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

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 Three

      “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