The Sheriff's Christmas Twins (19 page)

Chapter Nineteen

F
unny how some wishes came true, only in a skewed way—not bad, necessarily, just different than one envisioned. As a girl, Allison had daydreamed about taking part in Christmas traditions with Shane. Caroling. Decorating cookies. Wrapping presents for the charity baskets.

Not once had she imagined a scene such as this one—a comfortable living room in a rented house with Shane instructing a mystery of a girl who it seemed had no one in the world to care for her. A girl whose haunted eyes and defiant attitude reminded Allison of the young boy her father had brought to live with them so many years ago.

Seated on the sofa stringing popcorn, Allison observed the pair from beneath lowered lashes. Matilda had started out with her. An attentive student, she'd followed Allison's instructions with surprising precision. But her focus had repeatedly slipped to the sheriff, who was tying strips of red, green and gold fabric to the branch tips. Matilda appeared to be simultaneously in awe of and intrigued by him. It hadn't taken much urging to get her to join him by the tree.

Allison was touched by his incredible patience with Matilda. Watching the tough, unflappable sheriff gently guide the wisp of a girl in a timeless tradition filled her with bittersweet longing.
You have the babies
, she scolded herself.
Isn't that enough? Must you want to add these two to your brood?

Ordering herself to be satisfied with what God had granted her, she began to hum a familiar carol.

“A shame the Wattses don't have a piano.” Shane smiled over at her.

She lowered the needle. “You never enjoyed my singing.”

“Wrong.” Tying the fabric into a bow on one of the high branches, he glanced over his uplifted arm. “I used to sit and listen to you for hours.”

Crouched on the opposite side of the tree, Matilda stopped what she was doing, her manner watchful.

“I would've remembered that.”

He planted his hands on his lean hips. “You wouldn't because I didn't allow you to see me.”

Shock shimmered through her. “I don't believe you.”

One dark brow arched, and his expression shouted a warning. “Why would I lie, Allison?”

She thought back to those afternoons in the music room where she'd practiced for hours on end. The idea that he'd witnessed every moment without her knowing made her angry. He'd led her to think he couldn't stand to breathe the same air as she. “Why would you spy on me?”

“I wasn't spying. Exactly.” Conflicted emotions passed over his face. “I—”

“Stop!” Rushing beside the coffee table, Matilda flung her arms out wide. “Don't argue!”

Shane's arms dropped to his sides, and he took a half step forward. “There's no cause to be upset, Matilda. We're not arguing.” His gaze punched Allison's. “We're...discussing the past.”

Setting the nearly completed string aside, Allison rose. “There is a difference, sweetheart. Shane and I are friends, which means we sometimes have issues to work through.”

Matilda shifted her weight from one foot to the other, obviously unsure if she should believe them.

“Remember I told you we've known each other a long time?” Shane said.

She nodded and slowly lowered her arms.

“We met when I was fourteen, and she was twelve.”

Her eyes got round. “
I'm
almost twelve.”

A lopsided smile curved his lips. “You see? Allie and I have known each other half our lives.”

She grazed Matilda's sleeve with her fingers. “When you care about someone, you do everything possible to avoid hurting them.”

Bowing her head, the girl fiddled with the locket around her neck. Fine strands of honey-hued hair whispered across her cheek.

Shane crouched in front of her. “How long ago did your pa die?”

“Sixty-two days. I've kept count in a ledger I found.”

Allison's heart twisted with sympathy.

“And afterward, did you stay with your uncle?”

Matilda nodded.

He cleared his throat. “Did he hurt you?”

“He threatened to.” Her small hands twisted in her skirt. “Mostly he yelled and threw things. He didn't ask to be saddled with his brother's kid, he said.”

A vein in Shane's temple throbbed.

“I was happy when he left and didn't come back.”

Shane exchanged a glance with Allison.

“When was that?” he said.

“About a month ago. He said he was ridin' over to Cades Cove to see to a business matter.”

“How did the fire start, Matilda?”

