The Sheriff's Christmas Twins. Karen Kirst
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?