The Protectors: Defending His Own / Guarding Jeannie. BEVERLY BARTON
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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 Haviland 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