The SEAL's Baby Page 2
“Good times...” Heath said with a faint smile.
The burly town mechanic walked to the vehicle’s rear, then lifted the engine cover. “You happen to check the gas and battery?”
“Yep.” Hands in his pockets, Heath tried not to remember how frightened he’d been when Libby collapsed at his feet. He’d done his best to hide his fear from her, but inside, he’d been a wreck. Sam’s disappearing act already had Heath on edge. The reminder of how frail Patricia had been at the end finished the job of making a normally unflappable guy a nervous wreck.
“All right, old girl.” Hal crouched in front of the engine. “Let’s take a peek under your knickers....”
While his longtime friend tinkered at the rear of the car, Heath looked inside. A pottery wheel occupied the passenger seat and an assortment of suitcases and boxes had been crammed into the back. When Libby told him she was a potter, he’d honestly thought she’d been joking, but maybe not. Did that mean she’d also been telling the truth about spending two years in a tent?
Oddly enough, if he counted the total time he’d spent on missions, he’d probably slept under the stars more than her, but that was different. Given a choice between a bed and dirt, the bed would always win.
“Try starting it!” Hal called.
Heath gave the engine another try. “Nothing!”
A few curses later, Hal appeared, wiping his hands on his rag. “Thought there might be a quick fix—loose hose or something—but I’m guessing this is electrical. Let me run it into my shop and I’ll see what I can find.”
“Sounds good.” Heath would take Libby to town, where she’d be someone else’s problem—not that he’d minded helping, just that with her gone, he could focus on finding his dog. “Have any idea how long it’ll take?”
Hal shrugged. “Ten minutes. Ten days. If I need parts, depends on where they are and if the owner has the Ben Franklins to buy ’em.”
Heath released a long, slow exhale. “Yeah... What if the owner’s short on cash?”
“Is he from around here?”
“Nah. Belongs to a woman—she’s passing through. The reason I ask is she’s very pregnant, broke and must weigh less than a soaked kitten.”
Scratching his head, Hal said, “Sorry to hear it. I’ll certainly do what I can to keep costs down, but with vintage models like this I can’t make any promises.”
“I understand. I’ll bring her round a little later. You two can sort out an arrangement.”
“Sounds good.”
Heath shook his old friend’s hand, then helped him load Libby’s car. With any luck the repair would be fast and cheap, getting her back on the road to wherever she’d been going.
And if the fix wasn’t fast and proved expensive?
He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He hated being an ass, but if Libby had to stick around, he’d just have to make sure she stayed away from him.
Chapter Two
Libby woke from a nap to the sound of someone splitting logs with an ax. Having spent many nights warmed by a campfire, she’d grown familiar with the rhythmic thwack and thump.
She’d curled into a ball on the sofa. A glance down showed she’d thoughtfully been covered by a soft, mossy-green blanket that’d even been tucked around her perpetually cold toes.
Rising and keeping the blanket around her like a shawl, she went in search of her host, assuming he was the one outside chopping.
She found him wearing no shirt and wielding an ax. His chest was broad enough to have earned its own zip code. No way was she even allowing her glance to settle long enough on his honed abs and pecs to give them a formal appraisal. Suffice it to say, he was built better than any man she’d seen outside of a movie.
Considering the cooler air and how low on the horizon the sun had dipped, she called, “Have I been asleep as long as I’m afraid I have?”
He cast a wary glance in her direction. “Yep. You snoozed right through lunch. There’s a sandwich for you in the fridge. If you’re still hungry, I can heat up some soup.”
“I’m sure a sandwich will be fine. Thanks.”
“No problem.” He brought the ax down hard on his latest log. “After you eat, I’ll run you into town. You were out cold when I got back from looking at your car, but I couldn’t fix the problem. It ended up having to be towed.”
