The SEAL's Baby

by Laura Marie Altom

  *

  AFTER A FITFUL night’s sleep, Heath woke at dawn to resume his search for Sam.

  He’d been out a few hours, then returned to the cabin to grab energy bars and more water.

  The previous night, when his mom told him she’d be back, he’d hoped Uncle Morris was so busy with the diner that he wouldn’t be able to help with the motel—in fact, he’d have rather she sent her brother as her proxy. Heath’s easygoing uncle wasn’t constantly nagging with questions, and he sure as hell would never be so insensitive as to suggest he “climb back on his horse” to find a new love as Gretta occasionally liked to do.

  What kind of Happy Land planet was his mom living on that she believed for one second he’d ever be able to replace Patricia? The very idea was insulting.

  After downing a piece of white bread smeared with peanut butter, he was loading bottled water into his knapsack when a car roared down his road.

  While his initial thought was to punch a hole through the nearest wall, he soon enough realized that since his home was built of logs, that might not be such a great idea for his fist.

  A minute later he glanced out the open front door to see his mom’s perpetual smile. Making matters worse was the fact that she’d dragged Libby along with her.

  Hands in his pockets, he did the right thing by heading out to the SUV to greet them, though he wanted nothing to do with either of their cheery smiles.

  “Any luck?” his mom asked, first out of the car.

  “Nope.”

  Libby had opened her door, but clearly needed help getting out. On autopilot, he went to her, steeling himself to ignore her pretty floral smell and the way her petite frame made him feel oversized and all thumbs. “Here we go again....”

  “This does feel familiar.” Her friendly grin did uncomfortable things to his gut. Made him wistful for days when he used to have an easy smile. Now nothing was easy—especially being around this very pregnant woman who reminded him all too much of what he’d always dreamed his life would be.

  “Libby,” his mom said, “I didn’t even think to ask, but did you have breakfast?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Gretta conked her forehead. “I’m the worst hostess ever.” She turned toward the cabin. “Let me whip up grub for us all, then we’ll start our search. Heath, how about showing Libby the bench Grandpa made for your grandmother.”

  Lips pressed tight, Heath looked to the sky, willing patience for his mom to rain down on him.

  “She’s a pistol,” Libby noted.

  “That’s one way of putting it.” He gestured toward the pine needle–strewn trail leading to the property’s bluff. “Feel up to a short walk?”

  “Sure, though I’m not exactly steady.”

  “Let me take your arm—just in case. Last thing I need on top of my missing dog is a busted-up pregnant lady.”

  Laughing, she shook her head. “Thanks. I think?”

  He shot her a sideways glance and came damn close to cracking his own grin while taking hold of her arm. It couldn’t have been over fifty yards to the bluff, but worry over his guest’s well-being had Heath working up a sweat.

  Finally, they made it. Heath tried corralling Libby onto the bench his grandfather made as a romantic gift decades earlier, but she wasn’t having it.

  “Look at this view....” The awe he used to feel for the land rang through in her breathy tone. “It’s amazing. The sun looks like diamonds on the water. Don’t you feel like you can see all the way to Japan?”

  “Don’t get too close to the edge.” She stood only a foot away from the two-hundred-foot drop.

  “I’m fine,” she assured him. “I’ve always had a great sense of—” In turning to face him, she wobbled.

  Heath ran to her, tugging her into the safety of his arms. “Why can’t you listen?”

  With her baby bump pressed against areas it had no business being, he set her a safe distance back while trying to figure out why just touching her produced such visceral results.

  “I told you I was fine,” she snapped. “Stop being such a worrywart.”

  Arms folded, he said, “My apologies for yet again charging to your rescue.”

  She held her arms defensively crossed over her chest, as well. “Did it ever occur to you that I don’t need saving? That I’m doing fine all on my own?”

