The SEAL's Baby

by Laura Marie Altom

  “But we drove all the way out here to fish.”

  “What if I watch you fish?”

  “Isn’t that going to be boring for you?”

  Have you looked in a mirror lately? “Probably, but I’ve got Sam and a good book to keep me company. Or maybe I’ll take a nap?” She feigned a yawn.

  “Want me to drive you back to Mom’s?”

  “Not at all.” What she really wanted was a kiss, but since that wasn’t likely to happen, she’d settle for watching him from afar. “Go ahead, catch me a big, fat fish. Then we’ll talk.”

  He blanched. “Why does that sound ominous?”

  “It shouldn’t. Relax and enjoy yourself. Before too long, this will all be a memory.”

  *

  HEATH KNEW LIBBY had meant her words to be comforting, but she couldn’t have done a better job of missing that mark. Her not-so-subtle reminder that in a short time he’d not only be leaving this wild place that he loved, with its sun rays slanting through fragrant pines and boulders strewn along the river’s edge like a giant’s game of marbles, but he’d also be leaving her.

  How had she come to mean so much in so little time? He hardly knew anything about her, yet he craved knowing everything.

  Even worse than the guilt stemming from wanting his next taste of her was the curiosity he held for her unborn child. What would the baby look like? Would she have her mother’s blue eyes and curls? Freckles? Cute giggle?

  He found himself fighting an irrational longing to share those precious first days with mother and child, but then what? What would he even have to offer a woman so—literally and figuratively—full of life as Libby? Where his emotions were concerned, he’d long since established himself to be an empty shell.

  Still... In between casts, he glanced in her direction. She sat on the blanket she’d spread beneath a towering fir. While she read a tattered paperback from his mother’s library, Sam happily snoozed with his head on her thighs. Every so often, she stroked the soft fur behind his dog’s ears. Heath knew the texture well, as it was his favorite place to give Sam affection.

  Just looking at her produced a foreign tightening in his chest. A yearning for the kind of closeness he’d once shared with Patricia, but would never be his again.

  Why?

  The lone word resonated deep within him. It suddenly turned his carefully constructed emotional walls to dust.

  His whole reason for keeping Libby at a safe distance was because of his promise to Patricia. But with her blessing for him to forge ahead with a new life, new meaning, what held him back?

  His loyalty for her? Yes.

  His rock solid belief in the sanctity of their marriage? Hell, yes.

  But through no fault of their own, death had seen fit to part them far sooner than either had expected. So where did that leave him? Was he wrong to crave not only more of Libby’s kisses, but the comfort and solace he found when he held her in his arms? In the pool, inside her, he’d felt alive and empowered and as if Libby had been the gatekeeper holding the key to this new dawn of his life.

  All of a sudden Heath found himself jealous of his dog and the attention Libby lavished upon him.

  Though he hadn’t caught a single fish he’d promised Libby for dinner, he removed his hip waders, tossed the rest of his gear in the back of the truck, then joined her on the blanket.

  “Already catch your limit?”

  He laughed. “Try none.”

  “What’re you planning to feed me? As usual, my back hurts and I’m starving, and your mother’s spoiled me rotten when it comes to eating a lot—often.”

  “I know. Sorry. Some days they just aren’t biting.” Or, more likely in his case, he’d been so distracted by her beauty that he couldn’t have caught a trout if it jumped in his back pocket.

  “Uh-huh...” Her grin did funny things to his stomach. “Likely story. So what are you going to feed me? Besides another line about the fish not biting.”

  “How about we go to a little town south of here? We’ll buy salmon from this guy who smokes them fresh from the boats. Then, we’ll drive up to Calabash Point, and watch the firework shows all the way from Bent Road to Marble Falls?”

  The light behind her eyes was all the answer he needed. But it didn’t hurt his ego when she said, “Not only do I love smoked salmon, but when you smile at me like that, I’d go pretty much anywhere with you.”

