LITMIR.BIZ

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him with a graciousness that attested to her generosity of spirit, one of a dozen admirable traits he’d witnessed during his time at Ashworth House.

      He was suddenly tongue-tied, as if he were fourteen again and being introduced to his new sister of sorts for the first time. David Ashworth had brought Shane to live with him and his children—sixteen-year-old George and twelve-year-old Allison—in their grand estate located on exclusive Peyton Avenue. While George had been cautiously welcoming, Allison had greeted him like a long-lost friend. He hadn’t known what to make of the effervescent, fair-haired dynamo. Still didn’t apparently.

      “Um, welcome to Gatlinburg?”

      * * *

      This wasn’t how she’d envisioned her first encounter with Shane Timmons.

      Allison was supposed to be showing her former infatuation how mature and sophisticated she’d become. Shane was supposed to take one look at her and regret all those times he’d dismissed her as unworthy of his friendship. Nothing in her imaginings had prepared her for this!

      A rogue drop rolled to her eyebrow, and she hurriedly swiped at it, refusing to look down to inventory the damage to her person. She might be tempted to cry.

      The distinguished, raven-haired store owner looked confused. “You know her?”

      Another man peeked around Shane’s shoulder. “You’re the sheriff’s first visitor. Not a single soul has come to see him in all these years.”

      A third person piped up. “How do you know each other?”

      “Is she a special lady friend, Sheriff?”

      The skin around his right eye twitched. It used to do that when he was annoyed.

      “Go on about your business, folks,” he instructed without taking his eyes off her. “Nothing more to see here.”

      Most everyone shuffled to various sections of the mercantile, only pretending to shop. Quinn led a protesting Mrs. Messinger to the shelves containing the fabric bolts and began pointing out selections. Eliza lingered.

      “Th-thank you, Miss Ashworth.”

      “You’ve nothing to thank me for, Eliza.” She smiled for the girl’s benefit. “Hopefully the next time we meet will be under better circumstances.”

      Dipping her head, she rushed for the exit. Allison wished she could follow her. How ridiculous she must look! Beneath the paint, her cheeks burned with humiliation. At least that was hidden from his view.

      “I wasn’t expecting you until Friday,” Shane accused in a strained voice. “Where’s George? Clarissa and the kids? I thought you were all set to travel together.”

      After all this time, Allison had expected at the very least a polite welcome. Disappointment compounded her embarrassment. “Do you mind if we discuss this after I’ve cleaned up?” She indicated the damp cloth. “I’d like to get this off before it dries.”

      Shane took hold of her arm again and, keeping a more-than-was-required amount of space between them, maneuvered her between the counters and into a darkened hallway.

      Unable to deny herself the pleasure, she drank in his profile. The boyish appeal she remembered was a thing of the past. His features were lean and taut, his cheekbones more defined, his jaw a line of defiance. His piercing azure eyes emitted a subtle but very real warning—don’t come too close, don’t try to unearth buried secrets, don’t cross the line of separation he maintained between himself and the rest of the world. Framed by a light beard, even his mouth appeared hard. Sculpted and slightly fuller than many men’s, Shane’s was set in a perpetual frown.

      He was the type of man who expected bad things to happen. Thanks to his poor excuse for a mother, he’d long ago lost the ability to look for good in the world. The hope she’d harbored that he had overcome his unfortunate beginnings flickered out.

      At the end of the hallway, one door appeared to exit the building and another led to the seamstress shop. He rapped lightly before swinging it open. The woman who greeted them was everything Allison was not—statuesque, slender and in possession of the beauty that inspired men to pen sonnets. With inky black curls, flawless skin and unusual violet eyes, Nicole Darling must’ve had scads of men making fools of themselves in order to win her favor. Allison had long ago accepted that she didn’t have that effect. Most men liked her. The problem was they saw her as a chum, not a potential wife. The handful that had been interested in her romantically over the years hadn’t been able to measure up to the one who’d deemed her irrelevant.

      Nicole’s sincere greeting faltered when her gaze encountered Allison. Her shock was quickly masked, but it made Allison dread peering into a mirror. Shane explained what had happened and left to fetch a wagon in which to load her trunks.

      Contrary to her composed demeanor, Nicole turned out to be gracious and kind. She assisted Allison out of her ruined dress and located a cleaning solution that rid her skin of most of the paint. Washing her hair would have to wait until she reached the house Shane had arranged for her and her family to rent. Nicole riffled through the racks of clothing and found a plain black skirt and matching gray-and-black-striped blouse that a customer had decided against purchasing. The skirt was several inches too short and the blouse fit her like a circus tent. Fortunately, the cape Nicole lent her covered the ill-fitting clothes. Shane was pacing the hallway by the time she was presentable. Well, as presentable as she possibly could be.

      His gaze swept her up and down, his thoughts a mystery. “The wagon’s this way.”

      Instead of heading to the mercantile’s main entrance, he led her out the rear exit and down a steep flight of stairs. The deserted lane was edged by a wide, fast-moving river over mossy rocks of varying size. The opposite bank was a steep, tree-covered hill. Most of the trees were forlorn versions of themselves, their twisted branches bare, but plenty of pines and other evergreens were sprinkled throughout.

      She surveyed the team of fine-looking horses hitched to the wagon. Their giant hooves stamped the winter-hardened earth and their breaths created white clouds. At the stairs’ base, she took a moment to inspect the shops’ rear facades and the livery beside the mercantile.

      “Is this where the deliveries are made?”

      He nodded and, giving her a boost onto the high seat, circled the horses and climbed up beside her. “I thought this route would be less of a hassle.”

      “Meaning, you’d rather no one else see us together quite yet,” she retorted, old hurts rising to the surface.

      He grimaced. “You’ve no idea what small towns are like. Every bit of news is blown out of proportion. I can guarantee half the town will have us engaged by nightfall.”

      Engaged to Shane Timmons? A fluttering sensation flared in her middle, one she resolutely ignored. Once upon a time, she’d been enamored with this man and desperate for his approval—something he’d never offered.

      “You wouldn’t have to dodge their questions if you’d simply told them about us.”

      “I considered it.” With reins in hand, he called a sharp command and the conveyance jerked into motion. “My friends, the O’Malleys, know our history. I told them that I lived with you and George for a time.”

      “Do they know why?”

      His lips pursed. “Only that my mother couldn’t care for me.”

      “You mean wouldn’t.”

      His eyes turned stormy, and she regretted her words. She allowed herself to study his uncompromising jawline and the strong cords of his neck visible above his coat collar.

      He turned his head slightly. “What?”

      “Nothing. I’m simply adjusting to the fact that I’m actually here with you.”

      A vein in his temple throbbed.

      “Not here with you,” she amended. “Here in the same state.

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