The SEAL's Baby
“Everything’s so pretty,” Libby said more to herself than Heath.
He grunted. “Fourth of July fishing tourney, art festival and carnival’s only a little over a week away. Whole damn town goes overboard with decorating. Lucky for you, you won’t be around when the eight-hundred miles of red, white and blue bunting rolls out.”
“Sounds amazing.”
“Sure—as long as you don’t get roped into helping take it all down.”
He slowed the truck then turned into a gas station that had two pumps and a four-stall garage, each humming with activity. Her Bug sat midway up a hydraulic lift. The engine cover was open and three men stood around it in animated discussion, staring and pointing.
“That can’t be good,” she noted while Heath parked next to a tow truck with Hal’s Garage emblazoned across the door.
“What?”
“All those guys debating over my car. In my perfect fantasy world, I’d hoped it was already fixed, and the mechanic wouldn’t have minded trading his services for one of my best clay pots.”
“Uh, yeah. I don’t think Hal does pots.” Eyes narrowed, his befuddled look was one to which she’d sadly grown accustomed to seeing in others. Instead of viewing a glass as half-full, she saw it as bubbling over with a splash of orange and a maraschino cherry. Liam had constantly harped at her to be more realistic, but why? What did it hurt to be happy? Or at least, try?
After turning off the engine, Heath looked to her bulging belly, then asked, “Need help getting out?”
“No, thanks.” She cast him a smile. “I think I’ve got it.”
But then she creaked open her door, only to get her purse hooked around the seat belt, which left her hanging at a steep angle.
As was starting to be the norm, her rescuer anticipated her needs and was there to help before she could even ask.
“Sure you’re ready for motherhood?” he teased, untangling her purse strap.
“Ha-ha...” She should probably be offended by his question, but little did he know, she’d wondered the same since learning she carried Liam’s baby.
“How about trying this again, only with me here to catch you.” He grazed his hand to her outer thigh, helping her swing her legs around. His touch proved electric, which was surprising, given her condition. Then he took her hands, guiding her the rest of the way down. Even though she’d set her sandal-clad feet to solid ground, her legs felt shaky beneath her. She needn’t have worried, though, as Heath stepped in again, cupping his hand around her elbow to help keep her steady.
“Thanks.” She tried acting normal, even though her runaway pulse was anything but!
“No problem.” Easing his arm around her waist, he asked, “Wanna just wait in the truck, and I’ll give you a report on what Hal found?”
“That’s sweet of you to offer, but you’ve already done enough. I wish I had some way to repay you.”
He waved off her gratitude. “Anyone in my position would do the same.”
No, they wouldn’t. Her ex was proof.
“Those guys standing around your car?”
“Yes?” She waddled around the garage’s south side.
“The big one with the ’stache is Hal. The other two are his twin sons—Darryl and Terryl. They’re identical, save for one’s a crazy Dodgers fan, and the other’s crazy about the Mariners. You may want to avoid them when the two teams play—not a good time.”
She laughed. “I appreciate the advice. Hopefully, your friend Hal will get me back on my way in the next hour or so.”
Famous last words.
After introductions—Libby hid her smile upon noticing the twins wearing hats from their respective baseball teams—Hal shook his head and frowned.
“Wish I had better news for you.” He tucked a shop rag in his shirt pocket. “Electrical system’s shot. Fried like Sunday-supper chicken.”
Libby’s stomach knotted so hard it startled the baby. She rubbed the tender spot where she’d kicked. “But you can fix it, right?”
“Well, sure. Me and my boys can fix damn near anything—pardon my French.”
“You’re pardoned. Just please tell me you’ve got the parts and I’ll be on my way before sunset.”
Darryl laughed. Or, it might’ve been Terryl. She’d forgotten which team each preferred.
The one wearing a Dodgers cap said, “Ma’am, finding all these parts is gonna take me hours—maybe days—on the internet. You’ll be lucky if you’re out of here in a month.”
“You hush.” Hal elbowed his son. Turning to Libby, he said, “You have my solemn word that I’ll get your ride fixed as soon as possible. But I’m afraid my boy’s right—it ain’t gonna be fast, easy or cheap.”
