Defending His Own tp-4

by Beverly Barton

  "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."