The Sheriff's Christmas Twins. Karen Kirst
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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.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jenkins.” His hand still in her grasp, she patted it and leaned forward. “You wouldn’t mind keeping this between us, would you? I’ve never been in a jail before, you see, and I wanted to gain a better understanding of Shane’s job.”
Claude nodded with enthusiasm. “Oh, I understand, Miss Ashworth. I’m aware of how sensitive to gossip our sheriff is.”
Beaming, she glanced at Shane, her expression one of satisfaction. He shook his head. The woman couldn’t do anything the usual way, could she? He hoped Trevor Langston knew what he was getting himself into.
“Is there anything pressing you need help with, Claude?” he said.
“No, nothing important enough to take you away from this delightful young lady.” Releasing her hand with obvious reluctance, the banker grasped the door handle. “Will I see you at the church’s nativity celebration on Friday evening, Miss Ashworth?”
“That’s a question better directed to Shane.”
Claude pinned him with a suddenly steely gaze. “You are planning on escorting her, I hope.”
Shane hid a grimace. He made a point of avoiding these types of events. Singing about Christ’s miraculous birth while confronted with the nativity magnified the hollowness inside him. All those church services he’d attended with the Ashworths, the sermons about eternal destination—what would he choose, heaven or hell?—would march through his mind, making peace impossible.
“If Allison wishes to attend, I’ll make sure she’s there.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear.”
When he’d left, Allison turned to him with clasped hands. “What’s the next stop on the grand tour? Your house?”
Allison was determined not to let Shane see her nervousness. This wasn’t a romantic outing. He didn’t wish for her company. He’d practically been ordered to escort her.
Descending the stairs, she gave her cranberry velvet skirts a little shake to adjust the stiff crinoline beneath. The bodice was constrictive, the long sleeves snug at the wrists, but the dress was one of her favorites. Shane turned from the mantel, his luminous gaze widening as he took in her appearance.
She ran her hand along the neat French braid trailing the middle of her back. “What? Is this not appropriate? Should I change?”
“No.” Stroking his whiskered jaw, he said, “You look... Christmassy.”
“Christmassy?” Like an ornament on a tree?
“Nice.” He cleared his throat. “You look nice.”
He turned his head away, giving her a chance to admire his dark suit. The midnight black hue made him seem more imposing than usual, but it also gave him a touch of city polish. His hair was neatly combed with a few stubborn locks falling over his forehead.
She moved closer to the fireplace, where the logs smoldered. “You don’t look like a sheriff tonight.”
His lips curved into a smile, an actual smile, and Allison felt as if the floor beneath her feet trembled. His austere features assumed a masculine beauty that had her inching forward and desperately wanting to trace his lips with her fingertips.
Thankfully, his deep voice shattered the strange compulsion. “You’re awfully preoccupied with my profession. Norfolk has an impressive police force.”
She made a dismissive gesture. “It’s not the same. I know Tennessee isn’t exactly the untamed West, but neither is it a sprawling metropolis. There are books written about men like you.”
He snorted. “My life is not a grand adventure.”
“You don’t see it that way because, in your mind, you’re simply doing your duty. To the people you help, you are that larger-than-life hero in the pages of a book.”
“I suppose we’ll have to agree to disagree.” Running a finger beneath his collar, he tilted his head to the clock. “We’d better get going if you want to get there before the candle lighting begins.”
As he locked the door and led her into the nippy winter evening, she soaked in the vast expanse of twinkling stars. Twin lanterns hooked to either side of the wagon emitted a soft glow. “I’m sorry you were roped into taking me tonight. I know you’d rather be doing something else.”
“A few hours of Christmas carols won’t kill me,” he drawled, assisting