The Sheriff's Christmas Twins (23 page)

Ben bent closer, mischief stamping his features. “Did you happen to notice where we're standing, Miss Allison?”

Her heart skipped a beat. The mistletoe. It had been up there for so long she'd forgotten about it. “Uh, I don't believe anyone expects us to observe tradition.”

“What's the fun in that?” he exclaimed softly. “Besides, I can't ignore the chance to make the good sheriff squirm.”

“Look!” a youthful voice rang out. “They're underneath the mistletoe.”

“Don't just stand there, MacGregor. Kiss the woman!”

Male laughter assaulted her ears. Hot color flooded her cheeks. Ben kissing her in front of Shane was the worst of nightmares come true.

Well and truly caught, Allison froze as Ben lowered his head.

Chapter Twenty-Three

W
hite-hot jealousy seared him. His vision clouded as his deputy took hold of Allison's hand and bent to kiss her.

I can't watch this.

Not caring who saw him leave or what significance they attached to it, he spun and pushed outside. Descending the steps, he strode for his horse waiting with others beneath a copse of trees farther down the lane.

“Shane.”

“I've decided not to stay, George,” he tossed over his shoulder, not slowing his pace.

The hasty footsteps behind him didn't falter. When he reached his mount, he pivoted. Dark shadows obscured his friend's features.

“That must've been the shortest attendance on record. Didn't take you long to decide you weren't having fun.”

“Figured out I wasn't in the mood to socialize.”

All he could picture was Ben's satisfied grin seconds before he swooped toward Allison. His gut churned with the need to march back inside and rip them apart.

George stroked the horse between his ears. “He didn't kiss her. Not a real kiss, anyway. It was more like a brotherly peck on the cheek.”

Brotherly? Not likely.

Shane wished he could make out the other man's expression. It didn't signify, he supposed. George wasn't stupid. Even if he hadn't discovered them on the stoop, he knew his sister better than anyone.

“Allison's free to do as she pleases.” Just not in front of him. It hurt too much.

“She's in love with you, you know.”

Shane's heart squeezed into a painful mass. Scraping a weary hand over his jaw, he shook his head. “You're wrong.”

“Then tell me why she lost her joy once you left town. Tell me why she's turned down suitor after suitor—good men who would've treasured her. Tell me why she was crushed each time I got a letter from you, and you didn't have a word to spare for her. Did you know that sometimes I find her revisiting your favorite spots in the house? The look on her face...” He trailed off.

“No. It can't be true.” Shane took a few halting paces away. He could hardly breathe for all the waves of emotion pummeling him.

“Why not?” he said patiently. “You were able to accept that God, who knows you better than you know yourself, loves you. Why is it so impossible to believe my sister would?”

Whirling back, he sliced the air with his hand. “I don't deserve her! I wouldn't know the first thing about making her happy. I'd wind up disappointing her, and that would destroy the both of us.” He slapped his fist into his opposite palm. “You should've warned her. Should've insisted she accept another man's suit years ago.”

“You think I could simply
command
her to stop caring about you?” he said, incredulous. “Love isn't something you control.”

Oh, he didn't have to be told that. His love for Allison was so much a part of him there'd be no rooting it out. He wasn't sure where he ended and it began. Perhaps that's why it had taken him so long to recognize his feelings for what they were.

“I've been married a long while,” he continued. “It's not about making the other person happy. It's about putting their needs above your own. It's a partnership. I love my wife in a romantic sense, but she's also my best friend. There's no one else I'd rather have at my side through good times and in bad.”

What his friend described sounded perfect and exactly what he wished he could have with Allie.

Shane thrust his foot in the stirrup and, grabbing hold of the saddle horn, hauled himself up. “I need time.”

George moved out of the way. “Think about what I said.”

With a wave, he left the yard and entered the deserted lane. His thoughts a chaotic mess, he took his time getting home. The quiet cabin that had been his refuge until she arrived now struck him as forlorn. Desolate. Pitiful.

He could easily picture Allie in the cushioned chair, the babies in her lap. And Matilda sitting on the rug at her feet, playing with a doll.

