The SEAL's Baby

by Laura Marie Altom

  Libby nodded, but she wished she could be sure.

  And then there was Heath, standing away from her and Gretta and Eloise and Lacy. He’d crossed his arms and backed against the wall. As usual, his expression was grim, but if she was reading him right, not in an angry way. If anything, she would’ve sworn he seemed...concerned?

  “Let’s get going.” Gretta thanked Eloise, and Lacy wheeled Libby out of the clinic and into bright sun.

  Heath trailed behind.

  She wanted to thank him again for bringing her to the clinic, but while the nurse helped her into Gretta’s SUV, he spoke a moment with his mom and then, shoulders hunched and hands crammed into his jeans pockets, he crossed the parking lot to his truck.

  What was it about him that spoke to her? Was it the fact that they were both avoiding the past? Sure, she might accomplish this goal by forcing a bright smile through every rough patch, while he glowered his way through, but on some level they were kindred spirits in that they’d both essentially suffered a loss. He’d lost his wife. She’d first lost her parents, then boyfriend, then spirit—which was why she’d been driving home. To wag her proverbial white flag in her father’s condemning face.

  “Comfortable?” Gretta asked, jolting Libby from her thoughts.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “Everything okay? You’re missing your usual smile.”

  Libby flashed her new friend a half version. “Sorry, guess it’s just been a long day.”

  “That it has.” Gretta started the vehicle, placed it in Drive, then veered across the mostly empty lot toward the street.

  It took every shred of Libby’s willpower not to look back. At Heath. At Sam. At the strange connection she already missed.

  Chapter Six

  Libby was starting to feel like a broken record about telling Gretta and her brother, Morris, that their help wasn’t necessary, but when it came to moving her few belongings from her motel room into the guest room in Gretta’s personal home, they weren’t paying her much attention.

  “I think we got everything,” Gretta said to Libby, whom she’d ordered onto a living room recliner.

  Fred, Gretta’s smelly bassett hound, wandered up to Libby, rubbing his snout under her draping hand.

  “Where do you want this?” Morris stood at the front door with Libby’s most prized possession—her potter’s wheel.

  Before Libby could even ask who’d brought it over from her car, Gretta directed her brother to the screened back porch. “Once Libby’s feeling better, Heath thought she might want to wow us with her skills.”

  Heath had been the one thoughtful enough to bring her supplies? The notion that he’d cared warmed her through and through.

  She hadn’t done anything to deserve these strangers’ kindness, but she sure appreciated it. “Gretta, I can’t even begin to figure out how to thank you. Not many people would be so kind as to welcome a stranger, quite literally off the road, into their home.”

  “I’ll let you in on a secret....” Gretta hefted Fred to a mound of quilts and chew toys in the corner, then collapsed onto the recliner opposite Libby. “Nothing makes me happier than rescuing a sweet stray from the side of the road. I found old Fred baying outside the elementary school. Somewhere around here are a pair of cats I found as kittens, hiding under a bush in front of the hardware store. When you first got here, though my heart couldn’t help but reach out to you, I’m not naive to some of the ugliness that’s out there in the world. I did a quick internet search on you—you know, just to make sure you didn’t have an obvious criminal record—only to get a shock to find not only had you been arrested, but you also have a perfectly good family up in Seattle.”

  While Libby’s heart raced, she could have sworn she actually felt the color drain from her face.

  “You can stop looking so worried.” Gretta flashed her usual kind smile.

  Fred had left his appointed corner and now begged for Gretta to heft him onto her lap—which she did.

  “I just, well...” Libby honestly wasn’t sure what to say. She hadn’t exactly lied to Gretta, but she certainly hadn’t been a fountain of information.

  “It’s okay. As for your arrest, I abhor animal testing, and back in my youth, might’ve done the same thing. Now, in some cases, I suppose it’s a necessary evil, but it still breaks my heart. As for the matter of why you haven’t called your parents for help, I suppose that’s for only you to know.”

