The Sheriff's Christmas Twins by Karen Kirst Page A

to get one for himself.
    She sampled the first bite and hummed with delight. She offered the bag to him.
    â€œNo, thanks.”
    â€œDon’t you like them?”
    â€œI wouldn’t know. Never tried one.”
    She stopped abruptly, forcing the man behind them to sidestep quickly in order to avoid a collision. “Then how do you know you won’t like them?”
    How could he explain his silly aversion to something that had taunted him during this most painful of seasons? Most days he’d had to make do with stale bread and moldy cheese or a thin broth with vegetables long past their prime. Walking past restaurants, he’d smell fresh-baked bread and grilled meat and his mouth would water. He began to dread Christmas because his lack was made even harder to bear. He’d see fathers out with their sons as they carried a fat goose home to their family. He’d see kids skipping down the street sucking on stick candy. Mothers and daughters sharing sacks of chestnuts on park benches.
    He hadn’t longed for the food, but for the love, acceptance and security of two devoted parents. Siblings who squabbled over toys and played kickball in the yard. A clean, warm home to live in, a soft bed to sleep in every night.
    A voice inside his head tried to convince him that he was no longer that ragged, defiant boy, but the feelings of inadequacy and bitterness drowned it out.
    He pointed across the street. “There’s the jail. Still want to see inside?”
    Slowly her puzzled gaze left his to follow the line of his finger. “Very much.”
    With his hand nestled against the middle of her back, he guided her across the road and into the building where he spent a large portion of his time. To her, the space probably looked stark. To their left was a woodstove. Opposite the door was his desk, a scuffed relic handed down from the sheriff before him. A detailed topography map was nailed to the wall behind his chair, and the American flag hung on the right. One barred window overlooked Main Street.
    Her gloved fingers trailed the desk’s edge. “So this is where you keep the peace.”
    â€œSomething like that.”
    She wandered to the first of three cells and, passing through the open metal door, pulled it closed behind her with a clang.
    â€œWhat are you doing, Allison?”
    Her grin was mischievous. “Go sit in your chair.”
    He dropped his hands to his sides. “Why?”
    â€œHumor me.”
    The sight of Allison in one of his cells was a jarring one. Her loveliness had no place in a setting meant for thieves and carousers.
    He dismissed thoughts of refusing. The quicker he obliged her, the sooner they could leave. Muttering beneath his breath, he circled the desk, slumped into his chair and crossed his arms. “Happy now?”
    â€œTeach me how to shoot, and I will be.”
    He glared at her. “Not gonna happen.”
    â€œIf I was one of your prisoners, I’d be intimidated by you.”
    Her tone was serious, but her eyes twinkled with a zest for life he’d always envied. “I’ll never understand the way your mind works.”
    The main door swung open, and Claude bumbled inside, his jaw lolling when he caught sight of Allison behind bars.
    Shane shot to his feet. “Claude.”
    â€œAm I interrupting something?” The banker’s incredulous, gray gaze inventoried the scene.
    â€œShane was indulging my sense of whimsy,” Allison announced. Releasing the bars to allow the door to swing wide, she exited the cell and strode to shake Claude’s hand. “I don’t believe we’ve officially met. I’m Allison Ashworth, an old friend of Shane’s.”
    Befuddled by her charming smile, the man stood up straighter and puffed out his chest. “Claude Jenkins. I manage the bank next door.”
    â€œA pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jenkins.” His hand still in her grasp, she patted it and leaned