The Sheriff's Christmas Twins

A husky laugh burst out of her. “I think I’m going to like you, Allison Ashworth. I’m going to relish watching you pull the rug from beneath the staid sheriff’s feet.”

Unsure how to respond, she was grateful when her hostess didn’t probe further. Caroline returned to the topic of Christmas, specifically their custom of assembling gift baskets for the poor. Allison was keen to assist. Charitable endeavors took up much of her free time back home, holidays or no.

A half hour past the time of Shane’s specified return, the teapot was drained dry and only crumbs remained on the plate. Besides remorse, Allison felt embarrassment for monopolizing Caroline’s morning. When she caught her checking the mantel clock a second time, Allison went to retrieve her gloves from the carved hall stand.

“I appreciate your hospitality, Caroline. Shane must’ve gotten detained.”

“I’ve enjoyed our chat. I hope I didn’t make you feel as if you overstayed your welcome.” Following her to the foyer where Allison fastened on her cloak, Caroline fiddled with her pearl necklace. “I’m waiting for my father to return from a trip. Today is my birthday, and he promised to be home no later than today.”

There was a hint of vulnerability in the younger woman’s expression, yet another crack in her sophisticated facade.

“Happy birthday. You’re fortunate to have your father with you. Mine passed away many years ago, and I still miss him terribly.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” The corners of Caroline’s mouth turned down. “I’m afraid my father and I don’t have the best of relationships.”

Allison’s hand paused on the knob. “Oh?”

Pink suffused her skin. “What could I be thinking of? My manners have deserted me today. Please forgive me, Allison. You don’t want to hear about my family woes.” She waved a hand in dismissal. “Don’t feel as if you have to leave. You’re welcome to stay for lunch.”

“I appreciate the invitation, but I’d actually like to explore the town a bit. Would you mind telling Shane I’ve gone to do a little shopping?”

“Certainly.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing you again soon.”

“As am I.”

The cold enveloped her as she strolled in the direction of Main Street. Fortunately, she’d been blessed with a good sense of her surroundings. On the way, the clouds parted and a shaft of sunlight warmed her.

She wished she could speak to her brother. Tell him about the rented farmhouse, the quaint mountain town, her excitement about experiencing Christmas in a new place. Like Shane, she hoped George wasn’t long delayed. Spending time alone with the lawman was both heady and frustrating.

Help me guard my heart, Lord, she prayed.

Caring too much for Shane Timmons had always been a problem with no solution.

* * *

“Where’s that pretty little filly of yours, Sheriff?”

Striding past the barber shop on his way to the mercantile, Shane ignored the good-natured teasing. He’d brought it upon himself. If he hadn’t been so flustered by the prospect of her visit, he would’ve seen the wisdom in letting the news travel the grapevine before her arrival. Folks wouldn’t have been as shocked.

Over the years, he’d worked hard to make the Timmons name one to be respected and revered. He’d earned his current reputation as a just, honorable, hardworking man of the law, and he wasn’t about to let anything tarnish it.

He’d spent too many years carrying his sloppy drunk of a mother home through the Norfolk streets, trying to ignore the vulgar taunts and insults hurled their way. In their poverty-stricken neighborhood, he’d been known as a boy no one wanted. He’d been born to poor, unwed parents. His father hadn’t cared enough to stick around and his mother detested her life to the point she had to drown her sorrows in alcohol every night. His maternal grandparents had refused to acknowledge him and moved away shortly after his birth. He’d never met his father’s family. Doubted they even knew of his existence.

On the boardwalk, Shane passed a pair of young men. They waited until he was several yards away before calling after him.

“Where’s the paint lady? Heard she’s a real looker under all that green goo.”

“Hey, Sheriff, are you two courtin’?”

Not breaking his stride, he allowed their words to bounce off him. They weren’t cruel like the ones he’d endured as a youth, but they called forth excruciating memories better left in the dark shadows of his mind.

Paint lady. Allison was going to love that.

The mercantile’s bell jangled as he walked in. The store was bustling with activity, as it would be until after the holiday. The scents of cinnamon, cloves and oranges permeated the air. Quinn and Nicole had complimentary cups of spiced cider available during the weeks leading up to Christmas. It helped ward off the chill, especially for those folks who traveled miles to get here.