“Oh?” Stress knotted her throat. Was this really happening? She barely had enough cash for the gas she’d need for the rest of her drive to Seattle. There was no way she’d have enough for repairs and staying over however long it took to get the work done.
Swallow your pride and ask Mom and Dad for help.
Libby raised her chin. No way would she surrender just yet. “You don’t really think it’ll take a month to find parts, do you?”
Hal shrugged. “No telling till we get started.”
Hugging herself, she nodded.
Heath didn’t do tears, so when he noted Libby’s eyes filling, he slipped back into take-charge mode. “Hal, do what you can, and since Libby doesn’t have a cell, keep me posted.”
“Will do.”
To Libby, Heath said, “Let’s see what we can do about finding you a cheap place to stay.”
“I—I’ll figure it out,” she assured him. “I’m grateful for all you’ve done, but I can take it from here.”
“Motel’s just down the road a piece.” Hal barked at his sons to quit lollygagging and get back to work. “Tell Gretta I sent you and she’ll discount your rate.”
“I think I have more pull with her than you,” Heath said, already guiding Libby back to his truck.
“Wouldn’t be so sure about that. She told me you missed Sunday supper yet again.”
Heath ignored Hal’s comment. He had his reasons for missing most every Stone gathering, and his mother damn well knew it.
It took all of three minutes to reach the inn that had been in his family since the 1940s, when Bent Road had been a weekend fishing mecca for Portland, Seattle and even San Francisco’s wealthy vacationers. In the 1930s, the CCC or Civilian Conservation Corp, had provided badly needed infrastructure to the area to allow for its growth. But when a 1942 wildfire destroyed the row of vacation homes that had lined the coastal bluffs, the town’s soul suffered a direct blow. The motel was lucky to have survived the fire.
Decades later, Bent Road’s tourism consisted of Heath’s family’s place, and a few fishing lodges specializing in charter trips on the Umpqua River.
“This Gretta we’re meeting is your mom?”
“Yeah.” Heath had been so lost in thought, he’d momentarily forgotten Libby was with him.
“Do you two not get along?”
“We’re good. It’s complicated.”
Her laugh struck him as sad. “I can relate.”
When he pulled onto the inn’s blacktop drive, she gasped. “This adorable place belongs to you?”
“Not me, but my mom. My dad died a long time ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged, then parked the truck and killed the engine.
“Sit tight till I get around to help you climb out. We don’t need you getting tangled again.”
Heath hated the heaviness in his chest at Libby’s continued intrusion upon his life, but he hadn’t been raised to turn away someone in need. His time in the navy had only reinforced that tradition. Still, he needed to get back to his cabin. Resume his search for Sam, then get back to his new normal—a life he wasn’t proud of, but at the moment, it was the best he had to give.
After helping Libby safely to her feet, he hovered alongside her, unable to shake the feeling of her being precious cargo. His mom never turned away a stray, and hopefully, she’d view Libby in the same light.
Just then his mom rounded the corner of the front office with her watering can in hand. “Hey, stranger.” Gretta believed customers appreciated employees wearing gingham getups that matched the inn’s sign, so in addition to her salt-and-pepper hair being braided, she wore a checkered red dress with matching red sneakers.
Her hug made him feel like the world’s worst son for not having been by to see her sooner.
“Hi, I’m Gretta Stone.” She extended her free hand to Libby. “Looks like you swallowed a watermelon seed.”
Heath died a little inside. Really, Mom?
Fortunately, Libby laughed. “Yes, ma’am, I did. Hope the baby doesn’t come out red-and-green.” Her smile was accompanied by a wink. Meeting his mom’s outstretched hand, she said, “I’m Libby Dewitt. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.” To her son, she asked, “To what do I owe this pleasure? I know you didn’t stop by just to see me.”
He’d wondered how long it would take her to get a dig in about his lack of recent visits. “Actually, I was out looking for Sam this morning and stumbled across Libby instead. Her car broke down, and—”
“Wait.” His mom held up her hand, stopping him midsentence. “Libby, I want to hear all about your poor car, but Sam is my son’s dog. Sounds like we need to launch a search party.”
“For sure,” Libby said. She turned to Heath. “Why didn’t you say something when I first got here? Your dog is way more important than my busted ride.”
Uncomfortable with having his problems on public display, Heath rammed his hands in his pockets. “I’ll find him.”
