take it one day at a time. We’ll get you through the trial, then worry about what might or might not happen afterward.”
Deborah nodded. Ashe glanced down at the overturned table, the scattered tea service, the spilled tea.
“I’ll clean up this mess,” he said.
“No, please.” She looked at him and wished she hadn’t. His gaze said he still wanted her. “I’ll take care of it. I’d like for you to leave. Now.”
He walked out of her bedroom. She stood there trembling with unshed tears choking her. I will not cry. I will not cry. She knelt down on the floor, righted the tea table and picked up the silver service. A dark stain marred the blue-and-cream perfection of the rug. She jumped up and ran into the bathroom, wet a frayed hand towel and glanced into the mirror above the sink.
Dear Lord. Her hair was in disarray, the long strands fanned out around her face. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes overly bright. Her lips were swollen. A pink rash covered her neck and the top of her left breast, a result of Ashe’s beard stubble. She looked like a woman who’d been ravished. Suddenly she felt like a woman who’d been ravished.
Tears gathered in her eyes. She laid her head against the mirror and cried.
In the week since they had begun their pretense, Ashe hadn’t kissed her again, indeed he’d barely touched her, except in front of others—a part of their performance as lovers. In another week Lon Sparks’s trial would begin. But when it ended, would the threats end, too, or would they turn deadly? Ashe screened all of Deborah’s calls and her mail. The daily threats continued, meaningless threats since Deborah never heard the messages or read the letters. Two more little gifts had arrived, both of these delivered by unknown messenger to her home. One, a green garden snake, Ashe had taken outside and released. The other had been more ominous, one he’d made sure neither Deborah nor Miss Carol saw. A newspaper photograph of Deborah, singed around the edges, a book of matches laid on top and the words “Your house might catch on fire” scrawled in red ink across the newspaper.
Nerve-racking threats to be sure, harassment to say the least, but not once had Deborah’s life actually been in jeopardy. Was Buck Stansell playing some sort of sick game or was he trying to throw them off guard, waiting to act at the last moment?
“It’s been a long time since you’ve been in the country club.” Carol Vaughn slipped her arm through Ashe’s. He looked away from the living room window where he’d been staring sightlessly outside while he waited for Deborah. He smiled at Miss Carol. “Eleven years.”
“The night Whitney announced her engagement to George.” Carol patted Ashe on his forearm. “She was such a selfish girl, but always so bubbly. Now she’s a very sad, selfish woman.”
“Are you trying to warn me about something, Miss Carol?”
“Do I need to warn you?”
“I haven’t been carrying a torch for Whitney all these years, if that’s what’s troubling you.”
“No, I didn’t think you had. You wouldn’t look at my daughter as if she were you favorite meal and you hadn’t eaten in a long time, if you were in love with another woman.”
Had he been that obvious? So apparent in his desire for Deborah that even her own mother had noticed? “Why, Miss Carol, what big eyes you have.”
“And sharp teeth, too. If for one minute I thought you’d hurt Deborah again, I’d have no qualms about chewing you up into little pieces.”
“And you could do it, too.” Taking her hand in his, he walked her across the room and seated her on the sofa. “I never meant to hurt Deborah. I made a mistake, but I tried to keep from making an even bigger mistake. I was honest with her, and I paid dearly for that honesty.”
“My husband adored Deborah. She was our only child. I didn’t agree with what he did to you, and I told him so at the time. But Wallace could not be reasoned with on any subject, and certainly not when he felt Deborah had been wronged.”
“I never made Deborah any promises eleven years ago, and I won’t make any to her now. None that I can’t keep.” Ashe heard Deborah’s and Allen’s voices coming from the upstairs landing. “I’m attracted to Deborah and she’s attracted to me. We’re both adults now. If things become complicated, we’ll deal with them.”
Carol nodded meekly. Ashe couldn’t understand the wary look in her blue eyes, that sad expression on her face. What was Miss Carol so afraid would happen?
Allen rushed down the stairs and into the living room. “Come see,” he said. “Deborah’s beautiful. She looks like one of those models on TV.”
Ashe helped Miss Carol to her feet and they followed Allen into the hallway. All three of them looked up to the top of the stairs where Deborah stood.
For one split second Ashe couldn’t breathe. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anything as lovely as the woman who walked slowly down the stairs, the diamonds in her ears and around her throat dimmed by her radiance.
Allen glanced up at Ashe, then punched him in the side. “See, what’d I tell you?”
“You’re right, pal. She’s beautiful.”
Deborah descended the staircase, butterflies wild in her stomach. How many times had she dreamed of a real date with Ashe McLaughlin? Now, it was a reality. Now, eleven years too late.
He stood at the bottom of the stairs, Allen to his left. The sight of her son at his father’s side tugged at Deborah’s heart. What would Ashe say if she told him the truth about Allen? Would he be glad? Or would he be sorry?
Ashe looked at Deborah, seeing her as if for the first time, all sparkling and vibrant, beautiful beyond description. How could any man see her and not want her?
The royal blue satin draped across her shoulders in a shawl collar, narrowing to her tiny waist and flaring into a full, gathered skirt, ankle-length gown. Her satin shoes matched the dress to perfection, and when she stopped at the foot of the stairs, Ashe noticed that the deep rich color she wore turned her blue eyes to sapphires.
“You look lovely, my dear.” Carol Vaughn kissed her daughter’s cheek. “Please give my regrets to Whitney. I’m sure she’ll understand that I’m not quite up to these late-night social affairs.”
Deborah hugged her mother close. Her beautiful, brave mother, whose bout with cancer had taken its toll on all of them. “I dread going,” Deborah whispered so low that only Carol heard her words. “I have no idea what Whitney will do. She’s bound to make a play for Ashe.”
Pulling out of Deborah’s arms, Carol smiled. “You two run along now and have a wonderful time.” Carol glanced at Ashe who hadn’t taken his eyes off Deborah. “And don’t feel that you need to come home early.”
Allen rushed out of the hallway and into the library, returning quickly with a gold foil-wrapped gift. “Don’t forget George’s birthday present.” Allen shook the small package. “What is it anyway?”
“It’s a fourteen-karat gold money clip.” Deborah took the gift. “Whitney mentioned that George had misplaced his money clip.”
“Hocked it, no doubt.” Carol nudged Ashe in the center of his back. “I do believe you’ve taken Ashe’s breath away with your loveliness.”
“Yeah, he looks like somebody hit him in the head.” Allen laughed. “Hey, man, have you got it bad or what?”
Ashe jabbed Allen playfully in the ribs, lifted him up off the floor with one arm and rubbed his fist across the top of the boy’s head before placing him back on his feet. “You wouldn’t make fun of a guy for mooning over his girl, would you?”
“Naw, as long as you don’t kiss her in front of me.” Putting his hand on his hip, Allen stood up straight and gave Ashe a hard look.