Her Small-Town Sheriff Page 5

  Everyone in the class murmured their assent along with Phoebe.

  “Okay, there are twelve of us, and since Randy and Joanna are married and want to be partners, we’ll need to count off by fives to make five groups of two.” She pointed right. “Start here and count off, and then we’ll partner up, get to know each other for a few minutes, and adjourn.”

  Everyone dutifully said their number, and Phoebe uttered “five” when it was her turn. The counting hit the back of the room, and the last person to speak—a guy with a vaguely familiar deep voice—said “five” after a pause. The counting ended.

  Phoebe drew her eyebrows together. She hadn’t noticed any men in the very back of the room when the class had started…

  Gathering up her things, she stood and turned around to see who she’d be working with. Only to be met with the dark, piercing, none-too-happy yet surprised gaze of Sheriff Carson Winters.

  She blinked as her heart tripped over itself. Freezing in midmotion as she slung her purse over her shoulder, she almost whacked the woman standing next to her.

  Oh, no. What was he doing at a grief-counseling class? His wife had left him and Heidi, yes. Did death of a marriage count? Probably so…

  A new depth of empathy grabbed ahold of her and twisted. Automatically, a prayer rose inside of her. Lord, please help the Winterses through this, and give them the strength they’ll need to heal. And help me, too, please. I think I’m going to need it.

  Because as a woman out to keep her life on an even track, spending any one-on-one time with the compelling Carson Winters was the very last thing she wanted to do.

  Chapter Four

  “So, it looks like we’re discussion partners.”

  As Phoebe spoke, Carson arranged his face in a neutral expression and smothered the need to snort.

  Figured he’d get paired up with the pretty blonde, who looked even nicer than he remembered, dressed in a black belted coat, jeans and hot-pink scarf that really played up the blue in her eyes.

  Actually, getting paired up with anybody wasn’t exactly thrilling him; he’d been planning on dutifully sitting through some lectures, maybe filling out some forms or something. Alone. He hadn’t counted on sharing himself—or his feelings—with anyone.

  Especially not the engaging ice-cream-store owner.

  Belatedly, he realized that Phoebe was obviously here because she was dealing with grief herself. What was her story, anyway? And why was he so interested?

  He rolled a shoulder. “Yep, looks like we are.”

  A pause. “You don’t look too happy about being here,” she said, hitching her purse up.

  Guess he was a bad actor. “I’m not.”

  “Yeah, I get that,” she said, surprising him. “I promised my mom I’d come, and…well, let’s just say it’s hard saying no to her.”

  Again, his interest flared; who was she grieving? Guess he’d find out soon enough. “Then we’re in the same boat.”

  She looked at him questioningly.

  “I promised Lily I’d come,” he said.

  “Ah. I see.”

  “But I’d never have come of my own volition. I’m not much of a talker.” Especially when it came to what ailed him.

  She nodded, biting her lip. “Look, if you’d rather have another partner…”

  “I didn’t want any partner,” he said, his jaw ticking. “So don’t be offended.”

  Her mouth thinned. “Well, that makes me feel better.”

  He sighed. “I’m handling this badly, aren’t I?”

  “Pretty much,” she replied, nodding.

  “Sorry.” He laughed under his breath. “This kind of stuff isn’t my strong point.” Susan had always said he was a bad interpersonal communicator and liked to hold things close to the vest. She’d been wrong about a lot of things, but right about that; he’d been raised to keep his chin up, no matter what.

  “I don’t think anyone likes talking about painful stuff,” Phoebe said, softly, her eyes shimmering. “Especially grief.”

  Before he could respond to Phoebe’s comment, Rebecca clapped her hands. The class quieted and all eyes looked her way.

  “While you’re talking with your partner, please discuss why you’re here, all right?” Rebecca said. “That way, everyone will be on the same page, and no one will have to ask an insensitive question. And feel free to go somewhere more comfortable to talk. Class is over for tonight. See you all next week.”

  Phoebe turned to him, her eyebrows raised. “You want to spill first?”

