Chapter 5

« ^ »

A passel of hounds lay in the dirt yard surrounding the double-wide trailer. A brand-new cherry red Camaro, parked beside an old Ford truck, glistened in the morning sun. A long-legged, large-breasted brunette with a cigarette dangling from her lips flung open the front door and ushered three stair-step-size children onto the porch. Her voice rang out loud and clear.

"Get your rear ends in the car. I ain't got all morning to get you heathens to school."

The children scurried toward the Camaro. The woman turned around, surveyed Ashe from head to toe and grinned an I'd-like-to-see-what-you've-got-in-your-pants-honey kind of grin.

Ashe leaned against the hood of the rented car he had parked several feet off the gravel drive leading to Lee Roy Brennan's home. He eyed the smiling woman.

"Well, hello." She gave the youngest child a shove inside the car, never taking her eyes off Ashe. "You here to see Lee Roy?"

"Yeah. Is he around?"

"Could be." She ran her hand down her hip, over the tight-fitting jeans that outlined her shapely curves. "Who wants to know?"

"How about you go tell Lee Roy that Ashe McLaughlin wants to see him?"

"Well, Mr. Ashe McLaughlin, you sure do look like you're everything I ever heard you were." She stared directly at his crotch, then moved her gaze up to his face. "Lee Roy says you been in the army. One of them Green Berets. A real tough guy."

Ashe glanced at the three children in the Camaro. People like this didn't care what they said or did in front of their kids. He had vague memories of his old man cursing a blue streak, slapping his mother around and passing out drunk. Yeah, Ashe knew all about the low-class people he'd come from and had spent a lifetime trying to escape.

"Go tell Lee Roy his cousin wants to see him," Ashe said.

The woman's smile wavered, her eyes darting nervously from Ashe to the trailer. "Yeah, sure. He heard you was back in these parts."

Ashe didn't move from his propped position against the hood of his car while Lee Roy's wife went inside the trailer. Three pairs of big brown eyes peered out the back window of the Camaro. Ashe waved at the children. Three wide, toothy smiles appeared on their faces.

"Hey, cousin. What's up?" Lee Roy Brennan stepped out onto the wooden porch connected to his trailer, his naked beer belly hanging over the top of his unsnapped jeans.

"Just paying a social call on my relatives." Ashe lowered his sunglasses down on his nose, peering over the top so that his cousin could see his eyes. Ashe had been told that he possessed a look that could kill. Maybe not kill, he thought, but intimidate the hell out of a person.

"You run them kids on to school, Mindy." Lee Roy swatted his wife's round behind.

She rubbed herself against the side of his body, patting him on his butt before she sauntered off the porch and strutted over to the car. She gave Ashe a backward glance. Although he caught her suggestive look in his peripheral vision, he kept his gaze trained on Lee Roy.

"Come on in and have a cup of coffee. Johnny Joe just got up. He's still in his drawers, but he'll be glad to see you."

Standing straight and tall, Ashe accepted his cousin's invitation. Lee Roy slapped Ashe on the back when they walked inside the trailer.

"Didn't think I'd ever see you around these parts again. Not after the way old man Vaughn run you out of the state."

Ashe removed his sunglasses, dropped them into the inside pocket of his jacket and glanced over at the kitchen table where Johnny Joe, all five feet eight inches of him, sat in a wooden chair. Swirls of black hair covered his stocky body, making him look a little like an oversize chimpanzee.

"Heard you was back. What the hell ever made you agree to hire on as a bodyguard for that Vaughn gal?" Johnny Joe picked up a mug with the phrase Proud to be a Redneck printed on it. "I figured you wouldn't have no use for that bunch."

Lee Roy wiped cornflake crumbs out of a chair, then turned to lift a mug off a wooden rack. "Have a seat. You still like your coffee black?"

"Yeah." Ashe eyed the sturdy wooden chair, a few crumbs still sticking to the side. Sitting down, he placed his hands atop the table, spreading his arms wide enough apart so that his cousins could get a glimpse of his shoulder holster.

Lee Roy handed Ashe a mug filled with hot, black coffee, then sat down beside his brother. "You're working for some fancy security firm in Atlanta now, huh? Got your belly full of army life?"

"Something like that," Ashe said. "And private security work pays better, too."

The brothers laughed simultaneously. Ashe didn't crack a smile.

"You bleeding old lady Vaughn dry?" Johnny Joe asked. "After what her old man almost did to you, I figure you got a right to take 'em for all you can get."

Ashe glared at Johnny Joe, the hirsute little weasel. He hadn't taken after the McLaughlin side of the family in either size, coloring or temperament. No, he was more Brennan. Little, dark, smart-mouthed and stupid.

"Shut up, fool." Lee Roy swatted his younger brother on his head. "Ashe wouldn't have come back to take care of Deborah Vaughn just for the money."

"You doing her again, Ashe?" Johnny Joe snickered.

Lee Roy slapped him upside his head again, a bit harder.

"What the hell was that for?" Johnny Joe whined.

"Don't pay no attention to him." Lee Roy looked Ashe square in the eye. "It's good to see you again. We had some fun together, back when we was kids. You and me and Evie Lovelady."

"Yeah, we had some good times." Ashe had liked Lee Roy better than any of his McLaughlin relatives and the two of them had sowed some pretty wild oats together. Fighting over Evie Lovelady's favors. Getting drunk on Hunter McGee's moonshine in the backseat of Lee Roy's old Chevy. Getting into fights with Buck Stansell when he cheated at cards.

Another life, a lifetime ago.

"This ain't just a social call to get reacquainted with relatives," Lee Roy said. "Spit it out, whatever it is you come here to say."

"I understand you two are working for Buck Stansell. Is that right?"

Johnny Joe opened his mouth to respond, but shut it quickly when his older brother gave him a warning stare.

"Buck took over the business when his old man died a few years back." Lee Roy picked up his coffee mug, took a swig, then wiped his mouth with the back of his big hand. "Our old man and yours both worked for Buck's daddy."