Calling himself a fool for allowing such thoughts to taunt him, he removed his duster, suit coat and vest and went to the kitchen to fix himself coffee. He preferred peace and quiet, he reminded himself. He had enough trouble at work. What did he want with soiled nappies and milk bottles and drooling, teething babies, not to mention an eleven-year-old girl who'd soon be interested in boys?

Settling into the chair, he chose the periodical on top of the stack and tried to lose himself in his reading. An hour passed and he hadn't progressed beyond the first article. He was riffling listlessly through the pages when a rap on the door startled him. Fishing out his pocket watch, he frowned at the clock face. Visitors at this time of night meant there was trouble somewhere.

Please let it be anyone except Ben.
Shane was pretty sure he wouldn't manage to be civil.

Tugging the door open as he was snapping his suspenders in place, he couldn't mask his surprise. “Allie. What are you doing here?”

“I came to see if you were all right.”

Resplendent in a white-trimmed cranberry cloak that swirled around her fitted dress of the same hue, she was too beautiful for words. Her deep green eyes and ruby-red lips complemented her milky skin. Her blond hair was parted along one side and pulled into a thick, shining twist. George's words pounded inside his head.
She loves you.

Shane searched her countenance, peered into her eyes for proof. How was he supposed to believe she loved him if she didn't tell him herself?

What good would come of it, anyway?

She took in his informal attire and stocking feet. “I know it's late. I would've come earlier but I had to wait until the guests left and Izzy and Charlie were asleep.” A tentative smile graced her mouth. “They won't allow anyone else besides me to put them in bed now.”

He glanced past her to the lone horse. “You shouldn't be out alone at night.”

“George accompanied me as far as Main Street. He's waiting for me at the jail.”

“With Ben?”

Her features tensed. “Are you going to invite me in, Shane?”

Gesturing for her to enter, he leaned against the closed door as she stopped in the middle of the room and completed a slow circle. This wasn't the first time she'd been here, but a lot had happened since that initial visit. The lateness of the hour created a sense of seclusion, as if the entire town slumbered and only he and Allison were awake.

“Why did you really come, Allie? Your brother could've told you I simply decided not to stick around.”

Lowering her hood, she tugged off her gloves and stuffed them into her cloak pocket. “I know the reason you didn't stay. I wanted to be certain you weren't planning to punish Ben in some awful way.”

The sight of them together flashed in his mind, and the ire he hadn't managed to fully quell built to a new high. Deliberately shoving his hands deep in his pockets, he prowled to where she was standing. She lifted her chin, fully meeting his gaze.

“You're worried about my deputy, are you?” His voice was deceptively soft.

“We
were
standing beneath the mistletoe,” she pointed out. Her nonchalant manner grated.

“He didn't have to enjoy himself quite so much,” he gritted, aware such sentiment was more suited to an adolescent than a full-grown man.

She lifted a single eyebrow. “He was trying to get a rise out of you. Looks like he succeeded.”

“Like I told your brother, you're free to kiss anyone you please.”

“You don't mean that.”

Shane's pulse skittered, sped up. “In fact, I do.”

“Be honest, Shane. You left because you wanted to be the one beneath that mistletoe with me.”

She was right and wrong. He did want to be there with her...just not with an audience. The fact that they were completely alone right now, with no chance of interruption by Fenton or an inquisitive young girl, tested Shane's determination to avoid hurting her further. All he had to do was lower his head a couple of inches...

The blood rushed in his ears. Surely she could hear his heart whacking against his chest cavity. He slipped his hands free of his pockets. So close.

She licked her lips, lending them a high shine. He swallowed a groan.

Remember what's best for her, Timmons. Can you afford to throw common sense out the window?

Shane gathered the willpower slipping away and, turning his back to her, stalked to the door.

“Go home, Allie.” He jerked the door open and, not looking at her, sucked in the biting air. “George has two days left. Go Christmas shopping. Wrap presents and drink hot cocoa. Forget about the upheaval of the past few weeks, if only for a little while.”

She didn't move at first. Just when his self-control was starting to splinter into tiny pieces, she barreled past him into the moonlit night. Once in the saddle, her face hidden by the cloak's hood, she said, “You're welcome to see George off on Monday, but I'd appreciate it if you'd keep your visits to the Wattses' at a minimum. Official business only.”

