Читать книгу The Sheriff's Christmas Twins - Karen Kirst - Страница 10

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. He would never know that sometimes, when she was alone, she’d daydream about a different life, one in which he had top billing. Her favorite recurring dream featured Shane at Ashworth House, begging her forgiveness and professing his undying devotion. She especially relished the apology bit—finally hearing an explanation for his dislike would be most satisfying.

“Allison?”

She turned from the bench swing. By the look on his face, this wasn’t the first time he’d called her name. “Sorry. I was woolgathering.”

He waited for her to enter first. Pulling her cape panels closer together, she wandered about the room, studying photographs of the elderly couple who’d built a life here. They looked like nice, hardworking people. Their home was tidy, the furniture in good condition, handmade rugs, curtains and a quilt thrown over the sofa back providing splashes of bright color. The window views were like paintings of pastoral perfection. She could easily envision the landscape’s beauty during spring, summer and autumn.

“When George told me you’d moved here, I purchased a book about Tennessee. The photographs don’t do it justice.”

Crouched at the fireplace, he arranged a pile of kindling. “You should see the mountains when it snows.”

“Is it likely to while I’m here?”

“Hard to say.” He lifted his shoulder, causing the brown duster to bunch between his shoulder blades. “The winters are unpredictable. Some years we hardly get any. Others we get snow and ice.”

“I hope it does. My niece and nephews would enjoy a white Christmas.”

“As would you,” he observed.

“I won’t deny it.”

She recalled the first winter he’d spent with them. He’d been walking alone in the estate garden, as was his custom, and had come upon her making snow angels. She’d implored him to join her. He’d gone so far as to lie in the snow beside her when he’d suddenly jumped up and stormed off. It was as if he wouldn’t allow himself to experience even a moment’s joy.

“Promise me something. If it snows before I leave, promise you’ll make snow angels with me. Just once.”

He pivoted slightly in order to stare at her over his shoulder. “I’m a grown man, Allison.”

“Are you immune to a little fun, Sheriff?”

He blinked at her use of his title. “Life isn’t about fun. It’s about duty and hard work and being a responsible citizen.”

“You don’t believe that.” Surely he didn’t.

The wood in the stacked-stone fireplace glowed orange as the flames took hold. Waving out the match, Shane discarded it. “It’s not a tragedy.”

“The tragedy is you don’t recognize what you’re missing.”

With a noncommittal grunt, he removed his wheatcolored hat and balanced it atop the caramel-and-white-print sofa. He finger-combed his short locks into place. His hair changed with the seasons—sun-kissed blond in spring and summer and dark honey in the colder months. She hadn’t seen him with a beard before. She wasn’t sure she liked it. The stubble made him seem even more stern, more remote, than she remembered. One side of his coat gaped open, and the badge pinned to his dark vest glinted. Considering his profession, looking dangerous and formidable was no doubt a good thing.

“What about you?”

Allison had drifted to the dining room threshold. Gripping the doorjamb, she turned back to find he hadn’t moved.

“What about me?”

“From what George tells me, you make little time for fun yourself.”

Astonishment arrowed through her. “What did he say?”

“That you’ve been working for the company for nearly a decade. You’re good at what you do, and the employees respect you. However, he’s worried that between your work, charity organizations and the time you spend doting on his kids, you’re neglecting your personal happiness.”

“He’s never indicated such a thing to me.”

“Are his concerns well-founded?”

“Of course not.”

He advanced toward her, stopping in the middle of the multicolored rug. “Why aren’t you married? I thought for sure one of your many admirers would’ve snatched you up as soon as you were of age.”

She considered how to answer. Admitting that no man could hold a candle to the enigmatic, hurting young man he’d once been was out of the question.

“I could ask the same of you. You’re thirty-two and still unwed.”

“I’m not the marrying kind, and we both know it. You, on the other hand, were born to be a wife and mother.” As soon as he’d said the words, color etched his sharp cheekbones. “You know what? Forget I asked. It’s none of my business.”

“It’s all right.” Some part of her that yet smarted from his rejection prompted her to reveal the next part. “In truth, there is someone special. His name is Trevor Langston. As soon as I return to Virginia, I’m going to accept his offer of courtship.”

She’d resisted for foolish reasons. Coming face-to-face with her past had shown her that. Shane wasn’t interested in any sort of relationship. Trevor, on the other hand, had been unwavering in his desire to court her.

Shane’s features remained a blank mask, but the skin around his eye twitched. What was he irritated about? He didn’t care about her or her life.

“Who is he?” His voice was even. Cool. Unaffected. “Would George approve?”

“My brother is aware of his interest. Trevor works with us. He’s a wonderful man. Solicitous, dedicated, too smart for words...” She trailed off, realizing she was describing his assets in terms of his value as a company employee.

“I assume he’s from a respectable family?”

“His family and ours have been friends for many years. We met at church, believe it or not. His sister and I have many common interests.”

“Does he treat you well?”

She cocked her head to one side. “For someone who hasn’t bothered to contact me in more than a decade, you’re awfully curious about my romantic prospects. Why is that?”

“No particular reason. If you don’t wish to discuss him, we won’t.”

He started up the stairs. “Come on up and choose your room so I’ll know where to put your luggage.”

“Wait.”

His fingers flexed on the polished banister. He sighed again, something she noticed he did a lot around her. Come to think of it, he used to do it at Ashworth House, too. What about her vexed him so?

Allison went to stand at the base of the stairs, waiting for him to turn and look at her. When he did, she said, “Who his family is doesn’t matter to me as much as what kind of man he is. His character. His beliefs.”

A muscle jumped in his cheek. “That’s nice.”

“I’m not finished.” Tired of skirting around the issue, she climbed the steps until she was one below him. Standing sideways, he leaned against the wall, aiming for a casual pose that didn’t fool her. “You said you’re not the marrying kind. Why not?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not discussing this right now. I’ve got to get you settled and swing by the mercantile for perishables since I didn’t have time to stock the kitchen. There’s nothing much to eat here, and it’s nearly noon.”

When he would’ve continued on upstairs, she put a hand on his forearm. “Allowing your mother’s poor decisions and ill treatment to keep you from having a family is wrong, Shane.”

His eyes turned flinty. “You’ve been in town an hour and you’re trying to tell me how to live my life? You know nothing about me save for whatever tidbits your brother’s told you. So we lived under the same roof for a few years. That doesn’t make you an expert on what I need, Allison Ashworth.”