  His throat burned. “Quite frankly, no.” Rebecca’s suggestion to share their history made sense, but he honestly didn’t know how he could even utter CJ’s name without crumbling.

  Without reliving his failure.

  “Yeah. Me, neither,” Phoebe said ruefully. “Looks like we’re at an impasse.”

  Other members of the class began filing out, although a few stayed, talking in small groups. Rebecca, who’d been making the rounds, walked up.

  “How’s it going, you two?” she asked.

  “Not so good,” Phoebe said. “We both feel…awkward about sharing.”

  That was putting it mildly.

  “That’s natural, completely normal,” Rebecca replied. “This opening-up process frequently feels wrong and problematic at first.”

  She had that right. Sharing his agony felt so not right, so against his natural instincts to keep everything within himself. His gut told him to clam up and ignore his feelings and hope they just went away.

  Rebecca leaned against a desk. “Dealing with grief is difficult, no doubt about it.”

  Exactly. Handling CJ’s death had been the hardest challenge Carson had ever come up against. And that was saying a lot, given his occupation.

  Continuing on, Rebecca said, “But you guys came to the class to get help in that endeavor, right?”

  He and Phoebe nodded.

  “Well, then, if you’re ever going to heal, you’re going to need to get to a place where you can talk about what you’re going through, how you’re feeling.”

  Her words echoed what Lily had told him at the coffee shop earlier today, and that, in turn, reminded him of why he was here—for Heidi. For her, he needed to man up in a way that felt foreign to him, and deal instead of doing his usual routine of burying his head in the sand. And that meant forcing himself to go through the process Rebecca was laying out before them.

  He looked at Phoebe. “You game?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you think you can tough it out for your mom’s sake? You made it through the door.”

  “I did.” She twitched her lips. “Yeah, I can tough it out for her.”

  “Okay, then.”

  She raised an eyebrow at him. “For Heidi?”

  “For Heidi,” he said, even though he felt the walls of the small basement meeting room closing in on him, trapping him in a place akin to facing a lowlife with a gun, his own back against the wall.

  Rebecca piped in. “You always have a choice. You just have to decide which choice is in your and your loved ones’ best interest. In short, which path will lead you to a better place?”

  And more importantly, which path would help Heidi? Because acting in Heidi’s best interest was what he was all about. Always.

  “Gotcha,” he said, then turned his attention to Phoebe. “I’ll give this discussion thing my best shot, but this place is getting claustrophobic. What do you say we go and talk over a cup of joe?”

  Phoebe hesitated, her blue eyes reflecting what looked similar to the same unease he was feeling. After a few beats, she drew in a breath and said, “Sounds like a plan. Let’s go.”

  They said goodbye to Rebecca and he followed his new discussion partner out into the cool evening, belatedly wondering how smart it was to spend any personal time with the lovely Phoebe Sellers.

  Or to share his grief and pain when he suspected doing so would feel as if he was yanking his heart out all over again.
r />   *

  The Coffee Cabana was closing in half an hour, so it was deserted when Carson held the door open for Phoebe and she stepped inside the place.

  Inhaling the scent of fresh ground coffee, she waved to Blake Stonely, the thirty-something owner who’d bought the place last year, and then grabbed the first table by the door, feeling the need to not be tucked away in some intimate corner with Mr. Cute Sheriff.

  Carson took off his hat and set it on the extra chair at the table she’d chosen. “What can I get you?” he asked.

  He’d insisted on paying for her coffee when they’d arrived on foot at The Coffee Cabana, Moonlight Cove’s own little version of coffee and pastry paradise.

  Phoebe looked up at him and automatically said, “Coffee, black, thanks.” She was gonna need fortification to get through this meeting.

  However…maybe the caffeine was a bad idea if she was actually planning on sleeping tonight. Which she was. “Actually, make that a decaf, would you?”

  He nodded and headed up to the counter to order.

