Her Small-Town Sheriff

by Lissa Manley

  Carson’s chest squeezed. No one should have to go through what they’d been through.

  Unable to watch the play of emotions on her face—he’d felt every one of them a multitude of times since CJ died—he focused intently on picking up his coffee cup and taking a sip, hoping the strong brew would ease the tightness in his chest.

  He remained silent. Not sure what to say, he felt awkward and out of his league. As though he wanted to be anywhere but here with this charming woman, talking about the worst things that had ever happened to both of them.

  Had he lost his mind?

  Then, unexpectedly, she reached out and squeezed his hand, her fingers lingering on his. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

  Warmth flared where her fingers rested, and he instantly wanted to curl his hand around hers and hold on. Her touch, all warm and soft, was, he knew, meant to be comforting.

  Yep, there went his marbles…

  But in the split second it took to recover his sanity, he realized her touch made him edgy; wanting to “hold on” to Phoebe Sellers in any way, shape or form brought to light a potentially dangerous bond he wanted no part of.

  “Thank you,” was all he could manage.

  She fiddled with her fork, then started smoothing the whipped cream on her tart again. Finally, she said, “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

  He made a rough sound under his breath. “Not really,” he said, going with his gut.

  “Loss is hard to talk about, isn’t it?” Phoebe said, leaning in slightly, her clear blue eyes soft with compassion.

  “Impossible.” He’d relived that day in his mind, in his nightmares, countless times. He wasn’t sure he could go there willingly and actually speak about his part in CJ’s death. About his unforgivable failure as a man, a father and a cop. Every man in him had failed CJ.

  Susan had realized that.

  “Hey, I hear you there,” Phoebe said. “Ever since Justin died, the only person I’ve been able to talk to about his death is Molly.” Phoebe rolled her eyes and quirked her mouth. “And that’s only because she’s pushy that way—which, I suppose, is a good thing.”

  “I’ve never talked about…that day,” he admitted.

  “It’s hard to force ourselves to confront our grief,” she said. “And it’s hard for others to ask us about it. I can’t tell you how many people saw me after Justin died and just said nothing.”

  He slowly nodded. “To this day my best friend on the force hasn’t spoken to me.” He gritted his jaw, still feeling Rick’s abandonment like a switchblade shoved in and twisted, then shoved in farther. “Not a call, email, text, nothing.”

  Phoebe shook her head. “Guess it’s human nature.”

  “He didn’t even come to CJ’s funeral.” Carson cleared his throat. Stupid frog, living there. “That really slayed me.”

  “I’m sure,” Phoebe said, empathy reflected in her eyes, tinged with a strength he was struggling to have himself. “He was your best friend.”

  Of course, on one level in Carson’s mind, he’d understood Rick’s reaction. What did one cop say to another who’d been responsible for his own kid’s death?

  Nothing, that’s what. There were no words. No forgiveness or understanding or comfort or absolution.

  The familiar nausea rolled through him. “Yeah, well, we’re not friends anymore,” he said in a monotone. “Another loss, another problem to deal with.” He snorted. “No wonder Heidi’s been acting out.”

  Just then, Blake came up to the table. “Hey, Sheriff, Phoebe. Sorry to interrupt your discussion, but store’s closing in a few.”

  Phoebe raised a hand. “Thanks, Blake.”

  With a wave, Blake headed back behind the front counter.

  Phoebe stood, coffee cup in hand, and turned to leave. Carson grabbed his hat and followed her out the door and onto the boardwalk. The sun had almost set, and the sky to the west was covered in orange and red streaks. The clouds had cleared, and Carson could see the stars twinkling overhead. The weather forecast called for sunny skies tomorrow, and it was a Friday. With the nice weather and the usual summer weekend tourists hitting town, work would be busy for the next few days.

  Phoebe walked beside him, silent. He stayed quiet, too, taking her cue. But he was very aware of her significant presence next to him.

