by Irene Hannon
That was true.
But she could pass it on by phone. That would be far safer.
Decision made, she pivoted and hurried back toward her house.
“Jeannette!”
As Logan called out from behind her, her step faltered—as did her heart.
Too late to run.
She swiveled toward him as he jogged down the path from the porch.
Halfway to her, he stopped and plucked a lavender ribbon from the grass.
Holding it aloft, he grinned. “Never mind. Crisis averted. I thought I might have lost this at your place and was going to ask you if I could look for it. Come on over, if you can stand Toby’s barking.”
She was stuck.
Smoothing a hand down her jeans, she joined him. “I’m a little later than I expected. I wanted to change first.”
“That’s fine. Toby was not happy about being confined in a cage while we were gone, and he’s been barking and running around the house like he’s possessed since we liberated him. He’s calmed down some, but why don’t we sit out here while Molly plays with him? It will be less chaotic.” He motioned toward the front porch.
“Works for me.”
He let her precede him, pausing at the front door as she moved toward the mesh folding chairs the former owner had left that had been there for as long as she’d lived in her house. “Let me give this to Molly and stave off a meltdown.”
By the time he joined her, she’d moved the two chairs farther apart and claimed one of them.
If he noticed the wider separation, he gave no indication of it. “Molly loved the tea—and we both appreciated the animal-shaped peanut butter and jelly sandwiches you added to our tray.”
“I figured she’d like them better than the smoked salmon rosette and the marinated shrimp skewered on the lavender stem. Besides, that left more of the gourmet food for you—not that it filled you up, I’m guessing.”
He shifted in his seat. “Everything was delicious.”
“A diplomatic answer. But I have a feeling you’re in the same camp as one of my male guests from Texas, who said, ‘Mighty tasty, young woman—but where’s the main course?’”
“Can I plead the Fifth?”
“Not necessary. Most women can’t finish everything I serve and tell me they’re full at the end, but their male companions don’t consider my teas a meal. So you’re not alone.”
“Where did you learn to make all that fancy food, anyway?”
Not a subject she wanted to discuss—but she couldn’t ignore the question.
“My mom was a wonderful cook. Most of the elaborate fare is self-taught, but she was my inspiration.” Jeannette folded her hands in her lap and steered the conversation back on course. “Would you like to hear my idea?”
“Absolutely.”
“Did you happen to notice how Molly and Elisa Shabo clicked at the farmer’s market?”
“Yes.”
“It occurred to me that both girls could use a friend. Given their instant rapport, I wondered if Mariam—the grandmother—might be interested in watching them in your home. That would give Molly personalized care in familiar surroundings, along with the companionship of a child she already likes.”
Logan leaned forward and clasped his hands together, faint furrows creasing his brow. “Have you asked her about this?”
“No. I wanted to run the idea by you first. But I imagine the family would welcome another source of income. They came here with nothing, and Thomma isn’t earning much working on a fishing boat.”
“Does Mariam have any kind of childcare credentials?”
“I doubt it—but she raised two sons, and she’s very loving with Elisa. Given the circumstances, it will be impossible to do any of the typical due diligence, but you could always talk to Father Murphy. Get his read.”
“What’s your take on her—and the family?”
“I don’t know them that well.”
“You know them better than I do—and I’d appreciate your input.”
Jeannette knitted her fingers together in her lap. Back in her more sociable days, she’d been an excellent judge of character. But those skills were rusty.
As if sensing her reluctance to offer an opinion, Logan spoke again. “Whatever insights you have would be appreciated—and I won’t blame you if anything goes wrong.”
Given that caveat, how could she not share a few topline impressions?
“I think they’re good people.” She spoke slowly, choosing her words with care. “Thomma is angry, which is understandable. Mariam is trying hard to be the glue in the family and present a brave front, but I have a feeling she’s hurting inside and struggling to keep it together. Elisa is like Molly—a victim of circumstance, buffeted by trauma, but like most children, she’s responsive to love and very resilient.”
“Does that mean you think I should give this a shot?”
“That has to be your decision. I’m just presenting it as a possible option.”
“You don’t think Mariam’s lack of English would be a problem?”
“It’s not ideal, but she has their translator’s cell number. If there’s a communication glitch, she can always call for clarification—and I’m next door in an emergency.”
She clamped her lips shut.
Why on earth did she keep offering to get involved?
She had to stop doing that. Now.
“Do they have a car?” Logan crossed an ankle over his knee.
“Yes, but Thomma hasn’t gotten his driver’s license yet. Once he does, he can pick them up in the afternoon—but since he starts so early, they’d still need a ride to your house in the morning.”
“Not a problem. Nothing’s very far in Hope Harbor—and this arrangement would be far more convenient than the preschool in Coos Bay.” He leaned back, his expression thoughtful. “I like the idea of Molly having a ready-made friend—and the daycare center director did recommend in-home care.”
Jeannette remained silent while he mulled over the notion. She’d presented her case, and she wasn’t going to push. She’d already far overstepped her self-imposed boundaries.