“Oh.” Stomach knotted with dread over what the repair may cost, she forced her breathing to slow. As much as she hated the thought, was now the time to officially cry uncle by asking for help? No. When she met with her parents, it’d be on her own terms. She’d gotten herself into this mess, and she’d get herself out of it. If her father had believed her a dismal failure before, he was in for quite a shock to see her life had only grown that much more pathetic.
“The town mechanic—Hal—does great work. He’s honest and does whatever it takes to keep costs low.”
“Good. I can’t thank you enough for...everything.” If he hadn’t come along when he did, there’s no telling what may have happened. As tightly as she clung to the stubborn streak and refusing to admit further failure to her parents, she’d finally reached the point where if it came down to protecting her baby’s health, she’d have no other choice. A sobering fact she preferred dealing with later.
“Go ahead and eat your sandwich.” He reached for another log. “I’ll be done in a few.”
“O-okay...” Was he dismissing her? Though his words were polite, she couldn’t escape the feeling that his failure to make small talk or eye contact signaled he’d rather she be on her way.
Not surprising. If she were fortunate enough for this to be her home, she supposed she wouldn’t want a stranger hanging around.
Running her fingertips along the rough-hewn porch rail, she—more than anything—couldn’t wait to one day experience what it would feel like to truly belong. To have found her own special niche in the world where she was accepted and appreciated for who she was.
When she’d bolted from the home she’d been raised in, her grand plan had been becoming part of an artistic community, but dreams have a funny way of dissolving when exposed to reality’s ugly light.
“Go ahead and start eating,” her host nudged. “Last thing I need is for you to suffer another fainting spell.”
She cast him a slight smile. “Sure. Sorry. I tend to daydream.”
His only response was a nod before reaching for his next log. His actions were needlessly, almost recklessly fast, as if driven by an invisible demon. Though curiosity burned to know more—anything—about this kind man who’d done more for her in an afternoon than anyone else in recent memory, Libby held tight to her questions instead, turning her back on him to enter the cabin.
With any luck she’d soon be on her way and this day and all of the rocky ones before it would fade into a mental collage featuring only happy times and none of the bad.
*
AN HOUR LATER, Libby found herself once again alongside Heath in his truck, heading down the main street of the sleepy town of Bent Road. The rich smell of vintage leather seats mixed with his own masculine flavor of wood and sweat. During the whole trip he didn’t say a word, other than a brief inquiry as to whether or not she was cold. At first she’d found the silence awkward, but then it brought her an unexpected peace.
With Liam, she’d felt pressured to always be talking. His constant need to be entertained had been exhausting.
The town sat in the midst of dense forest—a sun-dazzled glade forgotten by time. Historic, redbrick buildings held an assortment of businesses from drug and hardware stores to a lawyer’s office and dentist. Window boxes and clay pots celebrated summer with eye-popping color. Purple lobelia and red geraniums. Yellow and orange marigolds, mixed with pink and white petunias.
The floral kaleidoscope spoke to her on a long-forgotten level. Along with her dreams of simply having a home, she’d always wished for a garden. Not only would she grow flowers, but tomatoes and green beans and lettuce.
With the truck’s windows down, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply. The briny Pacific blended with the sweet flowers, creating a heady fragrance she wouldn’t soon forget.
Around the next bend stood an old-style strip-and-cabin motel. A sign built in the shape of a smiling, gingham-clad couple with rosy cheeks proclaimed in red neon that the place was named the Yodel Hoo Inn. Swiss chalet-styled, the dark log structure’s every paned window were framed by sunny, yellow shutters. The paint was cracked and a little faded, but that didn’t stop it from being fun. Towering pines embraced it and the attached diner. Thriving hanging flower baskets added still more pops of color.
“Everything’s so pretty,” Libby said more to herself than Heath.
He grunted. “Fourth of July fishing tourney, art festival and carnival’s only a little over a week away. Whole damn town goes overboard with decorating. Lucky for you, you won’t be around when the eight-hundred miles of red, white and blue bunting rolls out.”
