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  Once Gretta left, Libby wasn’t sure what to say. She didn’t want to be disrespectful to Heath’s friend, but she also didn’t want to launch into her depressing life story.

  After a few awkward minutes, Hattie asked, “Did I just stick my foot in my mouth? It’s kind of a specialty of mine, so if I did—sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Rubbing her belly, Libby said, “I do need a plan for delivery, but until my car’s fixed I’m kind of in limbo.”

  “Sure. I understand. Lucky for you, your car couldn’t have broken down in a better place. The first time Mason brought me and the girls out here was not too long after Patricia’s funeral. You do know about him losing his wife?”

  Libby nodded.

  “Well, it was a really horrible time. Heath was in his own death spiral and no one could snap him out of it. When his commanding officer gave him the boot, and Heath came out here, about a month later, Mason and I flew out to check on him. Once we saw how pretty and peaceful Bent Road is, we understood why this was the best place for Heath to heal. Patricia was an interior designer. She carried herself with this sort of Grace Kelly elegance I always envied. Everything about her was perfect. Clothes, hair, makeup, body, complexion—flawless. And the worst thing was that she was also really—I mean, really—sweet, so you couldn’t hate her.”

  Libby’s gaze strayed to Heath. So that’s the kind of woman you loved. No wonder you want nothing to do with a stray like me.

  “When she died, our circle was seriously scared for Heath. He retreated further and further inside himself, until he couldn’t even properly do his job. The day his CO handed him his walking papers was hard on the whole team. They all tried getting his mind off of his loss, but nothing worked. We SEAL wives are pretty close, and I suppose the real kicker to all of this is that we’re a tough bunch, constantly forced to deal with the reality that one day any of our husbands could leave for work, only to never come home. All the guys have plans in place—you know, in case the worst ever happens. No one in a million years could’ve predicted Patricia would be first to go.”

  “That’s so sad....” As if he’d somehow known they were talking about him, for a split second, Heath met Libby’s stare before she sharply looked away.

  “What’s even worse is what’s become of him since. Obviously, he’ll never find anyone as perfect for him as Patricia, but surely there’s a nice woman out there somewhere who would not only take care of him, but convince him he’s too young to just give up.”

  “Yeah...that would be amazing.” How many times had she wished for the same—to be with a man who loved her and cared for her as much as she did him—only to have ended up with a cheating creep like Liam?

  “Gosh—” Hattie smacked her forehead “—how inconsiderate am I? Going on about poor Heath when I didn’t even think to ask about why you’re pregnant and on your own. Do you have a handsome sweetie worried about where you are?”

  Unable to speak past the knot in her throat, Libby shook her head, then stood, making a mad dash for the house. Or, more specifically, the privacy of her room. Hattie seemed like a genuinely nice person who, in another life, Libby may have welcomed as a friend. But right now?

  She couldn’t bear revealing to one more person just what a mess her life actually was.

  Chapter Eight

  “Where’d Libby run off to?” Heath asked Hattie while Mason took the ribs from the grill.

  “Not sure. She dashed out of here the way I used to when I was carrying this guy and needed a restroom.” She gave baby Charlie a jiggle.

  “Mom-ma!” the kid said with a smile that made Heath’s heart ache. Is this the stage of life he and Patricia would’ve been at?

  “I know,” she said in a playful tone to Charlie, who’d fisted a wad of her long hair. “Momma’s hair’s exciting, isn’t it? But please don’t pull so hard.”

  “That’s my boy.” Mason gave his son a quick peck on his chubby cheek. “Already SEAL strong. But do take it easy on your gorgeous mother.”

  “Aw...” With their son squeezed between them and daughters chasing poor Sam all around the yard, Hattie and Mason kissed, in the process displaying far too much tongue for Heath’s liking.

  “Geez, guys, get a room.”

  “Don’t be a hater,” Mason said with a wag of the meat tongs. “Where should I put the ribs while I’m grilling the sausage?”

  “Set ’em in there.” Heath pointed toward what his mom called an “event hall” in her motel brochures, but was essentially a big room with lots of tables and chairs, a kitchenette, restroom and karaoke machine.

  “Will do.”

  With his friend out of earshot, Heath asked Hattie, “Think you could maybe check on Libby?” he suggested, not wanting to seem as if he cared about her welfare, because he didn’t—at least not in any way that mattered. Of course, he wished her healthy, but that was the extent of his concern.

  “Why don’t you?” Hattie was back to jiggling the baby. “I’d feel awkward—especially since now that I think about it, I’m afraid it was something I said that might’ve made her bolt.”