“I didn't set it,” she exclaimed, wrapping her thin arms about her middle. “Honest!”

“I wasn't implying you did. I'd just like to know what happened.”

Allison listened as she haltingly recounted the events. It had been early, shortly after dawn, and she'd been in the barn milking cows, trying to carry on as if her uncle had never left. If he returned and found that she'd shirked her duties, he'd yell again and possibly make good his threats to punish her. When a stray dog happened by, she'd followed him into the fields and spent a good while making friends with him. By the time she returned, the cabin had been engulfed in flames. Frightened, she'd bolted into the woods.

Remembered terror turned her eyes dark. “I didn't know what to do.”

Shane looked grim. “There was nothing you could do.”

Allison could well imagine the girl's distress. After losing her father, her one trusted caregiver, she'd been in an unfamiliar town with a man who hadn't made her feel safe. Then to be left alone and homeless in the world...no wonder she hadn't approached any of the locals for help. She couldn't have known if she'd wind up in a worse situation than before.

“You like animals, huh?” Shane said, stroking the bristles along his jaw in a contemplative gesture.

Matilda didn't blink at the change in subject. “Cats are my favorite. I like dogs, too. And foxes.”

“Do you like cows?”

She shrugged. “I like 'em more than chickens.”

Hiding a smile, Allison wondered at the reason for his questions.

“They're much better than chickens,” he agreed. “Did you make friends with any of the cows on the farms close to town?”

Understanding lit in her gaze. “You wanna know if it was me that boy saw that night, don't ya?”

“His name is Billy Oakley, and I think his pa, Vernon, would rest easier if he knew who'd been on his property.”

She stared at the floor. “Will I get in trouble?”

“No, Matilda.” His gaze locked with Allison's. “Allie and I want to help you.”

“I was just passin' through. I didn't see any harm in pettin' them.” Her features were strained. “Are you takin' me back to jail?”

“No. You're not going there again.” He awkwardly patted her hand. “Unless it's to visit me, of course.”

“Where will I go?” Her voice quivered.

Shane's gaze centered on Allison again and, at his unspoken question, she nodded.

“For tonight, you'll stay here with Miss Allison. We've got time to figure out what happens after that.”

“Uncle Harold will thrash me if he comes back and sees his cabin's gone.”

“Try not to worry, sweetheart,” Allison said. “Shane and I will make sure you're safe. For now, we have a tree to finish decorating. The twins won't sleep for much longer. What do you say?”

The girl looked at both adults. “Okay.”

They resumed their task. Allison attempted to lighten the mood by regaling Matilda with tales of her childhood escapades. Shane remained quiet. When they were satisfied every visible branch was properly adorned, he instructed the girl to remain in the living room and led Allison into the kitchen.

“What's on your mind, Sheriff?”

“Thanks for letting her stay.”

He stood so close. Did he realize he was breaching her space?

“Of course. She's a sweet girl. I hate that she's had to endure such trials.”

“I'm going to send out a search party. We need to locate Harold as quickly as possible.”

“You're not going to make her go back to that monster, are you?”

“He's her guardian, Allie.”

“A rotten one. It's your job to protect the innocent, remember?” Glaring, she tapped his badge.

His fingers closed over hers, warm and work-roughened, and despite her anger, she reacted to his touch as usual.

“I don't want her with him any more than you do.”

“Then why would you let him have her?”

“I didn't say I was.” His thumb grazed her knuckles. “Let's focus on locating him first. Then I'll work on finding Matilda a more suitable living situation.”

Allison tugged on her hand. Shane let go and sunk his hands in his pockets.

“A word of advice. Don't go entertaining wild ideas.”

She bristled. “What are you talking about?”

“I know how you think. I'd guess you're already furnishing a bedroom for her in your future home.”

He was wrong. “
If
that were true, why would you care?”

“Taking on six-month-old twins by yourself is one thing. Add a confused, hurting girl like Matilda, and you'd be in over your head.”