"I know who my daddy worked for and what he did for a living," Ashe said, laying his palms flat on the table. "I've chosen to work on the other side of the law. And right now, my main concern is Deborah Vaughn's safety."

"I see." Lee Roy studied the black liquid in his mug.

"She ain't in no danger as long as she keeps that pretty little mouth of hers shut," Johnny Joe said.

"Dammit, man, you talk too much." Lee Roy turned to Ashe. "You ought to stay out of things that ain't none of your business. What happens to Deborah Vaughn shouldn't be your concern."

Ashe leaned over the table, glanced back and forth from one brother to the other, finally settling his hard stare on Lee Roy. "Deborah Vaughn is very much my concern, and what happens to her is my personal business."

"Are you saying that there's still something between the two of you? Hell, man, I'd have figured—"

"I will take it personally if anything happens to her. If one hair on her head is harmed, I'll be looking for the guy who did it. Do I make myself clear?"

"Why are you telling us?" Lee Roy asked.

"I'm asking you to relay the message." Ashe shoved back the chair and stood, towering over his seated cousins. "Tell Buck Stansell that Deborah Vaughn is my woman. She's under my protection. This isn't just another job to me."

"You sure you want to tangle with ol' Buck?" Johnny Joe grinned, showing his crooked teeth, three in a row missing on the bottom.

"I've trapped and gutted meaner bastards than Buck Stansell, and you can tell him that. Buck and his friends don't want to tangle with me. If I have to come after them, I will."

"You sure do talk big," Johnny Joe said. "But then you always did. Just 'cause you been in the Green Berets—"

"Shut up!" Lee Roy said.

"I know that the local, state and federal authorities would all like to see Buck behind bars." Ashe walked toward the door. "So would I. But you tell him that my only interest in him and his business is my woman's safety. If he leaves her alone, I'll leave him alone. Pass that advice along."

"Yeah, I'll do that," Lee Roy said. "Can't say whether or not Buck will take the advice, but it's possible that whoever's out to get Deborah Vaughn might listen. Her being your woman just might make a difference. To certain people."

Ashe smiled then, nodded his head and walked out the door. He'd bet money that before he was halfway back to Sheffield, Lee Roy and Johnny Joe would be on their way to see Buck Stansell.

Ashe parked his rental car in the lot adjacent to Vaughn & Posey Real Estate. Walking up the sidewalk, he almost laughed aloud when he saw the sheriff's deputy pacing back and forth just inside the office entrance. The fresh-faced kid looked like a posted sentry marching back and forth.

When Ashe opened the door, the deputy spun around, taking a defensive pose, then relaxed when he recognized Ashe.

"No problems here, Mr. McLaughlin. Not even a phone call or a letter."

"Good. Tell Sheriff Blaylock that I said you did a fine job. Thanks—" Ashe glanced at the boy's name tag "—Deputy Regan."

The young man grinned from ear to ear. "Ms. Vaughn's taking care of some personal business right now, but she agreed to keep her door open so she wouldn't be out of my sight."

Ashe slapped the deputy on the back. "I'll take over now. I appreciate your diligence in keeping Ms. Vaughn safe for me."

Ashe noticed Deborah in her office, standing to the side of another woman, whose back was to him. Deborah glanced at him, her face solemn.

The young deputy backed out of the office like a servant removing himself from the presence of his king. Ashe nodded a farewell to the boy, then focused all his attention on Deborah and the other woman.

He heard a rather loud hiss, then someone cleared their throat. Looking around, he saw Annie Laurie motioning for him to come to her.

"What's up?"

"Shh … shh." She flapped her hands in the air and shook her head. "Whitney Jamison—" Annie Laurie pointed to Deborah's office "—is in there right now. She came prancing in here with her nose in the air, looking all over the place for you."

Ashe sat down on the edge of Annie Laurie's desk, leaned over and whispered, "What makes you think she was looking for me?"

"She said so, that's how I know." Annie Laurie kept her voice low. "She took one look at the deputy and asked what he was doing here. Deborah told her he was on temporary guard duty. Then Whitney asked what was the problem, had you already deserted her? Then that bitch laughed. I wish Deborah had slapped her face."

"Aren't you overreacting just a little?"

"No, I don't think I am. Do you suppose for one minute that Whitney will let Deborah forget that you once asked Whitney to marry you and she dumped you, that she made you look like a fool?"

"Maybe I'd better go on in there and make sure there's not a catfight." Ashe grinned.

"Wipe that stupid grin off your face," Annie Laurie said. "Deborah Vaughn is not the type of lady to get into a catfight over any man, not even you, cousin dear."

Ashe laughed, but took note of Annie Laurie's words. She was right. Deborah wasn't the catfight type by any stretch of the imagination. But if she was, and she did choose to go one-on-one with Whitney, he'd place all his money on Deborah.

Ashe walked into Deborah's office, stopping directly behind Whitney, who was obviously unaware of his presence.

"It's going to be a delightful evening. Simply everyone will be there. You must come. If you don't, I'll never forgive you. After all, George's fortieth birthday celebration should be something for him to remember."

"Of course I'll be there," Deborah said. "I wouldn't miss it." Deborah looked over her cousin's shoulder, making direct eye contact with Ashe, who couldn't seem to erase the lopsided grin off his face. The very sound of Whitney's voice grated on his nerves. Why had he never noticed how whiny she sounded?

"You mean we'll be there, don't you?" Ashe stepped to one side, placing himself beside Deborah's desk.

Whitney spun around, a cascade of long black curls bouncing on her shoulders, settling against her pink silk blouse. "Ashe!"

She stared at him, her eyes hungry, her mouth opening and then closing as she bit down on her bottom lip. Whitney Vaughn Jamison was still beautiful, erotically beautiful with her dark hair and eyes and slender, delicate body.

Over the years there had been a few times when he'd wondered how he'd feel if he ever saw her again. Now he knew. He didn't feel a damned thing. Except maybe grateful she'd rejected him. Despite her beauty, there was a noticeable hardness in her face, a lack of depth in those big, brown eyes. He'd been too young and foolish to have seen past the surface eleven years ago.

