The Sheriff's Christmas Twins

Chapter Two

He hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings. Shane noticed the resignation in her eyes before she averted her face. His commitment to speak the truth, a product of having lived with a drunken mother who’d thought nothing of making promises she didn’t intend to keep, sometimes made things difficult for others.

He guided the horses onto a rutted lane flanked by trees. The prickly air stole beneath his collar, making him long for his office and a mountain-sized cup of hot coffee.

“Why did you come alone?” he said.

“That wasn’t my plan, trust me. A problem arose in our Riverside factory the evening before our departure, and George had to postpone his journey. He insisted I come on ahead so that you wouldn’t be disappointed.” She said that last bit with a touch of sarcasm. “He suggested Clarissa and the children come with me, but she preferred to wait and travel with him. She didn’t want to risk spending the holidays apart.”

From George’s missives over the years, Shane had learned that his friend had married Clarissa Smothers. Their union was marked with respect, commitment and love. He was happy for George. If he experienced a twinge of envy whenever he read about their life together, he made sure not to dwell on it.

That George had been delayed was not welcome news. He and his brood were supposed to provide a buffer. Without them, Shane had no choice but to interact with Allison. He’d be responsible for getting her settled, seeing to her comfort, entertaining her.

“Did he say when he might arrive?”

“He promised to right matters as quickly as possible and send a telegram letting us know his arrival date.”

They traveled up a shallow incline. The Wattses’ farm came into view, and Allison sat up straighter, her lips parting at the sight. Satisfaction raced through him. He’d always admired this particular homestead. When he’d heard the owners would be spending their holiday in another state, he’d approached them about renting it for his visitors.

Situated in the middle of a clearing, the white clapboard farmhouse with green shutters and shingled roof stood framed by forested hills that gave way to steep mountains. A fallow vegetable garden was situated on the right, a modest-sized barn behind that. The corncrib, smokehouse and toolshed had been built alongside a snake-and-rail fence.

“Oh, Shane, this is such a charming place. How many bedrooms does it have?”

“Four. George assured me that would be plenty.”

“It will do nicely. The three older children will want to be together, and George Jr. will stay with his parents. Thank you for making the arrangements.”

“The Wattses decided to spend this winter with their son and his family in South Carolina. They were pleased it wouldn’t be left empty.”

He slowed the wagon to a halt directly in front of the house. Quickly descending, he walked to her side and helped her down, reminded again how he’d always towered over her, taller, bulkier, stronger. She’d complained about her diminutive stature and healthy figure, but compared to him, she was dainty. If he was of a mind to, he’d have no problem tossing her over his shoulder and carrying her about without working up a sweat.

From the start, Allison had evoked a powerful desire to protect and shield. A startling and unusual reaction for a boy who’d only ever looked out for himself.

As her soles reached the brown, patchy grass, her fingers tightened where they rested on his shoulders. He examined her uplifted face, taking note of her fuller lips, more pronounced cheekbones, creamy, dew-kissed skin. The years had been kind to her.

He’d recently passed his thirty-second birthday, which meant she’d soon be thirty. Thirty. It hardly seemed possible. In his mind, she’d remained forever seventeen—naive, optimistic, generous to a fault and completely unaware of her allure.

She took hold of his right hand and, snatching off his buckskin glove without permission, examined his palm. “I’m glad there’s nothing wrong with your hand.”

“Why would there be?”

“I thought you might’ve injured it and that was why you didn’t write to me.”

The arrow hit its mark. “I’m not much of a writer.”

Her jutting chin challenged him. “You wrote to my brother.”

“I couldn’t ignore his letters.”

“And yet you had no problem ignoring mine.”

Her crushed velvet gloves caressed his knuckles. He frowned at the pleasurable sensation. “I didn’t get any from you.”

“I wrote you. Once.” She released him.

“I’m sorry, Allison. I never received it.”

She reached past him and retrieved her leather satchel. “It’s all right. I doubt you would’ve answered me, anyway.”

Shane stood mute as she spun, her too-large cape scraping the ground, and marched to the porch. He’d wondered if she’d changed in the intervening years since he’d seen her. Here was his answer. The old Allison wouldn’t have uttered such a thing to him. She wouldn’t have voiced what they both knew—he treated her differently than everyone else.

