The Sheriff's Christmas Twins (16 page)

Vernon made a noise.

“How can you be sure?” Shane said, trying not to bring his fingers up to the tender flesh surrounding his eye. It felt swollen and bruised.

“The trespasser was short. About the same size as me.”

“Did you see his face?”

“No.”

“Anything else you remember?”

Billy thought a minute. “Only that his voice wasn't deep and booming like Mr. Buchanan's.”

Shane settled a hand on his shoulder. “You've been a big help, young man. Thank you.”

A blush stole over his skin, and he ducked his head.

“Why don't you go on back to the house while I speak to your pa.”

“Yes, sir.”

With one last look at Vernon, Billy hustled out of the structure. Breath-stealing air crept inside at his departure, finding its way beneath Shane's collar. The tips of his ears stung. His exposed neck prickled. All he wanted at this point was a warm fire, a hot meal and solitude. A respite from thoughts of Allison would be welcome, as well.

“You swung the first punch,” he told Vernon. “Assaulting a lawman is a serious offense. You're fortunate I'm not hauling you off to jail.”

He visibly swallowed. “It was an accident, Sheriff. Honest.”

“Next time, get the facts before tossing out accusations. Understand?”

Vernon looked as if he wanted to argue. In the end, he thought better of it. “Yeah. I understand.”

“I've reason to believe we have a drifter or two in the area. Could be your trespasser was searching for a place to pass the night. Maybe helped himself to some of your food stores.”

The farmer scowled. “I'll keep a lookout. Ain't no one gonna steal from Vernon Oakley and get away with it.”

Shane remembered what it meant to be so hungry he could barely think straight. A man like Vernon wouldn't understand. Or maybe he simply didn't want to. Banishing the troublesome memories, he headed for the door.

“Let me know if you have any more trouble.”

Outside in the tranquil night, he mounted his horse and, using the bright configuration of stars and half-moon above, searched the fields for signs of human activity. All he saw were the indistinct shapes of Vernon's cattle. Somewhere in the distant woods, a lone owl hooted.

Riding past the house, he spotted Billy on the porch, watching. Shane lifted a hand. Billy waved and slipped inside. Through the open door, he could see Billy's ma and young brothers gathering around him.

A sensation more painful than his sore eye invaded his chest. His hard-won acceptance of a solitary life was slipping away and the prospect of going home to an empty house made him want to weep.

God, are You listening? Do You care? Josh says You do. Your Scriptures say You do.

He left the homestead behind, and darkness closed in on him.

I believe in You, God, I just have a hard time accepting that You
love
me
.
I need to believe it. I can't abide this emptiness anymore.

The stillness of the mid-December night struck him as oppressive.

A verse he'd read recently in the book of John sprung to mind.
For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, and whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.

He pondered the verse the entire ride home. He had the cabin to himself tonight. Fenton had decided to bunk at his friend's house. Probably for the best. Shane would've been terrible company. Forgetting about his need for food, he settled at the table with his Bible—a long-ago and unused gift from David Ashworth—and opened the pages. As he read, he discovered that his friend had been right. If God loved the
whole
world, and Shane was part of it, who was he to think that he alone was beyond His reach?

Chapter Sixteen

A
llison's heart was a house divided—joy and hope coexisting with sorrow and disappointment. On the one hand, the prospect of becoming a mother made her giddy with excitement. The more she considered and prayed over the matter, the more convinced she was that God had brought her to Gatlinburg for this very reason. However, the bright future dangling in front of her was tempered with the knowledge that the man she loved saw her as an inconvenience. A threat, actually, to his well-laid plans.

In the picturesque, white clapboard church, female voices mingled with children's laughter and echoed off the stained-glass windows. She worked at one of several makeshift tables, grateful to be in the company of other women and to have something productive to occupy her time.

“Have you heard about Shane's mishap?”

Caroline had stationed herself across the table and was folding knitted scarves of various colors and sizes to be placed in the gift baskets.

Allison's hands stilled in the process of tying ribbons around sacks of candy. She felt the color drain from her face. “What happened?”

“He earned himself a beauty of a shiner.” Leaning over, she cupped the side of her mouth with one hand, her deep sea-colored eyes dancing with curiosity. “Shane Timmons is known for his vigilance. Something has him preoccupied.”

It was plain from Caroline's manner that she thought Allison was the reason for his preoccupation. “Is he all right otherwise?”

“My guess is his pride is smarting more than anything else.”

Relief unfurled in her midsection. She glanced over to the pew where the O'Malley cousins' mothers, Mary and Alice, sat entertaining Izzy and Charlie.

Her determination to maintain emotional detachment during this visit had turned into a spectacular failure. Circumstances and proximity had conspired to shatter her intentions. Allison must accept that her and Shane's paths were never going to coincide. She desired home and family. He wanted nothing to do with those things.