  What was it about her that attracted him so? He’d need to figure it out soon, or risk more mental turmoil.

  She turned to him. “What did you mean by ‘no wonder Heidi’s been acting out’?”

  He slowly put his hat back on and adjusted it, stalling, figuring out how to reply. Finally, he said, “Just that with all our struggles lately, Heidi probably thinks she’s got a loser for a dad.”

  Phoebe frowned. “Loser?”

  “You know. Someone weak who can’t deal.” Which had been him lately. Man, he hated feeling so clueless. So needy. Not the invincible man he wanted to be.

  “You think you’re a weak loser?” Phoebe asked, looking askance at him.

  “I’ve realized in the last few days, what with Heidi and all, that I haven’t been able to handle…what happened very well.” As in not at all.

  Phoebe just looked at him, as if she were expecting more.

  He delivered. “To me, handling it means moving on without a lot of unnecessary hoo-ha.” He let out a harsh sigh. “That’s what I’d been trying to do, but it turns out I have more hoo-ha than I know what to do with.”

  “Sounds to me like you’re being too hard on yourself.”

  “Maybe,” he said, shrugging. “But that’s just the way I operate.” Always had been. While he loved his parents, and had a good relationship with them, and they visited every year from Spokane, his folks had never been demonstrative people, or even talkative, at least about problems. His dad was a cop’s cop with a very traditional mentality; Carson and his sister, Lynne, had been raised to carry on. Spine ramrod straight. No complaining.

  “Well, maybe you need to operate differently,” Phoebe said.

  “Lily said essentially the same thing. But I am who I am, and admitting I need…help?” His stubborn side had him wagging his head. “That I can’t handle things?” Another wag. “Well, that doesn’t come easy.”

  She stopped by one of the benches on the boardwalk about a block from her store. The streetlight from above highlighted her pretty face’s delicate bone structure.

  “I understand what you’re saying. After losing Justin, I struggle with admitting I need anyone, too.” She pressed her lips together and looked down for a moment. When she looked back up, her eyes glowed with a compelling softness that was evident, even in the dark. “But you’ve been dealt two terrible blows. You’re entitled to have trouble dealing, if you ask me.”

  Rather than stir up the pot, he just stared at her blankly.

  She pursed her lips, staring back. After a few long moments, she said wryly, “Going for the strong, silent type, huh?”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  She raised her chin and peered at him. “Okay. Fine. Just listen.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and nodded slightly.

  “Although,” she said, giving him a mildly deprecating look, “it might be good if you uncrossed your arms and actually tried to appear nondefensive.”

  He obliged her with a nod and uncrossed his arms, letting them dangle at his sides.

  “So, do you view me as weak?” she asked.

  “No.” At least not what he’d seen so far, which, admittedly, wasn’t much. But he had good people instincts—most good cops did. “You strike me as a very strong woman.” Actually, he liked that about her.

  “Well, thank you,” she said with a slight incline of her head. “But the truth is, I’m having a hard time dealing, too, or I wouldn’t have come to the class tonight.”

  He nodded, taking her at her word, although to outward appearances it seemed as if she was handling her grief better than he was.

  But…he was always h
ardest on himself.

  Holding up an index finger, she said, “So, in your world, since I’m having a hard time dealing, that makes me weak.”

  “No—”

  “What do you mean, no?”

  He blinked.

  “I’m just applying your principle to myself,” she said with a raised eyebrow.

  Her statement took him aback, and he didn’t know how to respond.

  She plopped down on the bench. “So why are you weak, but I’m not?”

  Tricky gal, that Phoebe. He’d have to watch that or she’d be running him in circles before he knew it. “Gotta ask the tough questions, don’t you?”

  “I’m just feeling my way here, but apparently that’s my job as your discussion partner.”

  His discomfort rose, so he lowered himself to sit next to her. She didn’t scoot over to give him more room. She wasn’t the type to give an inch. He smiled a little.

  “You’re not going to cut me any breaks, are you?” he said.