"Whitney, you haven't changed a bit." It was only a small lie, a partial lie. She'd grown older, harder, hungrier.

"Well, darling, you've certainly changed. You've gotten bigger and broader and even better looking." Rushing over to him, she slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him boldly on the mouth.

She all but melted into him. Ashe did not return her kiss. He eased her arms from around his neck, held her hands in his for a brief moment, then released her and took a step over toward Deborah.

"What's this big event you've invited Deborah and me to attend? Something special for ol' George's birthday?" Ashe took another step in Deborah's direction.

"His fortieth birthday." Whitney pursed her lips into a frown. "And he's being a beast about getting older. I think it really bothers him that I'm so much younger."

"Not that much younger," Ashe said. "If I recall, you're thirty-four."

Whitney gasped, then smiled and puffed as she gave Ashe another hungry look. "Of course you'd remember. You probably remember a lot of things about me, don't you, Ashe?"

"Not really, Whitney. To be honest, I haven't given you more than a passing thought over the years."

Ashe slipped his arm around Deborah's waist. Glaring at him, she opened her mouth to protest. He tightened his hold on her. She wriggled, trying to free herself.

"Deborah, on the other hand, I never forgot." He pulled her close to his side, smiled at her and barely kept himself from laughing out loud when he saw the stricken look on her face.

"Well, don't tell me you were cheating on me with my little cousin behind my back." Whitney pasted a phony smile on her heavily made-up face.

"Sort of like the way you cheated on me with George?" Ashe asked.

"That was years ago. Surely you don't still hold that against me?" Whitney fidgeted with the shoulder strap on her beige leather purse.

"Whitney, I appreciate your stopping by to invite me—" Deborah gasped when Ashe squeezed her around the waist "—us to George's birthday party." She glared at Ashe. "We'll be there."

"I'll be looking forward to seeing you again, Ashe. The party's at the country club." Whitney's genuine smile returned with a vengeance.

When she didn't receive the reaction from Ashe she'd hoped to evoke, she waved at him with her index finger. "Until next Saturday night."

The moment Whitney exited the office, Deborah jerked out of Ashe's embrace, stormed across the room and slammed the door.

"Just what was that all about?" Deborah anchored her hands on her hips.

"I think your cousin was coming on to me. What do you think?"

"Of course, she was coming on to you. My God, I expected her to drag you down on my desk and jump on top of you at any minute."

Ashe chuckled, then coughed and covered his mouth when he noticed Deborah's face reddening and her eyes widening.

"I was not referring to the way Whitney threw herself at you," Deborah said. "I was talking about your dragging me into your arms, accepting her invitation on our behalf and telling her that I was the one you never forgot."

"Oh, that."

"Yes, that!"

"You had already accepted her invitation when I walked in, hadn't you? All I did was let Whitney know that you didn't go anywhere without me these days."

"I could have, and would have, explained to her that as my bodyguard, you'd have to accompany me." Deborah dropped her hands to her sides. "That doesn't explain your manhandling me in front of Whitney or your reason for saying what you did."

"I put my arm around you because I wanted Whitney to think that there's more than a business arrangement between the two of us."

"But there isn't."

"Of course there is. Do you honestly think I came back to Sheffield, to a town I swore had seen the last of me, to lay my life on the line for a woman who pretends she hates me, simply as a favor to a woman who was once kind to me and my grandmother?"

"Yes. That's what you told me."

"Doing a favor for Miss Carol was only part of my reason for accepting this job." Ashe realized that he'd been lying to himself as well as Deborah about his reasons for accepting Carol Vaughn's dare. "I wasn't lying when I told Whitney that you were the one I never forgot."

Deborah's vision blurred. Her ears rang with the pounding of her heart. "Don't—" she threw up her hands in front of her as if to ward him off "—please, don't. Whitney was the one. You loved her. Don't you dare lie to me!"

"You and I need to have a long talk and get a few things straight, but I doubt this is the time or the place." Ashe heard the phones in the outer office ringing and the buzz of voices. "Whitney doesn't mean a damn thing to me. You, on the other hand, do. I'm here to protect you. And you'll be a lot safer if everyone thinks you're—"

A loud knock on the outer office door interrupted Ashe midsentence. Opening the door, Annie Laurie walked in with a package in her hands.

"This just came for Deborah. There's no return address." Annie Laurie held the square box out in front of her. "Something inside there is ticking!"

Deborah stood deadly still staring at the box. Ashe took the package out of Annie Laurie's hands. Listening, he heard the steady tick, tick, tick coming from inside the cardboard container.

"Don't panic, and don't scare the others in the office," Ashe said. "Go back to your desk and call the Sheffield police. Talk to Chief Burton. Tell him to send whatever kind of bomb squad he has over here, pronto."

"You think it's a bomb?" Annie Laurie gulped, then started backing out of the office. "What do we do?"

"You and Deborah get everyone outside. Tell them you'll explain once you're out. Walk them across the street. And make sure everyone stays there."

"What about you?" Deborah asked.

"I'm going to set this box down on your desk and follow you all outside."

Deborah shoved a stricken Annie Laurie out of the office, then rounded all her employees together and ushered them outside, while Annie Laurie phoned the police. Deborah started into Neil's office, but Annie Laurie reminded her that Neil was in Florence at a realtor's brunch.

Ashe set the ticking box down on Deborah's desk. His gut instincts told him that this wasn't a bomb, but his instincts had been wrong a few times and it had nearly cost him his life. He didn't take chances anymore. Not with other people's lives. Certainly not with Deborah's life.

Within five minutes Chief Burton and his bomb squad arrived. The employees of Vaughn & Posey stood across the street in front of the bank, their evacuation and the presence of several police vehicles garnering attention from passersby. A small crowd of spectators gathered on the corner.

Ashe stayed beside Deborah, who stood ramrod straight, her vision focused on her office building. She gripped Ashe's hand tightly, but he was certain she had no idea what she was doing.

