The Sheriff's Christmas Twins. Karen Kirst

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      “Does the town host a parade?” she prompted. “Are there parties? A tree-lighting ceremony?”

      “No parade that I’m aware of. I’m sure there are parties, but I have no idea who hosts them. I’ll have to put you in touch with Caroline Turner. Her mother is in charge of Gatlinburg’s social events. Either one of them can help you.”

      Frustration warred with sadness. During his years at Ashworth House, they had done everything possible to include him in their celebrations. He’d stubbornly resisted their efforts.

      Folding her hands in her lap, she studied the candlelight flickering over his rugged features. “Do you actually celebrate Christmas, or do you act like it’s any other day on the calendar?”

      “Apart from the commemoration of Christ’s birth, December 25 is like every other day of the year.” He sank against the chair, his fingers rubbing circles on the worn tabletop.

      Allison wanted to ask if his view of God had changed. While Shane had believed in Him as Creator, he hadn’t been able to accept His unconditional love. She struggled to find the right words, and the moment was lost.

      “The weeks leading up to it are not special, magical or even particularly pleasant,” he said.

      “The season is about family and friends, counting your blessings and loving your neighbors.”

      “Charity should be year-round,” he countered.

      “I agree. I serve on a church committee that provides for the poor throughout the year. I’ve witnessed how this season magnifies their lack, however. We have to be diligent to make Christmas extra special, especially for the children.”

      For a split second, his mouth softened and yearning surged in the azure depths. “Where were people like you when I was a boy?”

      Her breath hitched at the glimpse of unexpected vulnerability. He recovered himself all too quickly, face shuttering as he tossed his napkin atop his plate.

      “I’ll give you a tour of the town so you’ll be comfortable navigating it on your own.” Pushing to his feet, he stared down at her. “I can’t ignore my duties while we wait for George to arrive.”

      Pricked by his words, she arched a brow. “I don’t require constant supervision. I am capable of entertaining myself.”

      “But not cooking for yourself.”

      She stood and spread her arms wide. “So teach me.”

      His head jerked back. “You’re not serious.”

      “We don’t truly know how long my brother will be delayed,” she said, sweetly. “If the café’s food is as mediocre as you say it is, it would be to my benefit to learn the basics.”

      He put a hand out as if to ward her off. “Allison—”

      Pounding on the door startled her. Unruffled, Shane pivoted and strode to pull it open without bothering to inquire who was on the other side.

      “Ben.”

      Hovering in the doorway connecting the dining room to the living room, Allison studied the visitor. A couple of inches shorter than Shane, the attractive, auburn-haired man was broader in the chest and shoulders, his legs like tree trunks. His skin was tan and freckled from the sun, his eyes green like sea glass that sometimes washed up on Norfolk’s beaches.

      “Sorry to interrupt,” he said with a slight grimace. “I heard you had a lady friend in town.” His gaze sought out the room behind Shane, flaring when it encountered her. He nodded in greeting.

      Shane turned sideways. A draft of cold air traveled through the room, ruffling her skirts. “Ben MacGregor, meet Allison Ashworth.”

      Swiping his hat off and pressing it against his chest, he sketched a bow. “How do you do, ma’am?”

      “Fine, sir. And you?”

      “I’d say my day just got brighter now that you’re in it.” His grin was downright roguish.

      She laughed at his outrageousness.

      Shane’s upper lip curled. “Ben’s the resident flirt. He’s also my one and only deputy. Did you need something in particular?”

      The deputy didn’t bother denying Shane’s claim, she noticed. His eyes still twinkling, he addressed his boss. “Another fight’s broken out over on the Oakley spread. Figured you’d want to ride along with me.” He held a gun belt aloft.

      “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

      The 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.”

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