The Sheriff's Christmas Twins (4 page)

“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.

Chapter Four

T
he house was quiet. Too quiet.

Shane checked the first floor. No sign of Allison. Thinking she might've decided to take a nap after her long journey, he ascended the stairs and peeked into her room. The bed was made, her trunks pushed into a neat row beneath the windows on the far wall. The other bedrooms were also empty.

Determined to unload the supplies as quickly as possible and get back to the jail, impatience jabbed at him as he bypassed the unoccupied outhouse.

Where had she gotten off to?

Intent on scanning the fields to his right, he almost walked smack into the smokehouse. Scowling, he sidestepped and stopped short. A female figure was crouched half inside the smokehouse's squat entrance.

“Allison.”

She lurched. Banged her head against the wood. “Ouch!” Scrambling outside, she rubbed the sore spot. “Did you have to startle me like that?”

“I've been searching everywhere for you. You weren't in the house, the barn...” He wasn't about to admit the trepidation that had roared to life inside him. “I thought I told you to stay inside.”

“You did.” The baleful look she shot him transformed into a grimace. “I'm not one of your locals to boss about, however.”

“What were you looking for in there?” He motioned to the smokehouse.

“Nothing. I was simply curious what was inside.”

Shane removed his gloves and, stuffing them in his coat pocket, moved to her side. “Let me see.”

“I'm fine.”

“I'll be the judge of that,” he insisted, nudging her hand aside. His fingers gentle on her scalp, he examined the spot. “It didn't break the skin.”

She was very close, her round shoulder butting against his chest, the fruity fragrance clinging to her person inviting him closer. She was soft and warm and feminine, traits that were nonexistent in his world of crime and punishment.

“I told you it was nothing,” she whispered, her voice off-kilter.

He took a big step back, his huff creating white puffs that hovered in the air. “You've always been a troublesome female, you know that?”

Her chin whipped up. “Excuse me?”

“You kept your father and brother hopping to keep up with your antics. I was thankfully too wise to join in.”

“If I was guilty of anything back then, it was trying to be your friend.”

Brushing past him in a swirl of petticoats and skirts, she marched in the direction of the house. Smoke curled from both chimneys into the gray sky above. She'd restrained her mane with a single blue ribbon, and the long ponytail bounced with the force of her steps.

He watched her for a moment before going after her, wishing for the first time in a long time that he had the kind of relationship with God that David Ashworth and his friends, the O'Malleys, had. He could sure use some divine help right then. But he'd never gotten over the feeling of abandonment that had taken root in his childhood. His pleas for his pa to come and rescue him, for his ma to truly change, for someone,
anyone
, to help make things better, had gone unanswered. Ignored. So he'd stopped asking.

Catching up to her at the corner of the house, he fell into step beside her, choosing to introduce a whole new subject. The past was a prickly maze of disappointment and confusion. Best to avoid it.

“I think you're gonna like what I brought for you.”

“Oh?” She got that gleam in her eye that he didn't trust. “Did you bring me a Christmas tree? A wreath? Greenery to decorate the mantel?”

His pace slowed. “Huh?”

“I think I'd like a cluster of mistletoe, as well. Maybe two.”

“What do you need all that for? You're only going to be here a few weeks.”

“The most important weeks of the entire year.”

“Hold on.” He halted beside the wagon bed. “Why would you want mistletoe?”

Her crimson lips curved into a smile that many would find winsome. To him, it meant trouble. “You never know when an eligible suitor might pay me a visit at some point during my stay. Best to be prepared.”

Shane was like an unarmed man in an ambush as jealousy pummeled him. While she hadn't mentioned Ben specifically, an image of his deputy and Allison locked in each other's arms beneath the mistletoe wedged its way into his mind. Once there, he couldn't dislodge it.

“What about Trevor Langston?” he ground out.

“Trevor and I don't have an understanding,” she said airily. “I haven't yet accepted his suit.”

Going to the rear of the bed, she peered into the multiple crates. He followed, irritated that she was here one day and already getting under his skin. This wasn't supposed to happen.