  Libby sighed, covering her face with her hands. “The vandalism charge happened a long time ago. I got in with the wrong crowd, and thought we were just going to a peaceful protest rally. One thing led to another and one of the guys tossed a Molotov cocktail into a courtyard. Everyone was running and screaming and a few people were hurt. Police charged and dispensed tear gas. It was awful.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “As for my parents... Where do I even begin? Back then, my dad was mayor. Every time his reelection came around, he expected Mom and I to be part of his campaign. I was arrested during Dad’s bid for a third term in office. His opponent used my actions against him, blasting the area with a smear campaign. You know the kind, ‘If the mayor can’t control his own daughter, how can we trust him to run our city?’ The night of the election, after my dad’s concession speech, the dark look he gave me...” She shivered. “In that moment, I believe he truly hated me. Mom, too.”

  “I doubt they hated you—at least from what little I know about you, you seem pleasant enough.”

  “Pleasant isn’t exactly what they were going for in their offspring—at least my father sure wasn’t.”

  “Got any peanut butter?” Gretta’s brother popped his head through the kitchen pass-through.

  “In the cabinet. But I’m making a double batch of stew, so don’t eat three sandwiches.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The burly man with a thick head of salt-and-pepper hair saluted his sister using a couple slices of wheat bread, then ducked back into the kitchen.

  “Sorry about that.” Gretta stroked Fred’s ears. “Where were we?”

  “Nowhere. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “You didn’t.” Heath’s mom winked. “I did. And I’m happy to let you hide out here for however long it takes you to get your car fixed, but after that you should go see your folks—not only for the baby’s sake, but yours. I don’t know the entirety of what happened between you, but maybe it wasn’t as bad as you remember?”

  *

  SITTING AT THE kitchen table with her feet up on a neighboring chair, chopping carrots for Gretta’s stew, Libby couldn’t get the older woman’s words from her mind. Could she have misread her father’s harsh words and tone? No. But every year on Christmas, when she spoke to her mom, a piece of her shattered upon hearing the crack in her mother’s voice. Libby missed her mom something fierce, but how did she just forget the horrible things her dad had said? Especially when every word had been true.

  Mark my words. If you don’t go to college, you’ll end up pregnant, destitute and alone.

  As if her father’s words had been prophetic, Libby had become a knocked-up loser.

  Gretta’s house phone rang.

  When she answered, Libby didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but it was kind of hard not to when she sat five feet away.

  “But Heath...” Gretta sighed. “You’re being silly.... Of course Sam’s important, but I think he’ll be fine long enough for you to pop over here to share a meal.” She winced as she tried to unscrew the Bloody Mary mixer she told Libby she used as her top secret base for her beef stew. “All right, but don’t blame me if both of you starve to death.”

  Upon disconnecting, Gretta tossed her phone to the counter. “That son of mine makes me crazy. I can’t imagine what’s gotten into him to make him even more antisocial than usual.”

  Libby feigned intense focus on chopping her remaining carrots, but during Gretta’s conversation, an idea had crept into her head that now refused to let go. Was it possible Heath wouldn’t com
e to dinner because of her?

  *

  THE NEXT MORNING, Heath awoke to a hard rain and Sam licking the underside of his palm.

  Groaning, he eyed the dog. “Need to go out?”

  A thumping tail told him his answer.

  His grandfather had built the cabin with generous eaves intended to keep the woodpile dry, but they also worked as a dry spot for Sam to do his business.

  The dog’s hobble was slow, but his eyes had brightened and other than not being able to move as fast as he liked, he looked none the worse for his adventure.

  When Sam finished, Heath ushered him back inside, changed his bandages and fed him, then helped him onto the sofa.

  When the dog cocked his head and looked longingly outside, Heath gave him a rawhide chew he hoped would keep him happy for at least a portion of the morning.

  It was only seven, meaning he had way too much time between now and bedtime.

  He wouldn’t have minded going fishing, but with Sam out of commission, that idea was nixed.

  Heath tried reading but couldn’t get into the three-inch tome on Afghanistan history.