“Your confidence is reassuring,” she sniped, stung by his utter lack of faith in her decision-making skills and potential as a mother. She wasn't rash. She'd just met the girl.

“Sometimes, Allie, I want to...” Huffing out his exasperation, he thrust his fingers in his hair.

Jamming her fists into her hips, she jerked up her chin. “Spit it out, Sheriff. You want to what?”

Shane erased the distance between them. Her heart stuttered. One of his hands found a home in the curve of her neck, fingers splayed wide, thumb pressing her jaw upward. The other settled heavily on her shoulder. His heat registered through her blouse.

His dear face was inches from hers, his eyes a blazing inferno, his uneven breathing loud in the room.

“You should think about what you're doing, Shane Timmons.”

Allison wanted his kiss with a physical ache, but she'd tasted its destruction once already and wasn't prepared to do so again.

He didn't respond. Didn't move. He appeared locked in an internal war.

She reached up and covered his hand with her own. Her lids slid shut. Drawing on the pain of past rejection, she curled her fingers beneath his and tugged them down.

“
This
isn't what you truly want.” The words scraped at her throat like razor blades.

Allison opened her eyes in time to see him bow his head in defeat. Moving away before her willpower crumbled and she threw herself into his arms, she was at the dining room entrance when his gruff voice stopped her.

“I'm staying here tonight.”

She whirled. It hurt to look at him. “What? No.”

His jaw worked. “Fenton can sleep in one of the spare rooms upstairs. I'll sleep on the couch.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I remember what it feels like to be alone, scared and at the mercy of others. I don't trust her not to run.”

* * *

Sleep refused to come. His body begged for rest, but his mind wouldn't succumb. The fact that his legs were about six inches too long for the sofa didn't help matters. Instead of lying on his back as he was accustomed, he had to lie on his side, his legs curled into the cushions. Add to that the knowledge that Allison was at the top of the stairs, and he didn't stand a chance.

What had he been thinking? He couldn't explain what had overcome him, couldn't fathom what it was that always flared between them like a lit match to a pile of hay. One minute he'd been worried for her, concerned her big, malleable heart was leading her into trouble, and the next his mind had been empty save for the need to hold her.

He couldn't wait for George to arrive. George would bring with him distraction and a hefty dose of common sense. No way would Shane be tempted to act like a sixteen-year-old boy with Allison's older brother around. Of course, his presence meant the end of their relative privacy. Her company was going to be in high demand, what with her sister-in-law and niece and nephews added to an already full house.

Above him, a floorboard creaked. Faint whimpering followed. Shane pushed the quilt aside and sat up. He couldn't distinguish which room the sound was coming from. A doorknob clicked. The mournful sobs grew more distinct.
Charlie.
He'd gotten fussy after supper. Allison's soft shushing and murmurs reached him as she padded up and down the long upstairs hallway.

Without giving his decision too much thought, he snapped his suspenders into place and climbed the stairs. The treads beneath his stocking feet were cold. He gripped the smooth banister near the top and stepped into the darkness.

“Allie?”

Her stride faltered. “I thought you'd be snoring by now,” she whispered.

“Unfortunately, no. What's the matter?”

“He feels warm to the touch. I think he's cutting a tooth.”

The prospect of a fever sent rivulets of apprehension through him. “I'll fetch a lamp.”

He went to the kitchen and lit one. By the time he returned, she'd resumed her circuitous trek, the baby snuggled to her chest. Her hair formed a straight curtain of pale gold down to the middle of her back. She'd donned a Christmas-red housecoat, complete with white ruffles at the collar, wrists and hem. She looked like a Christmas package.

His attention transferred to the baby. Until this moment, he hadn't taken note of how the twins' hair color matched hers. No one would think to question their parentage. They'd assume they were her natural children.

“Fevers are dangerous,” he said, setting the lamp beside the wall. “Should I fetch the doc?”

The flickering light reflected in her large green eyes. “George's kids developed slight fevers when they were teething. It's nothing to be too concerned over.”