“You're leaving within a month. That's hardly enough time to court.”

She ignored him as she continued to catalog the contents.

“I hope you're not considering Ben. He's not the settling-down type,” he went on. “Don't pin your hopes on the likes of him. I mean it, Allison.”

“I'm not pinning my hopes on anyone.” Rolling her eyes, she planted her hands on her hips. “I'm teasing, Mr. Lawman. The mistletoe is for decoration...and maybe George and Clarissa. The children descend into giggling fits whenever their parents smooch. It's quite entertaining.”

Her nose wrinkled adorably, and suddenly he was thinking about someone other than Ben kissing her beneath the mistletoe. Someone like himself.

Having reached the limit of his patience, Shane stifled a groan and, loading his arms with heavy crates, made his way to the kitchen. It took several trips to unload everything. He didn't stay to help her unpack. Murmuring an excuse about work, he promised to swing by the following morning before beating a hasty retreat.

“Hurry up and get here, George,” he muttered.

At the livery, Milton Warring met him at the entrance, stained fingers tugging at his scraggly beard.

“What's on your mind, Warring?”

“I've found evidence of a trespasser.”

Shane climbed down and let Warring's assistant take over the rented wagon and team. When the lad was out of earshot, he said, “Show me.”

The livery owner led him upstairs into the loft where mostly hay and other supplies were stored. Near the shuttered opening overlooking Main Street, he spotted an empty tin of beans and nudged it with his toe. Inside, a dirty spoon rattled. Shane bent and examined the tin and raked through the scattered straw for other clues.

“Is it possible your hired boy ate his lunch up here and forgot to clean up after himself?”

“He eats his lunch on the bench out front most days. I asked to be sure, and he denies this is his.”

Shane walked the perimeter of the space, his gaze sweeping the planks. Near the ladder opening, he reached down and plucked a gold necklace from the straw. “Recognize this?”

Taking turns, they examined the locket and faded photo of a woman. “Haven't seen her before,” Warring said. “You?”

“Nope.” Slipping it in his pocket, Shane said, “I'll ask around. See if anyone has an idea who she might be.”

He scowled. “You think he'll come back?”

“It's a lot warmer in here than it is out there. If he got away with it once, he'll try again. Unless he's moved on.”

Their town saw a lot of travelers passing through on their way to or from North Carolina. Most were respectable folks. It was the disreputable few he had to worry about.

Shane put his boot on the ladder's top rung. “Ben and I'll take turns watching the place.”

“Good. I want that rascal caught.”

“Keep an eye out for anything else suspicious.”

He left the livery and headed for his office. His deputy was warming his hands at the woodstove and looked up at his entrance.

“We have a potential problem over at Warring's.” Shane related the scant details and warned him to be on alert for unfamiliar faces.

“Will do, boss.” He gave a short nod. “You get Allison settled over at the Wattses' place?”

“She's Miss Ashworth to you. And I'd prefer it if you'd steer clear of her.”

Folding his arms over his chest, Ben met his gaze squarely. “Because she's just here for Christmas? Or because you want her for yourself?”

When it became clear a couple of years back that he needed to hire help, he'd chosen Ben MacGregor because of his astute mind and discernment skills. They worked well together. Shane didn't approve of his deputy's flippant attitude toward women, but his personal life was none of his business.

“I don't care what you do on your own time or who you involve, as long as you uphold the reputation of this office. But I won't have you trifling with Allison's emotions.”

“You didn't answer the question.” From his stance and unyielding stare, it was obvious he wasn't going to drop the matter.

“There's nothing romantic between us. Never has been. She's like a sister to me.” The words sounded false, even to his ears. “I don't want to see her hurt.”

“I respect you, Shane. As my boss, but also as a man. I'd be an idiot to ruin our professional relationship by doing something stupid regarding your friend.”

“I'm glad you understand.”

“I'm not finished.” He held up a hand. “Seeing as how I'm
not
an idiot, you can rest assured that any relationship I pursue with her will be respectable.”

Shane curled his hands into fists, the buckskin gloves molding to his knuckles. For the first time since they started working together, he was tempted to plant his fist in the other man's face. All because of Allison.