It wasn’t fair. Or rational. The knowledge didn’t, wouldn’t, change his behavior. The reason he’d kept his distance and hadn’t initiated contact with her after he left was simple—the part of him that his father’s abandonment and mother’s reprehensible behavior hadn’t managed to blacken with disillusionment and pain, the part protected and nourished by hope, whispered lies whenever she was near.

The first lie had come the moment he met her. Here is a girl you can trust. She wants to be your friend. Let her in.

Thankfully, he’d recognized the untruth immediately and had taken action to thwart her efforts. More lies followed as the years passed, tempting him to relax his guard and give her a chance. He’d resisted. Better to hurt her feelings temporarily than to destroy her life with his cynicism and bitterness.

* * *

She was going to have to be more circumspect. Letting Shane know how his ongoing disregard had wounded her was not in the plan. It wouldn’t be easy, but she was determined to present a friendly yet indifferent front. She could be kind without being too personal...if she really, really tried.

Allison had a good life. A loving family. Wonderful friends. Satisfying work. A supportive church. He didn’t need to know that she ached for a husband and babies to love. He would never know that sometimes, when she was alone, she’d daydream about a different life, one in which he had top billing. Her favorite recurring dream featured Shane at Ashworth House, begging her forgiveness and professing his undying devotion. She especially relished the apology bit—finally hearing an explanation for his dislike would be most satisfying.

“Allison?”

She turned from the bench swing. By the look on his face, this wasn’t the first time he’d called her name. “Sorry. I was woolgathering.”

He waited for her to enter first. Pulling her cape panels closer together, she wandered about the room, studying photographs of the elderly couple who’d built a life here. They looked like nice, hardworking people. Their home was tidy, the furniture in good condition, handmade rugs, curtains and a quilt thrown over the sofa back providing splashes of bright color. The window views were like paintings of pastoral perfection. She could easily envision the landscape’s beauty during spring, summer and autumn.

“When George told me you’d moved here, I purchased a book about Tennessee. The photographs don’t do it justice.”

Crouched at the fireplace, he arranged a pile of kindling. “You should see the mountains when it snows.”

“Is it likely to while I’m here?”

“Hard to say.” He lifted his shoulder, causing the brown duster to bunch between his shoulder blades. “The winters are unpredictable. Some years we hardly get any. Others we get snow and ice.”

“I hope it does. My niece and nephews would enjoy a white Christmas.”

“As would you,” he observed.

“I won’t deny it.”

She recalled the first winter he’d spent with them. He’d been walking alone in the estate garden, as was his custom, and had come upon her making snow angels. She’d implored him to join her. He’d gone so far as to lie in the snow beside her when he’d suddenly jumped up and stormed off. It was as if he wouldn’t allow himself to experience even a moment’s joy.

“Promise me something. If it snows before I leave, promise you’ll make snow angels with me. Just once.”

He pivoted slightly in order to stare at her over his shoulder. “I’m a grown man, Allison.”

“Are you immune to a little fun, Sheriff?”

He blinked at her use of his title. “Life isn’t about fun. It’s about duty and hard work and being a responsible citizen.”

“You don’t believe that.” Surely he didn’t.

The wood in the stacked-stone fireplace glowed orange as the flames took hold. Waving out the match, Shane discarded it. “It’s not a tragedy.”

“The tragedy is you don’t recognize what you’re missing.”

With a noncommittal grunt, he removed his wheatcolored hat and balanced it atop the caramel-and-white-print sofa. He finger-combed his short locks into place. His hair changed with the seasons—sun-kissed blond in spring and summer and dark honey in the colder months. She hadn’t seen him with a beard before. She wasn’t sure she liked it. The stubble made him seem even more stern, more remote, than she remembered. One side of his coat gaped open, and the badge pinned to his dark vest glinted. Considering his profession, looking dangerous and formidable was no doubt a good thing.

“What about you?”

Allison had drifted to the dining room threshold. Gripping the doorjamb, she turned back to find he hadn’t moved.

“What about me?”