A member of the bomb squad walked through the front door, holding the open box in his hands. "Somebody's got a real warped sense of humor, Chief. Take a look at this."

Ashe held on to Deborah's hand as she dashed across the street.

"Everybody can go back to work," Chief Burton said. "There's no bomb."

"What was ticking?" Deborah asked.

The chief held out the box. "Take a look, Ms. Vaughn."

Inside the hand-delivered package lay an ordinary alarm clock, tightly wound. Positioned on all four sides of the box, surrounding the ticking clock, were unlit sticks of dynamite. A small white card was stuck to the face of the clock, the message typed. "Next time, boom!"

Ashe could almost hear a man's insidious laughter. Buck Stansell's crazy, sharp laugh. Ashe remembered the man's diabolical sense of humor. Buck had not meant to harm Deborah, only to frighten her. If Buck had wanted Deborah dead, he would have killed her before Ashe had come into the picture.

But what would happen if Deborah couldn't be scared off, if she showed up in court to testify against Lon Sparks? With a man like Buck Stansell, anything was possible. All Ashe knew was that whatever happened, he was going to take care of Deborah.

"A clock!" Deborah balled her hands into fists. "A stupid alarm clock!"

"Looks like another warning," Chief Burton said. "I'll see that Charlie's people get a look at this. I doubt we'll be able to trace it to anybody, but we'll see what we can do. Maybe somebody at the messenger service will remember who sent it, but I've got my doubts. Anybody could've paid a kid off the street to run a package by the office."

"It's not going to stop, is it?" Deborah looked to Ashe for an answer. He grasped her by the shoulders. She trembled.

"I'm not going to lie to you," he said. "The phone calls and letters aren't going to stop. But I'm screening them. You don't have to deal with them at all. And from now on, any UPS deliveries will come directly to me, too. You don't even have to know about them."

"Unless you think it's another bomb and we have to evacuate the office again." Deborah wanted to walk into Ashe's arms, to lay her head on his chest and cry. Instead she pulled away from him, turning to her employees, still standing around outside on the sidewalk. "Let's get back to work." Then she held out her hand to Chief Burton, thanked him for arriving so promptly and took one last look at the gag gift she'd been sent.

She walked back into the building, her head held high. At that moment Ashe didn't think he'd ever been as enthralled by a woman's show of strength. He knew she'd been scared to death, had felt her trembling beneath his hands, but despite her anger and uncertainty, she was not defeated.

Ashe waited around outside for a few minutes until the police left and the crowd cleared. He found Deborah in her office, alone, her elbows propped up on her desk, her hands covering her face.

He closed the door behind him. Dropping her hands, she stared up at him, her eyes damp but without any real tears.

He walked over, knelt down beside her swivel chair and took her hands into his. "It's all right if you want to cry or scream or hit something. Nobody can be strong all the time."

"I have to be," she said, her voice flat and even, masking her emotions. She looked down at her lap where he held her hands. "Mother and Allen have no one else but me. If I fall apart … if I…" Pausing, she swallowed. "I have to keep Vaughn & Posey going. So many people depend on this business. And since Mother's illness, she's become very fragile emotionally."

"Then put up a brave front for Miss Carol and Allen. Even let your employees go on thinking you're superwoman. But I've got some broad shoulders, Deborah. And they're here for you to lean on any time you feel the need."

She looked at him, her blue eyes softening just a fraction. "Part of the job, Mr. McLaughlin? I thought you were supposed to protect me. Giving comfort is extra, isn't it? How much more will that cost me?"

He stood and jerked her up into his arms in one swift move. She gasped as she fell against him and he trapped her body, holding her securely in his arms. He lowered his head until their breaths mingled.

She closed her eyes, blocking out the sight of him, telling herself she was a fool to succumb to his easy charm.

"The comfort is free, Ms. Vaughn." He whispered the words against her lips. "If you're woman enough to accept it."

Sucking in a deep breath, she opened her eyes. He released his hold on her and gave her a slight push away from him. Turning his back on her, he headed for the door.

"Ashe?"

"I'm just going to get a cup of coffee. I'm not leaving you, even if right now I'd like nothing better than to walk out that door and not come back."

"No one is stopping—"

He pivoted around, glaring at her. "No, that's not true. I don't want to walk out on you and never come back. What I want, more than anything, is to shove all that stuff off your desk, lift you up on it and—"

"I think you're confusing me with Whitney," Deborah said.

"No, honey, that's something I've never done. It's your legs I'd like to slide between and your body I'd like to claim, not your cousin's."

Ashe turned, walked out of the office and closed the door behind him.

Deborah stood beside her desk, trembling. Visions of her lying on top of her desk flashed through her mind. She shook her head trying to dislodge the thoughts of Ashe McLaughlin leaning over her body, lifting her hips and burying himself inside her.

She covered her mouth with her hand to still her cry, then bit down on the side of her finger as shivers of desire rippled through her.

Chapter 6

« ^ »

Deborah had thought about making a fire in her sitting room fireplace, but had neither the strength nor the determination. Although the October night was chilly, it wasn't really cool enough for a fire. She'd simply thought a cozy glowing fire would be soothing. Instead she had settled for a nice warm bath and a cup of cinnamon tea.

She curled up on the huge padded window seat beneath the stained glass window in her sitting room alcove. Her room was her haven. Since early childhood, she had escaped into this luxurious old room with its high ceilings and aged wooden floors. Many days she had sat where she sat now, watching the way the sun turned the colors in the stained glass window to sparkling jewels.

She had written silly, girlish poems about love and life and Ashe McLaughlin. She had long ago burned those poems. Even now she could feel the tears on her face, the tears she had shed the night she'd tossed those hopeless professions of love into the fireplace and watched her youthful dreams go up in smoke.

She shouldn't be dwelling on the past, not with so many problems facing her in the present. Between the constant harassing threats and Ashe's presence, her nerves were raw. She wanted to scream, to cry, to break something—anything—into a thousand pieces.