“If you hurt her, your career in law enforcement is over.”

Ben's eyes widened a fraction. “That's not going to happen.”

“See that it doesn't.”

Pivoting on his heel, Shane stormed out with no idea where he was headed.

* * *

The tantalizing scents of sizzling bacon and rich-bodied coffee woke her. Snuggling deeper into the cocoon of quilts, it took several moments for Allison to remember that she was not at Ashworth House. She shot up in bed.

Pushing the tangled mass out of her eyes, she blinked at the framed needlework on the opposite wall and the mountain view through the nearest window. She inhaled again, and her stomach rumbled in anticipation. Leaping out of bed and wincing at the cold shock to her stocking feet, she hurried to the wardrobe.

Shane must've paid someone to cook meals for her. He'd seemed reluctant to share a meal with her yesterday. No way would he commit to cooking for her the duration of her visit. Although a thoughtful gesture, it would've been nice if he'd alerted her to his plans.

She chose one of her favorite dresses, a soft but sturdy material of rich cream dotted with orange and green flowers and trimmed in green ribbon. The dress put her in mind of her beloved estate gardens in springtime. Once dressed, she brushed her hair until it shone and arranged it in a twist.

Descending the stairs, Allison noticed a sorrel horse hitched to the post out front. She entered the kitchen and the polite greeting died on her lips.

“What are you doing here?”

“Isn't it obvious?”

She crossed her arms, irrationally annoyed with him. “You of all people should know it's a bad idea to let yourself into someone else's house while they're sleeping.”

Shane scooped a pile of fluffy eggs onto a plate, along with biscuits and a thick, white sauce. “Most intruders don't cook you breakfast.” He held the plate out. “Have a seat. There's milk on the table. If you'd prefer coffee, the kettle's there.”

Allison accepted the plate. The food smelled amazing, especially after the modest, cold supper of cheese and bread she'd had last evening. “What is the white stuff? Are those lumps in there?”

“You've never had sausage gravy?”

“I've had brown gravy.”

“Biscuits and gravy is a common breakfast food here. Try it and see if you like it.”

She carried her plate to the dining room. He joined her in a few moments with his own breakfast and, assuming the same chair he'd occupied the day before, picked up his fork and spiked a clump of eggs.

“Shouldn't we say grace?”

He looked startled. “You're right. I forgot. Would you mind?”

Allison nodded, unsure if he was too shy to pray aloud or if his reluctance stemmed from a lack of confidence in God's love.
Lord, please give me the courage to broach the subject. Give me the right words.

Catching her off guard, Shane settled his fingers over hers atop the tablecloth. Her focus shattered. The heat from his hand seeped into hers. His skin was rougher than hers, his bones denser, his hold firm and sure. Allison curved her fingers inward, capturing his, returning the pressure. His breath hitched. Her own heart tumbled in her chest. This wasn't the first time they'd held hands.

That other time he'd been guiding her through the woods to safety and, although he'd scolded her for wandering off alone the entire trek home, he'd allowed her to cling to his hand, a lifeline in a dark and stormy night.

The rare moments of physical contact stood out in her mind because Shane either hadn't liked the connection or hadn't known how to handle it. Their chief cook, a boisterous, vivacious woman who'd been liberal with her affection, had hugged him just like she did everyone else. Instead of returning the embrace, he'd stood rock still, his arms imprisoned at his sides, looking as if he was being prodded with a hot poker. When her father had occasionally given Shane a hearty pat on the back or slung an arm about his shoulder, he'd stiffened. Allison's heart had broken each time she witnessed his reaction.

Since he refused to open up about his childhood, she was left to imagine the terrible things he must've endured.

Her prayer was brief. He tugged free of her and turned his full attention to his meal. Tension prickled between them. Allison ate without speaking, her thoughts racing. He had yet to show her where he worked and lived. Did he eat alone most of the time? The thought made her sad. And unexpectedly annoyed. If only he wasn't so stubborn, so determined to remain aloof and unaffected by the people in his life.