The Sheriff's Christmas Twins. Karen Kirst

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      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, СКАЧАТЬ