She wanted Ashe to go away; she wanted Ashe to never leave her. She fantasized about telling Ashe that Allen was his son; she lived in fear Ashe would discover the truth.

Deborah set her teacup on the mahogany tea table beside the window bench, pulled the cream crocheted afghan over her legs and rested her head against the window frame. She should have been in bed an hour ago, but she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep. The simple, orderly life she had worked out for herself had suddenly and irrevocably fallen apart. She had turned off on the wrong road, witnessed a murder and her life would never be the same again. Not only was her life being threatened by the most notorious hoodlums in the state, but the very man determined to protect her posed the greatest threat of all. How ironic, she thought, that she should fear Ashe McLaughlin even more than she feared Buck Stansell.

She heard a soft rap on her door. Her mother? Had she taken ill? Or Allen, who usually slept soundly the whole night through? No. Not her mother. Not Allen.

Ashe.

Dropping the afghan to the floor, she walked across the room, her heart hammering away in her chest. Just before opening the door, she readjusted her silk robe, tightening the belt around her waist.

Ashe McLaughlin stood in the hallway, one big hand braced against the doorpost. He still wore his charcoal gray slacks and his dove gray linen shirt, but the shirt was completely unbuttoned and the hem hung loose below his hips.

"May I come in? We need to talk."

"It's late, Ashe. After midnight. I'm tired." She didn't want him in her room, didn't want to be alone with him. "Can't this wait until morning?"

"It could, but since we're both awake, I see no reason to postpone our conversation." He dropped his hand from the doorpost, leaned toward her and looked her over from head to toe. "Are you going to let me in?"

If she said no, he would think she was afraid of him, that he still held some kind of power over her. She couldn't let him think she cared, that he… Oh, who was she kidding? Any fool could see that Ashe McLaughlin made her act like a silly, lovesick schoolgirl.

"Come on in." She stepped back, allowing him entrance.

He followed her into the sitting room, glancing around, taking note of the lush femininity of the room. All muted cobalt blues and faded rose colors with splashes of rich cream. Ruffles and lace and dainty crocheted items whispered "Lady."

"Won't you sit down?" She indicated the antique rocker covered in a vibrant floral pattern.

Ashe eyed the delicate chair, wondering if it would hold his weight. Deborah sat on the wide, plush window seat. Without asking permission, he walked over and sat down beside her. She jumped, then glared at him.

"I was afraid I'd break that little rocker," he said, smiling.

"You could have sat in the arm chair, there by the fireplace." She indicated the wing chair, a wide-brimmed, lace hat hanging from one wing.

"I'd rather sit beside you." He knew he made her nervous, and he thought he knew why. No matter what had happened between them eleven years ago, no matter how betrayed either of them felt, the spark that had ignited a blazing fire between them that one night down by the river still burned inside both of them.

"Fine, sit beside me." She glanced over at the tea service. "Would you care for some cinnamon tea?"

"No, thanks."

"What was so urgent that you couldn't wait until tomorrow to discuss it with me?" Feeling her robe slipping open across her thigh, she grabbed the blue silk and held it in place.

"Are you all right, Deborah?" he asked. "I mean really all right. You've had a rough day, and you barely said ten words at dinner. Miss Carol is worried. So is Allen."

"I'm fine, and I'll make sure Mother and Allen both know it. Now, if that's all you came to say—" she started to rise.

"Sit down."

She eased back down onto the bench.

"As you know, I paid a visit to Lee Roy and Johnny Joe, a couple of my cousins who work for Buck Stansell."

Her eyes, wide and overly bright, looked right at him. Damn her, she was working hard at being brave, at pretending she wasn't slowly falling apart. And he figured having him around wasn't helping her any. But he couldn't leave, couldn't let Sam Dundee send another agent to protect her. Deborah was his responsibility, his to protect, his to defend against whatever harm came her way.

"What happened?" Deborah asked. "I'm sure they didn't admit that Buck Stansell was harassing me, trying to convince me that he'd have me killed if I testify against Lon Sparks."

"No, the boys didn't admit to anything. They didn't have to. I know my cousins. I know their kind. My father was one of them. They're what I came from."

Without hesitating, without thinking, Deborah touched his hand. Comforting. Caring. So much like the Deborah he'd known and liked.

"You were never anything like those people. You didn't get into any real trouble when you were a teenager. Everything you did, you did to improve your life, to get away from your roots."

He laid his open palm atop her small hand, trapping it between his big, hard hands. "You never looked down on me, never thought you were better than I was, like so many people did. Even though you were just a kid, you seemed to understand what I wanted, what I needed."

Deborah shivered, her stomach quivering, warmth spreading through her like the morning sunshine slowly bathing the horizon with its life-giving light. She couldn't bear feeling this way, longing to put her arms around Ashe, to tell him that she had loved him so dearly, had wanted nothing more than for him to return her love. She'd been a foolish girl; he'd been in love with her cousin.

She pulled her hand out of his gentle clasp. "So, your … you…" Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. "…your visit to your cousins didn't accomplish anything."

Dear God, how he wanted to kiss her. Here in the feminine confines of her sitting room, surrounded by all her frills and lace. The smell of her fresh and lightly scented from her bath. Her skin glowing. Soft. Begging for his touch.

"No, you're wrong," he said. "The visit did accomplish a few things. I made contact with the enemy camp. I found out Lee Roy and I still have a connection. And I sent a warning to Buck Stansell." He reached out; she retreated. He reached out farther and touched her cheek. She trembled, but didn't pull away from him. "I laid claim to you. I told them that Buck should know you are my woman, and if he harms you, I'll seek revenge."

"You … you … claimed me?" She widened her eyes, staring at him in disbelief.

He ran the tips of his fingers down her cheek, caressing her throat, then circled her neck, urging her forward. "I know Buck and his type. They're wild, they're ruthless, but they aren't stupid. The one thing they respect and understand is brute force. Another man's strength. They know who I am, the life I've lived. And they know that if I say I'll come after them if they harm you, I mean it."

