The SEAL's Baby

by Laura Marie Altom

THE RELIEF SHIMMERING through him after Sam’s positive health report left Heath a little punch-drunk. He’d dodged a bullet with that one. Everyone from his mom and uncle to his old SEAL gang kept telling him it was time to move on. He needed to get on with things. Get back to work. There was always lots of getting in their well-meaning speeches, but none of their words amounted to squat when it came to making him feel even a fraction better about having lost his wife.

  If he’d then lost her dog, too...

  Well, he was just damned lucky it hadn’t come to that.

  The fact that he ultimately had Libby to thank for spotting Sam didn’t escape him. As soon as the dog was doing better, maybe he’d take her to a formal thank-you lunch.

  While you’re feeling generous, think you owe her an apology for being such an ass on the beach?

  Heath folded his arms, focusing on his dog rather than his pansy conscience, which had apparently gone as soft as his out-of-shape body.

  “You’re one lucky fella,” said Cassidy Mitchell, the town veterinarian, while applying the last of Sam’s bandages. She’d given him pain meds and antibiotics, and at the moment, with his giant pink tongue lolling and tail lightly thumping the metal exam table, the dog looked about as happy as could be expected. To Heath, the vet said, “Since you live a ways out, I’ll send you home with supplies to clean and change these bandages. Once he starts feeling better, he’s gonna want to go straight back to his normally wild ways, but just to be safe, I’d keep him inside and resting as much as he’ll let you.”

  “Will do,” he said, scooping Sam into his arms.

  Gretta had left right after hearing Sam was okay. The commode in room ten had overflowed, and she’d had to meet the plumber. Heath would have called her, but he’d left his cell back at the cabin.

  “Think you can handle carrying Sam’s supplies?” the vet asked Libby.

  Libby nodded, taking the multiple packages Cassidy’s assistant had assembled.

  “Sure you’re okay?” the vet asked Libby. Heath had made brief introductions upon their arrival. “You’ve paled about ten shades since you first got here.”

  “I’m fine,” Libby said, but having witnessed her previous faint, and seeing her expression look similar now, Heath wasn’t so sure.

  “Just in case...” The vet’s teen assistant trailed them outside. “Let me take Sam’s bandages and meds, and then you just open the truck door.”

  “You’re both being silly.” Libby made the trade-off, then opened the door. “I’m abso-lute-lee...”

  Fine? Heath finished her sentence just as her legs buckled from beneath her.

  Chapter Five

  With Sam centered on the truck’s bench seat, Heath shot into action, now hefting Libby up next to the dog.

  “She okay?” The pimple-faced teen assistant couldn’t have been over sixteen. He’d paled as much as Libby.

  “Hope so.” Heath took Sam’s supplies. “I’ll run her to the clinic, though, to make sure.”

  Just as she had during her previous fainting spell, Libby woke within a few seconds. At which point, Heath, for the second time that morning, felt crazy-relieved. And guilty. If she hadn’t followed him to the beach to get Sam, would she have passed out?

  “Whoa...” She’d rested her head against the seat back, and now pressed her fingertips to her forehead. “What happened?”

  “You fainted again.”

  She groaned. “That’s not good.”

  “Nope. Which is why I’m running you to the doc.”

  “I’m all right. Please—” she stroked Sam’s sleepy face “—take me to my room at the motel. I just need a nap.”

  “Probably, but I don’t want it on my already full plate if it turns out there’s something more wrong.”

  “Look...” Sighing, she hugged her belly. “The truth is, I can’t afford to pay a doctor. I’m good. I have to be, because really, I don’t have another choice.”

  “There’s always a choice—this time, it’s doing the responsible thing for your baby by letting me pay for your treatment.”

  “That’s not necessary. I’m already feeling better.”

  “Perfect. Then you won’t mind me wasting my own money to prove it.”

  Other than her pressing her lips together a bit tighter, Libby showed no other emotion. He was glad, because the day had been draining enough without her launching another fight.

  He pulled to a stop at the red light on Archer.

