Her Small-Town Sheriff

by Lissa Manley

  “Great.” Heidi sprang up, and the dogs followed suit, their stubby tails wagging, their black eyes trained on her. “Let’s go talk to her now.”

  She darted past him and opened the door, heading out to the main part of the store. The dogs followed, obviously thrilled to have a human playmate to chase.

  Carson hung back, his stomach dropping like a rock.

  Looked as if Heidi was already getting attached to Phoebe. Good for Heidi.

  But for him? He wasn’t so sure.

  Chapter Nine

  The door to the office opened, and Phoebe saw Heidi emerge, followed by Peter and Parker dashing at her heels. Though her cheeks were still red and her eyes swollen, she had thankfully stopped crying.

  “I’ll call the dogs,” Molly said, moving sideways as she picked up a package of their favorite—and smelliest—treats. “Peter? Parker? Come.” She rustled the bag of treats as extra incentive for the food-driven canines to actually obey.

  The dogs skittered on the dog-friendly linoleum and changed course almost in midstride. With twin yips they ran over to Molly, clearly sensing a reward, which Molly dutifully handed out after they both skidded to a stop and sat in front of her.

  Phoebe darted a look back to the open office door, and a moment later Carson came out, his expression inscrutable as he replaced his hat on his head. Maybe she was imagining it, but it seemed as if some of the worry lines around his mouth and eyes had smoothed just a bit since they’d arrived, hot on Heidi’s trail.

  Had he and Heidi worked things out?

  Phoebe hoped so; she’d feel awful if her slipup had caused any kind of lasting rift between father and daughter.

  Heidi walked over to where Phoebe stood by the front counter. On her way, the girl’s face took on a serious, slightly hangdog cast.

  Phoebe did her best to project understanding; she knew what was coming, and how she’d react—with an apology, and damage control if necessary.

  Heidi came right up to her and looked her in the eye. “Ms. Sellers?”

  Phoebe gave her a gentle smile. “Why don’t you call me Phoebe.”

  Heidi nodded. “’kay.” She took a breath. “Um…Phoebe. I’m sorry I ran off and made you so worried. My dad explained to me back there why he told you about CJ and my mom,” Heidi said earnestly.

  Phoebe lifted her eyebrows.

  “’Cause you’re discussion partners,” Heidi said.

  Not anymore. Phoebe looked at Carson again. He widened his eyes, nodding.

  “Er…yes, that’s right, we are,” Phoebe said, leaving out the past tense per Carson’s nonverbal direction, even as she wondered what was going on. Had he changed his mind about being partners?

  “So I told him talking is good,” Heidi said with a simple authority Phoebe found adorable.

  “You did?”

  “Yeah.” Heidi cleared her throat. “So I was wondering if you and I could talk sometime about…stuff.”

  Stuff? As in…

  Carson stepped forward. “I told Heidi we’re grief-counseling discussion partners.”

  “Ah.” Made sense, really, that he would share that with Heidi. “I see.” But…had he told Heidi about Justin? For some reason, Phoebe hoped he hadn’t; she wasn’t opposed to Heidi knowing Justin had died, but she wanted to be the one to divulge that information, on her own terms.

  “I also told her that your story was yours to tell, if you wanted to,” Carson added.

  So he’d left out details. Smart man. “Thank you.”

  “So, could we talk sometime?” Heidi asked again. “Maybe I need a discussion partner, too.”

  “What about your dad?” Phoebe asked, not wanting to step on any toes after messing up so royally earlier today. “Don’t you think you should talk to him about this?”

  “Oh, he and I agreed I’ll talk to him more,” Heidi said. “But…I like you, Ms. Se…um, Phoebe, and you’ve been really nice to me.” She chewed on her lip. “And it sounds like you know what it’s like to lose someone.” The last few words came out on a whisper.

  Phoebe’s chest squeezed. Unfortunately, she knew all too well what it was like to suffer the loss of a loved one, what it felt like to have your heart whole one minute and crushed into tiny bits by grief the next. And she was heartsick the feeling was mutual between her and Heidi.

