The SEAL's Baby Page 3

  “Wait.” His mom held up her hand, stopping him midsentence. “Libby, I want to hear all about your poor car, but Sam is my son’s dog. Sounds like we need to launch a search party.”

  “For sure,” Libby said. She turned to Heath. “Why didn’t you say something when I first got here? Your dog is way more important than my busted ride.”

  Uncomfortable with having his problems on public display, Heath rammed his hands in his pockets. “I’ll find him.”

  “Of course you will. With my help. And Libby, would I be right in assuming you’re needing a temporary place to stay?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Great.” Gretta watered the plant nearest her. “Let me get you set up in a room, then—”

  “Sorry for interrupting,” Libby said, “but I’m strapped for cash. Think we could work out some sort of trade for a room?”

  “What’d you have in mind?”

  Never had Heath wished more to be a dishonorable man. All he wanted to do was get back to his cabin and resume his search for Sam—alone. He didn’t want his well-meaning mom involved, and he sure didn’t need the added concern of worrying whether or not Libby was on the verge of going into labor.

  “I might not look like it,” Libby said, “but I’m a hard worker. I could waitress at the diner. Clean rooms for you or do laundry. Run your front desk—pretty much any odd job you need done. I’m a potter by trade, so I can also make any sort of custom piece you might like.”

  Was it wrong of Heath that this was one time he wished his mom would turn away a stray? He had nothing against Libby. She seemed like a great gal. That didn’t change the fact that in her condition, she needed to find a home base—fast. And Bent Road wasn’t it.

  Come on, Mom. Just say no.

  Gretta once again extended her hand for Libby to shake. “You have a deal. I just happen to have a vacancy, as well as a family reunion fishing group who are really going through the towels. I’ve had the washer and dryer going practically 24/7, and could sure use help.”

  Libby’s shoulders sagged. Relieved? “Thank you, ma’am. I promise I won’t be any trouble, and just as soon as my car’s ready, I’ll be on my way.”

  Heath tried not to scowl. Libby was now officially his mother’s concern, so why didn’t he feel better? Maybe because her pretty, misty-eyed smile tugged at his long-frozen heart?

  Chapter Three

  Libby sat on the foot of her new bed—the first true bed she’d slept on in two years, and could hardly believe her good fortune. Her constantly aching back practically sang! Beneath his curmudgeonly exterior, Heath was a sweetheart. After meeting his mom, Libby knew why.

  Her new boss had given her fifteen minutes to “freshen up,” then asked her to man the inn’s front office desk while she traipsed around the woods for her son’s dog. They’d both agreed night hiking probably wasn’t a good idea for a woman in Libby’s condition.

  After splashing cold water on her face and running a brush through her hair, Libby still couldn’t get over the wonder of her situation. She’d grown to appreciate the unique flavor of her rustic life, but a part of her had always wished Liam wanted more. Not just for them to share an apartment or house, but a commitment. She’d assumed he’d one day see the light—her light, their shared light—but she couldn’t have been more wrong.

  Hugging the baby, she said, “I’m sorry in advance for the mess you’ll be born into. Once our car’s fixed, there’s no telling how my folks are going to take the news about you. In a perfect world, they’ll love you like I already do, but...”

  She shut up in favor of grabbing a tissue to blot her teary eyes and blow her suddenly runny nose. What happened to her usually sunny disposition?

  Instead of looking for possible trouble somewhere down the road, she needed to count her current blessings. Starting by meeting Gretta in the inn’s cozy lobby.

  The early evening had turned crisp and she found the conifer-laced air invigorating.

  Up close, the inn was even more charming than she’d seen from the road. Steam rose from a small pool in a glade near the office, around which sat a group of six guys, laughing over beers. A gazebo, wreathed in ivy, ferns and thriving impatiens graced the grounds’ far end. A glider swing and hammock stood amongst still more gardens that faced the row of rooms and a few cabins. Hydrangeas dazzled in shades of blue ranging between cobalt and sky.