  With the Fourth of July so close, carnies were hard at work assembling rides on the elementary school’s soccer field. The Tilt-a-Whirl resembled a praying mantis with its legs still folded on the flatbed trailer where it lived when it wasn’t at play.

  Back when he’d been a kid visiting his grandparents over the holiday while his dad was on leave, the annual carnival that started on the first was everything. Corn dogs and funnel cakes. Losing a month’s allowance worth of quarters on the Coin Dozer game. Best of all, spending time with his family, back when they really had been a family.

  The light changed and he made a left, heading toward the clinic.

  With Sam peacefully napping and a warm summer breeze riffling his hair through the open windows, Heath could’ve almost been at peace if it weren’t for the faint sniffles of Libby crying.

  In no way prepared to deal with drama in the form of female tears—especially the pregnancy tears his married friends warned him were particularly potent—he tightened his grip on the wheel.

  A few minutes later, past the fire station and library and the retirement home where, on a trip home for Easter, he and Patricia had teased each other about moving into when they both grew old, Heath pulled into the clinic’s freshly blacktopped parking lot. The asphalt sounded sticky beneath the truck’s tires and the pungent smell had Libby crinkling her nose.

  “This is an all-around bad idea. I feel great. And what’re we going to do with Sam?”

  Heath drove to the far side of the lot, parking beneath a row of Douglas firs on a section of pavement still old and sun-faded.

  Sam was fast asleep, and judging by his snores, would be for a while. The day was fine. The temperature was in the mid-seventies. With the windows down, he’d be equally as content in the truck as he would’ve been on the living room couch.

  “He’s gonna nap, just like the vet wanted.”

  One hand on her belly, the other on her door, Libby still looked unsure. In that instant, she looked so alone and afraid, something in his long-frozen heart gave way.

  He wasn’t a monster; he was just a man who’d essentially given up on his own life, but that didn’t mean he had the right to inflict his messed-up shit on this lost soul.

  He tentatively reached out for her, for an endless few seconds, hovering his hand in the neutral zone over Sam before reaching the rest of the way to Libby’s forearm. Upon making contact, her vulnerability made him want to be strong. Not for himself, but for this fragile woman with an innocent child growing inside.

  After giving her a gentle and what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze, they made eye contact for only an instant. He couldn’t have stood more, so he looked away, swallowing hard, wishing his pulse to slow. He was afraid, so very afraid, but of what he couldn’t comprehend. “Let’s, ah, head inside. Get you checked out.”

  Her eyes shone, and she also shifted her gaze, sniffling before opening her door.

  Heath hustled to her side of the vehicle in order to help her down.

  It had been years since he’d been to Doc Meadows, but everyone in town knew appointments were welcome, but if you had something come up, the doctor and his nurse would stay as late as necessary to ensure everyone with a need was seen.

  “Sure is pretty for a clinic....” Libby said, peering up at the three-story Victorian.

  “Used to belong to one of the summer people.”

  “Summer people?”

  “Rich folks from Portland, even San Francisco, who used to come here to spend their summers on the shore. After the 19
42 fire, hardly any homes were left. This one was owned by a bank president whose wife fancied herself to be a shade tree architect.” Heath was glad for the story. It distracted him from Libby’s slow pace—more guilt stemming from the realization that he should have driven her to the door. What kind of idiot was he to have made her walk? “Want me to go get the truck?”

  “For what?” She pressed her hands to the small of her back.

  “So you don’t have to exert yourself.”

  She waved off his concern. “You worry too much. And what’s up with this new, polite travelogue version of your formerly crotchety self?”

  “I’m not crotchety—reserved, maybe. Definitely not crotchety.”

  “If you say so...” He wasn’t sure how she managed, but after casting him an exaggerated wink and grin, she sashayed right past him and mounted the stairs.

  “You shouldn’t be taking off like that,” he urged, staying behind her in case she fell—at least that’s the line he fed himself in order to not feel like a creeper for having accidentally caught himself yet again checking out her behind. “Last thing I need is for you to pull another fainting spell.”