  *

  “LET ME HOLD your hand. Sometimes, the dock can be slick.”

  “Sure,” Libby said, easing her fingers between Heath’s. Though his explanation for his actions was plausible, it lost credence considering the sun-faded wood planks were dry.

  As they strolled past commercial fishing boats and mom-and-pop charters, Libby couldn’t shake the sensation of fleeting perfection. Perfection in the sense that never had she felt more at ease or content. Fleeting with the knowledge that in two weeks—sooner if her car was repaired—this lovely dream of being with Heath would end.

  The pale blue sky was streaked with early evening oranges, reds and violets, and the temperature by the water was cooler than it had been in the lot where they’d parked the truck.

  When she shivered, Heath bought her an oversize Oregon hoodie from a tourist shop.

  Outside of the shop, he paused to help tug it over her curls. When it got stuck, he pulled it the rest of the way down, landing him once again in perfect kissing range.

  This time, instead of kissing him, Libby’s pride forced her to wait for him to close the distance. Lucky for her, the wait wasn’t long.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered so softly she wasn’t sure she’d heard it at all.

  His kiss managed to all at once be sweet and tender and laced with the urgency stemming from knowing their time together would be brief. If this was indeed the start of a relationship, sadly, the end was already in sight.

  “Get a room!” a passing teen hollered from his bike.

  Laughing, Libby regrettably called a halt to the impromptu make-out session. “Do you always have dessert before dinner?”

  “Hell, yeah...” Though his language was all man, Heath’s expression came closer to one worn by a boy caught eating the ice cream straight from the carton. “Don’t you think it’s better that way?”

  She kissed him again. “Yes. Definitely.”

  They resumed their gentle stroll to the smoked fish stand, sharing more laughs and kisses at the picnic table where they ate their meal.

  From there, they took their time returning to the truck.

  As much as Libby cherished their every moment together, the day’s activities had worn her out to the extent that she napped all the way to the lookout point.

  “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

  “Mmm...” She slowly stirred, pleased to find Heath’s smiling face once again within kissing range. “Are we there?”

  “Yes. But unfortunately, I’m not as original as I thought, because there are about a dozen families up here with the same bright idea.”

  “That’s okay,” she said, gazing over the glistening Pacific. The sun had set, but the moon was now rising, fat and happy as if enjoying the holiday as much as the rest of the crowd. “This will be even more fun. I love hearing everyone ooh and ahh for the really fancy ones.”

  He helped her from the truck, then took the picnic blanket from the back, spreading it on a grassy area amongst the rest of the parents and kids and grandparents and young lovers.

  What had Heath been like before his heart had been shattered and his hopes disillusioned?

  “Did you used to come here as a kid?” she asked once they got settled. She sat between his legs, leaning against his chest for support. Her hands rested atop the baby and Heath’s hands were atop hers. His heat warmed her, protecting her from the chilly night air.

  “Once in a while. Mostly—if my dad was lucky enough to be on leave for the holiday, and was stationed close enough that we could visit my grandparents—they took us to the beach in Bent Road. I
’d set up a lounge chair in the sand, pretending I was a tough guy while drinking root beer and smoking candy cigarettes.”

  “My, my,” she teased, “weren’t you the rebel.”

  He laughed. “All right, Miss Jailbird, what are some of your favorite Independence Day memories?”

  Libby turned introspective. She preferred not to think of her parents at all, but back when she’d been a kid and hadn’t yet learned there was a way of life that didn’t involve wearing heels and pearls for every occasion, she supposed she’d had at least a little fun. “First, I’m not proud of my time behind bars. I was in the wrong.”

  “Sorry. I was poking fun where I shouldn’t have.”

  “You’re forgiven.”

  “Whew...” He feigned relief by sweeping back her hair to kiss the bit of her neck he’d bared. His warm kiss in the cool night air brought on shivers so delicious she temporarily forgot her aching lower back.

  “Cold?”

