Karen Kirst - The Sheriff's Christmas Twins

Ben’s eyes widened a fraction. “That’s not going to happen.”

“See that it doesn’t.”

Pivoting on his heel, Shane stormed out with no idea where he was headed.

* * *

The tantalizing scents of sizzling bacon and rich-bodied coffee woke her. Snuggling deeper into the cocoon of quilts, it took several moments for Allison to remember that she was not at Ashworth House. She shot up in bed.

Pushing the tangled mass out of her eyes, she blinked at the framed needlework on the opposite wall and the mountain view through the nearest window. She inhaled again, and her stomach rumbled in anticipation. Leaping out of bed and wincing at the cold shock to her stocking feet, she hurried to the wardrobe.

Shane must’ve paid someone to cook meals for her. He’d seemed reluctant to share a meal with her yesterday. No way would he commit to cooking for her the duration of her visit. Although a thoughtful gesture, it would’ve been nice if he’d alerted her to his plans.

She chose one of her favorite dresses, a soft but sturdy material of rich cream dotted with orange and green flowers and trimmed in green ribbon. The dress put her in mind of her beloved estate gardens in springtime. Once dressed, she brushed her hair until it shone and arranged it in a twist.

Descending the stairs, Allison noticed a sorrel horse hitched to the post out front. She entered the kitchen and the polite greeting died on her lips.

“What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

She crossed her arms, irrationally annoyed with him. “You of all people should know it’s a bad idea to let yourself into someone else’s house while they’re sleeping.”

Shane scooped a pile of fluffy eggs onto a plate, along with biscuits and a thick, white sauce. “Most intruders don’t cook you breakfast.” He held the plate out. “Have a seat. There’s milk on the table. If you’d prefer coffee, the kettle’s there.”

Allison accepted the plate. The food smelled amazing, especially after the modest, cold supper of cheese and bread she’d had last evening. “What is the white stuff? Are those lumps in there?”

“You’ve never had sausage gravy?”

“I’ve had brown gravy.”

“Biscuits and gravy is a common breakfast food here. Try it and see if you like it.”

She carried her plate to the dining room. He joined her in a few moments with his own breakfast and, assuming the same chair he’d occupied the day before, picked up his fork and spiked a clump of eggs.

“Shouldn’t we say grace?”

He looked startled. “You’re right. I forgot. Would you mind?”

Allison nodded, unsure if he was too shy to pray aloud or if his reluctance stemmed from a lack of confidence in God’s love. Lord, please give me the courage to broach the subject. Give me the right words.

Catching her off guard, Shane settled his fingers over hers atop the tablecloth. Her focus shattered. The heat from his hand seeped into hers. His skin was rougher than hers, his bones denser, his hold firm and sure. Allison curved her fingers inward, capturing his, returning the pressure. His breath hitched. Her own heart tumbled in her chest. This wasn’t the first time they’d held hands.

That other time he’d been guiding her through the woods to safety and, although he’d scolded her for wandering off alone the entire trek home, he’d allowed her to cling to his hand, a lifeline in a dark and stormy night.

The rare moments of physical contact stood out in her mind because Shane either hadn’t liked the connection or hadn’t known how to handle it. Their chief cook, a boisterous, vivacious woman who’d been liberal with her affection, had hugged him just like she did everyone else. Instead of returning the embrace, he’d stood rock still, his arms imprisoned at his sides, looking as if he was being prodded with a hot poker. When her father had occasionally given Shane a hearty pat on the back or slung an arm about his shoulder, he’d stiffened. Allison’s heart had broken each time she witnessed his reaction.

Since he refused to open up about his childhood, she was left to imagine the terrible things he must’ve endured.

Her prayer was brief. He tugged free of her and turned his full attention to his meal. Tension prickled between them. Allison ate without speaking, her thoughts racing. He had yet to show her where he worked and lived. Did he eat alone most of the time? The thought made her sad. And unexpectedly annoyed. If only he wasn’t so stubborn, so determined to remain aloof and unaffected by the people in his life.

“How do you like the gravy?” His soft query brought her attention to his implacable blue gaze.

“It’s delicious.” The biscuits were large and doughy and not beneficial to her waistline. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”

“In Kansas. I didn’t have a lot of extra money to spend in restaurants, and I got tired of corn mush and beans real quick. The sheriff I was working for was a widower, and he’d invite me over sometimes. I commented once how I’d wished I’d learned, and the cooking lessons commenced.”

“I wish I could’ve seen that.” She smiled at the mental image of a pair of tough lawmen puttering around a kitchen.

“I’m sure you do.” One corner of his mouth tipped up. It wasn’t a full-fledged smile, but it was still able to make her spirits soar.

“You could pass on a few of those lessons, you know.”

“Sorry. I’m not much of a teacher.”

“Like you’re not much of a writer?”

Over the rim of his coffee cup, he blinked at her. When he lowered it, a wrinkle tugged his brows together and the grim set of his lips returned.

“How did you fare during the night?”

Allison allowed the change in subject. She truly didn’t want to travel down this road because, first, he likely wasn’t going to admit his reasons for disliking her, and second, she didn’t want to be the one to put that frown on his face. She wanted to make him smile and laugh. She wanted to bring him joy.

You didn’t manage that before, a voice reminded her. Nothing has changed except for the fact he’s had more practice retreating into his protective shell.

“Not terrible. There were creaks and groans that prevented me from falling asleep right away. It will take some time to get used to being alone in a big house.”

“Your brother will be here before too long.”

Allison didn’t tell him about the idea she’d been pondering for months. While George and Clarissa were happy with the current arrangement, she’d been thinking more and more about setting up her own household, a smaller house with fewer staff in a good section of the city. Of course, that had been before she’d decided to give Trevor a fair shot at winning her heart, a decision goaded by Shane’s presence and the hurtful memories he revived.

He downed the last of his coffee and stood. “Are you interested in a trip to town?”

“Certainly. What did you have in mind?”

“I was thinking I’d introduce you to the woman I told you about... Caroline Turner. The two of you can discuss holiday stuff while I see to business.”

He was pawning her off on a stranger. Allison tried not to let her disappointment show. “What kind of business?”

Striding into the kitchen, he spoke over his shoulder. “Work-related.”

She swallowed the last bite and, gazing longingly at the dish of remaining biscuits, turned away and joined him by the dry sink. “Do you have to resolve another argument among neighbors?”

He took her plate and submerged it in a basin of soapy water. “No. Why?”

“My world is almost completely made up of ledgers and employee disputes and company policy. It’s predictable and mundane. I’d like to see what a typical day for a sheriff is like.”