The Sheriff's Christmas Twins. Karen Kirst

it about her legs and lap. His face was near enough for her to feel the brush of his cool, minty breath across her cheek.

      “Thank you, Shane,” she whispered, touched by his thoughtfulness.

      The seat bounced a little when he lowered his large frame onto it. Seated this close beside him, she was aware of their variances in size and the fact he made her feel feminine and almost delicate.

      With a nod, he issued quiet instructions to the horses. The wheels rolled over the rutted track. It was impossible not to bump into him. He shrugged off her apology. Allison glanced at his implacable profile, wishing he’d wrap his arm around her to hold her steady. Then she could snuggle into his side. But that would mean prolonged personal contact, which he didn’t do. It would also indicate he felt at ease with her, that he felt affection for her, neither of which were true.

      Focusing her attention on their passing surroundings—the forest on either side of the lane cloaked in mysterious shadows—she thought about her visit to his modest cabin. The one-room structure was so far removed from Ashworth House as to be laughable. Still, he took pride in his ownership. The wooden logs and chinking were in excellent condition, the puncheon floors and window glass clean of debris. What little furniture he had was of good quality. And while the single bed shoved against the wall and adorned with naught but a plain woolen blanket was a little desolate in her estimation, his home wasn’t without personality.

      Stacks of law journals and various periodicals had been visible on the small table beside the russet-colored cushioned chair. On a shelf near the fireplace, he’d stored a collection of games—dominoes, tabletop ninepins, chess. Years ago, during the afternoon hours after school, he and George could often be found in the estate’s library playing checkers or some other board game. If the weather was nice, they’d engage in a game of kickball or football outdoors. Shane had possessed more aggression than actual skill in those physical games. Sometimes she would hide in the rose arbor and observe them, in awe of the almost frenzied energy coming off him.

      “Do you still play football?”

      He glanced over at her. “Mostly on holidays or special days when folks take a break from their usual chores.”

      “Who do you spend holidays with?”

      “The O’Malleys.”

      Her curiosity about his relationship with them grew. “You’re close to them, aren’t you?”

      “They’re the closest thing to family I’ve got.”

      She stiffened. Her hands braced on either side of her legs, she gripped the wood to avoid bumping into him again as the conveyance traveled around a bend and left the woods behind.

      He heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that you and your family aren’t important to me.”

      Allison was grateful for the darkness. “There’s no reason to deny the truth.” Could he detect the tiny wobble in her voice? “Your life is here. Has been for a long time.”

      “Your father changed the course of my life. Without him, I’d be in jail or worse.”

      “He loved you as if you were his own son.”

      The silent accusation hung between them. Her father had given Shane a job and welcomed him into their home, but she’d seen no sign that the friendless, adrift young man ever fully lowered his guard with any of them.

      He kneaded his nape for long moments. “He was the best of men.”

      Emotion welled up inside. Some days the grief lay dormant, like a hibernating bear, and others it roared to life, reminding her of everything her father was missing. He would’ve liked to have seen how well his business was flourishing under George’s leadership. He would’ve cherished being a grandfather.

      “He would be proud of you, Shane.”

      The faint lamplight allowed her to see his initial surprise and disbelief. Sorrow, and something akin to regret, surged in his blue eyes.

      “I’d give anything to be able to talk to him again.” Where his hands rested atop his thighs, his gloves stretched tight across his knuckles. “I don’t remember thanking him.”

      Stunned by the raw admission, Allison reached over and squeezed his forearm. “My father was a wise man. He saw more than you realize.”

      Shane’s gaze returned to the lane. When he didn’t acknowledge her gesture in any way, she removed her hand.

      He nodded to the cluster of buildings comprising Main Street. “Almost there.”

      Lamps shone in several of the windows. The white clapboard church was situated at one end of town. A golden glow lit up the night around it, allowing her a glimpse of the grand steeple soaring into the sky. Shane guided their wagon to the edge of the congested churchyard.

      Their arrival didn’t go unnoticed. A cluster of young men strolling past called out as Shane was helping her to the ground.

      “Hey, Sheriff. Evening, paint lady.”

      Allison stumbled. Shane’s hands curved around her waist, preventing her from plowing into him. Bracing herself against his sturdy shoulders, she gaped at the retreating group.

      “Did I hear that right?”

      “Um, it appears you’ve earned yourself a nickname.”

      She lifted her face to gaze up at him. He bit his lip to stop a smile.

      “Paint lady?”

      His heat radiated outward from where he still held her. It would be so easy to slide her hands up and around his neck...

      “Could be worse.”

      Awareness settled across his features as his gaze roamed her face, and his fingers flexed on her waist. Yearning, intense and demanding, curled through her. Please don’t let me go, she silently implored. Don’t pull away.

      “Here you two are. Glad to see you made it.”

      Claude Jenkins’s intrusion brought a grimace to Shane’s face. Immediately, he put her away from him and turned to acknowledge the man and his wife. Behind the couple, a handsome man with wheat-colored hair, trim mustache and goatee and a penetrating blue gaze waited to speak to them.

      Claude winked at her before leading his wife away. The stranger approached and clamped a hand on Shane’s shoulder in a friendly manner, all the while studying her in the most unsettling way.

      “Didn’t expect to see you tonight. Is your lovely guest the reason you decided to join us ordinary revelers?”

      Wearing a tolerant expression, Shane inclined his head her direction. “Josh O’Malley, meet Allison Ashworth.”

      “One of the esteemed O’Malleys,” she quipped as he enveloped her hand in a firm shake. “Shane has spoken highly of your family.”

      “Unfortunately, he’s given us scant information about you. I’m here to rectify that.” Pulling her hand through the crook of his elbow, he winked down at her. “How about I introduce you to the rest of the clan and then you can tell us about yourself?”

      “Don’t trust him, Allison,” Shane drawled. “He’s really after dirt that he can hold over me in the future.”

      Josh’s burst of laughter drew curious looks from passersby. “He knows me too well.”

      She was enjoying this exchange too much to refuse. “I’d be happy to trade stories with you. As you might imagine, Shane hasn’t been forthcoming about his life here. I’m particularly interested in his professional accomplishments.”

      “It’s a deal.” Josh’s eyes gleamed.

      He drew her closer to the church building. Shane trailed behind them, and she sensed the weight of his attention on her. Was he worried about what she might reveal? Or did he trust her judgment?

      They