  Given that sad but true reality, how could she refuse Heidi’s request?

  Unless, of course, Carson didn’t approve. He was in the driver’s seat regarding Heidi, and after what had happened today with Heidi running off, Phoebe would never step over that borderline again without his express approval.

  She turned and regarded him as he stood silently by just a few feet away, listening and watching over his daughter in a Papa Bear way that sent ripples of admiration through Phoebe.

  After a pause, he gave her another scant nod of consent. Okay. Looked as if she had his blessing for her and Heidi to be new BFFs.

  “Sure, Heidi, I think that would be nice. Maybe we can talk some when you come to work at the parlor tomorrow.”

  “Great!” Heidi exclaimed, her face alight with a brilliant smile.

  Carson stepped forward. “Glad you two worked this out,” he said. He turned his attention to his daughter. “Heidi, I have to take you home. Mrs. P. is waiting there for you.”

  “Okay, Dad. Guess I’ll have to apologize to her, won’t I?”

  Carson touched the back of Heidi’s head and nodded. “Yes, you will.”

  Peter and Parker came running up just then. Parker dropped a ragged stuffed bunny at Heidi’s feet, backed up and barked. Peter ran interference and shot down a side aisle, looking over his shoulder.

  Heidi chuckled and squatted down to pick up the toy. “You guys are so funny.”

  Parker barked again.

  “Go ahead and play with them, honey,” Carson said, gesturing in the direction Peter had run. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

  Heidi grabbed the toy and threw it down the aisle. Parker took off, and Heidi followed.

  When she was out of earshot, he looked at Phoebe and said, “I think we need to talk.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay with this arrangement?” she asked, gesturing between herself and Heidi.

  “I’m fine with that,” he said. “That’s not what I want to talk about.”

  Her tummy lurched. “What do you want to talk about?”

  The bells over the door rang, and as the din of the dogs’ greeting echoed through the store, a family of five came in and scattered.

  “I’d prefer to talk somewhere more private.” He adjusted his hat and regarded her with an unwavering dark brown gaze. “Would it be okay if I stopped by the store after you close?”

  “Sure, that’d be fine,” she replied, somehow keeping the worry from showing in her voice.

  But the anxiety was there, grinding away at her. Carson wanted to talk. Privately.

  Why did she have a feeling that didn’t bode well for her?

  *

  It was almost nine before Carson left the station and headed to the parlor. He was tired from a stressful day made longer by having to track Heidi down and then having to stay late getting caught up on paperwork he’d been putting off. Luckily Mrs. Philpot and Heidi had already made plans to go to a movie with her grandkids, so Heidi was in good hands for the night.

  The sun hadn’t set completely yet, but it was on its way toward the horizon as he ambled along the boardwalk, deliberately slowing down to enjoy the lovely coastal evening and decompress a bit after such a hectic, trying day.

  He tipped his hat to some young tourists coming out of an art gallery, finally allowing himself to think about the woman he was on his way to see.

  Truth be told, he was very impressed with the way Phoebe had handled Heidi today at Bow Wow Boutique. She’d been patient, kind and clearly concerned for his daughter, which always earned extra points in his rather picky book. No doubt about it, Phoebe possessed a gentle, compassionate way that made h
is insides do funny things.

  He grimaced. Funny things he wasn’t sure he liked, actually. He wasn’t an idiot, and he knew what he was feeling was attraction. And being attracted to any woman right now set his nerves on edge.

  Well, seeing as how Heidi had shown him that he needed Phoebe as a discussion partner—wise girl, his baby, even when she was telling him things he didn’t want to face—he had no choice but to deal with his attraction to Phoebe, and gut it out. Or simply ignore it.

  Either way, he had to get a handle on the situation. Letting himself head down the messy road that led to putting his heart on the line wasn’t in his playbook.

  So, he thought as he drew up to the door of the parlor, he’d tell Phoebe they were back on as discussion partners. And hope he didn’t regret his decision down the line. And that she hadn’t changed her mind about being partners since he’d unceremoniously chickened out last night.