  A shower took five minutes. Dressing and brushing his teeth another five. Downing an energy bar and sports drink killed another three minutes, according to the glowing nightstand alarm clock.

  Frowning, he grabbed his iPad, intent on at least catching up on national news, but the rain screwed with his already sketchy wireless signal.

  He picked up his phone to see if it worked any better, only to see he had a message—no doubt from his mom. He was in the process of auto-deleting it when he noticed the number wasn’t familiar.

  Playing it on speaker, he got a jolt to hear the familiar voice of his old navy SEAL buddy Mason, aka Snowman—because he was from Alaska. “Yo, Hopper, did you fall off the earth? Nice job of keeping in touch, loser. Anyway, I’ve got vacation time coming, and Hattie’s wanting to get out of town. Sorry for the short notice, but wanna hook me and my fam up for a few days’ lodging over the Fourth? Assuming you’re alive—call me.”

  Heath played the message again, just to be sure he hadn’t dreamed his old friend’s voice. Talk about a blast from the past. An unwelcome blast. Still, considering how many times Mason had saved his ass out in the field, the least Heath could do was give him a place to stay.

  Sighing, he dialed his friend’s number, made requisite small talk, arranged for Mason, Hattie and their three kids to stay at his cabin for the dates they would be in town, and in general tried to sound normal even though nothing could be further from the truth.

  He was happy for his friend’s newfound familial bliss. He really was. But that didn’t make the cold edge of jealousy slicing his gut any easier to bear. Back when his fellow SEAL team members called him Hopper because of his knack for jumping objects while in a full-on run, Heath had believed he had his whole life mapped out. If only he’d known back then what a joke that would turn out to be.

  Upon hanging up, he spent the next couple hours cleaning, welcoming the distraction from his thoughts.

  But then, as he took a break to down a sports drink, another thought struck.

  If Mason, Hattie and crew were at his cabin, where did that leave him? It’d be no big deal to bunk with his mom.

  What would be a big deal?

  Bunking with his mom and Libby.

  *

  “THIS IS SUCH a fun surprise.” Two days later, Heath realized he hadn’t seen his mother so smiley since her pickled eggs had won first place at the county fair. She held open her front door for him, stepping aside as he entered. “I’d give you a room at the motel, but with the holiday, I’m booked. Since Libby’s in the guest room, that leaves you on the sofa—but you’ve always said it’s comfortable, right?”

  “Thanks.” Had she been anyone but his mother, Heath would’ve snarled.

  “Hey!” Libby called from the screened back porch that ran the length of the two-bedroom house. She sat in a low folding chair, legs spread wide with her pottery wheel between them. Her hands and forearms were coated with red clay, and she’d piled her pale curls into a messy, lopsided pile atop her head. Streaks of clay lined her cheeks and dots decorated her forehead and nose. Though outside rain continued to fall, her smile radiated light throughout the otherwise gray space. “How’s Sam?”

  “Conked out in the truck. I’ll grab him once this rain lets up.”

  “Are you hungry?” his mom asked. “There’s leftover stew. Plus, I made a nice chicken-and-rice casserole. Pineapple upside-down cake for dessert.”

  He couldn’t help but groan with pleasure. As much as his mom drove him crazy, her cooking made everything better—if only for the short time it took to share the meal.

  “I’m starving,” he said, not sure what to do around Libby. She made him uncomfortable. She was too pregnant. Too smiley. And far too pretty for her own good—or, would that be his good?

  “Sit with Libby.” His mom pointed him to a lawn chair. “You two have a nice chat while I make you a plate.”

  Fred, never one to miss a suspected handout, stood and stretched from where he’d been napping alongside Libby’s right foot to lumber after Gretta into the kitchen.

  For a few awkward seconds, Heath wasn’t sure what to say, but considering he still owed her for having found Sam, he cleared his throat, then noted, “Thought you were supposed to be resting?”

  “This is restful for me. Nothing makes me happier than working with my clay. Thank you for retrieving it all from my car.”

