The Sheriff's Christmas Twins. Karen Kirst

      Because you wouldn’t let it be, she was tempted to retort.

      She could still recall the moment her father had relayed the news that a young employee of his, an orphan in desperate need of assistance, was coming to live with them. While George had been resistant to the idea, Allison had seen an opportunity to help someone less fortunate. She’d been excited about having another sibling. Older and of a serious bent, George was no longer interested in her childish pursuits. But then Shane moved in and it soon became apparent that he didn’t trust either of them. What Allison had never been able to fathom was why Shane had tolerated George, who did little to encourage a relationship, and yet rebuffed her attempts at friendship.

      During the five years that he lived with them, she’d tried to earn his confidence, a bit of her heart breaking with each fresh rejection. He hadn’t been unkind...just resolute in his indifference. Shane had tolerated her as if she were an annoying puppy begging for scraps of affection.

      Shane hadn’t liked her. It appeared he still didn’t.

      Ignoring the pinch of sadness, she resolved to make the best of her time in Tennessee. She was here for the month of December, the most exciting weeks of the entire year. She wasn’t about to let a surly lawman spoil her Christmas.

Chapter Two

      He hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings. Shane noticed the resignation in her eyes before she averted her face. His commitment to speak the truth, a product of having lived with a drunken mother who’d thought nothing of making promises she didn’t intend to keep, sometimes made things difficult for others.

      He guided the horses onto a rutted lane flanked by trees. The prickly air stole beneath his collar, making him long for his office and a mountain-sized cup of hot coffee.

      “Why did you come alone?” he said.

      “That wasn’t my plan, trust me. A problem arose in our Riverside factory the evening before our departure, and George had to postpone his journey. He insisted I come on ahead so that you wouldn’t be disappointed.” She said that last bit with a touch of sarcasm. “He suggested Clarissa and the children come with me, but she preferred to wait and travel with him. She didn’t want to risk spending the holidays apart.”

      From George’s missives over the years, Shane had learned that his friend had married Clarissa Smothers. Their union was marked with respect, commitment and love. He was happy for George. If he experienced a twinge of envy whenever he read about their life together, he made sure not to dwell on it.

      That George had been delayed was not welcome news. He and his brood were supposed to provide a buffer. Without them, Shane had no choice but to interact with Allison. He’d be responsible for getting her settled, seeing to her comfort, entertaining her.

      “Did he say when he might arrive?”

      “He promised to right matters as quickly as possible and send a telegram letting us know his arrival date.”

      They traveled up a shallow incline. The Wattses’ farm came into view, and Allison sat up straighter, her lips parting at the sight. Satisfaction raced through him. He’d always admired this particular homestead. When he’d heard the owners would be spending their holiday in another state, he’d approached them about renting it for his visitors.

      Situated in the middle of a clearing, the white clapboard farmhouse with green shutters and shingled roof stood framed by forested hills that gave way to steep mountains. A fallow vegetable garden was situated on the right, a modest-sized barn behind that. The corncrib, smokehouse and toolshed had been built alongside a snake-and-rail fence.

      “Oh, Shane, this is such a charming place. How many bedrooms does it have?”

      “Four. George assured me that would be plenty.”

      “It will do nicely. The three older children will want to be together, and George Jr. will stay with his parents. Thank you for making the arrangements.”

      “The Wattses decided to spend this winter with their son and his family in South Carolina. They were pleased it wouldn’t be left empty.”

      He slowed the wagon to a halt directly in front of the house. Quickly descending, he walked to her side and helped her down, reminded again how he’d always towered over her, taller, bulkier, stronger. She’d complained about her diminutive stature and healthy figure, but compared to him, she was dainty. If he was of a mind to, he’d have no problem tossing her over his shoulder and carrying her about without working up a sweat.

      From the start, Allison had evoked a powerful desire to protect and shield. A startling and unusual reaction for a boy who’d only ever looked out for himself.

      As her soles reached the brown, patchy grass, her fingers tightened where they rested on his shoulders. He examined her uplifted face, taking note of her fuller lips, more pronounced cheekbones, creamy, dew-kissed skin. The years had been kind to her.

      He’d recently passed his thirty-second birthday, which meant she’d soon be thirty. Thirty. It hardly seemed possible. In his mind, she’d remained forever seventeen—naive, optimistic, generous to a fault and completely unaware of her allure.

      She took hold of his right hand and, snatching off his buckskin glove without permission, examined his palm. “I’m glad there’s nothing wrong with your hand.”

      “Why would there be?”

      “I thought you might’ve injured it and that was why you didn’t write to me.”

      The arrow hit its mark. “I’m not much of a writer.”

      Her jutting chin challenged him. “You wrote to my brother.”

      “I couldn’t ignore his letters.”

      “And yet you had no problem ignoring mine.”

      Her crushed velvet gloves caressed his knuckles. He frowned at the pleasurable sensation. “I didn’t get any from you.”

      “I wrote you. Once.” She released him.

      “I’m sorry, Allison. I never received it.”

      She reached past him and retrieved her leather satchel. “It’s all right. I doubt you would’ve answered me, anyway.”

      Shane stood mute as she spun, her too-large cape scraping the ground, and marched to the porch. He’d wondered if she’d changed in the intervening years since he’d seen her. Here was his answer. The old Allison wouldn’t have uttered such a thing to him. She wouldn’t have voiced what they both knew—he treated her differently than everyone else.

      It wasn’t fair. Or rational. The knowledge didn’t, wouldn’t, change his behavior. The reason he’d kept his distance and hadn’t initiated contact with her after he left was simple—the part of him that his father’s abandonment and mother’s reprehensible behavior hadn’t managed to blacken with disillusionment and pain, the part protected and nourished by hope, whispered lies whenever she was near.

      The first lie had come the moment he met her. Here is a girl you can trust. She wants to be your friend. Let her in.

      Thankfully, he’d recognized the untruth immediately and had taken action to thwart her efforts. More lies followed as the years passed, tempting him to relax his guard and give her a chance. He’d resisted. Better to hurt her feelings temporarily than to destroy her life with his cynicism and bitterness.

      * * *

      She was going to have to be more circumspect. Letting Shane know how his ongoing disregard had wounded her was not in the plan. It wouldn’t be easy, but she was determined to present a friendly yet indifferent front. She could be kind without being too personal...if she really, really tried.

      Allison had a good life. A loving family. Wonderful friends. Satisfying work. A supportive church. He didn’t need to know that she ached for a husband and babies to love.