“From what George tells me, you make little time for fun yourself.”

Astonishment arrowed through her. “What did he say?”

“That you’ve been working for the company for nearly a decade. You’re good at what you do, and the employees respect you. However, he’s worried that between your work, charity organizations and the time you spend doting on his kids, you’re neglecting your personal happiness.”

“He’s never indicated such a thing to me.”

“Are his concerns well-founded?”

“Of course not.”

He advanced toward her, stopping in the middle of the multicolored rug. “Why aren’t you married? I thought for sure one of your many admirers would’ve snatched you up as soon as you were of age.”

She considered how to answer. Admitting that no man could hold a candle to the enigmatic, hurting young man he’d once been was out of the question.

“I could ask the same of you. You’re thirty-two and still unwed.”

“I’m not the marrying kind, and we both know it. You, on the other hand, were born to be a wife and mother.” As soon as he’d said the words, color etched his sharp cheekbones. “You know what? Forget I asked. It’s none of my business.”

“It’s all right.” Some part of her that yet smarted from his rejection prompted her to reveal the next part. “In truth, there is someone special. His name is Trevor Langston. As soon as I return to Virginia, I’m going to accept his offer of courtship.”

She’d resisted for foolish reasons. Coming face-to-face with her past had shown her that. Shane wasn’t interested in any sort of relationship. Trevor, on the other hand, had been unwavering in his desire to court her.

Shane’s features remained a blank mask, but the skin around his eye twitched. What was he irritated about? He didn’t care about her or her life.

“Who is he?” His voice was even. Cool. Unaffected. “Would George approve?”

“My brother is aware of his interest. Trevor works with us. He’s a wonderful man. Solicitous, dedicated, too smart for words...” She trailed off, realizing she was describing his assets in terms of his value as a company employee.

“I assume he’s from a respectable family?”

“His family and ours have been friends for many years. We met at church, believe it or not. His sister and I have many common interests.”

“Does he treat you well?”

She cocked her head to one side. “For someone who hasn’t bothered to contact me in more than a decade, you’re awfully curious about my romantic prospects. Why is that?”

“No particular reason. If you don’t wish to discuss him, we won’t.”

He started up the stairs. “Come on up and choose your room so I’ll know where to put your luggage.”

“Wait.”

His fingers flexed on the polished banister. He sighed again, something she noticed he did a lot around her. Come to think of it, he used to do it at Ashworth House, too. What about her vexed him so?

Allison went to stand at the base of the stairs, waiting for him to turn and look at her. When he did, she said, “Who his family is doesn’t matter to me as much as what kind of man he is. His character. His beliefs.”

A muscle jumped in his cheek. “That’s nice.”

“I’m not finished.” Tired of skirting around the issue, she climbed the steps until she was one below him. Standing sideways, he leaned against the wall, aiming for a casual pose that didn’t fool her. “You said you’re not the marrying kind. Why not?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not discussing this right now. I’ve got to get you settled and swing by the mercantile for perishables since I didn’t have time to stock the kitchen. There’s nothing much to eat here, and it’s nearly noon.”

When he would’ve continued on upstairs, she put a hand on his forearm. “Allowing your mother’s poor decisions and ill treatment to keep you from having a family is wrong, Shane.”

His eyes turned flinty. “You’ve been in town an hour and you’re trying to tell me how to live my life? You know nothing about me save for whatever tidbits your brother’s told you. So we lived under the same roof for a few years. That doesn’t make you an expert on what I need, Allison Ashworth.”

Chapter Three

He’d blundered. Again. George would have his hide if he knew.

The image of David Ashworth’s craggy face entered his mind, and he felt ashamed. David had extended mercy to Shane when he’d least deserved it—instead of hauling him off to jail for stealing from one of his stores, David had offered him a paying job. And months later, when the older man learned that Shane’s mother had died, their home had burned and Shane was sleeping in a makeshift camp at the edge of town, he’d taken him home and made him a part of his family.

Or at least he’d tried. Shane hadn’t made it easy.

He threaded his fingers through his hair. “Look, I don’t like talking about my past. You know that.”

“I remember.”