  “I won’t,” she said from the top of the stairs, even though her exaggerated breathing told him she was winded.

  He opened the door for her, ushering her inside the waiting room that his mom told him used to be the front parlor where Ingrid Mortimer—the former lady of the house—served formal tea every summer Sunday afternoon. He was just debating on whether or not to share the information with Libby, when the doctor’s receptionist, Eloise Hunter, shot out from behind her desk to usher Libby into a wheelchair.

  “You poor thing,” Eloise clucked. The woman not only stood six feet tall—not counting her big red hair bun—but she was big around, too. And mean. But then his senior year in high school, she had caught him cutting all the roses from her garden for his latest crush. “Doc Mitchell’s office called and said you’d be coming. We’ve got a room all ready for you.” She glared at Heath, then said, “Your mother told me you dragged this poor girl all the way down Poplar’s Bluff to get Sam. What’s the matter with you?”

  Seriously? “I didn’t—”

  “Don’t blame him,” Libby said to Eloise with one of her big grins. “I made it to the beach all on my own. I’m probably just a little tired.”

  Eloise didn’t look so sure. “Just to be safe, let’s let the doc have a look at you. Can’t be too cautious when there’s a little one involved.” After another pursed-lip glare in Heath’s direction, the receptionist ordered Heath to stay in the empty waiting area while she wheeled Libby off to an exam room.

  For the longest time, Heath just sat there, staring at the overly fussy floral wallpaper.

  He picked up a tattered copy of People. But the last thing he was interested in was some starlet’s issues with drugs.

  A good ten minutes later, Eloise returned. “Libby sure is a pretty little thing. Seems like she has a real sweet spirit.”

  “Yeah.” He feigned renewed interest in his magazine.

  Ten more minutes passed, then thirty.

  He checked on Sam. Found the temperature in the truck still pleasant and the dog lightly snoring.

  Back in the waiting area, Heath wasn’t sure what to do with his arms and legs. He felt all squirmy—like a little kid forced to sit too long on a church pew.

  What was going on back in that exam room? Was Libby all right? Had she really hurt herself and the baby? If so, was it his fault? He should’ve insisted she stay up at the cabin with his mom. But then hadn’t he told her to go back, and she’d ignored him?

  Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on his thighs.

  Honest to God, back when he’d been working, he’d waited out terrorists without feeling this tense. Even in the short time he’d known her, Libby had gotten under his skin. She had an energy about her—a spark, for lack of a better word—that struck him as pure radiance. For someone who had lived the past year and more in total emotional darkness, he was not only unaccustomed to being in the presence of light, but being around her physically hurt. It reminded him how much fun he and Patricia used to have, and how quickly that joy had been snatched away.

  *

  “YOU’RE SURE YOU haven’t had any spotting?” Kindly Doc Meadows asked the question while still making notes in Libby’s newly made chart.

  “No, sir. Other than being tired—and my back always hurting—I feel great.”

  “Hmm...” He removed his glasses, staring out the window at the clinic’s parklike grounds. Not only was there a thick lawn, but there was also a garden blooming with riotous color and a meandering brick path that led to a gazebo. “Your blood pressure’s slightly elevated, but the baby’s heartbeat’s nice and strong. We’ll have to wait for your blood work and urinalysis to come back from the lab to have any definitive answers as to why you’re fainting, but honestly, I think you’re just plum worn-out. Do you have family you can stay with for the last few weeks of your pregnancy?”

  Libby shook her head, though inwardly groaned. What should she say? Of course, she had family, but she wasn’t ready to face them—not yet.

  You make me ashamed to call you my daughter! Her father’s anger still raged in her head. Go on, get the hell out of here and don’t ever come back!