  “Which is why you’re living on charity until your car gets fixed? Even then, how are you planning to reimburse Hal?” The moment the acidic questions left Heath’s mouth, he regretted them. He especially regretted the telltale signs of tears shimmering in Libby’s sky-blue eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  He approached her, held out his hands to maybe touch her, but then thought better and backed away.

  “Doesn’t matter,” she said with a shrug. “What would an apology help when what you said is true?”

  “Yeah, but...” She’d returned to the ledge, which made his pulse race uncomfortably. Why the hell couldn’t she just behave?

  “Stop. I’m sorry your mom dragged me out here. After we eat, I’ll ask her to take me back to the motel, and with any luck, you’ll never see me again.”

  “Libby...” He rammed his hands into his pockets. In an odd way, even saying her name felt uncomfortably intimate.

  “No, really, just hush. You’re not the only one with troubles, you know? Maybe I didn’t lose a spouse, but—”

  “Mom told you about Patricia?”

  Hand over her mouth, she nodded.

  Was nothing sacred?

  “I’m sorry for your loss, but that doesn’t give you the right to take your pain out on others—especially your sweet mom.”

  No longer in the mood for sightseeing, Heath turned his back on the pint-size pain in his ass by heading back down the trail.

  “What?” she called after him. “You got your feelings hurt, so you’re just going to leave?”

  Had she been a dude, he’d have flipped her a backhanded bird.

  “Fine! Be that way!” she hollered after him. “Being sad won’t fix anything, you know! Just makes you more sad, and—”

  When she punctuated her sentence with a yelp, despite his frustration, he turned and ran in her direction. What the hell kind of trouble had she gotten herself into this time?

  Only once he reached her, he found her yards down the bluff, pointing to a limp ball of fur, far down on the rocks below. Heath’s mouth went dry, and his stomach roiled.

  “I-is that your dog?”

  Chapter Four

  Caring little about his own personal safety, Heath sprinted a few hundred more yards down the bluff’s edge until he reached the only somewhat sane route to the crashing surf.

  After losing Patricia, he’d sworn to never pray again, and he held that promise even now. The concrete hardening his emotions told him this mission was all about recovery rather than rescue. As much as he’d loved that dog, no way would Heath leave Sam’s body exposed to be pecked off bit by bit by scavengers.

  The ground constantly gave way beneath him, as the rocks clattered in what had become a dangerous slide. Had he the slightest lick of good sense, he would have gone farther down the bluff to the established trail he usually used to access the beach, but in this case, urgency won over practicality.

  Upon finally reaching the rocky shore, he ran until his lungs ached.

  There was no hurry. No way even a tough guy like Sam could’ve possibly survived that fall, so why couldn’t Heath stop running to get to him? Why couldn’t he shake the feeling that just as it had on that sunny day when Patricia had slipped from him, his life was spinning out of control.

  Sure, Sam was just a dog, but most days that mutt felt like the only thing keeping Heath sane. Sam gave him a reason to get up every morning. Beyond the necessities of keeping him fed and watered and letting him in and out, Heath had found solace in watching his dog’s tail wag the whole ride to their favorite fishing hole, or hearing him bark when the mutt chased after his ratty old tennis ball.

>   Twenty yards out, Heath hunched over, bracing his hands on his knees. He couldn’t bear going farther.

  Eyes squeezed shut, all he saw was the hospice nurse dragging that damned yellow sheet over Patricia’s dear, faint smile. Ever since, he’d hated the color almost as much as he hated life.

  “What’re you doing?” a faint, wind-tossed voice called from above. “Hurry, Heath! We need to get him to a vet.”

  What was wrong with her?

  Couldn’t she see he was in pain? Why was she even there, when all he wanted was to be left alone?

  “Run!” she hollered.

  In a mental fog, Heath raised his gaze to Libby, only to find her animated and waving toward poor Sam’s lifeless body. What was wrong with her that at a time like this, she refused to give him space?

  “Heath, look at him! He’s trying to wag his tail! Don’t you know he’s alive?”

  Alive?