  A middle-aged man and a woman came out of the store, cones in hand, just as Carson reached for the door. With a respectful nod of his bald head, the man held the door for him with his free hand, and Carson thanked him as he entered.

  Phoebe stood by one of the tables, obviously waiting for the customers to leave. As soon as Carson was in, she hurried forward and turned the sign in the window to Closed before the door even had a chance to shut all the way. Hastily, she locked it.

  As she turned, he immediately noticed that her cheeks looked pale, and she had faint shadows under her eyes. Concern detonated, but he held it in check. Maybe she was just tired. It had been a long day for her, too.

  “In a hurry to close?” he asked, teasing.

  “Actually, I am,” she replied, her voice edged in weariness, and something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Sadness, maybe? Whatever the case, he sensed something was wrong, especially when she started cranking the mini blinds on the windows closed.

  “Long day?” he asked as he removed his hat, going with the obvious.

  She silently nodded and walked by him, not meeting his gaze.

  He followed her. “I don’t mean to be pry, but is there something wrong?”

  She stopped with her back turned. “Are you sure you want to talk? We’re not technically discussion partners anymore.”

  He winced, but he took the figurative pain; he deserved the barb. “Listen, about that…”

  She didn’t turn around, didn’t respond. She just put her hand on the counter and dipped her head.

  He froze, unsure of what to do; he still wasn’t certain she wanted him pressing for details. Then he heard what distinctly sounded like a low sob.

  Worry bubbled up again, stronger now. This was too unmistakable to ignore or pass off as her simply being worn-out. So he closed the distance between them and peeked around so he could see her downturned face.

  And was stunned to see tears running down her pale cheeks.

  “Hey, now,” he said, compassion kicking in. He reached out and touched her arm, encouraging her to turn toward him. “What’s wrong?”

  She gave in to the gentle pressure and looked at him. Then her face crumbled. “Tomorrow is Justin’s birthday, and his dad called earlier tonight to see how I was doing.”

  It didn’t take a detective to figure out who Justin was. Her fiancé. Rather than push, Carson took her by the shoulders and guided her to the nearest table. “Sit.”

  She complied, her shoulders sagging.

  Carson sat down next to her. “You want to talk about it?” he asked again, putting her in control.

  She pressed her lips together and nodded slightly, tears leaking out of her eyes.

  Her crying made his gut burn. “Talking to people who knew CJ is still a challenge for me,” he said, hoping his empathy helped her a bit.

  Her eyes softened. “You understand, then, don’t you?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.” He got her grief. Perfectly. They had that in common.

  She pressed her free hand to her brow, squeezed his hand, and her shoulders started to shake.

  Her anguish tore at him. Acting on instinct, he leaned over and put his arm around her, pulling on her hand. “Come here.”

  She resisted for a second, and then, with a sob, she leaned in his direction and took ahold of his right shoulder from the back, pressing her damp face to the place between his neck and his left shoulder.

  The fresh, light scent of her shampoo washed over him, and he actually felt dizzy. It had been a long time since he’d been this close to a woman.

  Seemed like a lifetime. Or three.

  He closed his eyes, allowing himself to savor the moment of nearness for a measly yet wonderful second. But then he deliberately redirected his thoughts and focused on their discussion rather than having a woman in his arms; thinking about how good it felt to have Phoebe close wasn’t what he should be doing right now. She needed him emotionally, and, surprisingly, he wanted to be there for her. Without distractions, as tempting as those distractions might be.

  “Have you seen Justin’s father since Justin died?” he asked, unable to keep from pressing his nose into her fragrant hair. Call him weak.

  “He calls every so often to check in, but I haven’t seen him since the funeral. He was a mess, and I was a mess, and I’m ashamed to say I haven’t wanted to see him since.” She wiped her cheeks. “It’s just too hard.”

  “Why are you ashamed?” he asked, squeezing her slim shoulder.

  “He was almost my father-in-law.” She sniffed. “I should be able to be there for him, and instead, just the thought of seeing him makes me cry.”