  She shook her head, snuggling closer.

  “Good. So back to your story?”

  “Mom and I always wore matching custom dresses, of course, in red, white and blue. Or some variation thereof. Dad’s tie matched, too. Some years we watched fireworks on yachts. Other years, from the house.”

  “And by ‘house,’ you mean freakishly ostentatious mansion?”

  She cringed. “I suppose you could call it that. But I just called it home, at least until I hit my rebellious years. The cook, maids, gardeners and chauffeurs were as much—or more—parents to me as Mom and Dad. Looking back on it, I suppose they did the best they could in raising me, but my grandparents on both sides were just like them, so they were probably mimicking their own upbringings. Anyway, at my house, a picnic consisted of the servants setting up an elaborate outdoor sit-down meal. Children were rarely invited to sit with the adults, and when we were, we were expected to be seen and not heard.”

  “So were you friends with the other rich kids?”

  “Some of them. But in high school I volunteered because my guidance counselor said it looked good on college applications. I don’t think anyone expected me to actually enjoy it. I met all kinds of new people. Once I realized how different I was from the rest of the world, and just how much of a difference I could make to the local homeless shelter by donating my monthly clothing allowance, something inside me changed. Though lately I’ve been too busy eking out a living to do as much charity work as I used to, one of these days I’d like to get back to volunteering.”

  “That’s cool. If this gallery thing with Zoe works out, you might have more time. You know, spend a few days a week on your art, then the rest of your time working at a shelter or some other place where you’d feel needed.”

  “I like that plan.” Almost as much as she liked him.

  The fireworks began.

  Even though Heath explained they were ten miles from either town, from this high, on a night so clear, both displays could be seen in Technicolor glory—even faint booms could every so often be heard.

  More than the actual show, Libby enjoyed the camaraderie that came along with sharing the occasion with so many appreciative folks. The oohs and ahs and hearty applause by far outshone any of the brightest displays.

  Eyes closed against stinging tears, she swallowed hard, recalling a long-ago summer night....

  Libertina, you mustn’t jump or cry out during the fireworks display. Never forget that above all, you’re a lady. Daddy and I expect you to behave as such.

  Hugging her baby, Libby decided she’d encourage her daughter to behave with zero decorum. In fact, the very word would be shunned in her home.

  When the shows from both towns had finished with spectacular grand finales, Libby was so tired she needed Heath’s help to stand.

  It was strange to think that only a short time ago, she’d been embarrassed about needing his assistance. Now she welcomed his every touch.

  “Have fun?” he asked, setting a slow pace for the return to the truck.

  “This was my best Fourth of July ever. Thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome. Judging by where we both are this time next year, maybe we could do it again—only next time with your daughter along for the ride.”

  “I’d like that,” she said, even though the possibility of them ever meeting again once they went their separate ways was slim.

  The notion made her unspeakably sad.

  *

  HEATH WOKE TO a renewed sense of purpose.

  He and Sam did a ten-mile run. It felt strange wearing his boots again, but they’d slipped on like a pair of good friends. They’d seen a lot of action together and it was a rush to think they soon would again.

  Mason and Hattie would be leaving today for a brief stay in Alaska to visit their respective parents. Mason’s mom had died when he’d been a child, but as far as Heath knew, both of Hattie’s parents were still alive, and eager to see their grandkids.

  Up until the past couple days with Libby, Heath had been looking forward to getting back to the privacy of his cabin, but now that his time in Bent Road was limited, he’d have just as soon camped out on his mom’s sofa. He wished he could tell himself it was her motherly love he craved, but he wouldn’t have been fooling anyone.

  Libby’s blue eyes, easy smile and gorgeous hair had him hooked far more effectively than the trout he’d tried catching. Trouble was, he wasn’t trying to catch her. If anything—given the fact that the clock was ticking on the time he had left in town—he should give her a wide berth.

