The SEAL's Baby

by Laura Marie Altom

  Feeling like a fool for bringing up his matchmaking suspicions, Heath figured that ratty old tent wasn’t the only thing needing a good hosing down. Had he imagined the fix-up vibe his mom had going? Why else would she be so consumed with helping Libby?

  Is it such a stretch to believe Gretta actually cares about her?

  No. But there was caring on a basic level, and then there was this whole scene his mother had set up where Libby was magically part of the family. When he’d plucked her from the middle of the road, he’d assumed she’d be in their lives for maybe a day—tops. Now, here it was Day 5, and she needed to go.

  Why? Why did it even matter if his mother had made a new friend? Had he really become so selfish he begrudged his mother’s happiness?

  Heath groaned, covering his face with his hands.

  Honestly, it wasn’t his mother’s happiness that was the problem, but the way being around Libby made him feel. He felt alive. And for a man who hadn’t seen life in anything for a very long time, the sensation was akin to falling. And he needed it to stop.

  Chapter Seven

  Libby woke just past 3:00 a.m. with raging indigestion and an aching lower back. It felt strange helping herself to milk from Gretta’s fridge.

  Despite Gretta’s kind, reassuring words, Libby couldn’t shake her wish that she’d met the woman under different circumstances. Circumstances that didn’t leave Libby feeling deeply beholden, with no immediate way to repay Gretta’s many kindnesses. The same sentiment applied to Heath. Actually, everyone in town from Hal to Eloise to Nurse Lacy and Doc Meadows had been kind. How was it that these relative strangers treated her with far more understanding and compassion than her actual family—or even, her baby’s father—ever had?

  Eyes stinging with pending tears, Libby filled her glass, then returned the milk to the fridge.

  Fully awake and miserable from head to toe, she shuffled to the screened back porch, breathing deeply of the cool night air. The grass must have been recently mowed as the sweet scent laced every inhalation. Crickets chirped, reminding her of the many nights she’d spent with Liam in their tent.

  Looking at the past two years of her life, she couldn’t begin to process where things had gone so horribly wrong. At the time, immersed in the happy glow of what she’d thought had been forever-love with Liam, sleeping outdoors had seemed perfectly normal. Now, as if viewing her recent past from afar, she realized how dysfunctional her relationship had been all along.

  Sighing, she eased onto a patio rocker and managed to raise her swollen feet onto the ottoman.

  The four vases she’d thrown after convincing Gretta she was healthy enough to do light work stood in a neat row along Libby’s portable drying rack, barely visible by the light of the crescent moon. Alongside that, her portable kiln was all plugged in and ready to go.

  She was pushing her luck to think her pieces would dry in time for the art show, but it felt good at least trying. Even after drying, they’d still have to be bisque fired and glazed, before firing them again. But considering her pieces sold for over a hundred each, if they did finish in time, and the show pulled a nice crowd, she’d be well on her way to repaying the many debts she owed all over town.

  A faint jingling, and then footsteps on the brick walk, alerted Libby to the fact that someone approached.

  Heart racing, she gripped the armrests, praying whoever—whatever—headed her way, was just passing through.

  When the shadowy figure of a man paused in front of the screen door, her mouth went dry as she fought the urge to panic from fear of an intruder.

  From outside she heard, “Damn it, Sam, calm down before you hurt yourself even worse. Fred, you need to hurry.”

  Moments earlier, adrenaline had surged through her. Now she felt flooded by calm and the curious sense of awareness that hummed whenever she and Heath shared the same space.

  “Need help?” Now that she knew who stood outside, it was easy enough to guess Sam’s condition had improved enough that he’d gotten tangled in his leash.

  “Libby?” Heath opened the creaky screen door for Sam to bound through. Fred begrudgingly followed, only to collapse in a weary heap on the doormat. “What’re you doing up?”

  “Hey, cutie,” she said to Sam, returning his enthusiastic welcome with plenty of petting and a hug. “I’m so glad you’re feeling better.” To Heath, she said, “I’m up because I feel like crap. What’s your excuse?”