"But Ashe, I don't—"

"For as long as I'm your bodyguard, we will pretend to be a couple. We're old friends who have become lovers. As far as Buck Stansell and the whole state of Alabama is concerned, you're my woman, and this isn't a job anymore. This is personal. In taking care of you, I'm simply defending my own against any harm. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Yes, she understood. She understood only too well. Not only would she have to endure constant threats on her life and Ashe's daily presence in her life, but she would have to put on an act, playing the part of Ashe's lover.

"I can't do it," she said, trying to pull away from him.

He held her in his gentle yet firm grip, raking his thumb up and down the side of her neck. "Why can't you?"

"I can't lie about something that important. I can't pretend with Mother and with Allen."

"Tell your Mother the truth, and I don't think Allen will care if you have a boyfriend. He seems to think you need one." Ashe continued stroking the side of her neck.

"You had no right to tell anyone that I'm your woman! I'm not. I never have been and I never will be."

He jerked her up against him, his lips a whisper away from hers. "This pretense just might save your life or at least make Buck think twice about harming you. I don't give a damn about your objections—I'm more concerned about saving your life. From this moment on, for all intents and purposes, you're mine. Do I make myself clear?"

Deborah swallowed hard, then closed her eyes to block out the sight of Ashe's face. She couldn't pretend to be his woman. Dear Lord, didn't he understand anything about her? Years ago she had lived in a fantasy world where she dreamed Ashe would leave Whitney and come to her, claiming her, making her his. And on that one night, the night she conceived Allen, she had given herself to the man she loved, and afterward he had told her he didn't want her.

"You can't order me around. You can't make me do something I don't want to do." She clenched her teeth and stared him straight in the eye.

"You're so damned stubborn."

His lips covered hers with hot, demanding urgency, the need to override her objections forefront in his mind. But his body's needs overcame his intention to bend her to his will. He didn't want to force her to do anything; he wanted her compliance.

Deborah fought the kiss for a few brief seconds, then succumbed to the power of his possession, giving herself over to the feel of his arm around her, pulling her closer and closer, his fingers threading through her hair, capturing her head in the palm of his hand.

Her breasts pressed against his hard chest. His tongue delved into her mouth. Slipping her arms around inside his shirt, she clung to him, her nails biting into the muscles of his naked back. Deborah and Ashe sought to appease the hunger gnawing inside them, their lips tasting the sweetness, their tongues seeking, their hands laying claim to the feast of their aroused bodies.

Ashe felt hard and hot as Deborah ran her hands over his chest, across his tiny, pebble hard nipples, lacing her fingers through his dark chest hair.

Ashe reached between their bodies, separating the folds of her silk robe, feeling for her breast. He eased the robe off her shoulder, then the thin strap of her gown, exposing her left breast, lifting it in his hand.

When he rubbed his fingers across her jutting nipple, she cried out. He took the sound into his mouth, deepening their kiss. She curled against him. He dragged her onto his lap, lowered his head and covered her nipple with his mouth, sucking greedily. All the while he stroked a fiery path down her back, stopping to caress her hip.

The taste of her filled him, urging him to sample more and more of her soft, sweet flesh. He hadn't meant for things to get so out of hand, but once he'd touched her, he couldn't stop himself, couldn't seem to control his desire.

Deborah's breath came in strong, fast pants as she clung to his shoulder with one hand and held his head to her breast with the other.

They wriggled and squirmed, arms embracing, hands caressing, lips savoring, legs entwined. Losing their balance in the fury of their passion, they toppled off the window bench and onto the floor. Ashe's leg rammed against the mahogany tea table, knocking it over, sending the tea service crashing onto the Oriental carpet.

Breathing erratically, Deborah glanced away from Ashe to the wreckage on the floor beside them. Reality intruded on the erotic dream. She shoved against Ashe's chest.

He wanted her to ignore everything around them, to concentrate on recapturing the raw, wild need that had claimed them, but he saw the hazy look of longing clear from her eyes.

She pulled up her gown to cover her breast and lifted herself into a sitting position on the floor. Ashe rose to his feet, offered her his hand and lifted her, pulling her back into his arms.

"You're Ashe McLaughlin's woman. I think we just proved that it won't be difficult for us to carry off the masquerade for as long as it's necessary."

He brushed her lips with his, then released her. Deborah staggered on her feet, but found her footing quickly, determined not to give in to the desire to scratch Ashe's eyes out.

Damn the man! He had gotten his way. He had proved that she was just as vulnerable to him as she'd been at seventeen.

"I'd like for you to go now," she said. "I'll explain things to Mother and I'll tell Allen what I think will pacify his curiosity."

"There's less than two weeks until the trial. I think we can pretend for that long. Then for another week or so, if Buck Stansell decides to retaliate for your testifying against Lon Sparks."

"I suppose there's always that possibility, isn't there? If that happens, then this nightmare could go on forever."

"Let's take it one day at a time. We'll get you through the trial, then worry about what might or might not happen afterward."

Deborah nodded. Ashe glanced down at the overturned table, the scattered tea service, the spilled tea.

"I'll clean up this mess," he said.

"No, please." She looked at him and wished she hadn't. His gaze said he still wanted her. "I'll take care of it. I'd like for you to leave. Now."

He walked out of her bedroom. She stood there trembling with unshed tears choking her. I will not cry. I will not cry. She knelt down on the floor, righted the tea table and picked up the silver service. A dark stain marred the blue-and-cream perfection of the rug. She jumped up and ran into the bathroom, wet a frayed hand towel and glanced into the mirror above the sink.

Dear Lord. Her hair was in disarray, the long strands fanned out around her face. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes overly bright. Her lips were swollen. A pink rash covered her neck and the top of her left breast, a result of Ashe's beard stubble. She looked like a woman who'd been ravished. Suddenly she felt like a woman who'd been ravished.

Tears gathered in her eyes. She laid her head against the mirror and cried.