  “Hattie...” Weren’t women supposed to know better than to run around upsetting pregnant women? Like, wasn’t there a secret code about that sort of thing?

  She winced. “It just slipped out, but I did ask her for the whereabouts of her baby daddy.”

  “Why? It’s none of your business.”

  “Lighten up. It was an innocent enough question. And anyway, what does it matter to you? She’s just staying over a couple days till she gets her car fixed. You’ll never see her again.”

  “You’re a mom. Since when did you become so insensitive?” He couldn’t fathom why, but Heath found the notion of Libby leaving deeply troubling. Granted, she was too bright a light to be in his life, but to every so often have a fleeting taste of life’s potential might not be all bad.

  “You’re a SEAL. Since when do you give two shits about anything remotely touchy-feely?” Only just realizing she’d cursed in front of the baby, she covered his little ears. “Earmuffs, sweetie. Momma didn’t mean the bad word, but she spends too much time around sailors and she forgot how Uncle Heath sometimes makes her crazy.”

  “Whatever.” After squeezing Charlie’s sneaker-clad foot, Heath said, “Don’t you believe a word of what she says, little man. Your mom’s the true nutcase.” To Hattie, he said, “Guess I’d better do damage control.”

  Heath wound his way through the ever-increasing crowd—a few of his mom’s motel guests and Friday night poker group had joined the party, as well as Eloise, Doc Meadows, and even Hal and his two sons, who’d no doubt smelled the ribs’ sweet sauce all the way from the garage.

  Just past the pool deck, Heath did a double take.

  Hal was slow dancing with Heath’s mom to the country music playing over Gretta’s newly installed outdoor sound system. Wait—slow dancing? The thought of his mom and Hal together, as in a couple, was too much for him to add to his already full plate. Surely he’d misread the situation, and they were just friends?

  “How’s Libby’s car coming?” he asked Terryl on his way past, just to be polite, not to mention get his mind off the possibility of their respective parents hooking up.

  “Not so good. Every part we need’s out of stock. Thought we found one in Italy, of all places, but turned out it was the wrong year.”

  “Sorry to hear it.” Heath was already heading for the house, antsy to make sure Libby was okay. “Help yourself to food and beer. We’ve got plenty of both.”

  To avoid meeting anyone else, Heath ducked between two cabins, then stuck to the tree line for the rest of the short trek to his mom’s house.

  His pulse raced from worry. How could Hattie have been so rude? No—downright cruel. Why would she have brought up such an obviously sore subject?

  Slow down there, man. First, how could she even know it was a taboo topic? And second, aren’t you taking this a bit too personally?

  Yes, but it was
important for the baby that Libby remain calm. Hattie had no business messing up Libby’s happy vibe.

  Finally in the house, he’d expected to find Morris in the kitchen, but his uncle had apparently finished, meaning he and Libby were alone.

  He found the guest room door closed, so he knocked, then shoved his hands in his pockets, suddenly not so sure this was a good idea. After all, if he wanted to stay emotionally detached from the woman, shouldn’t he have hung out with the rest of the group?

  “Y-yes?” Libby’s muffled voice sounded raspy. Was she crying? Why hadn’t Hattie kept her big mouth shut?

  “Hey, it’s um, me—Heath.” He pressed his palm to the door. “We’re probably gonna eat soon, and I, well, just wanted to make sure you get to the table. You know, in case you’re hungry.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Sure. So can I help?” Because if you’re crying, you might need someone to talk to. Not that he was any kind of expert on hurting. But then, wait a minute, yes, he damn well was. When it came to missing someone, he could have written the proverbial book.

  “Y-you mean help me find food?”

  “Well, that...and, you know, anything else you might need help with.” He’d pressed his ear to the door and heard rustling. What was she doing? Was she on the bed? Was her back hurting again? If so, he’d be happy to warm the corn bag.

  Shut up! Could you be any more pathetic? She apparently doesn’t need help. Leave her alone. The sooner he ate his own supper, the sooner he and Sam could head back to the cabin.

  Only too bad for him, Heath remembered his cabin was temporarily no longer his.

  Sighing, he decided to switch courses. Instead of being vague, he’d be honest. “Look, Hattie told me she brought up your ex and you seemed upset. I’m really here to make sure you’re all right—you know? Like, in your head?”

  He might’ve heard her sniffle but couldn’t be sure.

  But then there was shuffling, and maybe footsteps.

