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

      Ashe tightened his hold around Deborah’s waist. “Happy birthday, George.”

      George glanced at Ashe, his long, thin nose slightly tilted upward. He made no move to offer Ashe his hand. “McLaughlin.” George’s pale gray eyes met Ashe’s vibrant hazel glare. “I was surprised to hear you’d come back to Sheffield to act as Deborah’s bodyguard. Of course, we’re all pleased that someone is looking out for her. I understand that you’re highly qualified to handle brutes like Buck Stansell. Then, of course, it must be a help that you’ve had ties to those people all your life.”

      “Yes, it is a help.” Ashe lifted the corners of his mouth just enough to hint at a smile, but he knew George Jamison would recognize the look in his eyes for what it was. Contempt. Dislike. Disgust.

      “We can’t stay too long,” Deborah said. “I don’t like to leave Mother alone.”

      “I quite understand.” Glancing across the room, George waved at someone. “Do enjoy yourselves. I’m sure this is a bit of a treat for you, McLaughlin. Finally getting to come to the country club through the front door. Rather different from the last time you were here, isn’t it?”

      “George, you’re being—” Deborah said.

      “You’re right.” Catching sight of Whitney dancing with the young man she had cornered earlier, Ashe nodded in her direction. “Eleven years ago you and I were the only two guys Whitney was seeing.”

      “How dare you!” George’s thin, white cheeks flushed pink.

      Ashe led Deborah away from George, quickly ushering her through the crowd and onto the dance floor.

      “That was a horrible thing to say to George,” Deborah said.

      “I was justified, don’t you think?” Ashe pulled her close, leaning over to nuzzle her neck with his nose.

      She gulped in a deep breath of air. “Yes, you were most definitely justified. George always has been a little snot! He’s so immature.”

      “A little snot?” Ashe chuckled. “I guess that does aptly describe George, doesn’t it?”

      Deborah loved the feel of Ashe’s arms around her, the security of his strength, the sensuality of his nearness. She didn’t know what she had expected to happen tonight. Between Ashe and Whitney. Between Ashe and George. But she certainly hadn’t expected to feel so light and free and thoroughly amused.

      It suddenly hit her that neither she nor Ashe were the same two people who had left this country club eleven years ago. They had both grown up.

      Ashe was no longer in awe of the wealthy social set that ruled the county. His dreams weren’t wrapped up in a sexy package called Whitney Vaughn. He wasn’t an angry, outraged, spurned lover.

      And Deborah no longer saw herself as a wallflower beside her exquisite cousin. Any residue of leftover jealousy she might have once felt disappeared completely. She was strong. She was successful. She was attractive.

      And Ashe McLaughlin wanted her!

      They moved to the music, giving themselves over to the bluesy rendition of an old Glenn Miller song. They spent nearly an hour on the dance floor, wrapped in each other’s arms. Occasionally Deborah noticed some curious stares and heard a few whispered innuendoes. None of it mattered, she told herself. She and Ashe were presenting themselves to the world as lovers. She could not allow herself to think otherwise. When the danger to her life ended, Ashe would be gone.

      But during the duration of his stay, they could become lovers. She didn’t doubt for one minute that Ashe wanted her. He had made that abundantly clear. The question was did she dare risk giving herself to him? Did she dare risk falling in love with him all over again? How could she become his lover and continue lying to him about Allen?

      “Are you about ready to leave?” Ashe whispered, then kissed her ear.

      Deborah shivered. “Yes. I think everyone has seen us and drawn their own conclusions.”

      “We don’t have to go back to your house.” Ashe ran his hand up and down her back. “We could find some place to be alone.”

      “No. I’m not…Just take me home. I can’t handle a repeat performance of that night eleven years ago when we left the country club together.”

      “It wouldn’t be the same. We aren’t the same,” he said. “We’d both know what we were getting into this time.”

      “That’s the problem, isn’t it? At least for me.”

      The music came to a end. Couples left the dance floor, while others waited for the next set to begin. Deborah pulled away from Ashe, intending to make a quick exit. Ashe jerked her into his arms, grasped the back of her head with his hand and kissed her, long, hard and devouring. Every rational thought went out of her head.

      When she was weak and breathless, he ended the kiss, draped his arm around her shoulders and escorted her off the dance floor, past a glaring Whitney and her openmouthed guests.

      “Every person in this room knows you’re mine,” he whispered as they walked out into the hall. “And since they’re aware of my reputation, no one will doubt that I’m the kind of man who’d kill to defend his own.”

      Chapter Seven

      Deborah folded the blueprints and laid them aside. She couldn’t seem to concentrate on the plans for Cotton Lane Estates, although she had promised Vaughn & Posey’s backers a detailed report on their present subdivision project.

      She lifted the cup of warm coffee to her lips and downed the sweet liquid. Clutching the coffee mug in her hands, she closed her eyes. In a few days, Lon Sparks’s trial would begin and she’d be called on to testify. The waiting had been almost unbearable, not knowing what might or might not happen. She couldn’t give in to her fears and allow the likes of Buck Stansell to frighten her into backing down from doing what she knew was right. But sometimes she wondered what her mother and Allen would do if anything happened to her. Her mother’s health was so precarious, and Allen was still so young. What if he lost both her and her mother?

      Ashe McLaughlin had a right to know he had a son. That’s what her mother had told Deborah’s father years ago and that’s what she kept telling Deborah now. If anything were to happen to the two women in Allen’s life, he would still have his father.

      But how could she tell Ashe the truth? She and her mother had kept the true circumstances of Allen’s birth a secret for ten years. What would Allen do if he suddenly discovered that the two people he loved and trusted most in the world had been lying to him his whole life?

      No, she didn’t dare risk losing Allen’s love by telling Ashe the truth. She had no way of knowing how Ashe would react and whether or not he’d tell Allen everything.

      Her mother had warned her that sooner or later Ashe would have to be told. Deborah had decided that it must be later, much later. She had to be strong. Just a little while longer. Ashe wouldn’t stay in Sheffield if she wasn’t in danger. He would walk out of their lives and never look back, the way he’d done eleven years ago. She could trust him with her life, but not with her heart—and not with Allen’s future.

      When she heard a soft knock at the door, Deborah opened her eyes. “Yes?”

      Annie Laurie eased the door open. “Mr. Shipman’s on the phone. He says it’s urgent he speak to you.”

      “Mr. Shipman? The principal at Allen’s school?”

      “Yes, that Mr. Shipman.”

      “Okay. Thanks, Annie Laurie.” Deborah picked up the telephone and punched the Incoming Call button. “Hello, Mr. Shipman, this is Deborah Vaughn. Is something wrong?”

      Ashe slipped by Annie Laurie and into Deborah’s private office, closing the door behind him. Deborah glanced at him.

      “Ms.