Driftwood Bay Page 4

  Toby was his problem now.

  Meaning he might have to invest in some obedience training—in addition to the electronic fence scheduled to be installed in the backyard next week that would keep the dog out of his neighbor’s garden.

  He hoped.

  “Do you want some more milk?” Logan picked up Molly’s empty glass.

  Another shrug.

  Dodging the prancing pooch, he walked toward the fridge and forced a cheery note into his tone. “Nothing goes better with chocolate chip cookies than a glass of ice cold—”

  Ding-dong.

  He halted halfway across the room.

  This must be the week for callers.

  Or could it be his attractive neighbor again?

  His pulse ticked up.

  A visit from her would brighten up this dreary Friday—as long as she wasn’t mad about some other transgression.

  He detoured to the hall and hurried toward the door. Through the window he spied a UPS truck pulling away from the curb.

  Shoot.

  Not a visit from his neighbor after all.

  He twisted the knob—but as he pulled the door open, a crash sounded from the kitchen. Like a chair had tipped over.

  “Molly?” He swung around—and a small, wriggly body zipped past his legs.

  Blast.

  “Toby! Get back here!”

  The dog paid him no heed.

  After casting one last look at the beagle barreling toward the hedge between his property and Jeannette’s, he raced to the kitchen.

  A chair had tipped over—but Molly appeared to be fine.

  He grabbed the dog’s leash from the hook by the back door, along with a handful of doggie treats. Hesitated.

  Could he leave a five-year-old alone while he chased down the dog?

  No.

  Swooping Molly up with one arm, he dashed toward the front door as she shrieked and gripped his T-shirt with both fists.

  “It’s okay, sweetie. Hold on tight. We’re going to follow Toby.”

  He tore out the door, yanked it closed behind him, and sprinted down the driveway.

  If he got to the dog fast enough, maybe he could prevent him from creating any more carnage in his neighbor’s garden.

  If not?

  Jeannette Mason was going to be back on his doorstep.

  And she wasn’t going to be smiling.

  4

  The dog had returned.

  As Jeannette watched through the window of the tearoom, Toby charged around the side of the structure and hurtled toward the nearest lavender bed.

  So much for Logan West’s promise to keep him on a leash.

  Grimacing at the inadvertent pun, she yanked a broom from the closet.

  This was not funny.

  She might feel a bit sorry for her new neighbor with the sad-looking little girl and rambunctious dog, but she was going to have to pay him another visit and lay down the law.

  After all, her business was at stake, and—

  “Toby! Get back here!”

  Hand on the knob, she paused as Logan West careened into the garden from the direction of her driveway, Molly perched in one arm, a leash clutched in his free hand.

  The dog’s floppy ears perked up, and he slid to a stop, dancing in place as Logan dashed toward him.

  But once the doctor drew near, the pup took off through the lavender bed, weaving among the plants.

  Through the open window, Jeannette had no difficulty hearing the conversation.

  “Stay here, Molly. I’m going to catch Toby.” He set the girl down, keeping tabs on the dog that was watching him from the other side of the rectangular plot.

  He started around the bed, pulling what appeared to be a doggie treat from his pocket. “Come on, Toby.” He held it out. “See what I have?”

  For a moment, it appeared the beagle was willing to be bribed.

  Nope.

  At the last minute, he bounded to the other side again with a playful yip.

  Jeannette set the broom down to watch the antics.

  The same scenario replayed twice, with the good doctor getting nowhere.

  However . . . the man was trying. Hard. Based on the glint of desperation in his eyes, he’d clearly gotten her keep-your-dog-under-control message.

  But she doubted he was going to capture the recalcitrant beagle without some help.

  Since the little girl wasn’t a candidate for that job, it seemed she was elected.

  Jeannette opened the door, and three sets of eyes swiveled to her as she stepped outside.

  Logan sent her an apologetic look. “I’m really sorry about this. I opened the door for a delivery, and he darted out. I’ll have this under control in a minute.”

  “It may be easier to round him up if we tag team this.”

  His features flattened—as if he was shocked by her offer. “Uh . . . okay.” He glanced around the garden. “Why don’t we approach him from the same direction, back him into that corner?” He motioned toward the terrace behind her adjacent L-shaped house. “Eventually he’ll try to make a break for it, but if we confine him enough, one of us should be able to grab him when he tries to get past.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  She followed his lead, and with a fair amount of maneuvering, they managed to get Toby where they wanted him.

  But the beagle was one smart pup.

  Once he realized he was being set up, he made his break toward the weakest link in the two-person barricade.

  Her.

  She lunged for him as he drew close, seized the twenty-plus-pound mass of zooming fur, and promptly lost her balance.

  Next thing she knew, she was sitting on her rump, the wriggling dog in her lap.

  An instant later, her neighbor was beside her. He clipped the leash on Toby’s collar and lifted him off, then hunkered down beside her, faint parallel lines etched on his forehead. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine.”

  As she pushed herself to her feet, he took her arm in a firm grip and helped her up.