  The only thing missing from the idyllic scene was Heath’s truck. A fact which she shouldn’t have even noticed, let alone found the tiniest bit disappointing. He’d already done more than most anyone else would’ve given the circumstances. So why did she still want more? Oh, she didn’t want things from him like food or transportation, but rather she had a sudden craving for his company.

  “There you are.” Gretta stepped out of the office. “I was just coming to find you.”

  “Here I am,” Libby said with a nervous laugh, still not quite believing her luck over having stepped into such a perfect situation. “Reporting for duty.”

  “Good, good...” She held open the plate glass door, ushering Libby inside. “Is your room okay? Find everything you need?”

  “It’s beautiful—and so homey. The gingham curtains and vintage logging pics make it feel like a place you’d want to stay a nice long while.”

  Heath’s mom beamed. “I’m so glad you like it. My son thought I was off my rocker for spending so much on redecorating last year, but my business has more than doubled, so he can keep any further advice to himself.”

  Laughing, Libby said, “Hands-down, the room you’ve loaned me is way more inviting than his cabin—not that I wasn’t thankful he found me, but—” Libby felt horrible that her statement made it sound as though she was dissing the man who’d done so much “I’m sorry, that came out wrong. Heath’s cabin is perfect. I just meant that you’d win should the two of you be in a decorating contest.”

  “I get it,” Gretta said with another warm smile. “And I thank you. Though, in Heath’s defense, home decor was never really his cup of tea. Now, his wife, Patricia, on the other hand...” A cloud passed over Gretta’s once sunny expression. “Well, she was a pro.”

  “Was?” Libby asked.

  “Poor girl died of cancer. For a while there we all thought Heath might go with her. It’s been nearly fourteen months, but nobody seems able to reach him.”

  “I—I’m sorry.” What Libby went through in having Liam leave her was bad enough; she couldn’t even imagine the pain of losing a spouse.

  Gretta shrugged. “By the time you get to be my age, you realize death’s an inevitable side effect of life. But it’s never easy seeing a young person go. Feels unnatural.”

  Not sure what else to do or say, Libby nodded.

  “Anyway...” Gretta took a deep breath, only to let the air rush out. “Since my rooms are all full, you shouldn’t have to do a thing, other than grab a few towels or ring up snacks, but I always like someone to be up here—just in case. If you run into any trouble, here’s my cell.” She jotted the number on a Post-it, then stuck it on a computer screen. She did a quick run-through on the register, then showed Libby what was available in terms of food and sundries in the lobby’s small gift section. “Think you can manage?”

  “Easy peasy,” Libby said, despite this being her first real job in a while, outside of selling her art.

  “Good.” Heath’s mom took her purse from beneath the front desk and headed for the door. “Oh—and thanks again for filling in. I’m not sure my son could handle losing his wife and his dog.”

  *

  HEATH CUPPED HIS HANDS to his mouth. “Sam! Come on, boy!”

  Where the hell could he be?

  The deeper Heath trudged into the forest, the madder he got—not just at his mutt, who knew better than to run off, but at the world in general.

  As relieved as he’d been to escape Libby’s perma-smile and adorably huge belly, he was also resentful of the man who’d turned his back on her. Since losing his
wife, Heath had no tolerance for men who willingly shirked their responsibilities in regard to their women. He hadn’t noticed a ring on Libby’s left hand, which led him to assume the baby’s father hadn’t even married her to give his future child a name. Who did that?

  “Sam!” he bellowed. “Get your ass home!”

  A good half mile off, car headlights shone in the direction of Heath’s cabin.

  His mom, arriving to save the day?

  He loved her. He honestly didn’t mean for them to always be at odds, but for as long as he could remember, she’d had the need to save every broken animal and person in her world. What she couldn’t seem to grasp was the fact that he was beyond saving. He had, for all practical purposes, died with Patricia—even his CO had said as much when he’d sent him packing. Being put on indefinite leave for failure to perform his duties had been one of Heath’s greatest shames, but what was done was done.

  No going back now.

  “Heath?” His mom’s voice carried through the ever-darkening gloom. “Where are you, hon?”