Several people glanced his way, speculation flaring as their gazes switched from him to a point in the paper goods section. Allison’s flaxen hair glistened in the natural light as she tilted her head this way and that, examining a sheaf of decorative papers. If she was aware of his scrutiny, she didn’t indicate it.

His neck burning at the unwanted attention his presence was drawing, he wound his way through the crowded aisles to reach her.

“I’m sorry I ran late.” He pitched his voice low. “Caroline said you might be here.”

“It’s all right,” she said, casually holding the sheaf to her chest as she lifted her emerald gaze to his. “I figure that’s standard for a sheriff.”

“You’re not upset?”

“No.” She gave him a strange look. “I’ve taken advantage of the free time to do some shopping.”

“What are you planning on doing with those papers?”

“You’ll see.” With a conspiratorial wink, she started for the counter.

He followed in her wake, aware that their every word and gesture was being monitored.

“You can assist me in my project if you’d like.” Her bright smile invited him to share in her enthusiasm.

“I’m not committing to anything until I know what it is you have in mind.”

They reached the long, worn-smooth counter where glass displays housed everything from razors to colored-glass bowls to jewelry. She paused before the display of cakes and pies, her eyes round. He hadn’t forgotten her penchant for sweets. The Ashworth cook had catered to Allison’s preferences, and he and George had both benefitted.

He pointed to an apple stack cake. “These are the finest desserts you’ll ever taste.”

She lifted her face to his. “Better than the Oak Street Bakery?”

“Better than that.”

A breath pulsed between her shiny lips. “And who is the illustrious baker?”

“Jessica O’Malley. Well, it’s Jessica Parker now. She’s married to a former US Marshal. She’s also Nicole Darling’s sister. You’ll meet all the O’Malleys eventually.”

“I’d like that.”

“Which one would you like to sample? My treat.”

She shook her head in regret. “Oh, no. I’ve had my quota of sugar for the day, I’m afraid.” Nodding to the window through which a vendor could be seen, she said, “But I will take some roasted chestnuts.”

Shane kept his expression bland. “Whatever you’d prefer.”

When she’d made her purchase, he guided her out into the now sunny day, one of those rare winter days with vivid blue skies and cheerful sun reminiscent of warmer seasons. He bought her a bag of chestnuts, but declined to get one for himself.

She sampled the first bite and hummed with delight. She offered the bag to him.

“No, thanks.”

“Don’t you like them?”

“I wouldn’t know. Never tried one.”

She stopped abruptly, forcing the man behind them to sidestep quickly in order to avoid a collision. “Then how do you know you won’t like them?”

How could he explain his silly aversion to something that had taunted him during this most painful of seasons? Most days he’d had to make do with stale bread and moldy cheese or a thin broth with vegetables long past their prime. Walking past restaurants, he’d smell fresh-baked bread and grilled meat and his mouth would water. He began to dread Christmas because his lack was made even harder to bear. He’d see fathers out with their sons as they carried a fat goose home to their family. He’d see kids skipping down the street sucking on stick candy. Mothers and daughters sharing sacks of chestnuts on park benches.

He hadn’t longed for the food, but for the love, acceptance and security of two devoted parents. Siblings who squabbled over toys and played kickball in the yard. A clean, warm home to live in, a soft bed to sleep in every night.

A voice inside his head tried to convince him that he was no longer that ragged, defiant boy, but the feelings of inadequacy and bitterness drowned it out.

He pointed across the street. “There’s the jail. Still want to see inside?”

Slowly her puzzled gaze left his to follow the line of his finger. “Very much.”

With his hand nestled against the middle of her back, he guided her across the road and into the building where he spent a large portion of his time. To her, the space probably looked stark. To their left was a woodstove. Opposite the door was his desk, a scuffed relic handed down from the sheriff before him. A detailed topography map was nailed to the wall behind his chair, and the American flag hung on the right. One barred window overlooked Main Street.

Her gloved fingers trailed the desk’s edge. “So this is where you keep the peace.”