  He actually chuckled. The sound not only surprised her, but warmed her. “Honestly, pretty much the same reason, but a different cause. You’re probably blaming the baby, but I’m holding Mom’s sofa responsible for my aching back.”

  “I’m sorry. Her guest room should be yours.”

  He shrugged, taking the seat next to her. “It’s no big deal. The walk already worked out the kinks. How about you?”

  Laughing, she said, “I have a feeling it’s going to be a while before my back sees improvement—no matter where I sleep.”

  “Hang tight for a sec....” As abruptly as he’d appeared, Heath vanished inside the dark house, leaving her on her own with Sam and a now-snoring Fred.

  “Where do you think he’s going?” she asked panting Sam.

  All she got for an answer was a wagging tail.

  From the kitchen came a series of beeps, then the microwave’s hum. What in the world was Heath doing?

  She tried shifting in her chair, but no position felt comfy.

  A few minutes later, Heath reappeared. “Lean forward.”

  “W-what?” He held something about the size of a package of Oreos, but she couldn’t be sure. Maybe she just had a wicked craving for cookies?

  “Humor me, and just this once do as I ask.”

  She did. And when he stood alongside her, she was surprised to find his masculine scent already familiar. He smelled outdoorsy, like the pines surrounding his cabin and briny sea spray drifting off the Pacific. His nearness made her hyperaware—even more off balance than usual. The flirty young woman trapped inside her wanted to giggle. The soon-to-be mother told her to keep herself in check. Nothing about her situation gave her a logical reason to crave anything more from this man than casual conversation.

  “Let me know if it’s too hot,” he said, pressing something deliciously warm against her back. Instant pain relief brought on chills, then gratitude so complete as to knot her throat. Whatever he’d done, she was grateful.

  “What did you put back there?” She touched the soft warmth, but still couldn’t tell what it was.

  “You’d laugh if I told you.” His white-toothed grin shone in the faint moonlight. The baby lightly kicked, or maybe it was the sight of him that somersaulted her tummy? He was just so darn handsome.

  “Promise, I won’t.”

  “Okay, so back when I was a Boy Scout, we used to volunteer down at the old folks’ home. Lots of them complained about aches and pains, but they couldn’t use heating pads in their wheelchairs because they had to be plugged in. So Mom helped us make corn bags.”

  “Wait—this is corn on my back?”

  There he went again with his supercute grin. “Told you you’d laugh. But yeah, it works great on back pain. My old roomies gave me crap about mine, but I was always catching them using it.”

  “I don’t blame them. This feels so good I could purr.”

  “I’m glad.”

  She was, too. Since they’d first met, Heath had sent mixed signals. Always helpful, but also standoffish. Maybe for the rest of her time in Bent Road they could now at least be friends?

  “All right, well...” He stood, crossing his arms, noticeably slipping back into his former distant self. “I’m gonna try getting back to sleep. You probably should, too.”

  “Yes, Dad.” She winked, but he’d already left her.

  Which made her sad.

  Sam had stayed behind, though, and he wandered up, nudging his snout under her palm.

  “That man’s a tough nut to crack, you know?”

>   The dog wagged his tail.

  Libby took that as a sign that when it came to her assessment of Heath, the dog agreed.

  Fred, however, kept snoring.

  *

  LATE THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Libby wandered out to the yard to check on Heath, only to get a cold reception.

  “Thought you’re supposed to be resting?”

  “I am.” Libby ignored the perma-scowl that’d taken up residence on Heath’s handsome features, culminating in a furrow between his brows. “But I made a few more vases I needed to set on the drying rack. Since I’m up, I figured I’d see if you need anything. Water? A snack?”

  “Thanks, but I’m good.” He’d been outside most of the day, jury-rigging the picnic tent that’d been in worse shape than his mother had anticipated. “And you need to sit. Last thing I need is for you to topple over again.”

  “Are you this bossy with everyone, or just me?”

  He sighed. “Really?”

  “It’s a legit question, Heath. I’m sorry if this project is an imposition. If you didn’t want to do it, why didn’t you just tell your mom ‘no’?”