“But that doesn’t excuse my rudeness, and I’m sorry. I know how much you enjoy Christmas and all the traditions that go along with it. This is your first holiday in Tennessee, and I want you to have a pleasant visit. So let’s agree to leave that particular subject buried, okay?”

She didn’t look happy about his request, but she eventually nodded.

The second floor was a few degrees warmer than the first, but that wasn’t saying much. He stood against the long interior wall to give her room to navigate the papered hallway and examine the rooms. The color in her cheeks was heightened, due to her vexation with him or the cold, he couldn’t determine.

After peeking in all the doorways, she entered the room to the immediate right of the stairs. “I’ll take this one. George, Clarissa and George Jr. can be at the opposite end of the hall and the older children next to them.”

“Are you still in your old bedroom at home?”

“No. Soon after their engagement, I moved to the third floor.”

Hearing the wistfulness in her voice, he said, “You liked that room. You spent hours in the window seat with your books and your diary or simply observing the world from your perch.”

“I did like it.” An adorable pleat formed between her golden eyebrows. “But having an entire floor to myself suits me. With four children and a passel of staff members in the house, I don’t get much privacy.”

Removing the borrowed cape, she draped it over the carved footboard. Peering down at her ill-fitting clothes, she shook her head in disgust. Shane watched as she walked to the mirror above the bureau and inspected her disheveled, paint-flecked hair. In the reflective glass, her gaze found his.

“I made sure my arrival didn’t go unnoticed, didn’t I?”

“At least the color doesn’t clash with your hair.”

Turning, she attempted to smooth it. “It’s still straight as a stick, I’m afraid.”

“Curls are overrated.”

He hadn’t been able to figure out why a girl like Allison would be dissatisfied with her appearance. Her self-consciousness didn’t make sense. Her hair was the prettiest color he’d ever seen, her countenance sweet and agreeable.

“I’ll bring your trunks up and then heat some water you can use along with the cleaning solution Nicole gave you.”

She thanked him with a grateful smile, making him regret his harsh words even more. George had to get here soon. Spending time with her would be a sore test of his endurance.

Pretend she’s your sister.

Not a terrible idea, but he’d already tried that. It hadn’t worked all those years ago. Now that they were adults, it had even less of a chance of working.

A half hour later, he was checking the foodstuffs and making a mental list of necessary supplies when Allison entered the kitchen. Dressed in her own clothes this time—a charcoal gray skirt and flattering blouse in a bold sapphire hue—she wore her hair loose. Still damp from washing, it hung in a sleek curtain to the middle of her back.

“You don’t look a day over seventeen.”

Her eyebrows rose a notch, and he wished the words unsaid.

Emitting a brief, disbelieving laugh, she said wryly, “I believe your memories are clouding your judgment.”

He pointed out where the supplies and cooking utensils were stored, as well as the kindling for the cast iron stove. Her slight frown surprised him.

“I know it’s not as large or efficient as the kitchen at Ashworth House, but it’s got everything you need.”

“It’s not that.” She’d removed her gloves in the bedroom, and her small, pale hand skimmed the pie safe’s ledge. She moved to examine the stove’s cook plates and water reservoir, a dubious expression on her face. “I never learned to cook.”

“You don’t know how to cook?”

“I’ve heated water for coffee before. That’s the extent of my culinary skills, I’m afraid.”

He should’ve anticipated this. Why would Allison apply herself to such basic chores when there were paid staff members to do it for her?

“You didn’t think to bring one of the estate’s employees to see to the task?”

“I considered it. However, it is Christmastime and they all have families. I couldn’t ask anyone to spend this most special of holidays with me instead of with their loved ones.”

Of course she’d consider others’ comfort above her own, even if, as in this case, it was impractical.

In the silence stretching between them, her stomach growled loud enough for them both to hear. With a grimace, she pressed her hand against her middle. “Sorry. I skipped breakfast.”

Shane felt as if a noose was tightening about his neck. This wasn’t how this visit was supposed to go. He’d planned on being polite, yet distant, just like the old days. He and George would catch up while the women were occupied by the children. He wasn’t supposed to be responsible for her every need.

“How did you plan to eat?”