“Something like that.”

She wandered to the first of three cells and, passing through the open metal door, pulled it closed behind her with a clang.

“What are you doing, Allison?”

Her grin was mischievous. “Go sit in your chair.”

He dropped his hands to his sides. “Why?”

“Humor me.”

The sight of Allison in one of his cells was a jarring one. Her loveliness had no place in a setting meant for thieves and carousers.

He dismissed thoughts of refusing. The quicker he obliged her, the sooner they could leave. Muttering beneath his breath, he circled the desk, slumped into his chair and crossed his arms. “Happy now?”

“Teach me how to shoot, and I will be.”

He glared at her. “Not gonna happen.”

“If I was one of your prisoners, I’d be intimidated by you.”

Her tone was serious, but her eyes twinkled with a zest for life he’d always envied. “I’ll never understand the way your mind works.”

The main door swung open, and Claude bumbled inside, his jaw lolling when he caught sight of Allison behind bars.

Shane shot to his feet. “Claude.”

“Am I interrupting something?” The banker’s incredulous, gray gaze inventoried the scene.

“Shane was indulging my sense of whimsy,” Allison announced. Releasing the bars to allow the door to swing wide, she exited the cell and strode to shake Claude’s hand. “I don’t believe we’ve officially met. I’m Allison Ashworth, an old friend of Shane’s.”

Befuddled by her charming smile, the man stood up straighter and puffed out his chest. “Claude Jenkins. I manage the bank next door.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jenkins.” His hand still in her grasp, she patted it and leaned forward. “You wouldn’t mind keeping this between us, would you? I’ve never been in a jail before, you see, and I wanted to gain a better understanding of Shane’s job.”

Claude nodded with enthusiasm. “Oh, I understand, Miss Ashworth. I’m aware of how sensitive to gossip our sheriff is.”

Beaming, she glanced at Shane, her expression one of satisfaction. He shook his head. The woman couldn’t do anything the usual way, could she? He hoped Trevor Langston knew what he was getting himself into.

“Is there anything pressing you need help with, Claude?” he said.

“No, nothing important enough to take you away from this delightful young lady.” Releasing her hand with obvious reluctance, the banker grasped the door handle. “Will I see you at the church’s nativity celebration on Friday evening, Miss Ashworth?”

“That’s a question better directed to Shane.”

Claude pinned him with a suddenly steely gaze. “You are planning on escorting her, I hope.”

Shane hid a grimace. He made a point of avoiding these types of events. Singing about Christ’s miraculous birth while confronted with the nativity magnified the hollowness inside him. All those church services he’d attended with the Ashworths, the sermons about eternal destination—what would he choose, heaven or hell?—would march through his mind, making peace impossible.

“If Allison wishes to attend, I’ll make sure she’s there.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear.”

When he’d left, Allison turned to him with clasped hands. “What’s the next stop on the grand tour? Your house?”

Chapter Six

Allison was determined not to let Shane see her nervousness. This wasn’t a romantic outing. He didn’t wish for her company. He’d practically been ordered to escort her.

Descending the stairs, she gave her cranberry velvet skirts a little shake to adjust the stiff crinoline beneath. The bodice was constrictive, the long sleeves snug at the wrists, but the dress was one of her favorites. Shane turned from the mantel, his luminous gaze widening as he took in her appearance.

She ran her hand along the neat French braid trailing the middle of her back. “What? Is this not appropriate? Should I change?”

“No.” Stroking his whiskered jaw, he said, “You look... Christmassy.”

“Christmassy?” Like an ornament on a tree?

“Nice.” He cleared his throat. “You look nice.”

He turned his head away, giving her a chance to admire his dark suit. The midnight black hue made him seem more imposing than usual, but it also gave him a touch of city polish. His hair was neatly combed with a few stubborn locks falling over his forehead.

She moved closer to the fireplace, where the logs smoldered. “You don’t look like a sheriff tonight.”

His lips curved into a smile, an actual smile, and Allison felt as if the floor beneath her feet trembled. His austere features assumed a masculine beauty that had her inching forward and desperately wanting to trace his lips with her fingertips.

