White Wedding for a Southern Belle

He enjoyed pushing Ashley Marsh’s buttons. She exasperated and intrigued him at the same time. As for kissing Ashley, it was far from being out of his system. All he could think about now was doing it again.

* * *

Three evenings later Ashley was in her kitchen, preparing a simple dinner after a long day of ensuring that the plans for the block party were properly handled. She wanted the event to go off without a glitch, providing another step toward community solidarity and pride.

She hadn’t seen or spoken to Kiefer since their last discussion. Or kiss. Boy, the man could kiss. Where the first one they’d shared had been hot, this last one had been steamy and delicious, and far too short. She still didn’t remember her drive downtown.

If she was honest with herself she might admit she’d been dodging Kiefer. Something about him unnerved her. Made her want to let go of something she’d fought hard to earn. Could she believe in him? Trust him to be who he seemed to be?

She’d thanked him for the new security light more than once. It had been reassuring that she didn’t have to worry about coming home to no light other than the one over her door. It was also nice to have someone to help her out. She liked it that he’d seen to replanting the flowers. Somehow it made a statement that the clinic and he were here to stay, at least for a while. But how long would that be for? Should she let herself depend on Kiefer? Dared she? She’d trusted people before and been wrong. Could she be wrong again?

His truck was still in his parking space when she’d come home. She’d made a point not to go into the clinic. Kiefer was correct—it was his domain and not hers to oversee.

As she chopped the vegetables on the cutting board beside the sink, she sang along softly to the love song on the radio. She stopped and looked over her shoulder through the arched doorway to the hall.

Was someone there?

It wasn’t so much what she heard but how she felt. Seeing nothing, she started to place vegetables into the skillet for a stir-fry. She gave the pan on the burner a shake. Between songs, the creak of a board she knew well had her turning around. Marko stood in the doorway. She dropped the skillet, spilling half-cooked vegetables across the floor.

“How did you get in here?”

He had a smirk on his face. “The same way I go anywhere I want.”

“You broke in.” She walked to the center of the room and pointed toward the door. “Get out, Marko.”

“Who died and made you the boss of me?”

“Marko, you know I’m not afraid of you.” He stepped toward her. Ashley remained where she was, refusing to be intimidated despite her heart beating against her ribs.

“You should be,” he snarled. “I own Southriver. Don’t force me to make you pay.”

“Don’t threaten me.”

He moved into her personal space. Ashley couldn’t stop the shudder that went through her. She smelled his beer-laden breath as it brushed her face. He snarled, “I’m not threatening you. I’m making you a promise.”

Ashley backed away until she butted up against the counter. Marko matched her step for step. He leaned in and picked up the knife she’d put in the sink. She sucked in a breath when he brought it to her face.

“I’d hate for you to have an accident.”

“Ashley.” Kiefer’s voice came from the stairwell seconds before he stepped through the door.

Marko was already disappearing around the opening in the direction of her outside door.

Kiefer looked from him to her. “What the...?”

Ashley slid down the cabinet to the floor. Her pulse raced. She put her arms around her legs and her head on her knees.

* * *

Kiefer wasn’t sure what had been going on but it was too close to déjà vu for him. The situation reminded him of what had happened to his mother. In two strides he was across the width of the kitchen and looking down the hall. The outside door stood open. The screen was still slapping against the frame. He pushed the main door closed and locked it before returning to the kitchen.

Ashley still sat on the floor and he crouched down beside her. Gathering her into his arms, he held her. To his surprise she didn’t fight him, instead buried her head in his chest. Soft sobs racked her body.

He brushed his hand over her hair. “Shh, I’m right here. You’re safe.”

They stayed that way for a few minutes until Ashley slowly pulled away. Kiefer let his hold ease but didn’t completely release her. He brushed her hair from her face and looked into red eyes and a pale face. The strong woman he was so familiar with had disappeared. Compassion filled him. “Will you tell me what happened?”

She looked at him for a moment as if she didn’t understand him. Finally she said, “Marko stopped by for a visit.”

“There was more to it than that.” He looked at the food surrounding them.

She gave him a sad smile and a little nod that reminded him of a young girl who had broken her doll. It was less about heartache and more about disappointment.

“He threatened me with the knife.”

“He what? I’m calling the police.” Kiefer reached in his pocket for the phone.

“Don’t.” She grabbed his wrist.

“You have to report this.”

“I can’t. I babysat him. Our families were friends. I wasn’t crying over what he did just now but over the loss of that sweet kid, the one who wasn’t so angry with life and injustice.”

Kiefer leaned back and looked at her. She was an amazing person. Here she had been threatened with a knife in her own home and all she was worried about was the person who had threatened her. How like his mother. Where did they get that type of fortitude? What he wanted to do was kill Marko or at the very least see that he was put in jail. Kiefer had no compassion for anyone who treated a woman that way, particularly one he cared about. It had killed him to see his mother defenseless in front of him and here it was happening again.

“So you’re just going to allow him to go around threatening people?”

Ashley stood. “He didn’t hurt me.”

Kiefer came to his feet too. “He might have if I hadn’t shown up.”

“I don’t think so. He was trying to scare me.”

“I’m not willing to take that chance.” Kiefer glared down at her.

“I’m not yours to worry about.”

He looked everywhere but at her, trying to contain his irritation. “I hope your big bleeding heart doesn’t get you—or someone else—into real trouble someday.” He needed to do something or he would really become angry. “Point me in the direction of the broom and dustpan and I’ll clean this mess up.”

To his astonishment she indicated a small closet door without argument. The recent events must have got to her more than she wanted to let on.

“I’ve got oil all over me. I think I’ll get a shower.” She didn’t look back as she walked down the passageway.

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Kiefer swept up and gave a quick soapy mop to the floor. She’d been preparing a meal, so she couldn’t have had dinner yet. He looked in the refrigerator and found ingredients for an omelet and salad. He was impressed with her well-stocked kitchen. Most of the women he knew would rather eat out than cook. Apparently Ashley dined at home often.

Ten minutes later he had put a simple salad together and still no Ashley. He didn’t want to cook the eggs until he knew she was ready to eat. He went down the hall in the direction of what he guessed was her bedroom. The hall led into a wide room that had to be her living area. An eclectic group of furnishings filled the space. He’d bet his paycheck the tables had been yard-sale finds Ashley had refurbished. Was there nothing the woman couldn’t do?

Small canister lighting and lamps gave the room a warm feel, but the fireplace with the whitewashed mantel was the focal point. Two comfortable-looking chairs were pulled up close to it. This was a place where Ashley really lived. There was nothing pretentious about it. Down-to-earth and natural, just like Ashley. Two doors led off the area. He went to the doorway of one. It looked like an unused bedroom. He tried the other.

This was her bedroom. It suited her. A white iron bed covered in a multicolored quilt faced the door, with windows on either side draped in some gauzy material. A large free-standing wardrobe stood to one side and an old-fashioned dresser on the other. His mother would say the room was charming.

“Ashley? I’ve put some supper together.”

There was silence.

He stepped farther into the room. “Ashley?” A whimper came from a doorway he’d not noticed before. Steam hanging in the air told him it was her bathroom. “Are you okay?”

A weak “Yes...” reached his ears. Through the fog he could see her dressed in the robe she’d worn the other morning and the necklace he’d seen at the St. Patrick’s Day party. Did she wear it all the time? She sat on the toilet lid with her hands clasped together. Her body shook.