The Sheriff's Christmas Twins (8 page)

“Cider cake.”

“You are a very wise man, Shane Timmons,” she said, grinning. “You've thought of all the essentials.”

“Here.” He handed it to her with a slight smile. “You eat it. The cocoa is all the
repast
I need.”

Taking a fork from his hand, she scooped up a large bite and held it out. “There's no reason we can't share.”

Beneath the brim of his hat, his brows tugged together. “You don't have to do that.”

“I can't eat this entire thing by myself. Well, I could...but I shouldn't. Come on, you know you want to.” She wiggled the fork close to his lips.

His strong fingers closed over her wrist and, his gaze melding with hers, guided her hand to her own mouth. Small clouds of white formed from his exhaled breath. “Ladies first.”

The pleasant blend of flavors on her tongue—cloves, an undertone of tart apple and juicy currants—couldn't distract her from his nearness and intense scrutiny. How did she get to this place? Alone with Shane on a frigid winter day, high in the mountains of East Tennessee, sharing a slice of cake?

A hushed expectancy shrouded the forest, the tranquility pierced occasionally by a hawk's cry or crack of a tree branch.

As she slowly chewed and swallowed, he studied her with unwavering focus. The shadow of a beard outlined his hard jaw and framed his mouth. He looked like a rugged backwoods hunter in his duster that hit him midcalf.

“Your turn.”

Shane remained watchful while she fed him, his gaze burning into her. Her stomach fluttered. What did he see in her expression? She glanced into the box, wondering how she was going to keep her hand steady throughout this ordeal. Downfall by dessert.

Something cold and wet hit her cheek. Tilting her head, she gasped at the sight of white flakes drifting from the heavens and onto the leaf-strewn forest floor.

“It's snowing!”

“That it is.” Shane didn't exude the same level of excitement. In fact, he looked a trifle concerned as he studied the sky. “We should finish up here and pick out a tree.”

Allison followed him to the fallen log, where he swiftly downed the contents of his cup.

“You said it doesn't typically snow this early in the season. Do you think it will stick?”

Already a thin layer of white coated the ground. “Hard to say.”

“What aren't you telling me?”

Deep grooves carved either side of his mouth. “The weather can be unpredictable and patchy. This elevation might see several feet of snow, while the center of town might get an inch.” He held out a cup to her. “Drink. It'll help warm you.”

“We don't have to get a tree today. We can head back right now.”

Shane studied the horizon. “If we don't dally, we should be fine.”

“Should be?”

“Let's just say this is the last place we want to be if the clouds decide to dump a significant load of snow on us.”

Chapter Eight

H
e was questioning his decision three-quarters of an hour later. Allison had quickly made her choice, a dense Fraser fir about as tall as him, but by the time he'd gotten it cut and tied to the sled, several inches of snow coated the ground. Not a single pinch of sunlight penetrated the clouds. Fat, heavy flakes glided past them at a steady rate and gave no sign of letting up.

You were too afraid of disappointing her to heed your instincts.

Allison sat quietly on her mount, her profile solemn as she dusted the collecting snow off her sleeves.

He climbed into the saddle. “I'm going to go first so the sled will make a clear path for you. We'll take it slow and steady. You encounter any problems, speak up.”

“No need to worry, Shane.” Her green gaze expressed confidence. “I trust you to get us home safe.”

Determined to do just that, he guided his horse between the closely spaced trees. The ground sloped downward at a gradual angle and would level out as soon as they broke free of the dense growth. Allison didn't speak, and he wondered if she was mulling over where the decorations would look best in the main floor rooms.

Minutes passed with no other sounds besides the creaking of saddles and muted slush of hooves against fresh white powder.

“There's an uneven outcrop up ahead.” He pointed to where the trees thinned.

The sled bobbed and jerked as it caught on thick roots, and he worked to keep his horse calm and on task. Soon they were free of it and on flat ground. Behind him, he heard Allison cry out. He twisted around. Her horse rushed past him, its saddle empty. Seeing Allison on her back in the snow—eyes closed, body too still—sent icy fear coursing through him.

His heart threatening to burst out of his chest, Shane leaped down and scrambled to her side, dislodged snow spraying in all directions. “Allison! Can you hear me? Are you all right?”

He knelt beside her, his knees protesting the cold shock of moisture seeping through his pants. Yanking off his gloves, he gently swiped the melting flakes from her cheeks. Her skin was cool but not shockingly so. Leaning over her, he brushed a thumb lightly across her plump lower lip. “Allie, speak to me.”

Her lashes fluttered open, and he was engulfed in twin pools of the deepest green.

She sucked in gulps of air. “I didn't hold on tightly enough. He shifted the opposite way of what I expected.”

When she started to sit up, he put his arm around her shoulders to assist her. “Easy. Are you hurt anywhere?”