Thankfully, his deep voice shattered the strange compulsion. “You’re awfully preoccupied with my profession. Norfolk has an impressive police force.”

She made a dismissive gesture. “It’s not the same. I know Tennessee isn’t exactly the untamed West, but neither is it a sprawling metropolis. There are books written about men like you.”

He snorted. “My life is not a grand adventure.”

“You don’t see it that way because, in your mind, you’re simply doing your duty. To the people you help, you are that larger-than-life hero in the pages of a book.”

“I suppose we’ll have to agree to disagree.” Running a finger beneath his collar, he tilted his head to the clock. “We’d better get going if you want to get there before the candle lighting begins.”

As he locked the door and led her into the nippy winter evening, she soaked in the vast expanse of twinkling stars. Twin lanterns hooked to either side of the wagon emitted a soft glow. “I’m sorry you were roped into taking me tonight. I know you’d rather be doing something else.”

“A few hours of Christmas carols won’t kill me,” he drawled, assisting her up.

He climbed up on his side and, instead of taking his seat, reached into the wagon bed and brought out a thick, multicolored quilt. Unfolding the bundle, he bent over her and tucked it about her legs and lap. His face was near enough for her to feel the brush of his cool, minty breath across her cheek.

“Thank you, Shane,” she whispered, touched by his thoughtfulness.

The seat bounced a little when he lowered his large frame onto it. Seated this close beside him, she was aware of their variances in size and the fact he made her feel feminine and almost delicate.

With a nod, he issued quiet instructions to the horses. The wheels rolled over the rutted track. It was impossible not to bump into him. He shrugged off her apology. Allison glanced at his implacable profile, wishing he’d wrap his arm around her to hold her steady. Then she could snuggle into his side. But that would mean prolonged personal contact, which he didn’t do. It would also indicate he felt at ease with her, that he felt affection for her, neither of which were true.

Focusing her attention on their passing surroundings—the forest on either side of the lane cloaked in mysterious shadows—she thought about her visit to his modest cabin. The one-room structure was so far removed from Ashworth House as to be laughable. Still, he took pride in his ownership. The wooden logs and chinking were in excellent condition, the puncheon floors and window glass clean of debris. What little furniture he had was of good quality. And while the single bed shoved against the wall and adorned with naught but a plain woolen blanket was a little desolate in her estimation, his home wasn’t without personality.

Stacks of law journals and various periodicals had been visible on the small table beside the russet-colored cushioned chair. On a shelf near the fireplace, he’d stored a collection of games—dominoes, tabletop ninepins, chess. Years ago, during the afternoon hours after school, he and George could often be found in the estate’s library playing checkers or some other board game. If the weather was nice, they’d engage in a game of kickball or football outdoors. Shane had possessed more aggression than actual skill in those physical games. Sometimes she would hide in the rose arbor and observe them, in awe of the almost frenzied energy coming off him.

“Do you still play football?”

He glanced over at her. “Mostly on holidays or special days when folks take a break from their usual chores.”

“Who do you spend holidays with?”

“The O’Malleys.”

Her curiosity about his relationship with them grew. “You’re close to them, aren’t you?”

“They’re the closest thing to family I’ve got.”

She stiffened. Her hands braced on either side of her legs, she gripped the wood to avoid bumping into him again as the conveyance traveled around a bend and left the woods behind.

He heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that you and your family aren’t important to me.”

Allison was grateful for the darkness. “There’s no reason to deny the truth.” Could he detect the tiny wobble in her voice? “Your life is here. Has been for a long time.”

“Your father changed the course of my life. Without him, I’d be in jail or worse.”

“He loved you as if you were his own son.”

The silent accusation hung between them. Her father had given Shane a job and welcomed him into their home, but she’d seen no sign that the friendless, adrift young man ever fully lowered his guard with any of them.

He kneaded his nape for long moments. “He was the best of men.”

Emotion welled up inside. Some days the grief lay dormant, like a hibernating bear, and others it roared to life, reminding her of everything her father was missing. He would’ve liked to have seen how well his business was flourishing under George’s leadership. He would’ve cherished being a grandfather.

“He would be proud of you, Shane.”

