The Sheriff's Christmas Twins (18 page)

“My office is inside the jail, so in order to discuss this matter like men, we'll have to go there.”

Keeping tight hold of his shoulder, Shane marched him inside the jailhouse and, closing the door, jabbed a finger at one of the chairs before his desk. “Sit.”

The boy's eyes were mostly obscured by his cap. The rest of his face was coated with grime. Peeking from beneath his cap was straggly hair of an indiscriminate color. Instead of sitting down, he folded his arms over his chest and glared at the floor.

“What's your name, son?”

Shane winced again. He'd had the same exact question directed at him once upon a time. And just like this boy, he hadn't been inclined to answer.

Without really thinking about it, Shane offered up a prayer for assistance in sorting through this mystery. Despite the circumstances, he felt a glorious peace suffuse him. He wasn't working alone anymore.

Resting his weight on the desk's edge, he said, “Listen, I know you don't trust me. My name's Shane Timmons, by the way. I've been the sheriff here for a long while.”

The boy scuffed his boot along the floor.

“I'd like to call you something other than ‘boy.'”

His head jerked up, caramel-hued eyes flashing. “I'm not—” He clamped his lips together and fisted his hands.

“You're not what?”

“I'm not talkin' to you.”

Shane tamped down a wave of frustration. “I can't help you if you won't at least tell me why you're out on the streets at this time of night.”

He tried several times to get the boy to cooperate. When a loud rumble met his questions, Shane decided they could wait.

“Come on, then.” Striding to the nearest cell, he held the barred door open and fished his key ring from his belt. “This here'll be your bedroom for the night.”

His eyes got huge. Fear surged. “You're lockin' me up?”

“I don't trust you to wait here while I go fetch us some grub. This way I know you'll stay put.”

He looked from Shane to the cell and back.

“The quicker you do as I say, the quicker we get to eat.”

Swallowing hard, he shuffled inside. Turning the cell door lock was one of the hardest things Shane had ever done. Allison would wallop him good when she got wind of this. But what other choice did he have?

“Sit tight. I'll be back as soon as I can.”

Hurrying home, Shane snagged the loaf of bread he'd bought yesterday, along with three boiled eggs, a jar of pickled okra and a cheese wedge. On his way out the door, his gaze fell on the tabletop pin game. The boy could use it to entertain himself if he couldn't sleep. When he reentered the jail, his unlikely prisoner was in the same exact spot he'd left him in.

There was no denying his deep suspicion as he peered at Shane.

“It's not a hot meal, but it'll do. Help yourself to as much as you want.” Shane placed the basket on the cot beside him.

“Ain't got no money.”

His throat grew thick. “It's free.”

Leaving the cell door open, Shane busied himself sweeping the floor that didn't need to be swept and straightening desk drawers that didn't need straightening. He'd assumed their drifter was an adult man, perhaps someone who'd fallen on hard times, someone without family to take him in. Maybe even someone trying to avoid the law. Not once had he considered they were dealing with a youth. Judging by his leanness and disheveled appearance, he'd been fending for himself for a while.

Shane snuck a peek at the cell. The kid held an egg in one hand and a hunk of bread in the other and was stuffing large bites of both into his mouth as fast as he could.

Well, he'd caught his drifter. What was he supposed to do now?

Chapter Eighteen

“I
need your help.”

Allison struggled to mask her surprise. Standing in the entryway between the kitchen and dining room, she studied the pitiful figure sitting rigidly on the couch.

“
He's
your drifter?” she whispered.

Turning to look at Shane, she found him standing far too close. The doorframe pressed into the spot between her shoulder blades, and she had nowhere to go.

“Looks that way. I haven't gotten much information out of him.” His liquid blue gaze soaked her in. “I thought you'd have a better chance of success.”

Seated in his high chair, Charlie whacked it and started spouting gibberish. Izzy joined in. Shane's attention slid to them, and he smiled. If he could see his reflection right now, he'd be stunned. There was no denying the unabashed affection in his expression. Whether he admitted it or not, he cared about the babies.

Her
babies. That bubbly feeling of joy overtook her again.

Tilting her head in the direction of the living room, she said, “Has he had breakfast?”

He nodded. “I fetched us both plates from the café.”

“You left him unattended in your home?”

“I couldn't do that.”

“Then where...” She gasped, drawing the boy's attention. Leaning closer, she hissed, “Shane Timmons, please tell me you didn't lock up that poor child!”

His hands settled on her shoulders, startling her. They were warm and heavy. “I didn't have a choice.”

His mouth hovered close. A day's growth of beard darkened his jaw, and she had the urge to explore the short bristles.

Focus, Allison.
“What exactly do you expect me to do?”