“No, merely winded from the impact.” Patting the snow with her open palm, she gifted him with a weak smile. “This acted as a thin cushion. Otherwise, I'd likely be sporting some nasty bruises come tomorrow.”

“You may still.” Relief lessened the tightness in his chest. “Your brother would have my hide if I let anything happen to you.”

He glimpsed a flash of disappointment before she dipped her head. “Right. George's good opinion is what matters.” She moved to stand, and he supported her with a hand on her elbow.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Sidestepping his hold, she straightened her bonnet and shook out her skirts, all the while avoiding his perusal. “Never mind.” She finally lifted her head, her gaze going beyond his shoulder. Her lips formed an O. “Shane...where's my horse?”

Spinning, he scanned the wide open space with a sinking feeling. “I was too distracted to pay attention to him. He's got to be headed for his barn and a bucketful of oats.”

“Won't he get lost?” Her worry for the welfare of the animal was obvious.

“From what I know of Martin Watts, he rides his horses out here on a regular basis. I'm confident he'll find his way home.” His hands began to smart from exposure. Snagging his gloves from the ground, he plunged his fingers into the warm slots. “It does present us with a problem.”

Allison looked from him to the horse and back. “We have to ride double.”

Her trepidation poked his pride. “You have an issue with that?”

“I don't.” She shrugged. “But I know you don't like to be touched.”

He gaped at her. “And exactly how did you come by this conclusion?”

“I lived with you, remember?” Marching through the filmy curtain of snow, she laid a hand against his cheek. Despite his surprise, he couldn't help wishing her glove didn't form a barrier between his skin and hers.

What could he be thinking of? He could not
want
Allison, couldn't think of her as anything more than an old acquaintance...an adopted sister—that should smother any further thoughts of male interest in an alluring female.

Shane had trouble holding her gaze. “What are you doing?” he grated.

“Proving my point.”

“I'm not going anywhere, am I? I'm not pushing your hand away.”

“But it's costing you,” she challenged. “When I hugged you last night, you stood there like a wooden statue.”

“I'm not accustomed to spontaneous affection,” he said stiffly.

Her features softened. “I'm guessing you're not accustomed to any sort, planned or spontaneous.”

“It was never a part of my world.”

He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but anger wasn't it. “Allison?”

Lowering her hand, she shook her head in disgust. “People like your mother shouldn't be allowed to have children if they aren't going to treasure and nurture them.”

“It's in the past.”

“Is it? I don't think so. Otherwise, you wouldn't insist on avoiding relationships.”

“I like being alone.” Now why did that statement ring false to his ears?

“I don't believe that, either.” She brushed past him and went to stand beside his horse. “Do you get on first or do I?”

“Ladies first.” Once she was situated, Shane hauled himself up behind her. They set out across the snowy field, and she had trouble balancing herself. He curled his left arm around her middle.

“Rest against me. You won't bob around as much.”

After a short hesitation, she relaxed into his chest. A strange sense of satisfaction flooded him. It felt nice to hold her close. Better than nice. It felt wonderful. He could get used to this.

Minutes stretched into an hour. Their progress was slow, punctuated by the silence between them.

“Allison.”

“Hmm?” She sounded sleepy.

He was hit with the sudden urge to nuzzle her nape, perhaps kiss her cool cheek or rest his forehead on her shoulder. His fingers automatically curved about her waist, and she turned her head so that he had a view of her profile.

“What is it?” she said, more alert this time.

“This isn't ordinary snowfall. It's heavy and piling up fast. If we continue on our current course, there's a good chance we won't make it to the Wattses'.”

She considered his words. “Is it because of the tree's extra weight? Couldn't we leave the sled here and pick it up later?”

“I doubt that would make a difference. Our best option is to find shelter. There's a homestead not far from here. Fenton Blake lives there with his granddaughter, who's about eighteen years old. We could bed there for tonight and head to town in the morning.”

“Will he welcome us?”

“Fenton's the sort that keeps to himself, but he won't deny hospitality to a stranger in need.”

“Do what you think is best. I trust you.”

Allison's confidence in him had his chest expanding with pleasure. He appreciated her calm assurance. If she'd been worried and upset about their situation, it would've made it more difficult for him to concentrate on getting them to safety.

Another hour and a half passed before he finally spotted the outline of Fenton's cabin. The peppery scent of wood smoke hung in the air, and he anticipated the heat of a roaring fire. The place where he held Allison was the only warm spot on him. The rest of him was protesting the frigid temperatures. Every few minutes, a shiver would course through her, and his arm would tighten around her, as if by holding her closer he could infuse her with some of his residual warmth.

He'd never forgive himself if she suffered because of his actions.

* * *

If not for the sting of winter air and the stiffness of her muscles, Allison would never move from this spot.