  She watched him go, her eyes lingering on his broad shoulders and narrow waist, again noticing that he walked with a natural economy of movement she found attractive. Ripping her gaze away from him, she admonished herself for noticing anything about him at all. She had bigger things to focus on here.

  Such as getting stuck with him as her discussion partner. Well, not stuck, exactly. He was a nice guy and all, and would probably make someone else an excellent sounding board. But did it have to be her?

  She’d already promised herself to stay disengaged from the Winters family. This little situation hardly qualified. Carson would be privy to her untidy business before long, and he’d know all about Justin. And her personal heartbreak.

  She unbuttoned her coat, telling herself to calm down, to keep perspective. This new development wasn’t the end of the world. She should know; she’d lived through the seeming end of her world when Justin had died. No contest here.

  Okay. So. Everything was fine. She needed to relax and go with the flow and, as Rebecca had said, respect the process. To heal the wound on her heart, she had to make a choice that wasn’t comfortable—how true—but that would lead her to a better, more settled place. Eventually.

  Besides, she’d already told Carson she was game if he was, and it wouldn’t be cool to ditch him now because she was an emotional wimp.

  She straightened the sweetener holder, then jiggled her foot under the table, waiting for him to return, going over what she needed to do in the next twenty minutes.

  Loosen up. She stopped shaking her foot.

  Talk. She cleared her throat and opened her mind to sharing what had happened to her.

  Listen. She steeled herself to hear about Carson’s story.

  Deal. Tricky. But, hopefully, not impossible.

  Carson came back with two cups of coffee and two apple tarts, complete with whipped cream and caramel drizzle. “Thought you might be interested in something sweet,” he said, putting her coffee and treat, along with some utensils, on the table before her.

  She blinked, her mouth watering. “How did you know those are my favorite?”

  “I didn’t.” He sat and grabbed a napkin from the napkin holder. “They just looked good.”

  He obviously had his sweet-tooth priorities in excellent order. “Trust me, they are,” she said, picking up one of the forks. “I’ve actually thought about offering some kind of ice cream based on these.”

  “That sounds like it would be a big hit.”

  “I know.” She dug into the pastry, carefully mixing just the right amount of apples, flaky crust and whipped cream.

  “Maybe with a caramel swirl?” he asked.

  “Of course,” she said, toasting him with a big bite before she popped it in her mouth. Delicious.

  He took a sip of his coffee, which looked hot and black, no embellishments. Ah. A man after her own coffee heart. Good thing a love for black coffee and apple tarts was all they had in common. Except, she firmly reminded herself, the reason they were here.

  To discuss their respective losses.

  Her foot started going again, and suddenly her appetite crashed and burned. She put her fork down and took a sip of her coffee. And then another, wishing now she’d gone with the caffeine.

  Carson looked up from making quick work of his tart. He stopped chewing for a moment, then continued on and swallowed. “So, how’s it going with Heidi at the parlor?” he asked after a sip of coffee.

  That was a safe subject to start. Great. Her leg relaxed. “She’s been a bit…prickly,” she said, choosing a kind word so Carson wouldn’t freak out.

  “Prickly? Or rude?” he asked, his gaze laser sharp.

  Phoebe shifted in her seat. “Not rude. Just…standoffish.”

  He sighed heavily, shaking his head. “I thought her attitude had cooled down a bit.”

  “Yeah, she gave me that impression, too, when the three of us met in my office. But for whatever reason, she’s definitely giving off a sullen vibe.”

  “I’ll talk to her—”

  “No, don’t,” Phoebe said, holding up a hand. “I want to work this out myself, and I certainly don’t want Heidi thinking we’re talking behind her back.”

  “But we are.”

  “True. But no matter how we twist it, it’ll seem like we’re ganging up on her, and that’s the last thing I want. Just let me figure this out on my own, all right?”

  “Fine,” he allowed. “But I want you to tell me if she keeps up the attitude.”

  “I promise,” Phoebe said.

  Silence stretched out, and Phoebe’s leg started twitching again. She clamped a hand down on her thigh, to no avail.