“Here's our chance to find out the details of what happened.” Caroline's too-loud whisper interrupted her musings.

She followed the blonde's line of sight to the rear alcove. Shane had entered a step ahead of his deputy. Both men wore dusters, neckerchiefs and buckskin gloves. Deadly-looking pistols glinted at their waists. They removed their hats at the same time. While Ben smiled and chatted with young women clustered nearby, Shane fluffed his blond-brown locks, his brooding gaze scanning the crowd.

Even from this distance, his injury was visible. His entire eye socket was ringed in ugly purple. Allison longed to soothe his discomfort, but it wasn't her place.

Turning away before he spotted her, she resumed her task. Caroline commented on her reaction, of course, and Allison recalled that she was in a small town where gossip ran rampant. If she ignored him or acted out of the ordinary, the women would wonder about the cause.

Still, that didn't mean she had to rush over and greet him with a fake smile. Five minutes passed before his heavy tread resounded down the aisle in her direction. Her stomach clenched.
Pretend you're back in the Norfolk offices
,
she told herself,
and you're faced with the unenviable task of firing someone.

Schooling her features, she lifted her head and met his gaze. Unasked questions turned his eyes a murky hue. Or maybe it was the dimming of the room as, outside, clouds passed over the sun. The stained-glass pieces lost their brilliance.

“Afternoon, Caroline.” He inclined his head. “Allison.”

“Good afternoon, Sheriff,” Caroline greeted with a catlike smile. “Are you and Ben here to take the first batch of deliveries?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

He glanced at the babies. “How did the twins fare last night?”

“Fine.” She forced her tone to remain light. Carefree. Let him think she was no longer affected by their heated exchange. “Thank you for asking.”

His mouth turned down. Up close, his cheekbone looked red and slightly swollen. His eye was bloodshot, and the crescent of skin beneath the lower lid was yellow. It was extremely difficult not to stare, not to give in to the instinct to caress the ravaged skin.

He's not yours to nurture
, she reminded herself.

His knuckles whitened about his hat's crown as the atmosphere between them grew thick.

Caroline intervened. “Would you mind taking Allison along with you? I'm sure she'd enjoy the experience.”

Allison wanted to kick the conniving blonde beneath the table.

After some hesitation, he nodded. “It's not very exciting.”

“I beg to differ, Sheriff. Our Virginia friend here is deeply involved in charitable work. I know she'll get a thrill seeing firsthand those families who benefit from our church members' generosity.”

“Sorry.” Allison shrugged. “I can't leave the twins.”

“Don't worry about them.” Caroline made a dismissive gesture and, coming around the table, physically manipulated Allison in Shane's direction. “They're in good hands with Mary and Alice.”

Ben walked up, taking a position beside his boss. “Hello, Caroline.”

“Ben.”

“Allison, how are you?” He raked her with his sparkling gaze. “Might I say that outfit is most becoming on you? Before now, I never realized that the combination of blue and silver could put a man in mind of merry holidays.”

The skin around Shane's eye began to twitch.

Caroline uttered a sound of disgust. “You need to lay off the honey, Deputy. There is such a thing as playing it up too sweet.”

Ben lifted his hands in an innocent gesture. “I'm completely sincere.”

Allison summoned a smile. “I appreciate the sentiment, Ben. Thank you.”

Shane spoke up. “Caroline, will you point us to the baskets ready to be distributed?”

“Certainly.”

While he and Ben loaded the baskets in the wagons outside, Allison spoke with Mary and Alice, who reassured her that they were happy to watch over Izzy and Charlie. Long before she was ready, Shane was handing her up into the wagon and settling onto the seat beside her. Since Ben was heading in the opposite direction, he strode to the other wagon.

Shane took the reins in hand. “Warm enough?”

“Yes, thanks.” Like before, he'd rustled up a quilt from the rear. This time, he left it to her to wrap it about herself. “How many homes will we be visiting?”

“Ten.”

Uncomfortable silence fell between them as he guided the team along the wooded lane leading away from town. She studied his profile. “Is it as painful as it looks?”

Beneath his brim, his expression remained unchanged. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to mention it. I won't lie. It smarts.”

“What happened exactly?”

“Remember the neighbors with the long-standing feud?”

“The Buchanans and the...”

“Oakleys. I was trying to sort through an argument and wound up standing in the wrong spot.”

Troubled, Allison observed the passing landscape. Caroline's words had taken root, but putting voice to those questions wasn't something she was willing to do. If she was the reason he'd lost control of the situation, she didn't want to know.

