'Overruled,' Judge Heath said.
'Please continue.' District Attorney Bitterman stood directly in front of Deborah. 'Tell the jury what you saw.'
'Lon Sparks shot the man in the head.' Deborah closed her eyes momentarily, the memory of that dreadful sight closing in around her, filling her with the sense of fear she'd known in those horrific seconds when she'd witnessed the murder.
Jim Bitterman allowed her to continue recalling the events at her own pace. Leland Prater, long known as an old bag of wind and one of the most crooked lawyers in the area, objected every chance he got, deliberately unnerving Deborah as much as possible. But she did not waver in her testimony, not even when Prater cross- examined her.
She'd been warned, by Jim and by Ashe, that Prater's strategy would be to bring her to tears, show her to be a highly emotional, hysterical woman, who had allowed her hysteria and fear to wrongly identify Lon Sparks.
Not one tear fell from her eyes. Not one shrill word escaped her lips. When her nerves rioted, she took deep breaths and looked to Ashe, seeking and finding the strength she needed to do the job she and she alone could do.
When she was dismissed, Deborah stepped down and walked slowly toward Ashe, who stood and waited for her. He slipped his arm around her and led her out of the courtroom. Even the bevy of reporters flinging questions at her did not disturb the serenity she felt as Ashe led her downstairs and out of the courthouse.
Neither of them said a word until they were safely inside Deborah's car. Ashe buckled her seat belt, kissed her on the nose and smiled at her.
'It's over.' She sighed. 'It's really over.'
'Yeah, honey, it's over.' But Ashe wasn't sure. Not one incident of harassment had occurred since Huckleberry's poisoning two days ago, and that made Ashe all the more suspicious. Buck Stansell should have escalated his threats the closer the day came for Deborah to testify. But he hadn't. He hadn't done anything. Did that mean he was waiting to take revenge? Hell!
Deborah checked her watch. 'We have time to make the last half of Allen's soccer game, don't we?'
'That's where I'm headed.' Ashe maneuvered the Caddy out of the parking lot and onto Water Street.
Leaning against the cushioned headrest, Deborah closed her eyes. Ashe reached out and took her hand, squeezing it tightly. She smiled, but didn't open her eyes or speak. She felt such a great sense of relief.
She had done the right thing, despite being afraid. She had faced the devil—and won! Now, all she had to face were her own personal demons, the biggest lie in her life. She'd had the courage to stand up against Buck Stansell and his gang, but did she have the guts to tell Ashe the truth about Allen? She knew now that she'd been wrong to keep his son's existence a secret from him all these years. Despite her own feelings, her deep sense of betrayal and rejection, she should have contacted Ashe long ago. Mama Mattie would have given her his phone number or address if only she'd asked.
But what would telling Ashe the truth now do to their new relationship? Although he had promised her nothing permanent, had made no commitment to her, she knew he truly cared about her. She, and she alone, was the woman he wanted. Would it be so wrong to wait, to take what time she had left with Ashe and savor the joy she felt, the mutual passion and desire?
'Are you sure you're up to this?' Ashe parked the Cadillac behind a row of cars lined up along the shoulder of Avalon Avenue, west of the railroad tracks that separated Muscle Shoals from Tuscumbia and Sheffield.
'The worst is over. Right? There's no reason why I can't resume my normal activities, is there?'
'Deborah…' Dear God, he didn't want to tell her that he thought the worst might not be over, that the worst might be yet to come. But he would not lie to her. 'We can't be sure what Buck Stansell might do if Lon Sparks is convicted.'
'You're saying it isn't over.' She clutched her shoulder bag to her stomach. 'You think he might try to kill me after the trial ends, don't you?'
'There's no way to know.' Ashe grasped her shoulder, urging her to turn to him. 'But my guess is that you're safe until the jury reaches a verdict.'
She leaned toward him, wanting to fall into his arms, wanting and needing his comfort and reassurance. But this was hardly the time or the place. 'Then I'm going to try not to think about it, for now. I don't know how much more Mother and Allen can take. I can't bear to think what it would have done to Allen if Huckleberry had died.'
'Don't think about it. Huckleberry is as good as new,' Ashe said. 'Come on, let's go cheer for the home team.'
Deborah and Ashe joined Carol Vaughn and Simon Roarke on the sidelines of a tense soccer game between two sets of ten- to twelve-year-olds. Carol had built herself a comfortable nest around her folding lawn chair. She sat with a plaid blanket wrapped about her legs, a thermos of hot coffee at her side. Roarke stood directly behind her chair, his gaze moving around the crowd, then back to the soccer game where Allen Vaughn raced down the field, his long, strong legs moving with agile grace.
Roarke stepped aside when Deborah laid her hand on her mother's shoulder. Ashe nodded, motioning to Roarke.
'How's the game going?' Deborah asked.
'We're ahead,' Carol said. 'Two to one.'
Deborah glanced at the sky. 'It's getting cloudy and the wind's up. I hope it doesn't start raining.'
'Where's your coat?' Carol asked.
'I didn't wear one today. Just my suit. But don't worry, I'm fine.'
'Mothers worry.'
'I'm okay. Really. Everything is going to be all right.'
Ashe and Roarke moved away from the crowd, close enough to keep an eye on everyone and yet far enough away to have a private discussion.
'We're going to be staying for at least another couple of weeks,' Ashe said. 'If we're lucky, this will be over when the trail ends, but my gut instincts tell me not to count on it.'
'A man could do a lot worse than living around here, spending the rest of his life in a small town.' Roarke's dark gaze came to a halt on Allen Vaughn as the boy kicked the ball past the goalie and scored a point for his team.
Ashe slapped Roarke on the back. 'Did you see that? Damn that boy's good. He's big and fast and strong and a real fighter. Look at his face. Good God, how I know that feeling. He's lightheaded from the victory.'
'He reminds me of you,' Roarke said.
'What?'
'Allen Vaughn reminds me of you.'
'Hell, he's just like Deborah. They could be twins.'
'I know he looks like Deborah, but the more I'm around the kid, the more he reminds me of you.'
'What the hell are you talking about?' Ashe watched Allen, seeing nothing except his blond hair, his blue eyes, his strong physical resemblance to Deborah.
'When did you leave Sheffield and join the army?'
'When did I… Eleven years ago.'
'When exactly?'
'In July.'
Grunting, Roarke nodded. 'Allen Vaughn was born in February. Seven months after you left town.'
'So?'
'Has it never once crossed your mind that you might have gotten Deborah pregnant, that Allen could be your son?'
Ashe's body rebelled, tensing every muscle, bringing every nerve to full alert, knotting his stomach painfully. 'She would have told me. Deborah never would have kept something like that from me. She was in love with me. If she'd been pregnant with my child, she would have come running to me.'
'Are you sure?'
'Yes, dammit, I'm sure!'
'Then forget I said anything.'
