Her Small-Town Sheriff. Lissa Manley

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СКАЧАТЬ “But—”

       “You know this, and you know why.” Phoebe drew in a large breath. “I don’t want to date anyone ever again.” She’d found true love once in Justin, and when he’d died two weeks before their long-awaited wedding…well, sadly, inevitably, so had her hopes for love.

       Molly came over, then drew Phoebe into a hug and squeezed her tight. She moved back, her green eyes intent on Phoebe’s face. “But what if there’s someone else out there for you?”

       Phoebe’s eyes burned, and she pulled away, then wiped a waffle-cone crumb off one of the stools. “There isn’t,” she said, covering up the sadness and emptiness her words brought forth with an emphatic tone. “You know I don’t believe in second chances.”

       “I didn’t, either, and I found Grant,” Molly said.

       “I’m not you. Justin was it for me, and I’m okay with that.” What other choice did she have? Jump back into another relationship, just waiting for something bad to happen, for her heart to be ripped out of her chest? No, thank you.

       Molly opened her mouth to speak. To argue, Phoebe was sure.

       She held up a rigid hand again. “No, Molly.” She had to be ruthless here or Molly would go into matchmaker overdrive and have double-wedding plans mapped out in no time flat. “I am not interested in dating anyone, so don’t try and fix me up with the new sheriff. Besides, he has a kid.” She swept the pile of contraband off the counter into a bowl before Molly noticed it. “A preteen.” She sighed. “I don’t think that’s God’s plan for me.

       “You’d be a great mom,” Molly said.

       Longing pierced Phoebe’s heart, and words stuck in her throat. Sadly, with no chance for a husband, kids weren’t in her future. She simply shook her head.

       “Well, I think you’re making a mistake,” Molly said. “Love comes when you expect it the least.”

       “Love? You’re getting a little ahead of yourself here.” Phoebe laughed, but it sounded hollow.

       Molly’s words had a knot forming in Phoebe’s chest; oh, how she wished she could convert to Molly’s way of thinking. But she couldn’t. Justin had been her one true love, and there wouldn’t be another. Period.

       “No, I’d be making a mistake if I let you fix me up with anyone when I’m sure I’m never going to fall in love again,” Phoebe said. “Total waste of time.”

       “I didn’t want to fall in love, either,” Molly said. “And I was wrong.”

       “I’m not wrong about this,” Phoebe stated. “So please back off and quit trying to convince me otherwise.”

       Molly reluctantly agreed, then said goodbye to go back to work.

       Phoebe headed toward the freezer to check inventory, and her eyes snagged on the candy under the counter she’d confiscated from Heidi Winters. Unbidden, memories of Carson Winters’s dark, chocolate-brown eyes and stunning smile flashed in her brain. He really was a handsome guy.

       On top of that, she had to admit she liked the way he’d dealt with his daughter’s shenanigans. He seemed levelheaded, fair, and as if he took his parenting responsibilities very seriously.

       She’d downplayed her reaction to Carson in order to keep Molly’s matchmaking instincts in check. But, truthfully, the new sheriff had piqued Phoebe’s interest.

       She shook her head. No. Getting caught up in a man—any man—would be heading down a danger-strewn road she was determined to avoid.

       Worse yet, Carson made his living in law enforcement, which ranked right up there with firefighter on the dangerous-jobs list in her mind.

       She had to remember all of those things, no matter how appealing the new sheriff in town might prove himself to be in the days and weeks to come.

      Chapter Two

      After work, Carson headed home, dreading the upcoming conversation with Heidi. Given everything else she was dealing with, he hated having to call her on her behavior. But he couldn’t let what she’d done slide. Shoplifting was a serious offense, and he had to impress on her that stealing was wrong.

       He pulled up to his rented midcentury three-bedroom, two-bath saltbox-style house and parked in the driveway; the garage was still full of moving boxes and extra furniture he hadn’t been able to part with when they’d moved. Someday he’d get to sorting through all of it, but right now, just the thought of the chore overwhelmed him and brought forth too many difficult memories.

       Turning off the ignition, he sat in his SUV cruiser for a moment, relishing the calm before the inevitable storm. Then he climbed out of his vehicle, locked it and headed toward the front door, figuratively putting his “Dad” hat on.

       He let himself in and went directly to the bedroom at the front of the house he used as an office and secured his service weapon in his home lockbox in the closet. He put his sheriff’s hat on his oak desk, and then walked through the small, sparsely furnished living room and went looking for Mrs. Philpot.

       As expected, she was in the eat-in kitchen standing at the stove making what smelled like Salisbury steak. Carson noted that the chipped tile counters were sparkling clean, and the scuffed hardwood floors looked freshly mopped. Carson didn’t require her to do housework, but Mrs. Philpot seemed compelled to keep the place spotless, which he was thankful for. With his schedule, he didn’t have much time for housework, and he hadn’t had the chance to hire someone to come in and clean.

       Today Mrs. Philpot was dressed in a hot-pink tracksuit and white tennis shoes. Her short, bright, unnaturally red hair—colored, he was sure, but, hey, whatever—was, as always, perfectly styled, and her tortoiseshell glasses sat atop her head. Though she was almost seventy, she was as sharp as a tack, and he suspected that today’s events were an anomaly; according to her references, not much usually got past her.

       Except one determined twelve-year-old bent on misbehaving—his daughter, the escape artist/shoplifter. Wonderful. What a distinction.

       “Hello, Mrs. Philpot,” he said. “Smells delicious.” She usually started dinner so Carson and Heidi didn’t end up eating at eight-thirty. That gave Heidi more time to do homework before lights-out at nine. Unless Heidi argued about having to go to bed so early, and then bedtime was more like ten.

       “Hello, Sheriff Winters,” she said, raising a wooden spoon in the air. “Dinner is almost ready.”

       “Great.” He retrieved a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water.

       Mrs. Philpot turned toward him, her hands knotted together, her brow furrowed. “I am so sorry about what happened with Heidi today. She told me she was going upstairs to do her homework, and I was busy vacuuming. She must have slipped out the front door when I was down the hall and couldn’t hear or see her.” She shook her head. “I heard her music coming from her room, and, silly me, assumed she was still up there.”

       He put his glass down on the counter. “Please don’t worry about this. Apparently Heidi has developed a very sneaky streak, and I’m sure she waited for the opportunity to slip by you and left her music on to throw you off the scent.”

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