“Sounds amazing.”
“Sure—as long as you don’t get roped into helping take it all down.”
He slowed the truck then turned into a gas station that had two pumps and a four-stall garage, each humming with activity. Her Bug sat midway up a hydraulic lift. The engine cover was open and three men stood around it in animated discussion, staring and pointing.
“That can’t be good,” she noted while Heath parked next to a tow truck with Hal’s Garage emblazoned across the door.
“What?”
“All those guys debating over my car. In my perfect fantasy world, I’d hoped it was already fixed, and the mechanic wouldn’t have minded trading his services for one of my best clay pots.”
“Uh, yeah. I don’t think Hal does pots.” Eyes narrowed, his befuddled look was one to which she’d sadly grown accustomed to seeing in others. Instead of viewing a glass as half-full, she saw it as bubbling over with a splash of orange and a maraschino cherry. Liam had constantly harped at her to be more realistic, but why? What did it hurt to be happy? Or at least, try?
After turning off the engine, Heath looked to her bulging belly, then asked, “Need help getting out?”
“No, thanks.” She cast him a smile. “I think I’ve got it.”
But then she creaked open her door, only to get her purse hooked around the seat belt, which left her hanging at a steep angle.
As was starting to be the norm, her rescuer anticipated her needs and was there to help before she could even ask.
“Sure you’re ready for motherhood?” he teased, untangling her purse strap.
“Ha-ha...” She should probably be offended by his question, but little did he know, she’d wondered the same since learning she carried Liam’s baby.
“How about trying this again, only with me here to catch you.” He grazed his hand to her outer thigh, helping her swing her legs around. His touch proved electric, which was surprising, given her condition. Then he took her hands, guiding her the rest of the way down. Even though she’d set her sandal-clad feet to solid ground, her legs felt shaky beneath her. She needn’t have worried, though, as Heath stepped in again, cupping his hand around her elbow to help keep her steady.
“Thanks.” She tried acting normal, even though her runaway pulse was anything but!
“No problem.” Easing his arm around her waist, he asked, “Wanna just wait in the truck, and I’ll give you a report on what Hal found?”
“That’s sweet of you to offer, but you’ve already done enough. I wish I had some way to repay you.”
He waved off her gratitude. “Anyone in my position would do the same.”
No, they wouldn’t. Her ex was proof.
“Those guys standing around your car?”
“Yes?” She waddled around the garage’s south side.
“The big one with the ’stache is Hal. The other two are his twin sons—Darryl and Terryl. They’re identical, save for one’s a crazy Dodgers fan, and the other’s crazy about the Mariners. You may want to avoid them when the two teams play—not a good time.”
She laughed. “I appreciate the advice. Hopefully, your friend Hal will get me back on my way in the next hour or so.”
Famous last words.
After introductions—Libby hid her smile upon noticing the twins wearing hats from their respective baseball teams—Hal shook his head and frowned.
“Wish I had better news for you.” He tucked a shop rag in his shirt pocket. “Electrical system’s shot. Fried like Sunday-supper chicken.”
Libby’s stomach knotted so hard it startled the baby. She rubbed the tender spot where she’d kicked. “But you can fix it, right?”
“Well, sure. Me and my boys can fix damn near anything—pardon my French.”
“You’re pardoned. Just please tell me you’ve got the parts and I’ll be on my way before sunset.”
Darryl laughed. Or, it might’ve been Terryl. She’d forgotten which team each preferred.
The one wearing a Dodgers cap said, “Ma’am, finding all these parts is gonna take me hours—maybe days—on the internet. You’ll be lucky if you’re out of here in a month.”
“You hush.” Hal elbowed his son. Turning to Libby, he said, “You have my solemn word that I’ll get your ride fixed as soon as possible. But I’m afraid my boy’s right—it ain’t gonna be fast, easy or cheap.”