In the week since they had begun their pretense, Ashe hadn't kissed her again, indeed he'd barely touched her, except in front of others—a part of their performance as lovers. In another week Lon Sparks's trial would begin. But when it ended, would the threats end, too, or would they turn deadly? Ashe screened all of Deborah's calls and her mail. The daily threats continued, meaningless threats since Deborah never heard the messages or read the letters. Two more little gifts had arrived, both of these delivered by unknown messenger to her home. One, a green garden snake, Ashe had taken outside and released. The other had been more ominous, one he'd made sure neither Deborah nor Miss Carol saw. A newspaper photograph of Deborah, singed around the edges, a book of matches laid on top and the words "Your house might catch on fire" scrawled in red ink across the newspaper.

Nerve-racking threats to be sure, harassment to say the least, but not once had Deborah's life actually been in jeopardy. Was Buck Stansell playing some sort of sick game or was he trying to throw them off guard, waiting to act at the last moment?

"It's been a long time since you've been in the country club."

Carol Vaughn slipped her arm through Ashe's. He looked away from the living room window where he'd been staring sightlessly outside while he waited for Deborah. He smiled at Miss Carol. "Eleven years."

"The night Whitney announced her engagement to George." Carol patted Ashe on his forearm. "She was such a selfish girl, but always so bubbly. Now she's a very sad, selfish woman."

"Are you trying to warn me about something, Miss Carol?"

"Do I need to warn you?"

"I haven't been carrying a torch for Whitney all these years, if that's what's troubling you."

"No, I didn't think you had. You wouldn't look at my daughter as if she were you favorite meal and you hadn't eaten in a long time, if you were in love with another woman."

Had he been that obvious? So apparent in his desire for Deborah that even her own mother had noticed? "Why, Miss Carol, what big eyes you have."

"And sharp teeth, too. If for one minute I thought you'd hurt Deborah again, I'd have no qualms about chewing you up into little pieces."

"And you could do it, too." Taking her hand in his, he walked her across the room and seated her on the sofa. "I never meant to hurt Deborah. I made a mistake, but I tried to keep from making an even bigger mistake. I was honest with her, and I paid dearly for that honesty."

"My husband adored Deborah. She was our only child. I didn't agree with what he did to you, and I told him so at the time. But Wallace could not be reasoned with on any subject, and certainly not when he felt Deborah had been wronged."

"I never made Deborah any promises eleven years ago, and I won't make any to her now. None that I can't keep." Ashe heard Deborah's and Allen's voices corning from the upstairs landing. "I'm attracted to Deborah and she's attracted to me. We're both adults now. If things become complicated, we'll deal with them."

Carol nodded meekly. Ashe couldn't understand the wary look in her blue eyes, that sad expression on her face. What was Miss Carol so afraid would happen?

Allen rushed down the stairs and into the living room. "Come see," he said. "Deborah's beautiful. She looks like one of those models on TV."

Ashe helped Miss Carol to her feet and they followed Allen into the hallway. All three of them looked up to the top of the stairs where Deborah stood.

For one split second Ashe couldn't breathe. He didn't think he d ever seen anything as lovely as the woman who walked slowly down the stairs, the diamonds in her ears and around her throat dimmed by her radiance.

Allen glanced up at Ashe, then punched him in the side. "See, what'd I tell you?"

"You're right, pal. She's beautiful."

Deborah descended the staircase, butterflies wild in her stomach. How many times had she dreamed of a real date with Ashe McLaughlin? Now, it was a reality. Now, eleven years too late.

He stood at the bottom of the stairs, Allen to his left. The sight of her son at his father's side tugged at Deborah's heart. What would Ashe say if she told him the truth about Allen? Would he be glad? Or would he be sorry?

Ashe looked at Deborah, seeing her as if for the first time, all sparkling and vibrant, beautiful beyond description. How could any man see her and not want her?

The royal blue satin draped across her shoulders in a shawl collar, narrowing to her tiny waist and flaring into a full, gathered skirt, ankle-length gown. Her satin shoes matched the dress to perfection, and when she stopped at the foot of the stairs, Ashe noticed that the deep rich color she wore turned her blue eyes to sapphires.

"You look lovely, my dear." Carol Vaughn kissed her daughter's cheek. "Please give my regrets to Whitney. I'm sure she'll understand that I'm not quite up to these late-night social affairs."

Deborah hugged her mother close. Her beautiful, brave mother, whose bout with cancer had taken its toll on all of them. "I dread going," Deborah whispered so low that only Carol heard her words. "I have no idea what Whitney will do. She's bound to make a play for Ashe."

Pulling out of Deborah's arms, Carol smiled. "You two run along now and have a wonderful time." Carol glanced at Ashe who hadn't taken his eyes off Deborah. "And don't feel that you need to come home early."

Allen rushed out of the hallway and into the library, returning quickly with a gold foil-wrapped gift. "Don't forget George's birthday present." Allen shook the small package. "What is it anyway?"

"It's a fourteen-karat gold money clip." Deborah took the gift. "Whitney mentioned that George had misplaced his money clip."

"Hocked it, no doubt." Carol nudged Ashe in the center of his back. "I do believe you've taken Ashe's breath away with your loveliness."

"Yeah, he looks like somebody hit him in the head." Allen laughed. "Hey, man, have you got it bad or what?"

Ashe jabbed Allen playfully in the ribs, lifted him up off the floor with one arm and rubbed his fist across the top of the boy's head before placing him back on his feet. "You wouldn't make fun of a guy for mooning over his girl, would you?"

"Naw, as long as you don't kiss her in front of me." Putting his hand on his hip, Allen stood up straight and gave Ashe a hard look. "If I catch you kissing her, then, as the man of the house, I'd have to ask you what your intentions are, wouldn't I?"

"Yes, Allen, I suppose you would," Ashe said. "So, I'll tell you what, I'll try to make sure I kiss Deborah when you're not around."

"Will you two stop this." Deborah tried to hug Allen, but he wriggled away from her. "What's the matter? Have you gotten too big to give me a hug and a kiss?"