“Maybe I should run this by Molly. What do you think?” Logan looked over at her.
“I think it’s always wise to involve children in decisions if possible. And given the preschool fiasco, letting her have some control over the situation could help create buy-in.”
Logan hitched up one side of his mouth. “You seem to know as much about kids as Laura Wilson, the daycare center director.”
She let that pass. “I’ll tell you what. If you’re interested in considering this, why don’t I contact Mariam and see if the idea appeals to her before you broach the notion to Molly? No sense getting her hopes up if this isn’t going to fly—or you decide not to pursue it.”
“That makes sense. Can you reach her tonight? I have to get back to the woman Reverend Baker found ASAP.”
“Yes. I have the translator’s cell number, and she sounded willing to help if an urgent situation came up. Given your ticking clock, I think this qualifies.”
“Amen to that.”
“I’ll call Susan as soon as I get back to the house.” She rose.
He stood too—much more slowly. As if he wasn’t anxious for her to leave.
Or was that her overactive imagination at play?
“I’ll tell the woman Reverend Baker lined up that I may have an alternate plan, but I’d appreciate it if you’d get back to me as soon as you hear anything.”
“Why don’t I call you with an update by eight o’clock at the latest?”
“Perfect.”
She edged around him on the porch, doing her best to ignore the hint of spicy aftershave tickling her nose. “I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing.”
“No rush on my end. I’m going to read Molly a few of her fairy-tale princess books and introduce Toby to the electric fence.”
“Exciting Saturday night.”
“The fenc
e part might be.”
“That kind of excitement you could do without, I’m sure.”
“True.”
“This new lifestyle of yours must be a huge adjustment after leading a bachelor life in San Francisco. I bet Saturday nights there were much more . . . entertaining.” As the comment tripped off her tongue, she tried not to cringe. It sounded like she was digging for information about his social life, when all she was trying to do was make conversation.
Yeah, right, Jeannette. Who are you trying to kid?
She mashed her lips together.
Fine.
She was digging.
But he probably wouldn’t answer anyway.
“To be honest, I like Saturday nights here better.” He leaned against the porch post and slid his fingers into his pockets, his casual stance at odds with his serious demeanor. “I worked a fair number of weekends in the ER, which had a dramatic impact on my social life. Since I wasn’t dating anyone seriously, though, it was no big deal.”
She stared at him.
Why would he share such personal information?
Unless . . .
Was he trying to communicate that he was available . . . and interested in her?
Hard to tell. Her skills at reading those kinds of signals were too rusty.
Whatever his intention, however, the revelation was more than she’d bargained for.
And much too unsettling.
“Um . . . I’m glad it’s been a positive change for you in that regard.” She eased down the three steps from the porch to the walk. “I’ll give you a call later.”
“I’ll look forward to that.”
Because he was anxious to hear what Mariam had to say—or anxious to talk to her again?
It could be both.
And that was bad.
She did not want to attract attention or catch any man’s eye. That was one of the reasons she’d kept to herself for the past three years.
Without looking back, she hightailed it down the drive, toward the safety of her farm behind the tall hedge. Where she belonged.
Because once you started getting involved in other people’s lives, once you began to let yourself care, you opened yourself up to a world of heartache.
And that wasn’t a place she intended to visit ever again.
13
“Congrats on surviving your first week on the job.” Barb Meyers grinned as she flipped off the lights in the last treatment room of the urgent care center.
Logan slipped out of his white coat and hung it in the closet next to the reception desk while the nurse practitioner locked the supply room. “Thanks. It was busier than I expected.”
To say the least.
A broken arm, two cases of strep throat, a gash requiring ten stitches, and a possible concussion they’d referred to Coos Bay for follow-up had kept him hopping on this warm, sunny Friday.
And the rest of the week had been just as hectic.
On the plus side, he’d been able to leave every day at five o’clock and delegate Saturday and the two-nights-a-week evening duties to Barb or Ellen, the physician’s assistant—part of the deal he’d negotiated when he’d taken the job.
But it wouldn’t hurt to have another pair of hands on deck—a part-time nurse perhaps.
An observation he’d pass on to the management team after he’d logged a bit more experience here.
“Any weekend plans?” Barb slid the strap of her purse over her shoulder.
“Other than training my dog—no.”
“Toby sounds like a handful.”
“Yeah.” The staff had offered him plenty of sympathy and advice during the week as he’d shared some of the pup’s escapades—like Toby’s diligence in digging up the flags marking the electric fence boundary instead of learning to respect what they represented.
At this rate, he wouldn’t be able to power up the fence for weeks without fear of freaking out the beagle with an electric shock.
“Hang in there. Most dogs catch on eventually.”
“That’s what Chuck said.” Their office manager, who’d already left for the day, had been happy to share his experience with dogs in the occasional lull between patients. “See you Monday.”
He checked his watch as he hurried toward the door. He was a few minutes behind schedule, thanks to that broken arm, and Mariam would be waiting for him to drive her and Elisa home so she could prepare dinner for her family.