“Of course you will. With my help. And Libby, would I be right in assuming you’re needing a temporary place to stay?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Great.” Gretta watered the plant nearest her. “Let me get you set up in a room, then—”
“Sorry for interrupting,” Libby said, “but I’m strapped for cash. Think we could work out some sort of trade for a room?”
“What’d you have in mind?”
Never had Heath wished more to be a dishonorable man. All he wanted to do was get back to his cabin and resume his search for Sam—alone. He didn’t want his well-meaning mom involved, and he sure didn’t need the added concern of worrying whether or not Libby was on the verge of going into labor.
“I might not look like it,” Libby said, “but I’m a hard worker. I could waitress at the diner. Clean rooms for you or do laundry. Run your front desk—pretty much any odd job you need done. I’m a potter by trade, so I can also make any sort of custom piece you might like.”
Was it wrong of Heath that this was one time he wished his mom would turn away a stray? He had nothing against Libby. She seemed like a great gal. That didn’t change the fact that in her condition, she needed to find a home base—fast. And Bent Road wasn’t it.
Come on, Mom. Just say no.
Gretta once again extended her hand for Libby to shake. “You have a deal. I just happen to have a vacancy, as well as a family reunion fishing group who are really going through the towels. I’ve had the washer and dryer going practically 24/7, and could sure use help.”
Libby’s shoulders sagged. Relieved? “Thank you, ma’am. I promise I won’t be any trouble, and just as soon as my car’s ready, I’ll be on my way.”
Heath tried not to scowl. Libby was now officially his mother’s concern, so why didn’t he feel better? Maybe because her pretty, misty-eyed smile tugged at his long-frozen heart?
Chapter Three
Libby sat on the foot of her new bed—the first true bed she’d slept on in two years, and could hardly believe her good fortune. Her constantly aching back practically sang! Beneath his curmudgeonly exterior, Heath was a sweetheart. After meeting his mom, Libby knew why.
Her new boss had given her fifteen minutes to “freshen up,” then asked her to man the inn’s front office desk while she traipsed around the woods for her son’s dog. They’d both agreed night hiking probably wasn’t a good idea for a woman in Libby’s condition.
After splashing cold water on her face and running a brush through her hair, Libby still couldn’t get over the wonder of her situation. She’d grown to appreciate the unique flavor of her rustic life, but a part of her had always wished Liam wanted more. Not just for them to share an apartment or house, but a commitment. She’d assumed he’d one day see the light—her light, their shared light—but she couldn’t have been more wrong.
Hugging the baby, she said, “I’m sorry in advance for the mess you’ll be born into. Once our car’s fixed, there’s no telling how my folks are going to take the news about you. In a perfect world, they’ll love you like I already do, but...”
She shut up in favor of grabbing a tissue to blot her teary eyes and blow her suddenly runny nose. What happened to her usually sunny disposition?
Instead of looking for possible trouble somewhere down the road, she needed to count her current blessings. Starting by meeting Gretta in the inn’s cozy lobby.
The early evening had turned crisp and she found the conifer-laced air invigorating.
Up close, the inn was even more charming than she’d seen from the road. Steam rose from a small pool in a glade near the office, around which sat a group of six guys, laughing over beers. A gazebo, wreathed in ivy, ferns and thriving impatiens graced the grounds’ far end. A glider swing and hammock stood amongst still more gardens that faced the row of rooms and a few cabins. Hydrangeas dazzled in shades of blue ranging between cobalt and sky.
The only thing missing from the idyllic scene was Heath’s truck. A fact which she shouldn’t have even noticed, let alone found the tiniest bit disappointing. He’d already done more than most anyone else would’ve given the circumstances. So why did she still want more? Oh, she didn’t want things from him like food or transportation, but rather she had a sudden craving for his company.
“There you are.” Gretta stepped out of the office. “I was just coming to find you.”
“Here I am,” Libby said with a nervous laugh, still not quite believing her luck over having stepped into such a perfect situation. “Reporting for duty.”
“Good, good...” She held open the plate glass door, ushering Libby inside. “Is your room okay? Find everything you need?”
“It’s beautiful—and so homey. The gingham curtains and vintage logging pics make it feel like a place you’d want to stay a nice long while.”