  The doctor sighed. “Pending no further immediate trouble, what I want you to do is get plenty of rest—and by plenty, I mean unless you’re up for a shower or to tinkle, I want you off your feet. I hear you’re staying with Gretta, and I know she’ll take real good care of you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You bet. But call if you experience anything out of the ordinary. Then we’ll want to run you up to Coos Bay for an ultrasound and further testing.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” A plan Libby had no intention of letting come to fruition. She couldn’t imagine what that would cost, and she was already so deeply in debt to Heath and his mom that Libby wasn’t sure how she’d ever see her way out.

  *

  “SHE STILL BACK THERE?”

  Heath had been blessedly close to drifting off, when his meddling mother appeared in the clinic waiting room.

  “Gretta Stone! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” Eloise lumbered around the side of her desk to give Heath’s mom a warm hug. Heath, on the other hand, got another squinty-eyed glare. “It’s been forever since I’ve seen you.”

  “I know, I know,” his mother said. “What with the motel’s business picking up and getting ready for the Fourth, I feel like I don’t have time to think, let alone breathe or play Friday night poker with my girlfriends.”

  “Well, just as soon as you steal the time, we’d love having you back. Clara Foster made the most incredible artichoke dip last week. You know how I’ve been going to the Weight Watchers meetings over in Coos Bay? Well, let’s just say her dip ruined my whole week’s points.”

  After both women laughed, then shared another hug, Heath had reached the end of his proverbial rope when it came to female small talk. “Eloise, don’t you think you should check on Libby?”

  “Heath!” Now, his mom was the one casting daggers. “Mind your manners.”

  Mind my manners? What was he, like, twelve? “All I want to know is if Libby’s all right. She’s been back there for over an hour. I’ve got Sam in the truck, and if it’s going to be much longer, I need to—”

  “You run on home, and get poor Sam settled.” After patting his back, Gretta made a few motherly clucking sounds. “I’ll take care of our little Libby.”

  Our Libby? When had that happened? They’d only known the woman barely over a day.

  “Go on,” Eloise urged, making sweeping gestures to send him on his way. “Your mom and I have this handled. Besides, I wanna hear firsthand what’s going on with Hal.”

  Heath’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean? He has to find parts.”

  Eloise cast what he could only guess was a conspiratorial grin and wink in his mother’s di
rection. “Oh—Gretta knows full well I’m not talking about car parts.”

  Both women found this hilarious.

  Heath ignored them.

  His mom’s offer to deal with Libby’s situation presented quite a dilemma. On the one hand, he’d like nothing more than to return to his cabin and stay there a month until he ran out of supplies. On the other, what kind of man had he become to abandon a pregnant woman? Especially since she might not have pushed herself hard enough to have landed up here if he hadn’t been so short with her. Still, hadn’t he done his part by delivering her to the doctor? What else could he actually do?

  The decent thing—his conscience provided. Like staying here long enough to ensure she’s all right.

  Had he been on his own, he’d have growled.

  *

  “OH, GOOD.” LACY CLAUSSEN, the nurse driving Libby’s wheelchair, parked her in the reception room. “Looks like you have a couple options for getting back to the motel.”

  “Thanks,” Libby said, pushing herself up, only to have the nurse give her a gentle nudge back down.

  “You heard what the doctor advised. You get to be pampered. Let me wheel you to your ride.”

  “All of this really isn’t necessary,” Libby complained, but she was thoroughly weary. She suspected her forced smile failed to reach her eyes and even though she discreetly covered a yawn, exhaustion sagged her shoulders.

  “Nonsense.” Gretta slapped the magazine she’d been reading on a side table. “Let’s get you home and in bed, and then I’ll fix you a nice, hearty stew. You do like stew, don’t you?”

  Tears welling in her eyes, Libby nodded.

  What was she thinking? Allowing this dear woman to continue caring for her when she had a perfectly good family a mere phone call away? Did that make her essentially guilty of duping these lovely people?

  No. Eyes stinging from the effort of holding back tears, Libby promised herself that just as soon as she felt better, she’d work hard to repay every penny these nice people had spent.

  “Aw, there’s no crying in this clinic....” Eloise knelt, wrapping her arm around Libby’s shoulders, giving her a squeeze. “After a few days’ rest, you’ll feel so much better.”