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 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,