Being this close to Shane was like a dream, one she wished didn't have to end. He was solid and strong. He smelled of leather and pine and subtle spice. He held her as if he didn't mind her nearness, as if he'd do anything to keep her from falling, and it was a heady experience.

“We're here.”

Her disappointment was completely unreasonable. It was imperative they take shelter from the elements. Still, she would miss this.

Shane guided the horse almost to the cabin door. She couldn't make out the structure's details through the heavy precipitation, but it struck her as small, maybe smaller than Shane's modest abode.

Dismounting, he hollered out his presence before pounding on the door. Cold rushed in where he'd been, wrapping her in its unwelcome embrace. She pressed her hands to her numb cheeks.

Shane pounded the weathered wood a second time. “Fenton Blake? You in there? It's Sheriff Timmons.”

A cry filtered through the door, and Shane fell back a step. “Did you hear that?”

“Sounds like Mr. Blake has an infant in there.”

He assisted her off the horse, holding her a couple of seconds longer than necessary to ensure she was steady on her feet. His hand at her elbow, he guided her through the drifts onto the small porch. The squalling sound came again, and they stared at each other.

Shane did not appear pleased. He whacked the door with the flat of his hand. “Open up, Fenton. I—”

The rest of his words were lost as they were suddenly met by a frail, elderly man who was bouncing an angry baby on his hip.

“All your racket done woke up the babies!” he accused, his steely gray gaze pinned on Shane. When he noticed Allison on the doorstep, relief gripped his features. “You're a woman. Maybe you can get 'em to stop bawling.” And he promptly deposited the infant in her arms.

Allison's soft protest was swallowed up by heartwrenching sobs. Instinctively, she hugged the baby—a girl, she guessed—to her chest and kissed the halo of blond curls ringing her head.

Shane's astounded gaze swung from her face to the infant she was trying to soothe. His features puckered in disbelief. “Did you say
babies
?”

Fenton turned sideways and pointed a gnarled finger at a pair of matching cradles positioned at the foot of the single bed. From their vantage point, a pair of tiny fists punching the air were visible.

“Yep. A pair of 'em. Brother and sister.”

“Fenton. What's going on here?” Shane demanded. “Where's Letty?”

The man's thin shoulders drooped and moisture filled his eyes. “She's dead, Sheriff.”

Shane's features reflected shock. “Fenton, I'm sorry.”

“Go see to your horse,” he said gruffly. “Then we'll talk. You're lettin' all the heat escape.”

After one last look at Allison and the baby, Shane left her alone with the unlikely trio. Once the door was closed, Fenton shuffled over to the ancient cookstove in the corner and set about making coffee.

Shifting the little girl to one hip, she managed to untie her cape and hook it on a peg. Getting her bonnet off took more fancy maneuvering.

“How old are they?” She had to raise her voice to be heard. The boy in the cradle was getting angrier by the second.

“Six months.”

After stomping off most of the wet clumps of snow clinging to her boots, she advanced toward the cradle and, crouching beside it, captured one fist in her hand.

“Hey there, little fella. The one in the cradle is the boy, right?”

Fenton nodded, the lamplight shining on his dull silver hair. “His name's Charlie. The girl is Izzy, short for Isabel.”

Charlie's crying ceased and tear-washed blue eyes blinked up at her. His round cherub face was bright red, his straight blond hair lank where it lay across his forehead. His nightgown bore several stains.

Izzy's fussing had grown quieter, and Allison looked down into the liquid pools of chocolate brown. The combination of light hair and dark eyes was striking. They were both pretty babies. And both in desperate need of a bath and a fresh change of clothes.

Glancing about the cabin, she saw that it wasn't spotless, but nor was it filthy. Like Shane's home, there wasn't a couch, only wooden chairs pulled around a rectangular table that had seen better days. A leaning hutch pushed against the wall beside the fireplace housed lamps and assorted tools. A rifle hung above the mantel. In the kitchen area, a couple of homemade shelves attached to the wall held dishes and cups, as well as a stack of pots. A counter where a dry sink was situated held an assortment of glass baby bottles, ceramic jugs and folded towels. A stack of nappies and infant clothing occupied the bedside stand.

How long had Fenton Blake had the full care of these infants?

Shane reentered the cabin then, his expression grim. Dusting the snow from his hat onto the porch, he hung it on the empty peg beside her things and pulled the door closed behind him. When he'd removed his duster and gloves, he cupped his hands and blew on them.

“I'll have a cup of coffee ready for ya in no time.”

“Appreciate it. Thanks for letting my horse share your barn space.”

Charlie figured out that she wasn't picking him up and decided to squall again. Shane winced. Well, if he wanted the noise to stop, he was going to have to help out.

Allison marched over to where he stood and held out the baby girl. “Hold Izzy so I can see to her brother.”

Looking like she had lost her wits, he made no move to take her. “I've never held a baby in my life.”