  “No, I’m not,” she said, turning so she faced him. “And you know why?”

  “Fire away.” She was on a roll, and he sensed there was no stopping her.

  “I’m not cutting you any breaks because…” Her voice broke. “Because I know you’re sad, I know you probably think your life is never going to be happy again.”

  He looked at her and saw the sudden tears shining in her eyes. Saw his own pain and suffering reflected there. His throat tightened and he had to look away or he’d lose it.

  “You know why I know this?” she asked, her voice whispering over him in the darkness, a feather with an edge that had the power to cut him to shreds.

  Of course he knew. But he couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Or acknowledge out loud the bond she was alluding to.

  When he didn’t respond, she said, “Because I feel that way, too, and I see myself in you.”

  He closed his eyes and let his shoulders slump, wanting to deny her statement with everything in him. But he couldn’t, not really; they shared the same grief, the same sense of loss, the same fears.

  She understood him. Or had the potential to.

  And that would cut him clean and deep if he got caught up in the bond he shared with Phoebe Sellers.

  *

  Phoebe saw Carson close his eyes, saw him sag under the weight of his sorrow, and her heart went out to him.

  She fought the urge to put her arms around him and comfort him, take on some of his burden, if that were possible.

  Her touch—sympathetic or otherwise—was probably the last thing he wanted right now. Or ever.

  Right. She had to remember that. Because she felt the same way, too, didn’t she?

  Instead, she let him sit in silence and absorb what she’d said, to adjust to the prospect of sharing his grief. Or at least consider doing so.

  While she waited for him to respond, one thought slashed through her brain: How could a parent possibly bear the death of a child? If she were him…well, she probably would have curled up and died in a corner by now.

  Not surprising, then, that he seemed reluctant to talk, to open up. She felt his hesitation, felt the discomfort that rolled off him in waves much like the water cresting and crashing onto the shore just a block away. He was, of course, entitled; it had to be agony for him to talk about his son’s death.

  Given that reality, she wouldn’t be surprised if he clammed up and shut down. For Heidi’s sake, Phoebe hoped he didn’t; Heidi had lost her brother and her mother. Phoebe couldn’t even imagine how crushing those two back-to-back blows must have been.

  Heidi needed her dad to be emotionally healthy so she could deal with the tragedies that had struck recently.

  Who wouldn’t need that? Carson included.

  And…herself, too? Hard questions? Definitely.

  Finally, Carson sat up and set his jaw. “I don’t think I can have this discussion,” he said, confirming Phoebe’s hunch.

  Phoebe was oddly disappointed by his response, yet understood it implicitly. “I thought you might say that.”

  “Why?”

  “As I said before, it’s never easy to talk about the things that have hurt us; it’s a natural reaction to avoid pain.”

  “I’m just going with my gut here.”

  “Trust me, I’m guilty of the same thing, just ask Molly. She thinks I’m the biggest ostrich of all.” Especially since Molly had opened her own eyes to love recently.

  He scrunched his brows together.

  “You know.” She tapped her head. “Because I bury my head in the sand?”

  “Ah. Interesting analogy.” He shifted on the bench. “But only accurate to a point.”

  She threw him a puzzled glance.

  “I fully acknowledge the truth of my life,” he said. “So while the ostrich comment is right on one level, as in yes, ostriches bury their heads—at least in cartoons—I don’t see myself as an ostrich, per se.”

  “Say what?” she said with a twitch of her chin. “You lost me.”

  He sighed. “I’m not hiding from the truth.”

  “You’re not?”

  “Nope.” He sat pensively for a moment. “I’m more of a…bear.”

  “Care to explain?”

  “Sure. A bear does what he needs to survive, and gets along fine without analyzing everything to death. Hence, the bear isn’t burying his head in the sand. He’s just doing his bear thing, on his own, and that works for him.”

  “You mean, the bear’s in denial,” she said wryly.

