DEFENDING HIS OWN

by Beverly Barton

  "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."