Shane stepped off the stoop. “Allie—”

Her horse leaped into motion, leaving him alone with a heap of regrets and low-burning resentment for the parents who'd bequeathed him this legacy.

* * *

“Have a safe trip.” Allison hugged him even more tightly than she had one week ago.

“Keep us informed of your plans,” George said against the scarf wound about her neck. “Clarissa and I will be praying morning, noon and night.”

Releasing him, she smiled at the phrase her father had often said.

His brows pulled together. “Have you found alternate lodging in case your stay extends past the new year?”

She prayed that wouldn't happen. “One option is to stay with Megan and Lucian Beaumont. Or rent a place in town.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she noted the tall, commanding figure striding their way. Clutching her brother's arm, she pecked his cheek and lifted her skirts. “I'll see you soon. Give Clarissa and the kids a kiss for me!”

Acknowledging his slightly baffled farewell with an uplifted hand, she made her way to the crowded boardwalk and hurried in the opposite direction. She hadn't seen Shane in two days and wasn't prepared to see him now. Allison had come to the painful conclusion that there was no use spending time together because, sooner or later, their brief moments of harmony always ended. Being at odds with him made her miserable. More miserable than being near him, wanting him and knowing he would never be hers.

Nearing the post office, she noticed an unfamiliar man staring at her with peculiar intensity. She glanced away. When she looked that way again, he was gone.

Continuing on to the Wattses' homestead, the exercise helping to dispel her edginess, she let her mind drift to Norfolk and potential neighborhoods she should consider. Shane would not be pleased to know she was imagining a bedroom for Matilda done up in the little girl's favorite colors—yellow and white. With occasional rocks crunching beneath her boot soles, she jerked her chin up even though he wasn't around to see.

“It's my life,” she announced to the vacant lane. Throwing out her arms, she startled a pair of pretty deep-blue and brown birds. “He has no say in what I do.”

The instant the words left her mouth, she experienced misgivings. In the twins' case, that was so, she supposed. But Shane was in charge of finding Matilda a permanent home. She had huge doubts he'd agree to let her take Matilda in. He'd assume she couldn't provide enough love and attention for a third child. Well, he was wrong. Just like he was wrong about his potential as a spouse and father.

Allison didn't hear the stranger's approach. One minute she was walking along, lost in thought, and the next he loomed large in her path.

She stopped short, a cry slipping through her parted lips. “Who are you?”

It was the middle of the day. Surely he didn't have evil intentions...but they were alone here, nothing but trees and wildlife around for miles.

Beneath his battered hat, his hazel eyes burned with anger and some other emotion she couldn't pinpoint. “The father of the babies you stole.”

Her stomach dropped to her toes. “Clyde Whitaker?”

He was young. She should've expected it, knowing Letty's age, but he was fresh-faced, clean-shaven and handsome in a mountain-man sort of way. Far different from his unkempt father.

“I've been watching you. Waiting for a chance to get you alone.”

Unease lodged in her chest. “That was you at the post office.”

“I wanna see my kids,” he scraped out. Feet planted wide, he towered over her.

Nodding, she managed, “Of course. Come to the house anytime.” Scooting to the right, she made to walk past him. “They're likely napping, but you could wait with Fenton—”

He seized her arm. “I want to see them without any nosy onlookers, understand?”

Annoyance sparked inside. “That may be difficult, considering Fenton is their great-grandfather and he's practically raised them.”

Clyde scowled and lifted his fingers from her flesh. “Meet me at the old Lowell gristmill tomorrow afternoon. It's not far from the Wattses' place. A mile at most.” He gave her the directions. “Three o'clock.”

“Why would I do that?”

Anguish surged in his gaze. For a moment, his hard attitude slipped, and she glimpsed a vulnerable young man wrestling with grief. Then he clenched his fists. “Because, Miss Ashworth, in the eyes of the law, those are my kids. Not yours.”

She stiffened. His implication was clear. “Can you give them the life they deserve? One that Letty would approve of?”

His mouth tightened. “If you don't let me see them—alone—you won't be leaving Tennessee with them. Not without a fight. Is that what you want for them?”

“No,” she whispered.