The Protectors. Beverly Barton

he had not ruined her life. It had been the other way around. She had almost ruined his a couple of months later by running to her daddy. Why had she done it? Had she hated him that much? Did she still hate him?

      Carol glanced at her daughter. “Deborah, come join us. Mazie tells me dinner will be ready promptly at six-thirty.”

      “She’s always punctual. Dinner’s at six-thirty every night,” Deborah said.

      “She’s prepared Allen’s favorite. Meat loaf with creamed potatoes and green peas,” Carol said.

      “Hey, pal, that’s my favorite, too.” Ashe elbowed Allen playfully in the ribs.

      Allen leaned into Ashe, toppling the big man over onto the rug. Within seconds the two were wrestling around on the floor.

      Deborah looked from father and son to her mother. Nervously she cleared her throat. When no one paid any heed to her, she cleared her throat again.

      “Come sit down.” Carol gestured toward the tufted leather sofa. “Let the boys be boys. They’ll tire soon enough.”

      When Deborah continued staring at Allen and Ashe rolling around on the floor, both of them laughing, Carol stood and walked over to her daughter.

      “Allen needs a man in his life.” Carol slipped her arm around Deborah’s waist, leading her into the room. “He’ll soon be a teenager. He’s going to need a father more than ever then.”

      “Hush, Mother! They’ll hear you.”

      Carol glanced over at the two rowdy males who stopped abruptly when their roughhousing accidently knocked over a potted plant.

      “Uh-oh, Allen, we’ll be in trouble with the ladies now.” Rising to his knees, Ashe swept up the spilled dirt with his hands and dumped it back into the brass pot.

      “Don’t worry about it,” Carol said. “I’ll ask Mazie to run the vacuum over what’s left on the rug.”

      Deborah glanced down at her gold and diamond wristwatch. “It’s almost six-thirty. I’ll check on dinner and tell Mazie about the accident with the plant.”

      The moment Deborah exited the room, Allen shook his head, stood up and brushed off his hands. “What’s the matter with Deborah? She’s acting awful strange.”

      “She’s nervous about the upcoming trial, but you know that, Allen.” Carol smiled, first at Allen and then at Ashe. “Our lives have been topsy-turvy for weeks now.”

      “No, I’m not talking about that.” Allen nodded toward Ashe. “She’s been acting all goofy ever since Ashe showed up here today.” He turned to Ashe. “Nobody ever answered my question about whether you and Deborah used to be an item.”

      “Allen—” Carol said.

      “Deborah and I were good friends at one time.” Ashe certainly couldn’t say anything negative about his sister to the boy. “I’m four years older, so I dated older girls.”

      “Deborah had a crush on Ashe for years,” Carol said.

      When Ashe glanced at Carol, she stared back at him, her look asking something of him that Ashe couldn’t comprehend.

      “She liked you, but you didn’t like her back?” Allen asked. “Boy, were you dumb. Deborah’s pretty and about the nicest person in the world.”

      “Yeah, Allen, I was pretty dumb all right. I’m a lot smarter now.”

      “Well, if Deborah gives you a second chance this time, you won’t mess things up, will you?” Allen looked at him with eyes identical to Deborah’s, the purest, richest blue imaginable.

      “I’m not here to romance your sister,” Ashe said. “I’m here to protect her, to make sure—”

      Carol cleared her throat; Ashe realized he was saying too much, that they wanted the boy protected from the complete, ugly truth.

      “Ashe is here to act as Deborah’s bodyguard. You know, the way famous people have bodyguards to protect them from their overzealous fans. Well, Ashe is going to make sure the reporters and people curious about the trial don’t interfere with her life in any way.”

      “The kids at school say Buck Stansell will try to kill Deborah if she tells in court what she saw that man do,” Allen said, looking directly to Ashe for an explanation. “Is that true?”

      “No one is going to hurt Deborah while I’m around.” Ashe placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “And I’ll be here until after the trial, maybe a little longer.”

      Carol Vaughn sighed. Ashe glanced at the doorway. Deborah had returned and was looking straight at him, her eyes filled with pain and fear and something indiscernible. Longing? Ashe wondered. Or perhaps the remembrance and regret of longing?

      Deborah willed herself to be strong, to show no sign of weakness in front of Allen and her mother or in Ashe’s presence. She’d heard Ashe say that no one would hurt her while he was around. For one split second her heart had caught in her throat. He had sounded so determined, so protective, as if he truly cared what happened to her.

      “Dinner is ready.” Damn, her voice shouldn’t sound so unsteady. She had to take control. “Is everything all right?”

      “Fine,” Carol and Ashe said in unison.

      Rushing across the room, Allen threw his arms around Deborah. “I’ll help Ashe protect you. You’ll have two men in your life now, and we’ll make sure nobody bothers you.”

      Deborah hugged her son to her, threading her fingers through his thick blond hair. “I feel very safe, knowing that I have you two guys looking out for me.”

      Carol Vaughn steered Allen and Ashe into the hall. “You two wash up and meet us in the dining room.” She slipped her arm around Deborah’s waist. “Come, dear.”

      Carol managed to keep the conversation directed on Allen during the meal, telling Ashe about the boy’s exploits since early childhood. Deborah wished her mother didn’t have her heart set on reuniting them all. There was no way it would ever happen. She and Ashe didn’t even like each other. She certainly had good reason not to like Ashe, and it seemed he thought he had reason to dislike her.

      “I told Mazie to save the apple pie for tomorrow night’s dinner,” Carol said. “Ashe brought us some of Mattie’s delicious homemade tea cakes.”

      “I love Mama Mattie’s tea cakes,” Allen said.

      Jerking his head around, Ashe stared at Allen. Had he heard correctly? Had Allen Vaughn referred to Ashe’s grandmother as Mama Mattie?

      “Mattie insisted Allen call her Mama Mattie.” Carol laid her linen napkin on the table. “She said that she liked to think of Allen as a grandchild.”

      Deborah strangled on her iced tea. Lifting her napkin to her mouth, she coughed several times. Her faced turned red. She glared at her mother.

      “Let’s have Mazie serve the tea cakes in the library with coffee for us and milk for Allen.” Easing her chair away from the table, Carol stood.

      Allen followed Carol out of the dining room, obviously eager for a taste of Mattie Trotter’s tea cakes. Deborah hesitated, waiting for Ashe. He halted at her side as he walked across the room.

      “You look lovely tonight,” he said. What the hell had prompted that statement? He’d thought it, and made the remark before thinking.

      “Thank you.”

      She wore blue silk, the color of her eyes. And pearls. A lady’s jewel. Understated and elegant.

      “We’ve tried to protect Allen from the complete truth,” she said. “He’s so young. And he and I are very close. He was only four when Daddy died, and he tries to be our little man.”

      “He knows more than