At least the first week of his new daycare arrangement had gone smoothly. Molly and Elisa had become BFFs, and Mariam seemed caring and conscientious.
He owed Jeannette a huge thank-you for suggesting the arrangement. It had been a literal godsend.
And he’d tell her that when their paths next crossed—which could be a while, given that he hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of her since their chat on his porch last Saturday.
He swung onto 101 for the six-minute, traffic-free drive home.
Bliss, after the San Francisco rush hour.
Elbow resting on the open window, he inhaled a lungful of the fresh salt air. Maybe after dinner he’d take Molly and Toby to the beach. A quiet sunset stroll past the sea stacks arrayed offshore would be a relaxing end to the work week.
Mouth flexing into a smile, Logan turned onto his street. It wouldn’t take long to run Mariam and Elisa home, and he and Molly could stop for dinner at the Myrtle Café. Within an hour, they could be at the beach and—
Logan frowned.
Why was an older model Sentra parked in front of his house?
He inspected the unfamiliar car as he drove past it and swung into the driveway. Who could have come to call—and had Mariam let a stranger in the house?
A niggle of alarm rippled through him.
That had been one of the firm rules he’d laid down the first day, and with Susan interpreting, he had no doubt Mariam had understood—and she’d promised to abide by it.
So where was the driver?
Logan pulled into the detached garage, slid out of the car, and jogged toward the back door.
Laughter, music, and little-girl giggles greeted him as he approached.
Logan exhaled.
Didn’t sound as if a criminal had invaded his home after all.
He took the back steps two at a time and paused at the porch door to survey the scene in his kitchen, inhaling the tantalizing aroma wafting toward him.
Mariam was at the stove, stirring a mixture in a large pot. Thomma sat at the kitchen table playing some sort of card game with the two girls. Toby was prancing around the activity, as usual.
As soon as the pup caught sight of him, he began barking.
Thomma glanced toward the door, then aimed a forceful command in Arabic at the dog.
Toby ignored him.
Shooting the beagle a stern glance, Thomma set his cards down and held up a dog treat, called the dog over, and repeated the order while gently grasping his muzzle. After a moment he released the muzzle, pressed Toby’s hind quarters into a sitting position, and said the term again. Then he gave him the treat.
The pup stopped barking and stayed where he was.
Until Logan pushed through the door.
Toby immediately scrambled to his feet and began to bark again.
Thomma rose, and Mariam swiveled away from the stove, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Hello.” She motioned from the stove to him, raising her volume to be heard above the yaps. “For you. Thank you.”
She’d cooked them dinner?
He pantomimed eating, and she nodded, her features taut. Like she was afraid he’d complain about having delicious-smelling food waiting for him.
“Thank you.” He rubbed his stomach. “Hi, sweetie.” He crossed to Molly and bent to give her a hug. She didn’t snuggle against him—but she didn’t pull away either. “What are you playing?”
“Old Maid.”
If ever there was a politically incorrect name for a game, that was it. But Molly loved it—and anything
that made her happy was fine with him.
Mariam walked over to him, held out a slip of paper with Susan’s name and phone number on it, and motioned for him to call the woman.
There must be a message his babysitter wanted to pass on that sign language and her limited vocabulary couldn’t transmit.
He pulled out his phone and sent the barking dog a disgruntled look. Too bad he didn’t have Thomma’s magic touch with Toby.
As if the man had read his mind, he said the word he’d used a few minutes ago. It took three tries, each one more forceful, along with the bribe of a dog treat, but at last Toby fell silent, trotted over to him—and sat as the man had taught him.
It was a miracle.
Motioning Thomma to retake his seat and resume his game, Logan tapped in Susan’s number. After returning her greeting, he explained the reason for his call.
“Yes, Mariam spoke with me earlier today,” Susan confirmed. “She wanted to let you know Thomma got his driver’s license today and can pick them up from now on. She also wanted to tell you she prepared a thank-you dinner tonight for giving her a job and for chauffeuring them all week.”
He shifted around to find Elisa’s grandmother watching him and mouthed another thank-you.
Faint color stole over her cheeks, and she refocused on the stove.
“Can you do me a favor, Susan?” Logan eyed Toby, who was still sitting quietly beside Thomma.
“Sure.”
“If I put Thomma on the line, will you ask him how he managed to get my dog under control—especially the barking?”
“I’ll be happy to.”
“Hang on a minute.” He walked over to the table and held the cell out to Elisa’s father. “Susan.”
The man took it, had a brief conversation with the woman, and handed it back to him.
“So what’s the story?” Logan watched as Mariam tasted the stew-like concoction on his stove.
“He said he likes dogs and often trained them for his friends in Syria.”
“No kidding.” Logan propped a fist on his hip. “I wonder if he could train Toby on the electric fence I installed. I’m getting nowhere.”
“I could ask him for you. Tell me how the training works.”
Logan gave her a brief overview. “Of course, I’ll pay him for this.”