  After setting down the hammer he’d used to drive two hollow aluminum posts together, he rolled his shoulders, looking anywhere but at her.

  Sam, not fazed by his owner’s gloomy demeanor, rolled onto his back, wagging his tail while partying in the grass.

  Fred observed his hyper doggie companion with great disdain.

  “Look—” Heath got back to work “—I don’t have a problem building you a tent. I’m glad to do it. I just have a lot on my mind, all right?”

  “Like what?”

  “You asked me if I was bossy with everyone, well turnabout’s fair play. Are you this nosy with everyone?”

  She couldn’t help but laugh. “Actually, yes. Now, is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Can you hand sew?”

  Nodding, she said, “Nothing fancy, but I know the basics.”

  “Great. If you’ll sit, I’ll bring you a project. Deal?”

  “You don’t have to talk down to me as if I’m a child.”

  He clamped his hand over his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but held himself in check. He even went so far as to turn away from her, but then he turned back. “From the day I first saw you, even you have to admit, you’ve been a straight-up mess. So can you cut me some slack for wanting to keep you in one piece until your baby pops out?”

  “Pops out? Could you be any more insensitive?”

  “Lady, you’d be amazed by what I can do.” Though she was 100 percent sure he hadn’t intended any naughty connotations, the part of her that hadn’t had a decent kiss in months zoned in on the double entendre behind his words.

  Face flushed, she looked away.

  “You know what I mean.”

  Yes, unfortunately, she did. But her apparently filthy mind preferred her own special interpretation of his words!

  But wait a minute... If he’d asked the question, didn’t that imply he’d thought the same dirty thing as her?

  *

  “WHAT BEE CRAWLED in your bonnet?”

  “Huh?” Ten minutes later, finally Libby-free in his mom’s shed, Heath looked up to find his uncle. Could this day get any worse?

  “You’re banging around in here loud enough that I heard you all the way up at the diner.”

  “Sorry. Guess I’m in a mood.”

  “Wouldn’t have anything to do with a pregnant little blonde, would it?”

  Heath groaned. Was he that transparent?

  “Your mom says you’ve been an ass ever since Libby came to town. And don’t you have old friends staying at your cabin? Why aren’t you visiting with them?”

  “Mason and Hattie aren’t due for another couple hours. They’re stopping by for the cabin key.”

  “Good. Should we whip up a barbecue? I’m sure they won’t feel like cooking after their drive.”

  “They won’t be hungry.” Heath screwed the side board into the base of the shelf he was making out of the scrap wood left from over half a century of motel and home repair projects. It’d be ugly, but maybe he could work magic with the gallons of leftover paint?

  “How could you know something like that?” Uncle Morris grabbed a baby food jar his father had long ago filled with screws. “I’m in the food business, and everyone’s hungry before, during and after travel.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “Proven. I see it every day at the diner.” Right about now, Heath wished he’d told Mason he couldn’t use his cabin. “And speaking of cooking, your mom said Libby’s quite the baker. Did you know she made the apple pie we had for lunch?”

  “Thought she wasn’t supposed to be on her feet.”

  “Oh—she wasn’t. Your mom made real sure Libby did everything from her seat at the kitchen table. What’s her story, do you know?”

  “Nope.” And he didn’t want to know any more than he already did. The fact that she was alone and pregnant was just plain wrong. What kind of man abandoned a woman he’d knocked up? Let alone his own child?

  “Your mom told me Libby comes from Seattle blue bloods.”

  “Oh?” She never mentioned that.

  “Makes me wonder what could’ve happened with her family that in her condition she’d rather bunk with Gretta and you than in some big mansion.”

  No kidding.

  “All I’m saying is that there’s more to her than meets the eye. You might want to ask her about it. It’s been my experience that women like that sort of thing—talking about themselves.”

  “Yeah?” Heath let his uncle’s advice flow in one ear and right out the other. Why Libby apparently wanted nothing to do with her family was none of his business. Although, he did wonder if, like her ex, they’d somehow hurt her, too. If so, why? Sure, she was stubborn as hell, but in some ways that could be seen as an asset.

