The Sheriff's Christmas Twins Read Online Free PDF Page A

her health simply because he was uncomfortable in this quiet house that presented zero opportunities to slink off to a secluded spot like he used to do.
    Inspecting the cupboard’s contents, he said, “Which one sounds more appealing? Pickled peaches or sweet butter pickles?”
    * * *
    Allison couldn’t recall the last time she’d shared a meal with a gentleman. Mealtimes were loud, boisterous affairs in her brother and sister-in-law’s home. There were stories, jokes and laughter while the children were in attendance. Once the nanny whisked them upstairs or outside to the gardens for fresh air and exercise, the conversation turned to adult topics such as their family business, society news or happenings in the city.
    Not that Shane Timmons fit her view of a gentleman. He was comprised of too many rough edges and dark secrets for that. He neither looked nor acted like the men of her acquaintance. Didn’t smell like them, either. The sheriff smelled like long days in the saddle, strong coffee and virile man.
    Having removed his outer coat before preparing lunch, he sat across from her in what must be typical lawman attire—trousers, vest and a long-sleeved, buttoned-up shirt, his sheriff’s badge pinned over his heart. His light blue shirt was shot through with pencil-thin navy blue stripes. His vest was a coconut-shell brown that matched his trousers. Both pieces of apparel showcased his upper-body strength. Every time he lifted his coffee cup to his mouth, she watched the play of his biceps.
    Before he’d left Norfolk, his physique had been whipcord lean. He’d packed on muscle in the ensuing years, and he looked solid enough to wrestle one of those black bears she’d read inhabited these East Tennessee forests. That, combined with his over six feet of height, made him a formidable adversary for the criminals who dared pass through his town.
    â€œAre you warm enough?” He broke the silence for the first time since he’d said grace.
    Heat from the kitchen stove permeated the adjoining dining room through the doorway. Lit candles positioned around the rectangular space added warmth to the ambience even if they didn’t emit actual heat. Clouds had rolled in, obscuring the sun and making the candles necessary.
    â€œYes, thank you.”
    â€œI know this isn’t what you’d call a substantial meal. As soon as we’re done here, I’ll leave you to unpack while I make a trip to the mercantile.”
    â€œIt may not be typical, but it’s filling. Besides, now I can say I’ve tried pickled peaches.”
    â€œI’m sure your friends will be impressed,” he drawled, his eyes hooded.
    Besides the preserved fruit, her plate boasted corn cakes, fried ham slices and sautéed onions. While simple, the food tasted delicious.
    She dabbed the napkin to her mouth. “Since I’ll be here the duration of the holiday season, what can I expect in the way of celebrations?”
    He lowered his fork. “That’s not something I pay much attention to.”
    â€œDoes the town host a parade?” she prompted. “Are there parties? A tree-lighting ceremony?”
    â€œNo parade that I’m aware of. I’m sure there are parties, but I have no idea who hosts them. I’ll have to put you in touch with Caroline Turner. Her mother is in charge of Gatlinburg’s social events. Either one of them can help you.”
    Frustration warred with sadness. During his years at Ashworth House, they had done everything possible to include him in their celebrations. He’d stubbornly resisted their efforts.
    Folding her hands in her lap, she studied the candlelight flickering over his rugged features. “Do you actually celebrate Christmas, or do you act like it’s any other day on the calendar?”
    â€œApart from the commemoration of Christ’s birth, December 25 is like every other day of the year.” He sank against