Allison wishes to attend, I’ll make sure she’s there.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear.”
When he’d left, Allison turned to him with clasped hands. “What’s the next stop on the grand tour? Your house?”
Allison was determined not to let Shane see her nervousness. This wasn’t a romantic outing. He didn’t wish for her company. He’d practically been ordered to escort her.
Descending the stairs, she gave her cranberry velvet skirts a little shake to adjust the stiff crinoline beneath. The bodice was constrictive, the long sleeves snug at the wrists, but the dress was one of her favorites. Shane turned from the mantel, his luminous gaze widening as he took in her appearance.
She ran her hand along the neat French braid trailing the middle of her back. “What? Is this not appropriate? Should I change?”
“No.” Stroking his whiskered jaw, he said, “You look... Christmassy.”
“Christmassy?” Like an ornament on a tree?
“Nice.” He cleared his throat. “You look nice.”
He turned his head away, giving her a chance to admire his dark suit. The midnight black hue made him seem more imposing than usual, but it also gave him a touch of city polish. His hair was neatly combed with a few stubborn locks falling over his forehead.
She moved closer to the fireplace, where the logs smoldered. “You don’t look like a sheriff tonight.”
His lips curved into a smile, an actual smile, and Allison felt as if the floor beneath her feet trembled. His austere features assumed a masculine beauty that had her inching forward and desperately wanting to trace his lips with her fingertips.
Thankfully, his deep voice shattered the strange compulsion. “You’re awfully preoccupied with my profession. Norfolk has an impressive police force.”
She made a dismissive gesture. “It’s not the same. I know Tennessee isn’t exactly the untamed West, but neither is it a sprawling metropolis. There are books written about men like you.”
He snorted. “My life is not a grand adventure.”
“You don’t see it that way because, in your mind, you’re simply doing your duty. To the people you help, you are that larger-than-life hero in the pages of a book.”
“I suppose we’ll have to agree to disagree.” Running a finger beneath his collar, he tilted his head to the clock. “We’d better get going if you want to get there before the candle lighting begins.”
As he locked the door and led her into the nippy winter evening, she soaked in the vast expanse of twinkling stars. Twin lanterns hooked to either side of the wagon emitted a soft glow. “I’m sorry you were roped into taking me tonight. I know you’d rather be doing something else.”
“A few hours of Christmas carols won’t kill me,” he drawled, assisting her up.
He climbed up on his side and, instead of taking his seat, reached into the wagon bed and brought out a thick, multicolored quilt. Unfolding the bundle, he bent over her and tucked 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