“You do have restaurants here, do you not?”

“There’s the Plum Café. The quality has gone down in recent months, but the fare’s passable. It’s closed on Sundays.”

“So I’ll eat cheese and bread on those days. I’m not spoiled.”

“I know that.”

The Ashworths had every reason to boast—success, wealth, high standing in society. A devout Christian, David had viewed his accomplishments as blessings from God and considered it his duty to use them to help others. While they hadn’t lived meagerly by any means, they hadn’t hoarded their wealth. David had taught his children to love Jesus first, others second and themselves last.

“Besides, the children’s nanny is coming with Clarissa, and she knows her way around a kitchen. She’ll take care of the meals, as well as the holiday baking.”

Shane found himself with two equally problematic choices. He could take her to the café and suffer the type of scrutiny he went out of his way to avoid. Or he could stay here in this isolated kitchen with her and fix something. Dodge questions from curious townsfolk or share a private meal with Allison?

In the end, her damp hair was the deciding factor. He couldn’t risk her health simply because he was uncomfortable in this quiet house that presented zero opportunities to slink off to a secluded spot like he used to do.

Inspecting the cupboard’s contents, he said, “Which one sounds more appealing? Pickled peaches or sweet butter pickles?”

* * *

Allison couldn’t recall the last time she’d shared a meal with a gentleman. Mealtimes were loud, boisterous affairs in her brother and sister-in-law’s home. There were stories, jokes and laughter while the children were in attendance. Once the nanny whisked them upstairs or outside to the gardens for fresh air and exercise, the conversation turned to adult topics such as their family business, society news or happenings in the city.

Not that Shane Timmons fit her view of a gentleman. He was comprised of too many rough edges and dark secrets for that. He neither looked nor acted like the men of her acquaintance. Didn’t smell like them, either. The sheriff smelled like long days in the saddle, strong coffee and virile man.

Having removed his outer coat before preparing lunch, he sat across from her in what must be typical lawman attire—trousers, vest and a long-sleeved, buttoned-up shirt, his sheriff’s badge pinned over his heart. His light blue shirt was shot through with pencil-thin navy blue stripes. His vest was a coconut-shell brown that matched his trousers. Both pieces of apparel showcased his upper-body strength. Every time he lifted his coffee cup to his mouth, she watched the play of his biceps.

Before he’d left Norfolk, his physique had been whipcord lean. He’d packed on muscle in the ensuing years, and he looked solid enough to wrestle one of those black bears she’d read inhabited these East Tennessee forests. That, combined with his over six feet of height, made him a formidable adversary for the criminals who dared pass through his town.

“Are you warm enough?” He broke the silence for the first time since he’d said grace.

Heat from the kitchen stove permeated the adjoining dining room through the doorway. Lit candles positioned around the rectangular space added warmth to the ambience even if they didn’t emit actual heat. Clouds had rolled in, obscuring the sun and making the candles necessary.

“Yes, thank you.”

“I know this isn’t what you’d call a substantial meal. As soon as we’re done here, I’ll leave you to unpack while I make a trip to the mercantile.”

“It may not be typical, but it’s filling. Besides, now I can say I’ve tried pickled peaches.”

“I’m sure your friends will be impressed,” he drawled, his eyes hooded.

Besides the preserved fruit, her plate boasted corn cakes, fried ham slices and sautéed onions. While simple, the food tasted delicious.

She dabbed the napkin to her mouth. “Since I’ll be here the duration of the holiday season, what can I expect in the way of celebrations?”

He lowered his fork. “That’s not something I pay much attention to.”

“Does the town host a parade?” she prompted. “Are there parties? A tree-lighting ceremony?”

“No parade that I’m aware of. I’m sure there are parties, but I have no idea who hosts them. I’ll have to put you in touch with Caroline Turner. Her mother is in charge of Gatlinburg’s social events. Either one of them can help you.”

Frustration warred with sadness. During his years at Ashworth House, they had done everything possible to include him in their celebrations. He’d stubbornly resisted their efforts.

Folding her hands in her lap, she studied the candlelight flickering over his rugged features. “Do you actually celebrate Christmas, or do you act like it’s any other day on the calendar?”