  “Sorry again for all the trouble.” He wound the leash around his hand as Toby began pulling. “I’m having an electric fence installed in the backyard next week, so there’ll be no more escaping from that direction. And in the future, I won’t answer the front door until Toby’s secured in the kitchen.”

  The dog began to howl—almost as if he’d understood every word and knew his days of breaking free were about to come to an end.

  “Does he do that often?” She upped her volume as she brushed off her jeans.

  “Yeah.” Logan massaged his forehead, his expression pained. “I’m going to have to find a training class for him somewhere or I’ll end up with permanent hearing loss. There isn’t by any chance a place like that in town, is there?”

  “Not that I know of. I expect there’s one in Coos Bay—but that’s a bit of a hike.”

  “It would be worth it to get the noise under control. Besides, I’ll be taking Molly to preschool there in another ten days, anyway.”

  He’d be taking her.

  Where was the girl’s mother?

  She bit back the inappropriate question.

  “For now, you could try giving him one of those treats.” She motioned toward his pocket. “He can’t bark or howl if he’s eating.”

  “True.” He dug one out and fed it to the dog.

  Silence descended while Toby chomped.

  “I take it you haven’t had him long?”

  “No. A last-minute addition to the family before we left San Francisco. I hoped a dog would help.”

  “With what?” That question came out too fast to throttle—but if he thought she was being nosy, he gave no indication of it.

  Logan checked on the girl, who was watching the proceedings from a distance, and dropped his voice. “Molly’s been staying with her grandmother for the past two years, but after Mom died suddenly last December, she came to live with me. It hasn’t been the smoothest transition. I’v
e never—” The barking resumed with a vengeance, and he cringed. “The story of my life.”

  “He is a loud one.” Jeannette shot the dog a disgruntled look. Couldn’t he have stayed quiet another sixty seconds while her neighbor finished his story—and satisfied her curiosity?

  “Tell me about it. Imagine being confined in the same house with him 24/7.”

  She winced. “No thank you. He is cute, though.”

  “Trust me—cuteness doesn’t compensate for all the noise.” Logan angled toward Molly. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s go back to the house.”

  The child trudged toward them, one finger in her mouth, the same faded, frayed blanket she’d been clutching two days ago gripped in her hand.

  Jeannette studied her as she approached. Her pants and top were mismatched but clean, and her hair had been brushed and secured into a lopsided ponytail. Someone was trying to look after her.

  Logan?

  That seemed like a safe bet.

  Which would suggest the mother was AWOL—and could explain why Molly had been living with her grandmother.

  Toby skipped around the child as she drew close, and she gave him a cautious, quick pat.

  Not much bonding had taken place yet between girl and dog.

  Nor did she and Logan seem to be close. The girl didn’t appear to be wary of the man, but she kept her distance. Like he was someone she wasn’t quite comfortable with or didn’t know well.

  And that could be the case, if he’d been an absentee father—as his comments suggested.

  “We’ll get out of your hair and let you get back to whatever you were doing. Sorry again for disturbing you.” Logan folded the girl’s hand in his and took a step toward the driveway.

  “Wait.” The impulsive directive spilled out as an idea popped into her mind.

  He stopped and shifted toward her, eyebrows arched.

  A few beats ticked by as she tried without success to fathom why she’d wanted to delay his departure.

  But whatever the reason, she was stuck now.

  As the silence lengthened, she linked her fingers into a tight knot. “I, uh, have something for you, if you can wait a minute.”

  “Sure. As long as it’s not a summons about my dog.” A touch of humor glinted in his irises.

  Her pulse picked up.

  The man had gorgeous baby blues.

  “No. Nothing like that. I’ll, uh, be right back.” She escaped to the tearoom kitchen.

  Once inside, she gripped the edge of the counter and forced herself to take several slow, deep breaths.

  She shouldn’t have stopped him from leaving. It wasn’t wise to prolong contact with the threesome next door if she wanted to keep her distance.

  But there was no going back at this point.

  Her only option was to follow through on her idea and say her good-byes as quickly as possible.

  She crossed to the racks where the latest batch of lavender shortbread was cooling. After slipping six of the cookies into one of the cellophane bags she used to package her sweets for the farmer’s market, she tied it with a lavender ribbon.

  Molly would like that touch. After they ate the cookies, she could tie the ribbon around the stretchy band holding her ponytail in place. Most little girls were partial to ribbons.

  But Molly isn’t the main reason you’re being kind, you know.

  She exhaled.

  Yeah, yeah. She knew.

  Still . . . Logan and Molly were new neighbors—and it was customary to welcome newcomers with a token gift of some kind, wasn’t it?

  You never made a single overture of friendship to the previous owner, though.

  Scowling, she snuffed out the annoying voice in her head.

  This was different.

  The crotchety old man who’d lived there when she’d moved in should have been the one to extend the hand of friendship to her.

  Logan, on the other hand, was trying to be an agreeable neighbor.

  The cookies were simply a considerate gesture. Nothing more.

  Beribboned bag in hand, she returned to the trio on her patio and held out the package. “A belated welcome-to-Hope-Harbor present. It’s lavender shortbread—a house specialty. And the pretty ribbon would be perfect for a ponytail.” She winked at Molly.