His fingers tightened a fraction before falling away. A sigh gusted out of him. “You're good with people, kids especially. See if you can pry anything out of him. A name would be a good start.”

“I'll give it my best effort.”

“Thank you, Allie.”

“While I'm doing that, you have to finish feeding the twins.”

A furrow appeared between his brows. She studied his profile as he took in the messy kitchen scene. He was so dear, his handsome face etched upon her mind and heart. Soon George and his brood would descend upon them, and these precious moments of privacy would be nothing but a memory. The days would fly past, Christmas would come and go and it would be time to leave Gatlinburg.

While she eagerly anticipated setting up her new life with the twins, the prospect of not seeing Shane on a regular basis made her ache. She wasn't sure how she was supposed to cope with going back to hearing snippets about him from her brother.

Settling in the chair between the siblings, he picked up a bowl of oatmeal and shot her a long-suffering look. “Go on, then.”

Pinning on a smile, Allison went into the living room. “Hello there. My name's Allison Ashworth.”

Arms crossed tightly about his middle, the boy shrugged. “Sheriff already tol' me.”

His pants were about an inch too short and nearly worn through in the knees. The thin jacket wasn't at all appropriate for winter.

Her heart squeezed painfully at the evidence of neglect and dire need. “Shane's worried about you, you know. His job is to help people. He can't do that if you refuse to talk to him.”

He shrugged again.

“It would be nice to know your name.”

A long pause. “If I tell ya, can I leave?” Beneath the hat, caramel-colored eyes snuck a peek at her.

“Where would you go?” she said gently. “Do you have relatives close by?”

“No family.” When he finally lifted his head, he seemed fascinated with her ruby earbobs and the locket about her neck. “The name's Mattie.”

Ah, progress. “Nice to meet you, Mattie.”

“Are you rich?”

She couldn't help it. She laughed out loud. “That's not considered a polite question, young man.”

“Why not?”

“I'll explain another time.” Watching as he scratched his head, she said, “How about we chat later? You'll feel much better once you've had a bath.” Smell better, too.

Popping up from the cushion, he held his hands up. “No!”

His vehemence confused her. “I promise you'll have complete privacy.”

“The thing is...” His panicked gaze cast about the room for a handy escape.

“What's bothering you, Mattie?”

“M-Mattie's just a nickname. M-my full name is Matilda Rose Douglas.”

Allison's jaw sagged. Beneath all that grime and the bad haircut was a girl?

“How old are you?”

“Eleven.”

Tall for her age, she was extremely thin. They'd have to do something about that, Allison decided, even if she had to personally see to it.

“Well, Miss Matilda Rose, the sheriff sure is in for a surprise, is he not?”

* * *

Allison was hiding something. A smile had played about her mouth as he'd brought in pails of water to be heated on the stove and remained there until she shooed him out of the kitchen and ordered him upstairs. He could hear their muted voices but couldn't make out the words. Light streamed through her bedroom windows and shifted into patterns on the polished wood boards. It felt as if he were invading her privacy. At Ashworth House, she'd invited him to explore the dizzying array of toys and curiosities in her childhood room, but he'd resisted. He hadn't wanted to be drawn into her world.

The baby in his arms batted his shoulder. Glancing into her big brown eyes, he said, “This time I didn't have another option, did I, Izzy?”

Allison hadn't been in town two full weeks and she'd already made this house, this town, her own.

Izzy pressed her lips together and blew. She batted his shoulder again and uttered a string of unintelligible sounds. Hiking her higher, he smoothed a stray blond curl from her soft brow.

“You're a sweetheart, you know that?” he murmured.

He'd miss all of her major achievements—crawling, walking, talking. He wouldn't be the recipient of her drawings, her hugs, her kisses. He wouldn't be the one toting her about on his shoulders, swinging her in a wide circle as she laughed, buying her china dolls and miniature tea sets.

Someone else would do all that. Someone like Trevor Langston.

Sadness gripped him. Jealousy, too. He was jealous of a man he'd never met.

Forgive me, Lord.

Allison would make a wonderful mother, of that he had not a single doubt. Nurturing came natural to her. Generous with her affection, she held enough love in her heart for a hundred orphans.

What about a lonely sheriff who ached for a family to call his own but was too scared to admit it? Could she love a man like that?

Shane ceased his route about the room. Where had those thoughts come from? Love had nothing to do with their relationship. At best, what they had was a tenuous friendship. That kiss wasn't his doing, after all.
She
kissed
him
. It was only natural that he'd responded.

Light footsteps along the hall brought him out of his troubled musings. Propped into a seated position on the rug at the foot of the bed, Charlie waved his bear around.