  He groaned. Why couldn’t she just go away?

  If, God forbid, the worst had happened to Sam, the last thing Heath wanted was an audience when he broke down.

  “Heath?” She sounded closer—a lot closer, when she rounded the trail’s nearest bend. “There you are.”

  “God, Mom, I told you I’ve got this handled.”

  She shined a high-beam flashlight in his eyes. “Have you found him yet?”

  “No.”

  “Then you obviously haven’t handled squat.”

  *

  “YOU LOOK LIKE you’re about to pop,” said one of the inn’s fishermen to Libby after placing a bag of pretzels and a Snickers bar on the chest-high counter. The guy’s thick, red curls stuck out the bottom of a hat covered in fishing lures. “When’re you due?”

  “Third week in July.” Libby knew she should have looked forward to her child’s entry into the world, but with her life so uncertain, the only thing the date brought was dread.

  He whistled. “My wife just had our fifth, and I thought you look awfully close to the big day. Know what you’re having?”

  “A girl.” Libby forced her usual smile. “I’m excited to finally meet her, but also a little scared.”

  “You’ll be fine,” the kindly man said with a wink. “Although, my wife would smack me if I went so far as calling labor easy.”

  Laughing, Libby said, “Honestly? That’s the least of my worries. It’s what happens once I take my baby home that has me spooked.”

  Even thirty minutes after the man left, Libby couldn’t resume her interest in the romantic comedy she’d borrowed from Gretta’s extensive library.

  Libby’s perch on the desk stool unfortunately afforded an excellent view of the landline phone.

  It stared at her, taunted her, made her feel like a fool for not having long since dialed her parents’ familiar number.

  She’d always heard about the evils of pride, but lately, she felt at constant war with the emotion. Was it pride keeping her from crawling back to her folks in her current defeated state? Or self-preservation? With a baby on the way, did she even have the right to put her own desires ahead of her child’s basic needs and protection?

  Pressing the heels of her hands to her forehead, she willed an answer to come, when clearly this wasn’t a simple black-and-white decision, but one shaded with a myriad of grays.

  At her high school graduation dinner, when her parents told her that to pursue a career in art was ridiculous, that after college she was destined to spend a few years in a low-profile advertising position, then settle into a life as a society wife and mom—just like her own mother—Libby had initially rebelled by running with a bad crowd.

  That summer, a protest rally gone horribly wrong had landed her in jail for vandalism. Her father had bailed her out, but basically handed her the edict that from here on out, it was either his way or she needed to hit the highway. She’d chosen the highway, and with him calling her a disappointment and loser on her way out his front door, she’d never looked back.

  In the five years since leaving her prestigious Seattle address, she’d spoken only to her mother, and only on Christmas. Each time, her mother had begged her to come home. When Libby asked if her father’s opinion of her lifestyle had changed, and her mother reported it had not, Libby politely ended their conversations and prayed that by the next year, her father would come around.

  The fact that she was now broke, knocked up by a man who’d left her and she didn’t even own a running car proved that everything her father had said about her being a loser was true. Was she destined to become a bad mom, as well?

  *

  “I DON’T FEEL comfortable leaving you.”

  “Go. I’m fine.” Heath crossed his arms in a defensive posture. For the past two hours, he and his mom had crisscrossed the family land, looking for his dog. When they had no luck, she’d turned chatty, which only pushed him deeper inside his own tortured thoughts. Was Sam dead? Lying hurt somewhere?

  Images of the dog led Heath’s mind’s eye to Patricia’s dark last days. She’d been in such pain and he’d been powerless to do anything to help, other than demand more meds. To feel such helplessness for a woman he’d loved so insanely, deeply, completely had been far worse on him than any physical pain he might one day endure.

  Having loved the deepest, and now hurt the deepest, what else was left?

  “Great,” his mom said. “You’re fine—again. Only, clearly you’re not, so whether you like it or not, I’ll get Uncle Morris to look after the motel tomorrow, then I’ll be out to help search for Sam.”