  He frowned and then leaned sideways and looked underneath the table. Straightening, his brows raised, he said, “Let me make a wild guess and assume you’re nervous about…talking.”

  “You could say that.” Despite her best efforts to the contrary. “Sometimes knowing what I need to do is easier than actually doing it.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Well, I know I need to relax and embrace the process, but actually starting this discussion is proving to be…difficult.”

  She went on. “Talking about…what happened…has never been easy for me,” Phoebe shoved out. Molly was the only one she’d ever really opened up to. Mainly because Molly was just pushy enough to wear her down.

  Carson shifted in his seat. “I wouldn’t normally ask, but I guess we have to go there.” He paused. “What did happen?”

  Eyes tingling, throat thick, she bit her lip and blinked rapidly, though any attempt at stemming the waterworks was probably futile. “Someone I loved died.”

  His gaze darted to his coffee cup. He looked back up, his eyes brimming with sympathy. “Who?”

  “My fiancé.”

  He hissed out a breath. “Oh, Phoebe. I am so sorry.”

  Clearing her throat, she replied, “Yeah, it was a shock.” She picked up her fork and started smoothing the whipped cream on top of her tart, unable to meet Carson’s gaze. “He, um…was a firefighter on a Hotshot crew, and two weeks before we were supposed to get married he was killed in a wildfire in central Oregon.” Tears welled and crested.

  “How long ago was this?”

  “Two years.” She grabbed a napkin and dabbed at her eyes from the bottom rim up, trying not to smudge her mascara, though it was probably pointless. For the first six weeks after Justin had died, she hadn’t even bothered putting on makeup because she just cried it off by midmorning.

  “Wow. That must have been rough,” Carson said.

  “It’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  He sat for a moment, just shaking his head, his mouth pressed into a tight line. He took a sip of his coffee, then fiddled with his fork. “Having someone you love die is…awful,” he finally said, his voice rough and streaked with deep sadness and obvious empathy that told her he knew firsthand what she’d gone through
. And suddenly she was certain he was talking about more than just the death of his marriage.

  “You lost someone you loved, didn’t you? Someone besides your wife,” she stated in a hoarse whisper, afraid to hear his answer.

  He nodded, a single, jerky motion of his head that spoke volumes.

  A rock formed in her gut, sending physical pain flashing through her to mingle with the emotional pain that had been with her ever since Justin had died.

  It was obvious she was in over her head with this whole discussion thing. Dealing with her own grief was bad enough. But to have to hear about Carson’s, and handle whatever he shared with her?

  She wasn’t sure she could do it.

  But then she saw the sadness and loss emanating from his eyes. Gutting up, she shoved down the need to bolt. She’d agreed to this, and she instinctively knew she’d have to walk through fire now to help herself, and him, in the long run.

  Because helping him with his grief was important to her. There was that softy part of her taking over again. And right now, she wished that part of herself would take a hike. Even so, she couldn’t deny that mushy part existed any more than she could deny she had blue eyes.

  “Tell me who it was,” she forced out, making herself look directly at him when all she really wanted to do was memorize the wood-grain pattern on the table in front of her and then straighten every napkin holder in sight.

  He closed his eyes and his mouth trembled, and she thought she’d lose it right then and there. Steeling herself, she patiently waited for him to speak.

  He pressed a hand to the bridge of his nose, and then sucked in a large breath. “My son,” he said in a jagged, agonized whisper. “I lost my boy, and nothing will ever be the same.”

  All Phoebe heard was the sound of her heart shattering.

  Chapter Five

  As soon as the words about CJ left Carson’s mouth, he saw Phoebe freeze, her glimmering eyes chock-full of raw empathy tinged with horror. Perhaps a bit of denial?

  No one wanted to hear about or accept the death of a child.

  Clearly, though, she understood his tragedy on a deeply personal level. She’d lost someone important, too. Her fiancé. The man she’d loved. Still loved, he was sure. A woman like Phoebe wouldn’t just stop loving. No way. Not in a million years.