  She might as well have been speaking Latin for all the sense the word made in Heath’s grief-stricken mind. Hope had long since left his vocabulary.

  But then a strange thing happened....

  Seagulls rioted near Sam’s body, and Sam gave a short woof, sending the birds flying.

  Charging to action, Heath made it to Sam’s side in well under a minute. He kneeled to scoop Sam into his arms, and instead of the cold, salt water–matted fur he’d expected, he was met with solid warmth, a whimper, a feeble tail wag.

  Was he dreaming? Had he really been given this second chance?

  A quick inspection of his dog showed why Sam hadn’t come home. His feet were covered in purple sea urchin spikes. The urchins weren’t poisonous, but clearly painful and if it hadn’t already, infection was likely to set in.

  Shooting to action, uncaring of his own comfort, Heath knelt in the rising surf. Cold water soaked his legs, but he ignored any physical pain to gingerly pluck spike after spike from the swollen and clearly tender pads of Sam’s paws.

  “Hang in there,” Heath soothed, 100 percent focused on the task at hand. “We’ll get all of these things out, then run you to the vet. In a few days, you’ll be good as new.”

  Once again having purpose drove Heath to work even more efficiently. Guilt for not having thought to look for Sam on the beach much sooner caused acid to rise from his stomach and high into his throat until bile flavored his tongue.

  “I’m sorry,” Heath said, stroking behind the dog’s silky ears.

  Sam whined, lurching forward when Heath tugged at a particularly large and deep spike.

  “Be gentle,” a soft voice said behind him. Libby had somehow waddled her way to the beach and lowered herself onto a sun-bleached driftwood log.

  “You shouldn’t be down here.” Though he couldn’t have begun to explain why, Heath resented her presence. As a man who’d spent years in the business of saving others, it was a rush to once again be on the job. The purpose and drive felt damn good. The knowledge that for once in a very long time he was making a positive difference—if only to his dog—deeply mattered.

  “I thought you might need help. What happened? How did he even get down here?”

  “How do you think?” he growled. One glance at her crestfallen expression left Heath ashamed of his sharp words. “Sorry. I’ve got enough on my plate in carrying Sam safely up the bluff. I don’t want to have to worry about you, too.”

  “Who said you had to?”

  Having removed all the spikes, Heath wedged his hands under the dog’s fragile frame. Due to his negligence in not having remembered how much Sam enjoyed barking at the occasional sea lions who hung out on the point, the dog had been a while without food or water.

  Crashing surf must’ve muted his bark.

  “Drop it,” Heath said, already heading for the trail.

  “Why are you acting like this?” She chased after him, which only made him feel worse, but no way was he slowing. “You should be thrilled Sam’s going to be okay.”

  “I am.”

  “So would it be too much of a strain to smile?”

  “Shouldn’t you worry more about keeping your footing on these rocks?” He kept his gaze focused on the winding dirt trail leading up the bluff.

  Sam whined.

  “Just a few more minutes, boy...” Heath had never wished more he’d kept up with his physical training. Were he in top form, scaling the hill would’ve been no big deal—not that it was difficult now, he just lacked the speed he’d once had.

  “If you’d slow down just a little,” Libby yapped, dogging his heels, “I could help soothe him.”

  “I’ve got this,” he insisted. “Please—back the hell off.”

  She held up her hands, stepping away per his request, but her glistening tears left him feeling dirty inside. What kind of man yelled at a pregnant woman? What had happened to his honor?

  Ha! He and honor and giving a damn about anything parted ways around about the same time the love of his life died in his arms.

  “Would it kill you to let me in?” The woman might’ve temporarily let him be, but there she was, right back in his business. “I just want to help you—you know, like you helped me.”

  “I don’t need help.” Jaw clenched, Heath kept his gaze focused on the trail, mentally blocking Sam’s heartbreaking whimpers.

  By the time Heath reached the trailhead at the top of the bluff, the dog’s ninety pounds had his untrained muscles screaming. How had he allowed himself to get so out of shape? Was he really so pathetic?