  Empathy streaked through him. “You’re human,” he said. “And we humans aren’t perfect.” Although he’d often beat himself to a mental pulp about being a wholly imperfect father to CJ.

  “I know. I guess I just expect a lot of myself.”

  He saw that in her, saw her drive to keep it together when she obviously felt more like letting herself fall apart. He was the same way, always trying to maintain iron control to avoid turmoil.

  “It’s hard when we don’t live up to our own expectations for ourselves, isn’t it?” He still hadn’t forgiven himself for putting CJ in danger.

  She pulled back and looked right at him, her brow furrowed. “You sound like you speak from experience.”

  Oh, yeah. Heartbreaking experience. His throat burned, and he looked away from her probing gaze. All he could think was that the discussion was veering to a place he couldn’t go.

  She reached out and touched his cheek. “You can talk to me,” she whispered.

  His face warmed beneath her touch, and her soft voice pulled at him like the moon pulled at the tide, muddling his thoughts even more. But one thought stood out. “I’m not sure that I can,” he said truthfully.

  Everything inside of him shouted to shut down this conversation. Right now. Before he had to confront all of the emotions he’d been hiding away since CJ died.

  Unable to think or even breathe with her so close, he slowly lifted his arm from around her and put some distance between them. She let him go and sat back in her chair, watching his every move.

  He couldn’t meet her gaze. Instead, he eyed the door, desperately wanting to escape the excruciating conversation looming.

  After a few silent moments, she leaned her forearms on the table. “I see you eyeing the door. You want to take off, don’t you?”

  Amazing how well she read him. And a bit scary. Was he that transparent? Or was she just that intuitive? Maybe both. Wordlessly, he nodded, unable to push out a lie.

  “I understand, really, I do. As I’ve said before, opening up is a challenge,” she said, straightening the metal napkin dispenser on the table until it was lined up nice and square with the edge.

  “Yup,” was all he could say. If he spoke, he was afraid he’d lose it. And heading toward that kind of emotionally chaotic place? He wasn’t going there, even though Phoebe had him looking in that direction.

  “You don’t like losing control, do you?” sh
e asked, plucking a napkin from the dispenser and dabbing at her damp eyes.

  His stomach churned. “Bad things happen when I do that.” As in, his son had died when Carson had lost control of the situation, even though as a cop, he’d been trained to do the exact opposite.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, pulling a napkin from the dispenser.

  He leveled a stare at her, tightening his jaw. “You’re not going to stop pushing, are you?”

  “Do you want me to?” she volleyed back with a twist of her lips.

  He frowned. “Why do you keep answering my questions with another question?”

  “Sorry.” She lifted her shoulders and let them fall. “I don’t know how else to get you to open up.”

  He felt his walls go up along with his shoulders. “Guess I’m going for enigmatic,” he said flippantly, to diffuse the tension going nuts in him.

  “Enigmatic, or clueless?” she asked with a dry-eyed, now steely gaze.

  “Ouch,” he said with an exaggerated cringe. “Zinger.”

  “Sorry to be blunt.”

  “Hey, I can take it.” He couldn’t remember the last time someone had challenged him like this.

  “You seem to bring that out in me.”

  He raised a rigid finger. “Nice excuse, but have you considered that maybe your bluntness is a good way to shift the attention off yourself?” he said, the words sliding out before he could catch them.

  For a second, she just sat there, her eyebrows raised in surprise. Then she inclined her head to the side, nodded and said, “Touché.”

  “So was that really what you were doing?” he asked, surprised she’d admit he’d hit the nail on the head.

  “Maybe.” She started fiddling with the napkin in her hand. “I’ve been told I sometimes use blame to…um, deflect.”

  He laughed without humor. “So I’m a clueless control freak, and you’re a blamer slash deflector.” He whistled. “What a nice pair we are, huh?” he said facetiously.

  “When you put it that way, we do sound kind of sad, don’t we?”

  “No kidding.” He chewed on his cheek, ruminating. “So what should we be learning from this?”