“Apart from the commemoration of Christ’s birth, December 25 is like every other day of the year.” He sank against the chair, his fingers rubbing circles on the worn tabletop.

Allison wanted to ask if his view of God had changed. While Shane had believed in Him as Creator, he hadn’t been able to accept His unconditional love. She struggled to find the right words, and the moment was lost.

“The weeks leading up to it are not special, magical or even particularly pleasant,” he said.

“The season is about family and friends, counting your blessings and loving your neighbors.”

“Charity should be year-round,” he countered.

“I agree. I serve on a church committee that provides for the poor throughout the year. I’ve witnessed how this season magnifies their lack, however. We have to be diligent to make Christmas extra special, especially for the children.”

For a split second, his mouth softened and yearning surged in the azure depths. “Where were people like you when I was a boy?”

Her breath hitched at the glimpse of unexpected vulnerability. He recovered himself all too quickly, face shuttering as he tossed his napkin atop his plate.

“I’ll give you a tour of the town so you’ll be comfortable navigating it on your own.” Pushing to his feet, he stared down at her. “I can’t ignore my duties while we wait for George to arrive.”

Pricked by his words, she arched a brow. “I don’t require constant supervision. I am capable of entertaining myself.”

“But not cooking for yourself.”

She stood and spread her arms wide. “So teach me.”

His head jerked back. “You’re not serious.”

“We don’t truly know how long my brother will be delayed,” she said, sweetly. “If the café’s food is as mediocre as you say it is, it would be to my benefit to learn the basics.”

He put a hand out as if to ward her off. “Allison—”

Pounding on the door startled her. Unruffled, Shane pivoted and strode to pull it open without bothering to inquire who was on the other side.

“Ben.”

Hovering in the doorway connecting the dining room to the living room, Allison studied the visitor. A couple of inches shorter than Shane, the attractive, auburn-haired man was broader in the chest and shoulders, his legs like tree trunks. His skin was tan and freckled from the sun, his eyes green like sea glass that sometimes washed up on Norfolk’s beaches.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said with a slight grimace. “I heard you had a lady friend in town.” His gaze sought out the room behind Shane, flaring when it encountered her. He nodded in greeting.

Shane turned sideways. A draft of cold air traveled through the room, ruffling her skirts. “Ben MacGregor, meet Allison Ashworth.”

Swiping his hat off and pressing it against his chest, he sketched a bow. “How do you do, ma’am?”

“Fine, sir. And you?”

“I’d say my day just got brighter now that you’re in it.” His grin was downright roguish.

She laughed at his outrageousness.

Shane’s upper lip curled. “Ben’s the resident flirt. He’s also my one and only deputy. Did you need something in particular?”

The deputy didn’t bother denying Shane’s claim, she noticed. His eyes still twinkling, he addressed his boss. “Another fight’s broken out over on the Oakley spread. Figured you’d want to ride along with me.” He held a gun belt aloft.

“You figured right.” Taking it from him, Shane fastened the tooled-leather strip around his waist. “Sorry I can’t stay and help you clean up,” he told her, his head bent to his task. “I’ll come later to deliver the supplies.”

Her attention snagged on the menacing-looking pistol on his hip. The pearl handle was worn smooth, the barrel long and skinny.

“I’ve never held a gun.”

Both men stared at her.

“Can I go with you?”

Shane’s expression was one of disbelief. “Of course you can’t go with me. Why would you ask?”

“You’re a lawman now. I’d like to see how you go about upholding the law.”

While Ben shifted from one foot to the other, face averted to hide a smile, Shane leveled a formidable glare at her. “Until your brother gets here, you are my responsibility, understand? It’s my task to make sure you have your fun.” He smirked at the reference to their earlier conversation. “And that you stay safe while doing so.”

“But—”

“I mean it, Allison.” Putting on his Stetson, he strode for the door. “Don’t step foot outside this house until I return.”

Without waiting for her response, he joined his deputy on the porch and closed the door behind him, fully expecting her to follow his dictate. Annoyed at his highhandedness—he wasn’t her actual brother, after all—Allison wondered what would happen if she didn’t.