“Oh?” Stress knotted her throat. Was this really happening? She barely had enough cash for the gas she’d need for the rest of her drive to Seattle. There was no way she’d have enough for repairs and staying over however long it took to get the work done.
Swallow your pride and ask Mom and Dad for help.
Libby raised her chin. No way would she surrender just yet. “You don’t really think it’ll take a month to find parts, do you?”
Hal shrugged. “No telling till we get started.”
Hugging herself, she nodded.
Heath didn’t do tears, so when he noted Libby’s eyes filling, he slipped back into take-charge mode. “Hal, do what you can, and since Libby doesn’t have a cell, keep me posted.”
“Will do.”
To Libby, Heath said, “Let’s see what we can do about finding you a cheap place to stay.”
“I—I’ll figure it out,” she assured him. “I’m grateful for all you’ve done, but I can take it from here.”
“Motel’s just down the road a piece.” Hal barked at his sons to quit lollygagging and get back to work. “Tell Gretta I sent you and she’ll discount your rate.”
“I think I have more pull with her than you,” Heath said, already guiding Libby back to his truck.
“Wouldn’t be so sure about that. She told me you missed Sunday supper yet again.”
Heath ignored Hal’s comment. He had his reasons for missing most every Stone gathering, and his mother damn well knew it.
It took all of three minutes to reach the inn that had been in his family since the 1940s, when Bent Road had been a weekend fishing mecca for Portland, Seattle and even San Francisco’s wealthy vacationers. In the 1930s, the CCC or Civilian Conservation Corp, had provided badly needed infrastructure to the area to allow for its growth. But when a 1942 wildfire destroyed the row of vacation homes that had lined the coastal bluffs, the town’s soul suffered a direct blow. The motel was lucky to have survived the fire.
Decades later, Bent Road’s tourism consisted of Heath’s family’s place, and a few fishing lodges specializing in charter trips on the Umpqua River.
“This Gretta we’re meeting is your mom?”
“Yeah.” Heath had been so lost in thought, he’d momentarily forgotten Libby was with him.
“Do you two not get along?”
“We’re good. It’s complicated.”
Her laugh struck him as sad. “I can relate.”
When he pulled onto the inn’s blacktop drive, she gasped. “This adorable place belongs to you
?”
“Not me, but my mom. My dad died a long time ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged, then parked the truck and killed the engine.
“Sit tight till I get around to help you climb out. We don’t need you getting tangled again.”
Heath hated the heaviness in his chest at Libby’s continued intrusion upon his life, but he hadn’t been raised to turn away someone in need. His time in the navy had only reinforced that tradition. Still, he needed to get back to his cabin. Resume his search for Sam, then get back to his new normal—a life he wasn’t proud of, but at the moment, it was the best he had to give.
After helping Libby safely to her feet, he hovered alongside her, unable to shake the feeling of her being precious cargo. His mom never turned away a stray, and hopefully, she’d view Libby in the same light.
Just then his mom rounded the corner of the front office with her watering can in hand. “Hey, stranger.” Gretta believed customers appreciated employees wearing gingham getups that matched the inn’s sign, so in addition to her salt-and-pepper hair being braided, she wore a checkered red dress with matching red sneakers.
Her hug made him feel like the world’s worst son for not having been by to see her sooner.
“Hi, I’m Gretta Stone.” She extended her free hand to Libby. “Looks like you swallowed a watermelon seed.”
Heath died a little inside. Really, Mom?
Fortunately, Libby laughed. “Yes, ma’am, I did. Hope the baby doesn’t come out red-and-green.” Her smile was accompanied by a wink. Meeting his mom’s outstretched hand, she said, “I’m Libby Dewitt. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.” To her son, she asked, “To what do I owe this pleasure? I know you didn’t stop by just to see me.”
He’d wondered how long it would take her to get a dig in about his lack of recent visits. “Actually, I was out looking for Sam this morning and stumbled across Libby instead. Her car broke down, and—”