Allison appeared in the doorway, her smile anticipatory in nature. What was so amusing?

“Sheriff Timmons, I'd like for you to meet Matilda Rose Douglas.”

At Allison's urging, the child stepped into the room. It took several moments for the name to register and for him to absorb the change in appearance.

“You're wearing a dress.”

From the looks of it, a brand-new dress of evergreen, paisley material with rose ribbons, the same one Allison had purchased in town last week. She'd been collecting items to take to her friends in Norfolk. This particular gift had been intended for a close friend's daughter.

Allison touched the sleeve. “Isn't it beautiful?”

Hearing the warning in her tone, he grunted in agreement.

“Your name's Matilda?”

She stood straighter, her hands clasped tightly at her waist. “No one calls me that anymore.”

Now that it was washed and combed, he could see that her hair was a honey-brown hue. Cut even with her earlobes, a matching ribbon had been wound about her head and tied beneath the strands. Now that her face was squeaky clean, he could see the feminine curve of her cheek, the girlish set to her mouth.

It hit him then that he'd locked up a little girl. His hold tightened on Izzy, who protested by squirming.

“How old are you?”

“Eleven.”

His head dipped. A moment later, he felt Allison's hand curving about his biceps. “Don't be so hard on yourself,” she murmured. “You couldn't have known.”

Transferring Izzy into Allison's arms, he scraped both hands down his face. His eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep. He'd tried to snooze in his hard desk chair last night, but the kid had tossed and turned and whimpered in the cell, making Shane wonder what nightmares were haunting him.
Her.
Matilda.

“That was you I was chasing through the woods, wasn't it? Are you kin to Harold Douglas?”

Her upper lip curled in a manner too old for her years. “I don't claim him.”

He saw far too much of himself in her. “But you are related.”

Her attention on the twins, she said, “He's my uncle. My ma died when we were livin' in North Carolina. Pa said his brother would be happy for us to stay with him for a while.”

Her brow knitted, and Shane heard what she didn't say. Her father must've been wrong.

Retrieving the locket he'd been keeping on his person since discovering it in the livery, he held it on his open palm. “Is this yours?”

With a soft cry, she rushed and scooped it up, prying the sides open to stare at the tiny photograph. “Momma!” Her lower lip trembled. “I thought I'd lost this forever.”

“I found it at the livery.”

When she didn't volunteer information, Allison spoke. “Matilda, where is your father?”

“Dead.”

He sought out Allison's gaze. Sympathy radiated from her. Like she had wanted to do for him all those years ago, no doubt her first instinct was to rush in and fix things. Only, some things couldn't be rushed.

“What happened?” he said quietly.

“He and Uncle Harold were cuttin' down a tree. It fell the wrong way.”

“I'm sorry, Matilda.”

She appeared to be weighing his words, probably trying to decide if he was trustworthy. He had many more questions he wanted answered, but he sensed it would be better not to overwhelm her.

“Do you still have that popcorn I bought?” he asked Allison.

Her brows rose in question. “I do.”

“I don't have to be at the jail until later. Why don't I pop a batch? We can string some for the tree.”

Allison studied him for long moments, that familiar pleat between her brows. “Good idea. Matilda, would you mind helping me string it?”

The girl looked dumbfounded. “Me?” She tugged at the stiff collar. “I ain't never done nothin' like that.”

Allison's smile was gentle. “I'll show you how.”

Hope brightened her eyes. Shane waited, breath suspended. Would she seize on to it? Or, like he had done, would she crush it?

“O-okay, I guess.”

“Wonderful.” Allison beamed. “Shane, I'll join you after I get these two down for a nap.”

“You don't need a hand?”

“No, I'll be fine.” Her manner portrayed confidence.

Ushering Matilda into the hall, he closed the bedroom door. “You ever tasted fresh-popped corn?”

She shook her head, her eyes full of mystery.

Descending the stairs, he said over his shoulder, “I'll make a big batch so that we'll have plenty to sample.”

When they reached the kitchen, Matilda said, “Are you and Allison hitched?”

He had a tough time not gaping at her. “No.” He held up his left hand to show the bare finger. “We've known each other a long time, that's all.”

Of course, it was more complicated than he'd made it sound.

She adjusted and readjusted the ribbon headband. “Oh. So she's a widow.”

“No.” Shane tossed wood into the stove box. He was beginning to wish he was upstairs with the twins. At least they couldn't pepper him with questions he wasn't quite sure how to answer. “Allison is Charlie and Izzy's caretaker. Their mother recently passed.”

Shadows passed over her face. He gathered the supplies and explained the steps to making popcorn. Matilda didn't speak. It was possible she was entertaining the same thoughts as him. The chief one being what was he going to do about her?