Driftwood Bay (Hope Harbor #5) - Irene Hannon Page 0,97

touched his heart in unexpected ways.

When he at last eased back, she scrutinized him with her usual solemn expression as the moon peeked out from behind the clouds. Then she lifted her hand, and with one finger traced the trail of a tear down his cheek.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry.” Her voice was soft. Uncertain.

“But it’s a happy cry, not a sad one, now that we found you and you’re fine. I was so worried, sweetie. It’s very scary when someone you love disappears and could be in trouble.”

She dipped her head and fiddled with the edge of her ratty blanket. “I didn’t know y-you loved me.”

Her statement smacked him in the face.

All these months, he’d done everything he could to demonstrate his love . . . but had he ever said the words?

Not that he could recall.

And while showing was important, maybe actions didn’t always speak louder than words.

Maybe there were times when words were needed too.

“I’m sorry I never told you that.” He brushed a damp strand of hair off her forehead. “But it’s always been in my heart.”

“Excuse me, folks.” Mark drew closer. “I’ve got Lexie on the line and she wants to know if she should dispatch the EMTs.”

“Hang on a minute.” Logan backed off and gave Molly a fast once-over. “Are you hurt anywhere, sweetie? Did you fall or get cut?”

“No.”

“What about Elisa?” He sized up the other girl as Thomma knelt beside her.

“No. But we’re cold—and h-hungry.”

“We can fix both of those fast.” He angled toward Mark. “No EMTs necessary.”

The handler relayed that news and ended the call. “She said to wait by the road. The officer who’s retrieving the suitcase will take her back to the house to get her car, then they’ll come by and pick us up. ETA is less than ten minutes.”

A shiver rippled through Molly, and Logan slipped his arms out of his jacket, wrapped her in it, and swung her up into his arms.

Thomma did the same, pulling out his phone once Elisa was settled against his chest.

“Are you calling Mariam?” Logan retrieved his own phone.

“Yes. She be happy.”

So would Jeannette.

He checked the call he’d ignored a few minutes ago. No message—but it was from his neighbor.

One tap . . . one ring . . . and she was on the line.

“We found them.”

“Oh, Logan . . . ” She expelled a breath. “I’ve been praying.”

“So have I.”

“Are they okay?”

“Cold, wet, tired, scared, hungry—but otherwise no worse for wear. Where are you?”

“Home. They called off the volunteer search until morning. Where are you?”

“Less than three miles away. We should be back in about ten minutes.”

“Be prepared. There’s a news crew from Coos Bay in front of your house.”

“Thanks for the warning. We’ll pull around the back to avoid them. I assume Lexie will make a statement. Do you want to come over?”

“I’d rather not run that gauntlet.”

“Later, maybe?”

She hesitated. “It’s almost ten—and you’ll want to spend some time with Molly before you put her to bed.”

“Tomorrow?”

“That could work. Give her a hug for me in the meantime.”

“Will do.”

After they said their good-byes, Logan weighed the cell in his hand.

Jeannette hadn’t committed to visiting them—surprise, surprise.

Not.

First Button dies, then a child she’s come to care for goes missing.

She was either retreating to the safe world she’d created at the lavender farm—or struggling to vanquish the fear that was holding her back from taking another chance on love.

Not much he could do tonight to press his case. Molly had to be his first priority.

But come tomorrow, Jeannette was jumping to the top of his list.

And as their small group trooped back through the woods toward the road to await their ride home, he was going to follow the same rule with her that he’d followed with Molly tonight.

He wasn’t just going to show her how he felt.

He was going to tell her.

Mariam lifted the pot of beans off the stove, pulled open the oven door, and divided the chicken-and-potato casserole into two portions—one for her family, one for Logan and Molly. Usually Logan refused her offers to leave dinner for them after she prepared a meal at his house for her family, but tonight she would insist.

Lunch had been hours ago, and while Logan appeared to be a fine doctor, based on the contents of his refrigerator, he wasn’t much of a chef.

Besides, cooking had kept her hands and mind occupied during the stressful hours until the children had been found, and he might as well benefit from