Her Small-Town Sheriff. Lissa Manley

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      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.”

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