"No, that's not it." Grinning, Allen swiped his hand in front of him in a negative gesture. "I'm just afraid your boyfriend will get jealous and sock me."

Allen broke into peals of boyish laughter. Ashe chuckled. Carol covered her mouth to hide her giggle. Deborah shook her head in mock disgust.

"Let's go now, Ashe, before I wind up socking Allen," Deborah said.

Taking the long satin jacket from where Deborah carried it across her arm, Ashe wrapped it around her shoulders. He slipped his arm about her waist and escorted her out to her repaired and newly painted Cadillac waiting in the drive.

When he opened the door, he turned and lifted her hand to his lips. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

He kissed her wrist. Chills shivered through her. She looked into his eyes. "Thank you."

He helped her into the car, rounded the Caddy and got behind the wheel. "No matter what happens tonight, there are a few things I want you to keep in mind."

"Such as?" Deborah smoothed the gathers in her skirt, her fingers gliding nervously over the heavy satin. She didn't look at Ashe.

"Such as I didn't come back to Sheffield to protect Whitney. I wouldn't have, for any amount of money. And I'm not staying in town because of her or issuing threats to dangerous men because of her."

"Did she hurt you so badly back then that you hate her now? You know they say there's only a fine line between love and hate. Maybe you still care about her more than you'd like to admit. After all, she was your first love and—"

Ashe grabbed Deborah so quickly that she didn't have time to think of resisting. His kiss came so hard and fast that it obliterated every thought from her mind, filling her with the heat of his anger, the determination of his desire. His mouth devoured hers, the kiss turning from bold strength to gentle power. Her hands crept up around his neck. He stroked her waist. The satin jacket fell from her shoulders leaving them bare. Ashe allowed his lips to retreat from hers, as he nibbled at her bottom lip and tasted her chin. He lowered his head to her shoulder, his mouth closing over her soft flesh.

Shutting her eyes and tossing back her head, Deborah moaned. "Ashe…"

"Don't ever try to tell me how I feel." Lifting his head, he stared into her blue eyes. "Whitney wasn't my first anything. I'd had a dozen girls before her. You should remember all the girls I dated. And as far as my being in love with her, I wasn't. I was infatuated with what she represented. She represented a dream. That night at the country club when she announced her engagement, I saw my dream come to an end."

"Neither of us has ever been able to forget that night, have we? But for different reasons."

He gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. "If you think I've ever forgotten what it was like making love to you, then you're wrong."

"I suppose you remember all of them, don't you? Whitney, the dozen before her, and God only knows how many since."

Ashe fell backward against the soft leather of the seat, shook his head and laughed. "You're jealous! You are honest-to-goodness jealous."

"I am not!" Deborah jerked the satin jacket up around her shoulders.

"Somewhere deep down inside, Deborah Vaughn, you're the one who still cares. I still mean something to you, don't I?"

Yes, she wanted to scream. Yes, you mean something to me. You are my first and only lover. You are the father of my child, the child I can never claim as my own. Oh, yes, Ashe McLaughlin, you most definitely still mean something to me.

"I think you're taking the part of playing my lover far too seriously." Deborah turned around in the seat, focusing her attention on the front porch lights. "We are pretending to care about each other. That's all."

"That's not all," Ashe said. "You asked me if I remember all the women I've had sex with. Well, yes, I do remember. Some more than others. But I didn't have sex with you, Deborah." There in the darkness his voice sounded deeper and darker and more sensuous than ever. "I made love to you. I took all that sweet, innocent passion you offered and I drowned myself in your love. I had never been in so much pain, and I had never needed a woman's unselfish love the way I needed yours that night. Don't you think I know that I did all the taking and you did all the giving."

"Please, Ashe, I don't want—"

"What? You don't want to hear the truth? You don't want to hear how much I wanted to keep on taking what you offered? How much guts it took for me to reject you? Hell, I knew I couldn't give a girl like you what you should have. I knew the best thing I could do for you was to get out of your life and stay out."

"And that's exactly what you did." Deborah cringed at the accusatory tone of her own voice. "You couldn't even stay in the same town with me, could you? You couldn't hang around long enough to find—"

Dear God, she'd been about to say find out if you'd gotten me pregnant!

"None of this matters now, does it?" Pulling the shoulder harness across her, she snapped the seat belt in place. "If we don't leave for the country club right now, we're going to be more than fashionably late."

"Sooner or later we'll have to finish this conversation," Ashe said. "I think we both have quite a lot to get off our chests."

"It'll have to be later."

"Fine." He turned on the overhead lights. "You might want to check your makeup. I think most of your lipstick is on my mouth." Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped his face.

Deborah opened her evening bag, took out her lipstick and glanced in the mirror to see how much repair was needed. She worked quickly, trying not to notice that she looked like a woman who'd just been thoroughly kissed.

"I'm ready," she said.

Ashe backed the Cadillac out of the drive and headed toward the country club.

"Ashe McLaughlin, you old dog. I never thought I'd see you back in Sheffield."

Keeping his arm firmly around Deborah's waist, Ashe jerked his head around, seeking the familiar voice. "Peanut Haygood?"

The skinny teenage boy who'd lived down the street from Ashe's grandmother had turned into a heavyset, bearded man wearing a uniform and carrying a gun. By the looks of old Peanut, Ashe figured he was part of the private security for George Jamison's big birthday bash.

"Peanut? Man, you've changed since the last time I saw you."

"Yeah, well, a guy grows up and fills out," Peanut said. "I heard you were in town." He nodded politely to Deborah. "Nice to see you, Ms. Vaughn. Sorry to hear about all your problems. One of these days we're going to get the goods on Buck Stansell and put him away for life."

"Are you on the police force?" Deborah asked.

"Yes, ma'am. Over in Muscle Shoals." Peanut slapped Ashe on the back. "Looks like you and me wound up in the same business, huh? You a Green Beret and me a policeman. Now you're a private security agent and I moonlight as a guard for these fancy shindigs at the country club."