Heath’s mom beamed. “I’m so glad you like it. My son thought I was off my rocker for spending so much on redecorating last year, but my business has more than doubled, so he can keep any further advice to himself.”
Laughing, Libby said, “Hands-down, the room you’ve loaned me is way more inviting than his cabin—not that I wasn’t thankful he found me, but—” Libby felt horrible that her statement made it sound as though she was dissing the man who’d done so much “I’m sorry, that came out wrong. Heath’s cabin is perfect. I just meant that you’d win should the two of you be in a decorating contest.”
“I get it,” Gretta said with another warm smile. “And I thank you. Though, in Heath’s defense, home decor was never really his cup of tea. Now, his wife, Patricia, on the other hand...” A cloud passed over Gretta’s once sunny expression. “Well, she was a pro.”
“Was?” Libby asked.
“Poor girl died of cancer. For a while there we all thought Heath might go with her. It’s been nearly fourteen months, but nobody seems able to reach him.”
“I—I’m sorry.” What Libby went through in having Liam leave her was bad enough; she couldn’t even imagine the pain of losing a spouse.
Gretta shrugged. “By the time you get to be my age, you realize death’s an inevitable side effect of life. But it’s never easy seeing a young person go. Feels unnatural.”
Not sure what else to do or say, Libby nodded.
“Anyway...” Gretta took a deep breath, only to let the air rush out. “Since my rooms are all full, you shouldn’t have to do a thing, other than grab a few towels or ring up snacks, but I always like someone to be up here—just in case. If you run into any trouble, here’s my cell.” She jotted the number on a Post-it, then stuck it on a computer screen. She did a quick run-through on the register, then showed Libby what was available in terms of food and sundries in the lobby’s small gift section. “Think you can manage?”
“Easy peasy,” Libby said, despite this being her first real job in a while, outside of selling her art.
“Good.” Heath’s mom took her purse from beneath the front desk and headed for the door. “Oh—and thanks again for filling in. I’m not sure my son could handle losing his wife and his dog.”
* * *
HEATH CUPPED HIS HANDS to his mouth. “Sam! Come on, boy!”
Where the hell could he be?
The deeper Heath trudged into the forest, the madder he got—not just at his mutt, who knew better than to run off, but at the world in general.
As relieved as he’d been to escape Libby’s perma-smile and adorably huge belly, he was also resentful of the man who’d turned his back on her. Since losing his wife, Heath had no tolerance for men who willingly shirked their responsibilities in regard to their women. He hadn’t noticed a ring on Libby’s left hand, which led him to assume the baby’s father hadn’t even married her to give his future child a name. Who did that?
“Sam!” he bellowed. “Get your ass home!”
A good half mile off, car headlights shone in the direction of Heath’s cabin.
His mom, arriving to save the day?
He loved her. He honestly didn’t mean for them to always be at odds, but for as long as he could remember, she’d had the need to save every broken animal and person in her world. What she couldn’t seem to grasp was the fact that he was beyond saving. He had, for all practical purposes, died with Patricia—even his CO had said as much when he’d sent him packing. Being put on indefinite leave for failure to perform his duties had been one of Heath’s greatest shames, but what was done was done.
No going back now.
“Heath?” His mom’s voice carried through the ever-darkening gloom. “Where are you, hon?”
He groaned. Why couldn’t she just go away?
If, God forbid, the worst had happened to Sam, the last thing Heath wanted was an audience when he broke down.
“Heath?” She sounded closer—a lot closer, when she rounded the trail’s nearest bend. “There you are.”
“God, Mom, I told you I’ve got this handled.”
She shined a high-beam flashlight in his eyes. “Have you found him yet?”
“No.”
“Then you obviously haven’t handled squat.”
* * *
“YOU LOOK LIKE you’re about to pop,” said one of the inn’s fishermen to Libby after placing a bag of pretzels and a Snickers bar on the chest-high counter. The guy’s thick, red curls stuck out the bottom of a hat covered in fishing lures. “When’re you due?”
“Third week in July.” Libby knew she should have looked forward to her child’s entry into the world, but with her life so uncertain, the only thing the date brought was dread.
He whistled. “My wife just had our fifth, and I thought you look awfully close to the big day. Know what you’re having?”