  “You found him!” his mother cried as he approached. “Is he all right?”

  “Find my keys!” he shouted back.

  From behind him, the sounds of Libby’s labored breathing did little to improve his mood.

  “Would you like me to drive or hold poor Sam on the way to the vet?” Libby asked.

  “You have no lap,” he managed from between clenched teeth. His thigh muscles screamed from mounting the steep grade. Back when he’d been on the job, a trek like this would’ve been a cakewalk. Now, when his dog needed him, his body wasn’t delivering as it should. And that further pissed him off. But the anger was good. It gave him much-needed energy to fuel the rest of his way to the truck.

  “There are very few people I’ve disliked over the years,” she said, “but you, Heath Stone, are definitely one of them. You’re thickheaded and stubborn and obstinate.”

  “Aren’t those all basically the same?”

  “Well...” His mind’s eye pictured her heart-shaped face all flushed and scrunched from concentration. And that image did nothing to improve his already dour mood. Because for the briefest flash of an instant, the thought of her coaxed his smile out of hiding. “They might be the same, but that’s okay, because I wanted to emphasize how truly awful you are. When you first rescued me, I thought you were the kindest soul I’d ever encountered, but—”

  “Do you ever shut up?”

  “No! And for you to suggest it just makes me loathe you that much more.”

  At the top of the bluff, with both of them breathing heavy, Heath might have found the energy to laugh at her crazy-ass statement if he hadn’t been carrying his injured dog. As if he cared if she loathed him.

  But then, when the trail widened, she passed him, and all those blond curls bounced with her every snappy step. For a woman in her condition, she sure could move. Though from behind, she didn’t even look pregnant. In fact, the way the morning sun shone through the flimsy fabric of her dress, not a whole lot of her was left to his imagination. His body’s involuntary—and swift—reaction to the sight of her soft curves soured his mood all the more.

  “I can’t believe he’s all right.” His mom charged down the trail to meet them. “I set bowls of food and water in the truck.”

  “Thanks.”

  She reached to pet Sam, but Heath didn’t want to slow his momentum.

  “Why’re you so prickly?” she asked when he sidestepped her. “Sam’s safe. You should be overjoyed.”

  “I am. But he’s
not out of the woods yet.” Plus, I just had my first erection caused by a woman other than my wife....

  *

  “HE’S GOING TO be fine, you know?” While driving Heath’s truck, for a split second, Libby took her eyes from the deserted highway to glance toward him and his dog. Sam had long since finished off his water and now started in on his food. His eyes had already brightened, and she found herself liking him much better than his doggy dad. “It’s okay for you to relax.”

  “Could you please just focus on the road?”

  Gretta followed behind them in her SUV.

  Heath sat all stiff and straight and his handsome features were marred by the oddest expression. Was the big, strong guy trying not to cry? She’d been touched by seeing how much Sam meant to Heath. Was there a significance beyond any normal dog bond? Had he shared Sam with his wife?

  Though it was none of her business, Libby couldn’t help but ask, “Did you and your wife get Sam together?”

  For the longest time, Heath remained silent. The way a muscle ticked in his hardened jaw set her on edge. Had she picked at a wound still too tender for casual conversation?

  “I’m sorry.” She steered the truck around a small branch that had fallen onto the road. “Please, forget I even asked.”

  “Yeah...” When he finally did speak, his tone was raspy. He stroked one of Sam’s ears. “A friend told us his Lab-collie mix was having a litter, and we picked this guy out as a puppy. He had five littermates, but we could tell right away he was the one. He had spunk. He was always into everything. A little too curious for his own good—which I guess is how he landed in this predicament.”

  “Poor guy.” She patted the dog’s head.

  A glance at Heath had her thinking he might say something more, but much to her disappointment, he did not. Which made no sense—not so much the lack of conversation, but why his sudden silence bothered her.

  *