Shane guided the wagon onto a narrow, overgrown path. The terrain was uneven, the mountain face jutting sharply above them. Naked trees clung to the rocky soil. A bushy-tailed squirrel darted across the path, reaching safety with seconds to spare. When they approached the dilapidated homestead, a woman peeked out a dirty window.

Allison chose to remain in the wagon. Some of the more reclusive families were wary of strangers.

After a quick exchange with the woman of the house—there was no sign of her husband—Shane returned and maneuvered the wagon around.

“Mrs. McGuire was very appreciative. I could tell she was curious about you.” Shooting her a side glance, he said wryly, “Ben was right. You look like a Montgomery Ward catalog advertisement.”

She touched the matching royal blue bonnet trimmed in silver ribbon. “I wear this every year around the holidays. I'm not so vain as to insist on wearing an outfit only once. I get plenty of use out of my wardrobe.”

Spreading her hands on her lap, she studied the gloves she'd ordered on a whim. Crafted of heather-gray leather, they were overlaid with intricate black lace and adorned with a single silver button at her wrists. “I suppose these are a bit impractical.”

He arched a brow. “You suppose?”

Enjoying this return to lighthearted banter, she launched into accounts of her life in Norfolk. She told him about the friendships she'd forged at her church. He wasn't surprised to hear that she was part of a singing group, remarking that her singing could be heard up and down the halls of Ashworth House on a regular basis.

Shane was an attentive listener. The conversation turned to her profession, and she found herself pouring out her frustrations. He had such a calm approach that he balanced out her more passionate nature. Why couldn't he see how good they were together?

Before she could grow morose, Shane's posture changed, his fingers curling about the reins.

“What is it?”

He pointed to the house that was fourth on their list. “Fire.”

* * *

It was unfortunate that Allison had to see this aspect of his job. She was a strong woman, though, and he couldn't completely shield her from the harsh realities of life.

After a quick survey of the burned-out shell of what had once been a large, dogtrot-style cabin, he returned to the wagon. Allison had gotten out and was pacing along the length of it, her polished black boots flashing with each flare of her ruffled skirts.

“We have to return to town.”

She halted, her troubled gaze sliding to what was left of the structure. “Were there victims?”

“I didn't see any evidence of any.” That didn't mean he wouldn't.

The tension left her. “That's a relief. But where do you think the owners could be?”

“The man who lives here, Harold Douglas, is a widower in his late fifties. It's possible he's out of town.”

In the woods, birds called to one another, some singing cheery tunes that struck him as out of place on this dreary winter day.

“How long ago did this happen?” she said.

“Can't say for sure. The ashes are cold.” He'd found something strange in the barn. “There aren't any animals around.”

Rubbing her gloved hands together, she cupped them and blew. “Someone would've had to have released them.”

Gesturing to the wagon, he took hold of her elbow and assisted her up. “Could've been a neighbor, but it's unlikely that person wouldn't have ridden to town to alert us.”

He settled beside her and ordered the horses into motion.

“Wouldn't the smoke have been visible in town?”

“Depends on the wind patterns. Whether or not it happened at night. When it rains at this elevation, sometimes thick mist cloaks the peaks.”

“That's why they're called Smoky Mountains.”

“Another fact from your research?”

“Yes. What happens now?”

“I'll gather a group of men to help me dismantle the debris. First, I'll need to comb through it for clues.”

Her exclamation startled him. “Shane! Look!” Balancing herself against his shoulder, she leaned close. “There. In the trees. I saw something.”

Pulling hard on the reins, he brought the wagon to a rumbling halt. The horses bobbed their heads. “What is it?”

“I don't know. I saw movement. Someone was watching us.”

“Stay here.”

“Be careful.”

His pistol at the ready, he entered the winter-deadened forest, dry leaves crunching beneath his boots. He could be dealing with a curious trespasser or one with more sinister motives. At this point, there was no way to know if that fire had been an accident or set deliberately. Muscles bunched with tension, he kept his finger on the trigger as he repeatedly scanned his surroundings.

Somewhere off to his left, a twig snapped. He whirled. The sound of pattering feet met his ears, and he gave chase. The runner was quick. Agile. When he topped a rise, he caught a glimpse of his prey. Brown cap. Thin. Younger than he'd expected.

“Hey!” he yelled. “I just wanna talk.”

The young man didn't slow, didn't look back.

Many minutes passed before Shane admitted defeat, bracing his arm against a tree trunk and panting hard. After one last inspection of the woods, he retraced his steps, on the lookout for anything the trespasser might've dropped in his haste.

He reached the lane where Allison waited and, as always happened when he looked at her, his heart kicked against his ribs. The destruction of Harold Douglas's home wasn't his only dilemma. The widower's whereabouts and the identity of the trespasser were problems, sure, but ones he had a chance at solving. As for the feelings Allison evoked in him, he wasn't sure there was a solution.