  “No, he’s not, because he isn’t denying the reality of his life. He’s just dealing with his reality in his own way, with his paws and his teeth, like a bear is supposed to.”

  She blinked, taken about by his logic.

  “I can see I’ve given you food for thought.” He got up and held out his hand for her to rise. “With that, I’ll say good-night.”

  She took his hand and stood, a bit thrown by the contact, as well as his clever and remarkably insightful comeback. Thinking fast, she said, “I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree, then.”

  “We could, but I’m not sure we really disagree,” he said. “Do you think so?”

  Trouble was, she didn’t.

  *

  Phoebe needed to finish up some paperwork, so Carson escorted her the block or so to her store after their discussion by the bench.

  As they walked in thoughtful silence, nodding to the people enjoying the evening on the boardwalk, he had to admit he was spinning; Phoebe had brought up some tough subject matter, for sure.

  Subject matter that ripped him up inside.

  As a self-described bear, he didn’t much like the feeling. Chances were, talking to Phoebe wouldn’t get any easier. Eventually, she’d wear him down, and not only would he have to pick apart his pain, he’d see her pain firsthand, too.

  And he’d have to admit to his failure.

  Warning sirens blared in his head.

  He saw a plump, gray-haired woman coming toward him on the boardwalk. Recognizing his deputy’s mom, Ruby Diaz, Carson waved, looking for all the world as if he and Phoebe were just out for a casual stroll, enjoying the lovely evening.

  What a pretty illusion.

  He was feeling anything but casual as he reiterated to himself that, yes, he was willing to sit through a relatively impersonal class. But pouring out his guts to perceptive, attractive, charming Phoebe, while she did the same?

  Not a good place for him to go. He’d find another way to deal.

  She turned when they reached her store. “Well, this is me. Thanks for walking me here.”

  He nodded, clearing his throat. “No problem. Listen, as I’ve been alluding to, I’m really not sure if this discussion plan is my thing. I didn’t sign up for one-on-ones. No offense.” He adjusted his hat. “I’m good with the class, listening, you know. But this?” He motioned between them. “It’s not going to work for me.”

  “Okay,” she said after a pause. “I get where you’re
coming from. As I said before, talking about losing someone you loved isn’t easy.”

  “Right.” Trouble was, talking about CJ dying was so much more than just difficult for him; speaking of the tragic decisions he’d made that life-changing day was agony.

  Phoebe smoothed her hair back behind one ear. “So…I respect your decision, but I don’t necessarily agree with it.”

  Expected. “Okay.”

  “We’re going with one-word answers now?” she asked, hoisting up one brow.

  He shrugged. How better to shut down the conversation? “Guess so. That’s two words, though.”

  She held up her hands. “Okay, okay, I get the message. I won’t push.”

  “Thank you.”

  Looking right at him, her eyes as soft as blue sky, she said, “But if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

  He nodded, even though he wouldn’t change his mind. “Appreciated.” He had no doubt Phoebe would be there for him if he needed her. Was that a good thing, or a bad thing? Funny how the two ends of the spectrum blurred at times.

  With a frustrated shake of her head and a small wave, she opened the door to her shop and disappeared inside. The door closed with a click, and she turned the OPEN sign over so it read CLOSED. She moved to the windows and closed the blinds one by one until she disappeared from view completely.

  And then he was standing by himself, outside looking in. By himself by choice.

  And necessarily alone with his agony that would be his own private pain, never to be shared, his own solitary burden that he had no choice but to bear as a man, a father and as a cop.

  Wasn’t that the least he deserved?

  Chapter Six

  The day after Phoebe and Carson talked on the boardwalk and he’d bailed on her, Phoebe spent most of the early afternoon immersed in boring yet necessary paperwork while Tanya handled the steady flow of customers out front.

  Well, Phoebe had been kinda sorta immersed in work. Unfortunately, a good chunk of her thoughts were consumed with worrying about Carson’s decision to nix their discussion sessions.