  On the deserted beach playground, he did eight pull-ups on the monkey bars before he was shaking from the exertion. Not acceptable, considering he’d need fifteen to twenty to be competitive. Ten was the minimum. Sit-ups and push-ups weren’t his idea of a good time, but they were at least doable at a hundred each. As for how long it had taken him to complete the exercises? No comment.

  Despite the morning fog and brisk temperature, he’d worked up a hellacious sweat. Knowing he also needed serious boning up on his swimming skills, he stripped down to his skivvies and dove into the surf. The water was cold—like dunking in a vat of ice—but now was hardly the time to wimp out. He only had a short while to get in some semblance of shape, and although he knew there was no way he’d be where he wanted by the time he reported for duty, for his own pride, he’d have to be a helluva lot further along than he was now.

  Finished with what he gauged to be three-hundred yards—two-hundred shy of his minimum—Heath sloshed his way out of the water and collapsed on the sand.

  Even Sam was exhausted, crashing alongside him, panting.

  Heath rolled over to his gear to grab his water bottle, then poured some into his hand for the dog to lap. After repeating this drill three times, Sam fell back asleep and Heath drank some for himself.

  He was mortified to have let himself go to this degree. Instead of fishing every day, why hadn’t he at least had enough personal pride to maintain his physical strength?

  The answer was a no-brainer. Grief did funny things to a man. It made him doubt everything he’d once cherished. Losing Patricia had been the equivalent of having his life’s foundation ripped out from under him. Without her, he’d been lost.

  Now he felt better, but ironically, it had taken another woman to get him there. As much as he’d grown to care for Libby, he didn’t like the fact that he hadn’t been able to reach inside himself for self-motivation. What had Libby given him that he hadn’t been able to find on his own?

  Another easy answer—even when he had believed himself incapable of anything more than the most rudimentary motions of getting through his days, she’d believed him capable of so much more. Her strength had become his. And he’d always be grateful. But what else would she expect from him? What else did she deserve? What was he even capable of giving?

  Last night had been the best he’d had in years.

  Death had been an insidious, cumbersome beast that had starved him and Patricia of happiness and dignity and
quality time.

  Watching those fireworks, holding Libby in his arms, he’d felt ridiculously high—and capable of anything. But this morning, faced with his lackluster physical performance, he knew the rest of his time in Bent Road needed to not be spent holding hands or making out, but working himself to the edge of his physical endurance, then pushing still harder.

  As for where Libby fit in that picture?

  As much as it pained him to admit, she didn’t.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Libby woke to hard rain pelting her bedroom window, but even a glum day couldn’t dampen her mood.

  Her night with Heath had been romantic beyond anything she’d ever imagined. Sure, there may not have been candles or roses or fine chocolate, but she was a low-maintenance gal, and smoked salmon and holding hands and fireworks had made for a perfect first date.

  After a yawn and stretch, Libby gasped from sharper than usual lower back pain. She’d had Braxton Hicks contractions, but this was different—more of a sharp pain. She was so huge, she had to roll from the bed.

  Once up, she stopped off at the bathroom. After taking care of necessities, she fluffed her hair, brushed her teeth and pressed a cool washcloth to her splotchy face. It’d been so long since she’d seen her real figure, she’d forgotten what she looked like.

  Would Heath have been attracted to her back when she wore a size six, or was her baby part of what drew him to her? She knew he’d wanted to be a dad.... Could part of him wonder what it might be like to become part of a ready-made family? Was that why he was with her?

  But then was he truly with her at all? Both of them would soon go their separate ways, meaning this was little more than a fling to him.

  The notion made her sad. But realistically, it also forced her to search her own motives. What did she hope to gain from their last few days together? More making out? More skinny-dipping? More of the simple, basic comfort that stemmed from talking with a friend?

  Sighing, she knew she’d never figure it all out in the next few seconds, so she got on with her day, ignoring the especially nagging ache in her lower back in favor of maybe nabbing a secret, good-morning kiss.