  The girl gave her a shy smile.

  “Wow.” Logan took the bag. “That’s very kind of you, after all the trouble my friend here has caused.” He tipped his head toward the pup.

  “I appreciate your efforts to rectify the situation. I’m sure you’ll have it under control soon.”

  He gave her a one-sided grin and lifted the package. “You want to hang on to these until then—just in case?”

  “No. You strike me as a man who keeps his promises.”

  The levity vanished from his face. “Yeah. Well . . . thanks again.”

  With that, he tugged on Toby’s leash, took Molly’s hand, and led his small entourage away.

  Furrowing her brow, she watched them until they disappeared around the corner of her house.

  Why would he take offense at a compliment?

  Clueless, Jeannette returned to the kitchen to bake another batch of shortbread for the taste-of-Hope-Harbor table tomorrow night.

  But the familiar chore didn’t require much concentration, and her thoughts kept drifting back to the man next door.

  While Logan hadn’t offered much detail about his situation during their two brief conversations, he’d said enough to intrigue her—and she was dying to know the rest of his story.

  However . . . given his obvious commitment to curbing Toby’s escape-artist tendencies, the pooch wouldn’t give them any further reason to interact.

  Plus, the tall hedge screening her property discouraged interaction with her neighbors.

  She pulled some butter out of the refrigerator, weighing it in her hand.

  That hedge had been a major selling point for her three years ago. The secluded acreage just outside the town limit, along with the new profession she’d chosen, had been designed to help her control—and restrict—her contact with other people.

  And the whole setup had worked exactly as she’d hoped.

  She had peace and quiet, and everyone respected her wish to live a solitary life. The townspeople were pleasant and gracious, and while they’d made it clear they’d welcome her into their world, no one had pushed her to leave her cocoon.

  Except Marci, of course.

  But she’d stuck with her original plan—and she’d been 100 percent content to keep to herself and spend most of her days alone.

  She measured out the butter, but it was cold and hard. Better let it soften for a while in the warmth of the kitchen or it would be difficult to blend.

  Rather than start some other chore, she wandered out and sat at the small café table on her patio. Soon, her lavender plants would begin blooming and she could bring her tea out here in the morning and enjoy the fragrance and quiet.

  Her gaze strayed to the empty seat across from her. The three pieces of furniture had come as a set, and she’d never paid much heed to the extra chair.

  Yet for some reason today it bothered her.

  As did the quiet—although Toby’s faint barks were still audible, suggesting he was dragging his feet about going back inside.

  Why did the silence suddenly feel heavy rather than peaceful?

  And what was that slight twinge in the region of her heart?

  Could it be . . . loneliness?

  She frowned.

  No.

  She was past that.

  Wasn’t she?

  Yes.

  Squaring her shoulders, she shifted in her seat and put her back to the hedge.

  That faint, hollow echo in her heart was simple to explain. The refugee family she was baking for today was on her mind, and she felt sorry for them.

  That subtle twinge had nothing to do with a handsome doctor who was trying to cope with a forlorn little girl and a mischievous dog.


  It absolutely did not.

  Mashing her lips together, she rose and headed back to the kitchen as the faint barks next door ceased at last.

  That was her story—and she was sticking to it.

  5

  Something was burning.

  The acrid scent that assailed Logan’s nostrils when he opened the front door was his first clue—but the piercing alarm bombarding his ears clinched the deal.

  “What the . . .”

  Toby yanked on his leash, trying to escape the migraine-inducing screech, and Molly began to whimper as she covered her ears.

  “It’s okay, sweetie.” He had to yell to be heard. “Everything will be fine.”

  Even if the haze hovering beneath the ceiling suggested otherwise.

  What was going on?

  He did a quick assessment. The smoke was heavier closer to the kitchen, so—

  Kitchen.

  The cookies were still in the oven.

  That’s what was burning.

  He tugged Molly and the frantic dog inside. “Wait here.” The house might be a touch hazy, but Toby was not escaping again.

  After closing the front door, he sped to the kitchen.

  Tendrils of smoke were seeping out of the oven from around the door.

  Logan snatched up a pot holder, yanked on the door handle—and started hacking as a gray billow engulfed him.

  Eyes watering, he waved the smoke aside, grabbed the edge of the cookie sheet, and stumbled toward the back door, blinking to clear his vision as he fumbled for the lock.

  After several attempts, he managed to twist it, grasp the knob, and jerk the door open.

  Once outside, he dropped the pan onto the concrete walk below the porch and took a deep breath.

  Another.

  But he didn’t have the luxury of lingering until his lungs cleared.

  A terrified little girl and dog were waiting for him in the foyer.

  He propped open the back door, took a fortifying gulp of fresh air, and plunged back in to remove the battery from the shrieking alarm.

  Blessed quiet descended.

  Except . . .

  Why wasn’t Toby barking?

  Pulse skyrocketing again, he dashed back to the foyer.

  Molly was sitting on the floor, face pale, her arms wrapped around the dog, who was nuzzling her neck.

  Well.

  How about that?