Well, it looked like the time had come. If the police wanted her to live long enough to testify against a cold- blooded killer, someone was going to have to protect her from Buck Stansell's outlaws.
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He had sworn he'd never come back to Sheffield, Alabama. But never say never. Ashe McLaughlin had discovered that anyone so absolutely certain often wound up eating his own words. And in his case, the taste was mighty bitter.
He had been gone eleven years, and little had changed. Except him. He had changed. He was older. Smarter. Harder.
He chuckled to himself. Harder? Hell, folks in northwest Alabama had considered him a real bad boy, one of those McLaughlins from Leighton, his daddy nothing but a white trash outlaw. But Ashe hadn't been as tough as everyone thought. He had hated the legacy of poverty and ignorance his family had given him. He'd wanted more. He'd fought long and hard to better himself. But Wallace Vaughn had destroyed Ashe's dreams of being accepted in Colbert County.
Eleven years ago he'd been told to leave town or else—or else he would have done jail time.
Now, here he was returning to a town that hadn't wanted his kind. He couldn't help wondering if anyone other than his grandmother would welcome him home. He supposed Carol Allen Vaughn would be glad to see him. After all, she'd been the one who'd asked him to take this job. He was probably a fool for agreeing to act as Deborah's bodyguard.
Deborah Vaughn. No amount of time or distance had been able to erase her from Ashe's memory.
He parked his rental car in the circular drive in front of the old Allen home, a brick Greek Revival cottage on Montgomery Avenue. His grandmother had once been the housekeeper here for the Vaughn family.
Walking up to the front door, he hesitated before ringing the bell. He'd never been allowed to enter the house through the front door but had always gone around to the back and entered through the kitchen. He remembered sitting at the kitchen table doing his homework, sharing milk and cookies with Deborah, and sometimes her older cousin Whitney. That had been a lifetime ago.
He rang the doorbell. What the hell was he doing here? Why had he allowed Carol Vaughn's dare to goad him into returning to a town he hated? Deborah needs you, she'd said. Are you afraid to see her again? she had taunted him.
He was not afraid to see Deborah Vaughn again. After ten years as a Green Beret, Ashe McLaughlin was afraid of nothing, least of all the girl who had betrayed him.
A plump, middle-aged woman opened the door and greeted him with a smile. 'Yes, sir?'
'I'm Ashe McLaughlin. Mrs. Vaughn is expecting me.'
'Yes, please come inside. I'll tell Miss Carol you're here.'
Ashe stepped into the gracious entrance hall large enough to accommodate a grand piano as well as a large mahogany and gilt table with an enormous bouquet of fresh flowers in the center. A sweeping staircase wound upward on the left side of the room.
'If you'll wait here, please.' The housekeeper scurried down the hall toward the back of the house.
He'd been summoned home. Like a knight in the Queen's service. Ashe grinned. Better a knight than a stable boy, he supposed. Why hadn't he just said no?
God knows he had tried to refuse, but once he'd heard that Deborah's life was in real danger, he had wavered in his resistance. And Carol Vaughn had taken advantage of the weakness she sensed in him.
'Ashe, so good of you to come, dear boy.' The voice still held that note of authority, that hint of superiority, that tone of Southern gentility.
He turned to face her, the woman he had always thought of as the personification of a real lady. He barely recognized the woman who stood before him. Thin, almost gaunt, her beautiful face etched with faint age lines, her complexion sickly pale. Her short blond hair was streaked with gray. She had once been full-figured, voluptuous and lovely beyond words.
She couldn't be much more than fifty, but she looked older.
Caught off-guard by her appearance, by the drastic change the years had wrought, Ashe stared at Carol Vaughn. Quickly recovering his composure, he took several tentative steps forward and held out his hand.
She clasped his big, strong hand in her small, fragile one and squeezed. 'Thank you for coming. You can't imagine how desperately we need your help.'
Ashe assisted Carol down the hallway and into the living room. The four-columned entry permitted an unobstructed view of the room from the foyer. The hardwood floors glistened like polished metal in the sunlight. A blend of antiques and expensive reproductions bespoke of wealth and good taste.
'The sofa, please, Ashe.' She patted his hand. 'Sit beside me and we'll discuss what must be done.'
He guided her to the sofa, seated her and perched his big body on the edge, not feeling comfortable in her presence. 'Does Deborah know you sent for me?'
'I haven't told her,' Carol said. 'She's a stubborn one, that girl of mine. She's always had a mind of her own. But she's been a dutiful daughter.'
'What if she doesn't agree to my being here?' He had known Deborah when she was seventeen, a plump, pretty girl who'd had a major crush on him. What would she look like now? And how did she feel about him after all these years?
'Mazie, please bring us some coffee,' Carol instructed the housekeeper who stood at the end of the hallway. 'And a few of those little cakes from the bakery. The cinnamon ones.'
'Refreshments aren't necessary, Mrs. Vaughn. Really.' Ashe felt ill at ease being entertained, as if his visit were a social call. 'I'm here on business. Remember?'
'Mazie, go ahead and bring the coffee and the cakes, too.' Carol turned her attention to Ashe. 'Times change, but good manners don't. Of course my mother would be appalled that I had welcomed a gentleman, unrelated to me and not a minister, into my home when I am quite alone.'
'Coffee will be fine, Mrs. Vaughn.'
'You used to call me Miss Carol. I much prefer that to the other. Your calling me Mrs. Vaughn makes us sound like strangers. And despite your long absence from Sheffield, we are hardly strangers, are we, Ashe?'
'No, ma'am, we're not strangers.'
'Mazie has prepared you a room upstairs. I want you with Deborah at all times.' Carol blushed ever so lightly. 'Or at least close by.'
'Has she received any more threats since we spoke two days ago?'
'Mercy, yes. Every day, there's a new letter and another phone call, but Charlie Blaylock says there's nothing more he can do. And I asked him why the sheriff was incapable of protecting innocent citizens.'
'Has a trial date been set for Lon Sparks?' Ashe asked.
'Not yet. It should be soon. But not soon enough for me. I can't bear the thought of Deborah being in danger.'
'She just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.' Ashe knew what that was like. And he knew as well as anyone in these parts just how dangerous Buck Stansell and his band of outlaws could be. For three generations, the Stansell bunch, along with several other families, had cornered the market on illegal activities. Everything from prostitution to bootlegging, when the county had been dry. And nowadays weapons and drugs dominated their money-making activities.
'She insists on testifying.' Carol glanced up when she saw Mazie bringing the coffee. 'Just put it there on the table, please.'
Mazie placed the silver service on the mahogany tea table to the left of the sofa, asked if there would be anything else and retreated to the kitchen when told all was in order.
'Do you prefer your coffee black?' Carol asked.
'Yes, ma'am. Thank you.' When his hostess poured the coffee and handed it to him, Ashe accepted the Havilland cup.
'I will expect you to stay in Sheffield until the trial is over and Deborah is no longer in danger.'
'I've already assured you that I'll stay as long as is necessary to ensure Deborah's safety.'
