The Protectors. Beverly Barton

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 any more. 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