  “But back to our barbecue, what do you think? Ribs? Chicken? Burgers and dogs?”

  “I’m not hungry.” Come to think of it, every once in a while he had caught Libby with a sad expression. He’d chalked it up to indigestion or lingering bad blood between her and her ex. It had never occurred to him she had trouble with her family. As much as his mom and uncle drove him nuts, he also knew they were unconditionally there for him if ever he needed their help or advice. How alone must she feel, with no one on her side? “Did Libby say anything else about her family?”

  His uncle feigned interest in another baby food jar, this one filled with tacks. “Thought you weren’t interested.”

  “I’m not,” Heath said. Only for some inexplicable reason, he very much was.

  *

  BENEATH A SKY streaked in orange, pink, violet and blue, Libby stood on the fringe of the impromptu pool party and barbecue, intrigued by the discovery of yet another new side of Heath. While Heath’s friend Hattie and Gretta played in the water with Hattie and Mason’s three-year-old twins, Vivian and Vanessa, Heath tended ribs on the grill, catching up with Mason, who held the couple’s one-year-old son.

  Heath’s whole demeanor had changed. He stood taller, spoke louder and seemed to possess a confidence she hadn’t before seen. Was he putting on a show for his friend? Or was he really all of the sudden this self-assured?

  Sam and Fred stood alongside the grill, both on alert in the event a rib accidentally fell into their waiting mouths.

  “Libby!” Gretta called from the pool. The water was heated and steam rose, making an eerie scene with the glowing lights. “Join us! The water’s bathtub warm!”

  “I would,” Libby lied, “but I don’t have a suit.” She was already self-conscious enough about her huge belly, no way did she plan on baring more than an inch of unnecessary skin. “I’ll go help Morris in the kitchen.”

  “No, you won’t! You’re supposed to be resting. At least come dip your feet in the water.”

  Knowing Gretta wouldn’t easily give up, Libby made her way to the pool stairs. She wore a maternity su
ndress, at least sparing her the embarrassment of needing help to roll up pant legs. After slipping off her flip-flops and keeping a tight grip on the shallow-end handrail, Libby managed to lower herself onto the still-warm pool deck while immersing her feet in sinfully warm water.

  Eyes closed, she happily sighed. “That does feel good.”

  “Told you,” Gretta said.

  “As usual,” Libby admitted, “you were right.”

  “Of course I was.”

  Like human atoms, the twins rocketed from the pool to chase each other and a barking Sam.

  Fred wasn’t budging from the grill.

  Hal, holding a can of beer in his hand, hopped in the deep end where Gretta bobbed in her cute one-piece. The way they suddenly had their heads together, laughing, as if sharing a juicy secret, left Libby wondering if the two of them might be more than just friends.

  The twins squealed their way onto the swing.

  Sam leaped up to join them.

  “They’re a handful.” Hattie grimaced.

  “They’re also adorable,” Libby said. “I see the resemblance.”

  Hattie’s smile faded. “Actually, they’re not mine, but my sister’s. She died shortly after they were born.”

  Hands to her mouth, Libby said, “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

  “It’s okay,” Hattie assured. “I mean, not that it’s an ideal situation—obviously, I wish my sister were still with them, but Mason and I love them like they’re our own.”

  “But the baby is yours?”

  “Charlie?” She grinned. “Yep, I gave birth to all nine pounds of the little chubster. I feel for you being this close to delivering. Do you already have your delivery plan in place?”

  “Not really.” That fact brought her indigestion raging back. “With any luck, my car should be fixed long before July 23, which is my due date.”

  “Oh, sure,” Hattie said. “I can’t imagine it taking that long for a simple car repair. You’ll want to be with your family by then.”

  Gretta and Hal swam to the stairs. “We’re going to check on Morris. He’s supposed to be making potato salad, but he’s been gone long enough to grow the potatoes.”

  “That’s a man for you,” Hattie teased, giving Hal a playful wink. When Hal and Gretta were out of earshot, Hattie said, “Where were we? Oh—you were telling me about your family.”