about
that. Vaughn was kind enough to offer me a hand when he thought I
needed it.”
The green monster in him reared its head.
“Vaughn Doyle is a ruthless bastard, Ashley. Just like his
father.”
She stepped away from him. “Not from where
I’m standing. He was a perfect gentleman.”
While he was not, Ron thought with a sigh.
She didn’t have to say it. He hated explaining himself, but in this
case, he owed her that much. “Okay, my behavior this afternoon has
been less than exemplary, I admit. I don’t usually talk or act like
this. This investigation is getting to me. And I wasn’t spying on
you. The security guard was.”
Her eyes widened. “Why?”
“My mother asked him to keep an eye on the
Doyle’s residence. The fact that he happened to see you and Vaughn
and reported it to me was merely a coincidence. No one was spying
on you.”
She went quiet, her arms across her chest,
her eyes shadowed. He didn’t know what else to say to regain her
trust. “Please, say you forgive my deplorable behavior.”
She shrugged, appearing to accept his
apology. He sighed with relief, then went on to explain. “Ryan
Doyle tried to court my mother after my father died. I don’t know
what he did or said, but she doesn’t like or trust him. She’s not
the forgiving type.”
Ashley nodded. “I realize that. I was fifteen
at the time, had no idea what was happening with my parents and
acted on pure instinct.” She spoke softly as though talking to
herself. Her gaze shifted to the first button on his shirt before
she added, “Maybe it was foolish of me to ask him to save my
parents, but my entire life was in that inferno.” She searched
Ron’s eyes. “I now know what he did was heroic. When I later
learned that he’d died, I wrote letters to your mother asking her
to forgive me.”
“Ashley—”
“Let me explain. Please. I didn’t get a
response from her, but I kept at it for six months. Then she wrote
back, twice.” She waved toward the boxes on the floor. “I was
searching for the letters she sent me before you arrived. Her
forgiveness helped me deal with my grief, Ron.”
Ron didn’t want to disappoint her, but he
highly doubted his mother wrote those letters. He’d grown up
hearing her blame Ashley for everything that went wrong in his
family. Connie Wilkins, her assistant, most likely wrote them. The
woman had been with his mother for almost thirty years now.
“Do you…do you blame me, too, Ron?” Ashley
interrupted his thoughts.
His mother never let him forget the part
Ashley played that night and yes, he had resented her for a while.
But as he had matured and been able to see things realistically,
he’d let go of the anger. “No, I don’t blame you.”
Regret and distress flitted across her face.
“Thank you. I know he’d still be alive—”
“Don’t.” He wanted to step away, but he found
himself cupping her face. Tears trembled on her lashes. He could
feel her body quiver, and in that moment, a connection he couldn’t
explain formed between them.
Her anguish became his, and he was helpless
to stop it from searing through him, twisting his gut and reminding
him of his loss. He hadn’t really mourned his father, not when his
mother had needed him and the accusation and rumors of his father’s
treachery had floated around. His father, the one person who’d
given him unconditional love, and he had been too angry and ashamed
to mourn him, until now. Something closed around his heart and
squeezed.
“Ron?”
His gaze shifted to Ashley face. The anger
and the pain were gone, and in their place was concern. Resentment
came from nowhere, the lingering accusations he’d grown so
accustomed to replacing his pain. He didn’t want her pity. All he
needed from her was a description of what she saw that night.
He stiffened, stepped away from her and
folded his arms across his chest. “My father was a firefighter,
Ashley. He knew the risks involved in his profession.” Her
that. Vaughn was kind enough to offer me a hand when he thought I
needed it.”
The green monster in him reared its head.
“Vaughn Doyle is a ruthless bastard, Ashley. Just like his
father.”
She stepped away from him. “Not from where
I’m standing. He was a perfect gentleman.”
While he was not, Ron thought with a sigh.
She didn’t have to say it. He hated explaining himself, but in this
case, he owed her that much. “Okay, my behavior this afternoon has
been less than exemplary, I admit. I don’t usually talk or act like
this. This investigation is getting to me. And I wasn’t spying on
you. The security guard was.”
Her eyes widened. “Why?”
“My mother asked him to keep an eye on the
Doyle’s residence. The fact that he happened to see you and Vaughn
and reported it to me was merely a coincidence. No one was spying
on you.”
She went quiet, her arms across her chest,
her eyes shadowed. He didn’t know what else to say to regain her
trust. “Please, say you forgive my deplorable behavior.”
She shrugged, appearing to accept his
apology. He sighed with relief, then went on to explain. “Ryan
Doyle tried to court my mother after my father died. I don’t know
what he did or said, but she doesn’t like or trust him. She’s not
the forgiving type.”
Ashley nodded. “I realize that. I was fifteen
at the time, had no idea what was happening with my parents and
acted on pure instinct.” She spoke softly as though talking to
herself. Her gaze shifted to the first button on his shirt before
she added, “Maybe it was foolish of me to ask him to save my
parents, but my entire life was in that inferno.” She searched
Ron’s eyes. “I now know what he did was heroic. When I later
learned that he’d died, I wrote letters to your mother asking her
to forgive me.”
“Ashley—”
“Let me explain. Please. I didn’t get a
response from her, but I kept at it for six months. Then she wrote
back, twice.” She waved toward the boxes on the floor. “I was
searching for the letters she sent me before you arrived. Her
forgiveness helped me deal with my grief, Ron.”
Ron didn’t want to disappoint her, but he
highly doubted his mother wrote those letters. He’d grown up
hearing her blame Ashley for everything that went wrong in his
family. Connie Wilkins, her assistant, most likely wrote them. The
woman had been with his mother for almost thirty years now.
“Do you…do you blame me, too, Ron?” Ashley
interrupted his thoughts.
His mother never let him forget the part
Ashley played that night and yes, he had resented her for a while.
But as he had matured and been able to see things realistically,
he’d let go of the anger. “No, I don’t blame you.”
Regret and distress flitted across her face.
“Thank you. I know he’d still be alive—”
“Don’t.” He wanted to step away, but he found
himself cupping her face. Tears trembled on her lashes. He could
feel her body quiver, and in that moment, a connection he couldn’t
explain formed between them.
Her anguish became his, and he was helpless
to stop it from searing through him, twisting his gut and reminding
him of his loss. He hadn’t really mourned his father, not when his
mother had needed him and the accusation and rumors of his father’s
treachery had floated around. His father, the one person who’d
given him unconditional love, and he had been too angry and ashamed
to mourn him, until now. Something closed around his heart and
squeezed.
“Ron?”
His gaze shifted to Ashley face. The anger
and the pain were gone, and in their place was concern. Resentment
came from nowhere, the lingering accusations he’d grown so
accustomed to replacing his pain. He didn’t want her pity. All he
needed from her was a description of what she saw that night.
He stiffened, stepped away from her and
folded his arms across his chest. “My father was a firefighter,
Ashley. He knew the risks involved in his profession.” Her
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