  “Sure. It wasn’t a big deal.” He wanted to say more—should say more—but the honest to God truth was that the sight of Libby working her hands up and down the water-slick clay had pretty much left him speechless.

  “I’m feeling so much better,” she rattled on, “that I’ve made quite a few pieces, and your mom arranged for me to have a small booth at the holiday art fair.”

  “You feel up to that? It draws quite a crowd.”

  “I feel amazing.” He believed it. Her skin glowed a healthy peach and her blue eyes shone brighter than they had in the short time he’d known her. “Maybe I’ll even earn enough from sales to pay back you and your mom, plus have enough left to fix my car and be on my way. Because, even as sweet as your mom has been, the last thing I want is to be an imposition.”

  He liked the way she single-handedly carried the conversation. Took the pressure off of him. “Don’t sweat it. I imagine Mom enjoys the company.”

  “Hope so.” She went at it again with her clay. As much as Heath wanted to deny it, he found her actions erotic as hell—like a scene straight from the classic Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze movie, Ghost. He’d never admit to watching it, but as it was one of Patricia’s all-time favorite movies, she’d watched it once a week near the end. It had brought her comfort—believing her soul lived on. Heath wanted desperately to believe, but the truth was, he couldn’t get past his anger over her having been taken from him before their lives together had barely begun.

  “Here you go.” His mother presented him with a plate heaped with casserole—not that he was complaining. For the first time in...he couldn’t remember when, he was starving.

  “Thanks.” He dug right in.

  “When will Mason and Hattie be here?”

  “They fly in on the red-eye tonight, stay in Portland, then drive down some time tomorrow.”

  “I’m excited to see those twins. And the baby must be walking by now.”

  “I suppose.” What didn’t she get about the fact that even if his old friends’ kids were pole-vaulting, he didn’t want to hear about it? Witnessing other people being happy in their marriages and lives only reminded him how meaningless his life had become.

  A glance at Libby didn’t help his worsening mood. Couldn’t she craft like a normal person? Did she have to draw in her bottom lip every time she stroked the clay upward, then exhale on the downward strokes? She made pot-making look downright obscene.

  Sure that’s not your own mind low
ering her perfectly normal activity to the gutter?

  He scowled all the harder.

  “It’s good you’re here.” Gretta plucked dead leaves from the fern alongside her chair. “I was just thinking how Libby’s going to need some sort of booth arrangement for the craft fair.”

  “Gretta...” Libby’s nostrils lightly flared as she curved her delicate fingers around the top of whatever she was making. “You’re sweet for even thinking of it, but I told you, I can make do with the folding table that’s in the backseat of my car.”

  “Why make do, when we have a big, strapping man at our disposal?”

  “Mom...” Heath had finished his food and now took his plate to the kitchen.

  “What?” Unfortunately for him, Gretta followed. “I was thinking we could use that old picnic tent I’ve got in the shed to keep Libby in the shade, then you could come up with some sort of shelving system with some of your father’s lumber scraps he left piled up in the shed. I’ve got plenty of tables from the motel’s banquet hall, but you’ll need to run by Hal’s to get the rest of the finished goods Libby has in her car—speaking of which, has Hal called you with any reports on the repairs?”

  “Stop,” he said under his breath. “I see what you’re trying to do, and it’s not going to work—no, more than that, it’s ridiculous and downright embarrassing.”

  “What’re you talking about?” She put foil over the casserole pan.

  Still whispering, he snapped, “Whatever matchmaking thing you’re doing with Libby. Give it a rest.”

  “Why would you ever think I’d want the two of you together? She’s way too nice to be stuck with grumpy old you.” After kissing his cheek, she popped the casserole in the fridge. “Since the rain’s let up, why don’t you bring in Sam, then see about that tent. It’s been years since I’ve had it out, so it might need a good washing. I’ve got a few minutes so I think I’ll just pop over to Hal’s for Libby’s things.”

  “Aye, aye, Cap’n.”

  His mother didn’t look amused by his mocking salute.