  “For the last time...” Heath cocked his head back, staring up at the stars. Common sense told him he needed all the help he could get in looking for Sam, but a sick foreboding got in the way. If the worst had happened, Heath would somehow have to deal with it in his own private way. “Thanks, but no thanks. I just want to be left alone.”

  “Duly noted.” She took her keys from her jeans front pocket, then kissed his cheek. “See you first thing in the morning.”

  *

  “RUN INTO ANY TROUBLE?” Gretta asked Libby the next morning from behind the wheel of her forest-green Ford Explorer. The fog had been as thick as it was the day before, but by nine, warm sun had rapidly burned it off.

  “Nope. Everything was quiet, just like you’d expected.” It’d been late when Gretta returned from Heath’s, so they hadn’t had much time to talk. It had been a long day, and Libby had struggled to keep her eyes open.

  In her cozy room, she’d changed into pajamas and reveled in the luxury of indoor plumbing. When she’d slipped between cool sheets and eased her head onto not one, but two downy pillows, for the first time in months, she’d happily sighed with contentment.

  Cupping her hands to her belly, she’d closed her eyes and smiled. But then her eyes popped open. All she could think of while drifting off to sleep was Heath.

  The kind of warmhearted, honorable man she’d always secretly yearned for, but knew a broken mess like her would never deserve.

  “Thanks for riding out here with me.” Gretta turned onto the desolate road leading to Heath’s dirt lane. “I’ll have to introduce you to my brother when we get back. Morris has been married four—maybe five times?” She scratched her head. “After three I lost count. He’s a hopeless romantic. He retired from the navy, made a fortune in the private sector and now I swear his only goal in life is making me crazy, asking for love advice.” She paused for air. “He is a doll about helping out with the motel, though. He loves to cook, so the diner’s his baby. The motel and restaurant have been in our family for generations. The two of us grew up in the little house behind it. After Heath’s dad died, I moved back.”

  “It’s good you and Morris are close.” Libby angled on the seat as best she could to face Heath’s mom. “I’m an only child, but always wanted a brother or sister.”

  Gretta snorted. “Be care
ful what you wish for. Having a sibling hasn’t been all sunshine and roses. Morris and my husband—God rest his soul—used to get into horrible rows.”

  “Oh?” Libby didn’t bother asking why, since she assumed chatty Gretta would soon enough fill her in with the details.

  “My Vinnie—Heath’s father—was a no-nonsense man. I guess twenty years in the military will do that to a person. Not long after he took retirement, we moved back here to take over the motel from my parents. Heath was such a moody teen in those days. He’s named after Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights. Never did I think he’d turn out to have the character’s same brooding disposition. Did I curse my own son?”

  “I’m sure not.” Although Libby had been curious about Vinnie and Morris’s feud, anything about the elusive Heath was infinitely more entertaining. “Has he always been quiet and gloomy?”

  “Not at all. In high school he was homecoming king, and made quite a splash on the basketball team. Everyone loved him—but he had his occasional spells when he enjoyed going off in the woods for fishing and hunting. In the navy—did you know he was a SEAL? He was all the time earning medals. But when he lost Patricia, he just gave up. Breaks my heart. Really does.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Another thing that gets my goat is...”

  Libby politely acknowledged Gretta’s latest monologue, regarding her neighbor’s refusal to plant an appropriate amount of potted flowers for the upcoming Independence Day festivities. But mostly, she stared out at the wall of green on either side of the road, wondering at the vast, remote stretch of land and the odds of Heath ever finding his dog.

  Funny, a day earlier, though Libby always viewed her cup as half-full, lately, she’d begun doubting this practice. Beyond her healthy pregnancy, pretty much nothing before meeting the Stones had gone right. Now that she’d heard even part of Heath’s tragic story, she was embarrassed for believing she had problems at all. No one had died—well, unless she counted the small piece of herself she’d have to abandon upon returning to her parents’ home. She didn’t doubt for a moment they’d take her and her baby in, but with the expectation she play by their rules, tossing aside her own hopes and dreams.