Driftwood Bay (Hope Harbor #5) - Irene Hannon Page 0,46

Molly during meals and dying to share dinner with a female over the age of five.

“I hear you.” He forced up the corners of his mouth. “But if you see us pulling out of our driveway later and change your mind about the beach, flag us down.” He started back toward the house.

He was eight steps away when she spoke.

“Logan.”

Masking his surprise—and his hope—he pivoted back toward her.

“Um . . . you don’t have to drive to get to the beach.”

Not what he’d expected.

“Is there an access point around here?”

“Yes. At the back of my property there’s a path that leads to the dunes overlooking the bay, and from there you can walk down to Driftwood Beach. It’s not far. You’re welcome to use it. Most days you’ll have the beach to yourself.”

She sounded a bit breathless. Like she was nervous or . . . afraid?

That didn’t make sense.

Why would offering someone beach access generate a case of nerves?

Whatever the reason she found the offer distressing, why labor over it? Better to accept with gratitude. This would be much easier than loading Molly and Toby into the car.

“I appreciate that. Molly will get a kick out of walking to the beach, and Toby will love the exercise. But I promise to keep a tight hold on his leash while we’re on your property.”

“I’m not worried about that. It sounds like you’re well on your way to corralling his canine capers. Enjoy your dinner.”

With that, she disappeared behind the hedge.

Logan retraced his steps to the house more slowly.

It was a shame Jeannette had turned down his dinner invitation—but it might be for the best. If they spent any time together, he could get interested.

Make that more interested.

Which would not be good.

He had plenty on his plate already adjusting to a brand-new town, learning the ropes at the urgent care center, dealing with a rascally pup, and trying to learn how to be a single father and to win the trust—and love—of a little girl who’d been no more than a Facebook photo to him for most of her five years.

There wasn’t room in his life for romance.

Yet even if there was, he suspected Jeannette wouldn’t be interested.

And he didn’t think it was personal.

A woman who ran a business out of her home and rarely left the premises wasn’t interested in connecting with anybody.

At the foot of the porch steps, Logan gave the tall hedge a final sweep.

Maybe they were meant to be nothing more than neighbors.

But someday he was going to find out why a beautiful woman with a caring heart locked herself away on a lavender farm with only her flowers for company.

14

The crash from next door was loud—and it was followed by a little-girl wail.

Uh-oh.

Jeannette dropped her long-handled trowel in the lavender bed and sped toward the front of her house, heart pounding.

If Molly had gotten injured, it would be her fault. She was the one who’d suggested this daycare arrangement. And just because the first week had gone smoothly didn’t mean there couldn’t still be bumps in the road.

She rounded the bottom of the hedge at the end of her drive and picked up speed as she dashed toward Logan’s backyard.

At least there were no more wails.

That could be a positive sign—or a bad one.

Please, Lord, let it be the former!

But it wasn’t.

As the backyard came into view, both girls were huddled around Mariam, who was sitting on the ground. Toby lay on the grass as far away as his leash would stretch, chin on paws, watching the proceedings in silence—for once.

Mariam spotted her first and offered an apologetic shrug. “I fall.”

“Yes. I see.” Jeannette joined the girls, directing her question to Molly. “What happened?”

“Toby runned around her and she tripped on the leash.”

That figured.

She refocused on Mariam. “Hurt?” She touched various parts of her own body.

The older woman pulled up the leg of her slacks.

Her ankle was already swelling.

Jeannette stifled a groan.

What a way to start the week.

And with Thomma out on the fishing boat, she’d have to deal with this herself.

So . . . what to do? Call 911?

Yes. Paramedics would be able to address this far better than she could.

As she pulled out her phone, Mariam squinted at her. “Who call?”

How could she communicate ambulance? That word hadn’t cropped up in their vocabulary lessons yet.

“Hospital. Doctor. Police.” Maybe one of those would register.

Mariam grabbed her arm, alarm strobing through her eyes. “No police. I okay.” She tried to stand, grimacing as she struggled to her