The faint lamplight allowed her to see his initial surprise and disbelief. Sorrow, and something akin to regret, surged in his blue eyes.

“I’d give anything to be able to talk to him again.” Where his hands rested atop his thighs, his gloves stretched tight across his knuckles. “I don’t remember thanking him.”

Stunned by the raw admission, Allison reached over and squeezed his forearm. “My father was a wise man. He saw more than you realize.”

Shane’s gaze returned to the lane. When he didn’t acknowledge her gesture in any way, she removed her hand.

He nodded to the cluster of buildings comprising Main Street. “Almost there.”

Lamps shone in several of the windows. The white clapboard church was situated at one end of town. A golden glow lit up the night around it, allowing her a glimpse of the grand steeple soaring into the sky. Shane guided their wagon to the edge of the congested churchyard.

Their arrival didn’t go unnoticed. A cluster of young men strolling past called out as Shane was helping her to the ground.

“Hey, Sheriff. Evening, paint lady.”

Allison stumbled. Shane’s hands curved around her waist, preventing her from plowing into him. Bracing herself against his sturdy shoulders, she gaped at the retreating group.

“Did I hear that right?”

“Um, it appears you’ve earned yourself a nickname.”

She lifted her face to gaze up at him. He bit his lip to stop a smile.

“Paint lady?”

His heat radiated outward from where he still held her. It would be so easy to slide her hands up and around his neck...

“Could be worse.”

Awareness settled across his features as his gaze roamed her face, and his fingers flexed on her waist. Yearning, intense and demanding, curled through her. Please don’t let me go, she silently implored. Don’t pull away.

“Here you two are. Glad to see you made it.”

Claude Jenkins’s intrusion brought a grimace to Shane’s face. Immediately, he put her away from him and turned to acknowledge the man and his wife. Behind the couple, a handsome man with wheat-colored hair, trim mustache and goatee and a penetrating blue gaze waited to speak to them.

Claude winked at her before leading his wife away. The stranger approached and clamped a hand on Shane’s shoulder in a friendly manner, all the while studying her in the most unsettling way.

“Didn’t expect to see you tonight. Is your lovely guest the reason you decided to join us ordinary revelers?”

Wearing a tolerant expression, Shane inclined his head her direction. “Josh O’Malley, meet Allison Ashworth.”

“One of the esteemed O’Malleys,” she quipped as he enveloped her hand in a firm shake. “Shane has spoken highly of your family.”

“Unfortunately, he’s given us scant information about you. I’m here to rectify that.” Pulling her hand through the crook of his elbow, he winked down at her. “How about I introduce you to the rest of the clan and then you can tell us about yourself?”

“Don’t trust him, Allison,” Shane drawled. “He’s really after dirt that he can hold over me in the future.”

Josh’s burst of laughter drew curious looks from passersby. “He knows me too well.”

She was enjoying this exchange too much to refuse. “I’d be happy to trade stories with you. As you might imagine, Shane hasn’t been forthcoming about his life here. I’m particularly interested in his professional accomplishments.”

“It’s a deal.” Josh’s eyes gleamed.

He drew her closer to the church building. Shane trailed behind them, and she sensed the weight of his attention on her. Was he worried about what she might reveal? Or did he trust her judgment?

They paused at one of several long tables to procure mugs of fragrant apple cider. Cradling the large mug, she relished the warmth seeping through her gloves. Cognizant of the curiosity she aroused in the others, Allison wondered if it was due to her being an out-of-towner or her connection to their secretive sheriff.

Josh led her to a stand of gnarled trees that resembled pitiful broomsticks. Numerous adults chatted while kids dashed after one another, shrieking and giggling. At one edge of the gathering, a beautiful brunette waved them over, a smile stretching from ear to ear.

“Allison, allow me to introduce you to the love of my life.” Releasing Allison, Josh went and tugged the woman tight against his side. “My wife, Kate O’Malley.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Allison.” Her smile was sincere. “There are quite a lot of us.” She wiggled her fingers at the group of men and women, adolescents and young children. “It can be a bit overwhelming at first.”

“As long as you don’t expect me to remember everyone’s names.”