“Yes—but it cost him. She milked his bank account dry while she was pregnant. He did have the foresight early on to hire an attorney, who drew up an ironclad agreement in which she agreed to waive her parental rights in exchange for full financial support during her pregnancy and a hefty lump sum payment. Otherwise, the whole mess could have gotten even uglier.”
She shook her head. “Children too often become a pawn in a situation like that.”
“True.”
“Did your mom step in to help after Molly was born?”
“Not in the beginning. My brother wasn’t stationed anywhere near Missouri, and he didn’t expect our mom to leave the home she’d lived in all of her married life. For the first two years, he raised Molly alone and used on-base daycare. But once he got deployed, leaving Molly with Mom was the best option.”
“It’s obvious she loved her Nana.”
“Yeah.” He linked his fingers. “She would have been a better person to raise Molly through childhood and adolescence. The learning curve on this single-parenting gig is steeper than I expected—and knowing a child is relying on you for everything can be overwhelming.”
He looked over at her, and for one brief, unguarded moment he caught a touch of . . . tenderness? . . . in her eyes.
She cleared her throat and fiddled with the laces on her sport shoe. “I can’t begin to imagine what a challenge this has been for you. But from what I’ve observed, you’re doing a terrific job.”
Her praise warmed him—even if he wasn’t certain it was warranted.
“Thanks, but some days I—”
Molly shrieked, and he vaulted to his feet. Beside him, Jeannette scrambled up too.
False alarm.
His niece had gotten a bit too close to where the surf was breaking against a large rock, and the salt spray had rained down on her.
Nevertheless, it took a few moments for his heart to downshift.
“I think that’s our cue to exit. Those wet clothes will have to be changed.” He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Molly! Time to go.”
She swiveled toward them . . . hesitated . . . then plodded across the sand, Toby at her heels.
“You may want to have the leash ready.” Jeannette scooped it up and passed it to him surreptitiously. “If I distract your canine friend, you might be able to catch him off guard.”
“Good thinking.”
As the two approached, Jeannette got down on one knee. “Did you get wet, boy?”
Toby trotted to her, always up for an ear rub, and as she talked to him Logan snapped on the leash.
The instant it clicked, the dog realized he’d been had and let loose with an ear-splitting howl.
“Toby.” Logan fished a doggie treat out of his pocket and waited until he had the beagle’s attention. “Kunn hadyaan.”
The dog stopped mid-howl . . . sat on his haunches . . . and waited for the treat.
Jeannette stared at him. “What did you say to get him to do that?”
“I think it means be quiet in Arabic. It’s the command Thomma uses.”
“That’s amazing.”
“It’s more than that. It’s a miracle.” Logan rested his hand on Molly’s shoulder. “Ready to go?”
“Do we have to?”
“Yes. It’s getting cooler, and your shirt’s wet. Besides, Thomma will be coming soon to work with Toby on the fence.” He held the leash out to Jeannette. “Will you keep a tight grip on this while I fold up the blanket?”
“Sure.”
His hand brushed hers as he passed the strap over, and despite the chill in the early evening air, a little spurt of electricity zipped up his arm, warming him to the core.
The slight hitch in her breathing suggested she’d had a similar reaction.
That could be a positive omen for the future—once life quieted down.
If it ever quieted down.
After dismantling the remains of their picnic, he fell in behind Jeannette and Molly as they took the lead on the return trip.
The two of them chatted during the entire walk, but Molly fell silent once they arrived at the lavender farm.
“I meant to ask you while we were on the beach—were you able to make any arrangements for tomorrow?” Jeannette dipped her chin toward his niece.
“Not yet. It’s my top priority tonight. Worst case, I can take her to the Shabos.”
“Will Mariam be up to babysitting tomorrow?”
“Probably not—but I’m keeping it as a backup plan.”
“I’ll tell you what . . . why don’t you let her come over here again? I’ll be home all day. I’m not set up for a dog in the house or the workshop, but I’ll be happy to walk Toby during the day.”
“I couldn’t impose again.” Much as he’d like to take the easy way out, if he overextended his welcome he might wear it out. “I don’t want to disrupt your work.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Please, Uncle Logan.”
“Sweetie, it wouldn’t be—” He blinked.
Wait.
She’d called him Uncle Logan.
That was a first.
All these months, she’d avoided calling him anything. While she’d referred to him as her uncle to other people, she’d never addressed him with that title.
Maybe they were beginning to turn a corner.
And if they were, he wasn’t going to jinx it by refusing her request—even at the risk of wearing out his welcome with Jeannette.
“Okay.” The tiny smile she gave him was more than sufficient reward for capitulating. He refocused on Jeannette. “I really will owe you after this.”
“No. I’ll enjoy it as much as she will.”
Toby tugged on the leash, obviously eager to eat his own dinner.
“I have to feed the pup. Can I drop Molly off around eight?”
“That’ll be fine. Thanks for dinner.”
“My pleasure.” He took his niece’s hand. “Time to head home, sweetie.”
“I wish we didn’t have to go.”
That made two of them.
“You’ll be back tomorrow.” Toby strained against the leash again as Logan spoke to Jeannette. “See you soon.”
“Very.” Her lips curved up a hair. “Have a nice evening.”
He set off with his little entourage, down the hedge on Jeannette’s side.
As he rounded the corner at the end, toward his own driveway, he looked back.
She was standing where he’d left her, backlit by the golden sun that left her face in shadows—and unreadable.
Who knew what she was thinking?
But he did know one thing.
His evening would be much nicer if it included her.
Suggesting there could be serious potential ahead with his reclusive neighbor if she ever ventured out from behind the hedge around her property—and the walls around her heart.
16
“’Ami!” Thomma jolted to a stop in the kitchen doorway. “You’re not supposed to be putting weight on your foot.”
“I always fix your breakfast.”
“I don’t expect you to cook with a sprained ankle—or any day at five forty-five in the morning for that matter. I told you that when I started my job. Yogurt and bread will do today.”