“A girl.” Libby forced her usual smile. “I’m excited to finally meet her, but also a little scared.”
“You’ll be fine,” the kindly man said with a wink. “Although, my wife would smack me if I went so far as calling labor easy.”
Laughing, Libby said, “Honestly? That’s the least of my worries. It’s what happens once I take my baby home that has me spooked.”
Even thirty minutes after the man left, Libby couldn’t resume her interest in the romantic comedy she’d borrowed from Gretta’s extensive library.
Libby’s perch on the desk stool unfortunately afforded an excellent view of the landline phone.
It stared at her, taunted her, made her feel like a fool for not having long since dialed her parents’ familiar number.
She’d always heard about the evils of pride, but lately, she felt at constant war with the emotion. Was it pride keeping her from crawling back to her folks in her current defeated state? Or self-preservation? With a baby on the way, did she even have the right to put her own desires ahead of her child’s basic needs and protection?
Pressing the heels of her hands to her forehead, she willed an answer to come, when clearly this wasn’t a simple black-and-white decision, but one shaded with a myriad of grays.
At her high school graduation dinner, when her parents told her that to pursue a career in art was ridiculous, that after college she was destined to spend a few years in a low-profile advertising position, then settle into a life as a society wife and mom—just like her own mother—Libby had initially rebelled by running with a bad crowd.
That summer, a protest rally gone horribly wrong had landed her in jail for vandalism. Her father had bailed her out, but basically handed her the edict that from here on out, it was either his way or she needed to hit the highway. She’d chosen the highway, and with him calling her a disappointment and loser on her way out his front door, she’d never looked back.
In the five years since leaving her prestigious Seattle address, she’d spoken only to her mother, and only on Christmas. Each time, her mother had begged her to come home. When Libby asked if her father’s opinion of her lifestyle had changed, and her mother reported it had not, Libby politely ended their conversations and prayed that by the next year, her father would come around.
The fact that she was now broke, knocked up by a man who’d left her and she didn’t even own a running car proved that everything her father had said about her being a loser was true. Was she destined to become a bad mom, as well?
* * *
“I DON’T FEEL comfortable leaving you.”
“Go. I’m fine.” Heath crossed his arms in a defensive posture. For the past two hours, he and his mom had crisscrossed the family land, looking for his dog. When they had no luck, she’d turned chatty, which only pushed him deeper inside his own tortured thoughts. Was Sam dead? Lying hurt somewhere?
Images of the dog led Heath’s mind’s eye to Patricia’s dark last days. She’d been in such pain and he’d been powerless to do anything to help, other than demand more meds. To feel such helplessness for a woman he’d loved so insanely, deeply, completely had been far worse on him than any physical pain he might one day endure.
Having loved the deepest, and now hurt the deepest, what else was left?
“Great,” his mom said. “You’re fine—again. Only, clearly you’re not, so whether you like it or not, I’ll get Uncle Morris to look after the motel tomorrow, then I’ll be out to help search for Sam.”
“For the last time...” Heath cocked his head back, staring up at the stars. Common sense told him he needed all the help he could get in looking for Sam, but a sick foreboding got in the way. If the worst had happened, Heath would somehow have to deal with it in his own private way. “Thanks, but no thanks. I just want to be left alone.”
“Duly noted.” She took her keys from her jeans front pocket, then kissed his cheek. “See you first thing in the morning.”
* * *
“RUN INTO ANY TROUBLE?” Gretta asked Libby the next morning from behind the wheel of her forest-green Ford Explorer. The fog had been as thick as it was the day before, but by nine, warm sun had rapidly burned it off.
“Nope. Everything was quiet, just like you’d expected.” It’d been late when Gretta returned from Heath’s, so they hadn’t had much time to talk. It had been a long day, and Libby had struggled to keep her eyes open.
In her cozy room, she’d changed into pajamas and reveled in the luxury of indoor plumbing. When she’d slipped between cool sheets and eased her head onto not one, but two downy pillows, for the first time in months, she’d happily sighed with contentment.
Cupping her hands to her belly, she’d closed her eyes and smiled. But then her eyes popped open. All she could think of while drifting off to sleep was Heath.
The kind of warmhearted, honorable man she’d always secretly yearned for, but knew a broken mess like her would never deserve.