He responded with another plaintive yowl.
“He doesn’t like to be by himself.” Molly bent down and petted the dog.
“No kidding.” Logan angled toward her. “If you want to retract your invitation in view of the noise machine here, I’ll understand.”
“No. You won’t be here long.” Jeannette stepped aside to usher them in, shutting the door behind them while Toby continued to protest at full volume.
Molly made a beeline for the box on the floor in the corner and squatted down beside it. “Ooh! He got bigger!” She reached inside to pet the kitten.
“He is growing fast. I think he’ll be ready for solid food soon.” Jeannette joined her.
She could feel Logan behind her, his presence almost palpable as the subtle aroma of his musky aftershave swirled around her. And the warmth of his breath on her cheek as he leaned close to examine Button sent her pulse soaring.
“He seems to be thriving. You’re obviously taking excellent care of him.”
“Th-thanks.”
Oh, for pity’s sake.
She sounded like a besotted teenager, not a thirty-two-year-old woman who’d vowed to avoid romance.
“You’re paying a price for providing such diligent care, though.” Logan swept a finger under her lower lash, his touch as gentle as the wing of a butterfly. “There are some smudges here.”
Her lungs stuttered.
At this proximity, the silvery flecks in his blue irises shimmered like the sun dancing on the cobalt water of Hope Harbor. The faint web of lines at the corners of his eyes spoke of caring and compassion and laughter. Here and there in his sandy hair, a copper strand glinted in the early evening light beaming through the window. As for those generous lips— Don’t go there, Jeannette.
She edged back. “Uh . . . I should be able to get more sleep soon. He won’t need as many feedings once he’s on solid food.”
“Can I pick him up, ’Nette?”
The perfect distraction.
She redirected her attention to Molly. “I’ll pick him up for you—but you can hold him. Why don’t you sit at the table?”
Keeping her back to Logan, she lifted the kitten and its blanket, cradling the bundle gently in her arms as she walked over to Molly and set Button in her lap.
As the girl began to stroke him, the kitten emitted a soft purr.
“He’s talking to me!”
“Yes, he is.” Jeannette sat beside her, and Logan claimed an adjacent chair. “I wonder what he’s saying?”
“Charley would know.” Molly continued to pet the cat. “He talks to animals—like Floyd and Gladys. Can we get tacos again, Uncle Logan?”
“I think that could be arranged.”
“Maybe we could have another picnic on the beach.”
“I like that idea.”
“You could come too, ’Nette.”
She snuffed out the surge of longing that swept over her at that notion.
No, she couldn’t.
Even this brief interlude was a mistake.
“I could think about that.” She stood. “I better get Button back in his box. He still likes to sleep away most of the day.”
Logan rose at once, carefully plucking the kitten and blanket out of Molly’s lap. “And we better get back to Toby or he’s going to get laryngitis.” He hesitated and arched his eyebrows, a spark of amusement putting a wicked gleam in his eyes. “On second thought . . .”
Despite herself, she chuckled. The man’s infectious good humor was hard to resist.
“No . . . we’ll suck it up and take him off your hands.” He deposited Button back in the box. “You’re welcome to join us for our walk.”
“Thanks—but I have to clean up from the tea and set up for another feeding.”
“Then we’ll get out of your hair. Come on, Molly.”
He hadn’t pushed.
A surge of disappointment welled up inside her, but she tamped it down. She should be glad he’d let it go. With her resistance at low ebb, she could have compounded her mistake by capitulating.
She walked them to the door. “Enjoy the beach.”
“It would be better if you came.” Molly linked her hands behind her and lifted her chin. “If you were there, I could pretend I had a mommy. You’d be a good mommy, ’Nette.”
Somehow she managed to dredge up a smile. “Thank you for saying that, honey.”
But the job came with too many risks.
She motioned to Toby, who’d stopped barking when she opened the door but had started up again. “Our beagle friend is getting impatient.”
“And Thomma isn’t here with his magic touch to quiet the beast.” Logan took Molly’s hand and slipped past her. “Thanks for letting us see Button. Keep up the great work.”
He didn’t wait for her to respond as he freed Toby from the umbrella and led Molly down the path among the lavender beds, toward the rear of the property and the beach access.
Molly looked back once to wave.
Logan didn’t—surprising after his earlier comment about her making his day . . . and that brush of fingers under her lashes.
The man was sending mixed signals.
And who could blame him?
She was sending mixed signals.
One day she asks him in, the next she avoids him like the plague.
That sort of inconsistent behavior would confuse anyone.
Yet one thing was clear.
The man was interested in her—and with a smidgen of encouragement, he’d ask her out.
A date with Logan.
Now that had intriguing possibilities.
From the shadows where she watched them disappear into the dunes, her mouth bowed of its own accord.
Not good.
She forced it back into a straight line at once.
There would be no dates in her future.
Nor motherhood.
That had been her decision three years ago, and she saw no reason to rethink it.
Well . . . that wasn’t quite true.
Two reasons had spent the past few minutes in her kitchen.
However . . . she had to be strong about this. She’d survived the last loss—barely. But she might not be as fortunate the next time . . . if there was a next time.
And the only way to guarantee she was never put to that test was to avoid all relationships—a rule that hadn’t been difficult to follow until a handsome doctor learning how to be a single dad had moved in next door and resurrected feelings best left buried.
Squaring her shoulders, she marched to the counter and pulled out the box of formula for Button.
She’d just have to rebury them.
Except there was one little problem with that plan.
She gripped the counter and admitted the truth.
The kinds of feelings Logan was rekindling were about as easy to contain as Toby’s bark—and just as disruptive.
Unfortunately, while Thomma’s magic touch was taming the unruly beagle, as far as she knew, there were no romance-whisperers.
Meaning she was on her own to come up with a plan to deal with her sudden amorous leanings—and the loneliness they were leaving in their wake.
20
“Well, if it isn’t our newest doctor and the latest artist in my gallery.” Charley swept a hand over the back wall of the stand, where Molly’s drawing was front and center. “You must be in the mood for tacos on this fine Tuesday evening.”