The Sheriff's Christmas Twins (5 page)

“How do you like the gravy?” His soft query brought her attention to his implacable blue gaze.

“It's delicious.” The biscuits were large and doughy and not beneficial to her waistline. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”

“In Kansas. I didn't have a lot of extra money to spend in restaurants, and I got tired of corn mush and beans real quick. The sheriff I was working for was a widower, and he'd invite me over sometimes. I commented once how I'd wished I'd learned, and the cooking lessons commenced.”

“I wish I could've seen that.” She smiled at the mental image of a pair of tough lawmen puttering around a kitchen.

“I'm sure you do.” One corner of his mouth tipped up. It wasn't a full-fledged smile, but it was still able to make her spirits soar.

“You could pass on a few of those lessons, you know.”

“Sorry. I'm not much of a teacher.”

“Like you're not much of a writer?”

Over the rim of his coffee cup, he blinked at her. When he lowered it, a wrinkle tugged his brows together and the grim set of his lips returned.

“How did you fare during the night?”

Allison allowed the change in subject. She truly didn't want to travel down this road because, first, he likely wasn't going to admit his reasons for disliking her, and second, she didn't want to be the one to put that frown on his face. She wanted to make him smile and laugh. She wanted to bring him joy.

You didn't manage that before
, a voice reminded her.
Nothing has changed except for the fact he's had more practice retreating into his protective shell.

“Not terrible. There were creaks and groans that prevented me from falling asleep right away. It will take some time to get used to being alone in a big house.”

“Your brother will be here before too long.”

Allison didn't tell him about the idea she'd been pondering for months. While George and Clarissa were happy with the current arrangement, she'd been thinking more and more about setting up her own household, a smaller house with fewer staff in a good section of the city. Of course, that had been before she'd decided to give Trevor a fair shot at winning her heart, a decision goaded by Shane's presence and the hurtful memories he revived.

He downed the last of his coffee and stood. “Are you interested in a trip to town?”

“Certainly. What did you have in mind?”

“I was thinking I'd introduce you to the woman I told you about... Caroline Turner. The two of you can discuss holiday stuff while I see to business.”

He was pawning her off on a stranger. Allison tried not to let her disappointment show. “What kind of business?”

Striding into the kitchen, he spoke over his shoulder. “Work-related.”

She swallowed the last bite and, gazing longingly at the dish of remaining biscuits, turned away and joined him by the dry sink. “Do you have to resolve another argument among neighbors?”

He took her plate and submerged it in a basin of soapy water. “No. Why?”

“My world is almost completely made up of ledgers and employee disputes and company policy. It's predictable and mundane. I'd like to see what a typical day for a sheriff is like.”

“My job isn't as exciting as you might imagine. Sure, there are days when I have to break up fights or investigate crimes. But there are long stretches of inactivity that anyone would consider boring.”

“At least show me the jail.”

“Since the cells are unoccupied at the moment, I can do that.”

“I'd like to see your home, as well.”

“It's nothing special.”

“Please?”

“Why is it important to you?”

“After I return to Norfolk, and George tells me what you've written in your latest letter, I'll be able to picture you in your jail or your home. Much more satisfying than a blank void.”

He got a funny look on his face...like an apology. Did he regret not contacting her? Was he about to promise to change his ways after this visit? He opened his mouth, apparently searching for the right words.

“I'll take you after lunch.”

Breaking eye contact, she headed for the exit. “I'll gather my things.”

Maybe seeing him in his environment wasn't the best idea. Sure, she'd be able to picture him more easily. But she'd also be able to remember being in those spaces with him. She'd wish she could return and be with him, a future that was out of the realm of possibility.

Not only would he not welcome a second visit from her, but she was determined to give a relationship with Trevor an honest try. That meant cutting all ties to her girlhood dreams.

Chapter Five

C
aroline Turner was flawless.

She lived in a flawless house and wore flawless clothes that displayed her flawless figure.

Allison sat in the Turners' sumptuous parlor, sipping golden floral tea from a china cup and listening as the young woman listed Gatlinburg's holiday-themed events. She exuded quiet elegance. Her white-gold hair was scraped into a neat bun at the base of her neck. A double string of iridescent pearls complemented her off-white bodice, as did the pearl earrings at her ears. She had large, dark blue eyes, almost navy-colored, that weren't as happy as someone with a flawless life should be. Her smile wasn't happy, either. It was one a person pinned on for guests.

“We typically have a large turnout for our annual nativity unveiling.” Caroline's gaze was assessing. “The sheriff doesn't attend many of our holiday functions. I wonder if that will change this year.”

“He never has been one for social functions.”

“While our humble festivities can't possibly measure up to what you're accustomed to, I'm certain you'd enjoy yourself.”

“Norfolk has a great many events to experience, it's true. However, I'm certain I will enjoy what Gatlinburg has to offer.” Allison placed her cup and saucer on the low coffee table between them. Caroline must've seen her eyeing the tray of jumble cookies, because she picked it up and extended it her direction.

“Please, have as many as you'd like.”

“I shouldn't,” she said, even as the scents of juicy raisins and walnuts teased her nostrils. “I've had two already.”

Caroline offered her a sincere smile then, one that lit up her entire face and made her less perfect. “I find them hard to resist myself.” Taking one, she sunk her teeth into it and made a little sound of appreciation. “We only have them around the holidays.”

Allison returned the smile and chose a third cookie.

“I know it's bad manners to pry, but Shane hasn't spoken of you before. Or anyone else from his past, for that matter. May I ask how you know each other?”

Having already prepared a standard answer to this exact question, she said, “Shane's a close friend of my family. He worked for my father.”

“I didn't realize he'd lived in Virginia.” Brushing imaginary crumbs from her pleated skirts, she remarked, “I'd heard he moved here from Kansas and assumed that was his home state.”

“He's always been a private person. In fact, he'd be annoyed if he knew you and I were discussing him.”

“I'm afraid he's invited more scrutiny by keeping your existence a secret.”

“I told him as much myself,” Allison said. “He didn't appreciate it.”

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.”