“He never says so.”
Another insight to pass on to her neighbor on the QT.
“Sometimes people don’t talk about what’s in their heart. And sometimes, if everything changes, people don’t know how they feel. It takes them a while to figure it all out. I bet he was trying to do that the night you heard him on the phone. What do you think?”
That earned her another shrug.
“Well, all I know is what I see since you came to Hope Harbor—and I think he loves you. Why else would he take you to tea and get you a dog and buy you ribbons for your hair?” She reached over and tweaked the yellow one Molly was wearing today.
“I s’pose.” The girl fingered the silky strands.
But all of that didn’t erase the overheard conversation—or its effects.
It might be best to try a different tack.
“Can I tell you something? I have a feeling your uncle is glad you came to live with him. Being all by yourself can get lonesome.”
Molly rose, walked over to where the crab had disappeared, and poked at the sand with a stick—but the crustacean continued to hide. “He told me that one night.”
Jeannette’s eyebrows rose.
Kudos to him—and so much for the conventional wisdom that said men didn’t share their feelings.
“There you go.”
Molly swiveled toward her. “Do you need someone to love too?”
Whoops.
That wasn’t a subject she wanted to discuss with Logan’s niece.
From up near the dunes, Toby began to bark.
Yes!
For once, the dog’s timing was impeccable.
Jeannette stood and brushed the sand off her jeans. “Toby! Here, boy!”
The dog ignored her.
Of course.
Apparently another game of chase the beagle was on her agenda.
“We’re going to have to round him up again, Molly.”
“He likes the beach.”
“I do too—but we can’t live down here. If he comes toward you, try to grab him.”
“’Kay.”
They separated as they approached the dog—but instead of watching them with the typical roguish gleam in his eye as he planned a last-second escape, his attention remained fixed on whatever had caught his interest on the beach.
Even when they were a mere six feet away, he stayed hunkered down, gaze riveted on the sand in front of him.
Highly suspect.
But Jeannette wasn’t about to question her good fortune.
She swooped in and snapped on his leash.
Only then did she check to see what had distracted him.
“Oh!” Molly breathed the word as she squatted down on the sand beside a tiny, quivering kitten.
Too tiny to be roaming about without its mother.
Jeannette tugged the dog back. “Sit, Toby—and be quiet.” Too bad she couldn’t remember that Arabic phrase Logan had used yesterday.
Didn’t matter.
The beagle plopped down and fell silent—as if he’d done his job of calling the kitten’s plight to their attention and was happy to hand off the problem to them.
But she wasn’t much better equipped to deal with an abandoned kitty than her five-year-old companion.
“I think he’s lost.” Molly touched the baby feline’s fur. “What do we do?”
Good question.
Jeannette wracked her brain, trying to call up any stray piece of dusty information filed there about how to deal with a situation like this.
Hadn’t she read somewhere once that the best plan with an abandoned kitten was to back off and see if the mother returned?
However . . . the sun was dipping, the temperature was dropping, and the kitten was already shivering.
It needed warmth, and most likely food.
Fast.
As her mind raced, she scanned the area. The mother was probably a feral cat. It was possible she had a litter nearby—though the open, unprotected expanse wouldn’t be the usual spot for that.
A tiny meow refocused her.
“I think he’s cold, ’Nette.” Molly stroked his fur again, grooves denting her forehead.
“I think you’re right.”
She couldn’t leave him here. He’d die of exposure, or be swooped up by a raptor. There were plenty of falcons and hawks and owls at the Bandon Marsh, and that wasn’t far away.
“Can we take him home with us?” Molly touched his tiny nose.
What choice did she have?
“I guess we’ll have to. I don’t see his mommy around anywhere.”
She gave the area another sweep.
Nothing.
If the mother was in the area, she was hiding.
And this kitten couldn’t wait for her to mosey back to rescue him.
Jeannette unzipped her shoulder tote and pulled out the small towel she’d brought along in case anyone got wet feet. “Can you carry my bag home, honey? I know it’s kind of big.”
“I can do it.”
Jeannette slipped the strap across the girl’s chest, created a pouch out of the towel, and scooped up the kitty, nestling it inside.
The tiny ball of fur couldn’t weigh even a pound.
Cradling the kitty in one arm, she took a firm grip on Toby’s leash. “Let’s get this little guy home and try to warm him up.”
With Molly on one side of her and Toby trotting along on the other, Jeannette set as brisk a pace as the youngster could handle.
Rescuing a kitten had not been in her plans for today—or for her life—and the sooner she could wash her hands of this, the better.
“Are you going to keep the kitty, ’Nette?”
“No.” She wanted no connections of any kinds—human or feline. “I don’t know how to take care of a baby kitten. I’m going to find someone who does.”
And who didn’t mind getting emotionally invested in an animal’s welfare.
One phone call should solve the problem. She could drop the kitty off wherever they said and continue on to the Shabos’ for their English lesson.
“Where?”
“Uh . . . at the Humane Society, I guess.” If there wasn’t one in Hope Harbor, there had to be one in a nearby town.
“Will they help him?”
“Sure.” Of course they would. Assisting abandoned animals was what they did.
Wasn’t it?
Or did they restrict their intakes to older animals that required less nurturing and attention?
“Uncle Logan is here.” Molly pointed toward the lavender farm in the distance.
Her neighbor was on the patio at the back of the house, fists propped on hips, watching their approach.
Either he was early or they’d lingered on the beach too long.
He met them at the back of the property. “Hi. I had a feeling you were down at the beach.” He smiled at her as he gave Molly a squeeze and took Toby’s leash, leaning closer to see what was tucked in her arm.
“Sorry we were delayed.” She breathed in a lungful of his subtle but potent aftershave. “We got distracted by this abandoned kitty.”
“He’s a tiny one. No sign of the mother?”
“No.”
“What are you going to do with him?”
“Turn him over to whoever tends to animals like this—the Humane Society, I guess.”
Twin furrows creased his brow. “I don’t think most places have the staff to care for a critter this small.” He assessed the cat. “A kitten that age would require frequent feedings.”