“What? That the press had found you? That she’d been taken? Are you worried about kidnappers?”

“No. Not that.” Before she could say anything else, Lizzy came back into the room with Cocoa at her heels. She stopped in the doorway when she saw Emily sitting up.

“You’re awake.”

“Yeah, she’s awake.” Ryan rocked back on his heels, knowing that whatever it was Emily had been about to tell him was going to have to wait. “Come and say hi.” He knew children denied the truth would often imagine something far worse. It was important for her to see that nothing bad had happened.

Lizzy slid onto the sofa and looked anxiously at Emily. “Are you still mad at me?”

“I was never mad at you.”

“You were screaming. You squeezed me hard.”

“I was scared. I was mad at myself for falling asleep and not watching you properly. I—I was worried something might happen to you—” Her throat worked as she swallowed. “I’m sorry if I scared you. We’ll talk about it properly, but not right now.”

“You fell and I thought you’d died.”

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry I gave you a fright.” The guilt in her eyes told him just how seriously she took the role of guardian.

Lizzy crawled closer. “Ryan said you weren’t dead, just sleeping. I guess you were really tired.”

“That’s right.” Her voice sounded husky. “Tired. And worried, because the door was open and you were gone.”

“I wanted to dig in the sand. I wanted to use my pink bucket.”

“I know. I should have done it with you, then you wouldn’t have felt as if you had to do it on your own. Next time I want you to ask me.” She looked exhausted, drained, and Ryan could see the effort it took her to put her own feelings second and reassure the child.

He encouraged Lizzy to go back into the garden with Cocoa. The resilience of children never ceased to amaze him. He knew it would be a long time until he forgot the raw fear in Emily’s face as she’d sprinted across the sand to grab Lizzy. He could still feel the way her body had trembled against his, the way her fingers had dug into his shoulders.

Guilt chafed, like sand in a shoe. “I never should have bought that damn bucket.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s all me.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“I had a bad night. Slept late.” She lay against the cushions, pale and exhausted. “When I woke, the house was quiet. And then I came downstairs and saw the chair by the shelves.”

“Yeah, I saw that. I assumed you’d done it.”

“No. I put the bucket out of reach because I was afraid she might grab it and take it to the beach.”

“And she did.”