  And then he felt like the world’s biggest creeper when she opened the door and he damn near fell into her room from having been caught off guard while leaning on her door.

  “Sorry.” She swiped fresh tears from her cheeks. “I didn’t realize you were there.”

  “It’s okay,” he muttered, feigning interest in the door frame. “I was, ah, just checking to make sure you were alive.”

  “Sure. Well...” She gestured for him to follow her into the room. She sat on the foot of the bed. “I’m fine.”

  “Good. I know it’s hard—talking about your past relationships with outsiders. It’s bad enough talking about my wife with my mom or uncle. But strangers...” He shook his head, wishing he possessed more innate eloquence but hoping she’d managed to at least get the gist of his meaning. That he cared.

  Never a fan of the dainty rocker that was the room’s only chair, he sat next to Libby on the foot of the bed.

  She looked as though she was about to say something, but then launched into full-on tears.

  At first he wondered if it would be best if he left, but then his heart went out to her, and he slid closer, pulling her into a hug. “It’s gonna be okay,” he said, too late realizing he was lying through his teeth. For him, even well over a year later, he still mourned his old life. Nothing would ever be the same. But maybe for Libby, since she’d at least have her baby to keep her company, things might be different? Better?

  “I—I’m sorry for flipping out on you l-like this,” she finally managed. “B-but when Hattie kept rambling on about how amazing your Patricia was—beautiful and kind and smart and talented and gorgeous—well, I got to thinking about how I wasn’t any of those things. And h-here I am, carrying Liam’s baby and even he doesn’t find me d-desirable, then I guess I’m d-destined to spend the rest of my life a-alone and m-miserable....” Upon making that realization, she sobbed all the harder.

  “Libby, no.” Heath hugged her for all he was worth. “That’s not true at all. You’re crazy talented. I’ve never been much of a pottery guy, but your vases and bowls are pretty cool. Anyone could tell it takes a lot of skill to make them. And as for Liam not finding you desirable, well...” Gripping her shoulders, he nudged her back just far enough to meet his gaze. “He’s a fool, because I think you’re adorable.”

  “Y-you do?” She sniffled, then peered up at him with her pretty blue eyes looming impossibly large on her heart-shaped face.

  “Of course. How could any man not find you attractive? You’re sweet and funny and thoughtful. Any guy in his right mind would think you’re a serious catch.”

  “R-really?” She was still staring, and the intensity in her eyes caused him to forget to breathe.

  Since he couldn’t speak, either, he just nodded. For some reason he was fascinated by her sweet smell—watermelon and strawberries and snapdragons and summer-night air all rolled into one intoxicating fragrance he couldn’t get enough of.

  “B-because I think you’d be a good catch, too. N-not for me because I’m carrying another guy’s baby. But if you ever thought you might...”

  He couldn’t fully focus on her words because as she spoke, she drifted closer and closer until her warm breath tickled his lips. His lonely lips. Lips that’d been so long without comfort or warmth they’d forgotten the simple, heady pleasure of pressing against...

  She leaned closer.

  As did he.

  Closer.

  Closer...

  And then he wasn’t sure how, but they were kissing, and he closed his eyes and groaned, slipping his hand under the curtain of her riotous hair. She tasted even better—sweeter—than she smelled, and he couldn’t get enough, as if she was some kind of forbidden nectar.

  She fisted the front of his shirt, making sexy mewing noises that made him instantly rock hard.

  All thought gave way to raw sensation and pleasure and the certain knowledge that he was falling, falling and he didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was making this pleasure last forever....

  “Heath? Libby? Are you two in here? Supper’s ready!”

  As if slowly waking from a dream, Heath opened his eyes to find himself staring into Libby’s dazed expression. Her cheeks were still tearstained. Her lips now kiss-swollen.

  “Heath, hon?”

  Libby jolted back, eyes wide, pressing her hands to her lips. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t—”

  “Lord, me, too. I—”

  “It was a mistake,” she said.

  “Yes. A mistake. These things just happen, right?” Which was why his heart uncomfortably raced and his stomach knotted. Because he needed a logical reason for having not only done the unthinkable—unforgivable—when there was none.

  After a series of hitched breaths, she managed a nod.

  “There you are,” his mother said, entering the room. “What’re you doing? Why aren’t you at the party?”

  “I—I wasn’t feeling well....” Libby’s curls were a mess. Had he done that? If so, he couldn’t remember. In fact, much of the past few minutes were a blur, save for the humming awareness of her still lingering on his lips. And the shame.

  Patricia, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I promise.

  “S-so I came back here for a rest. But then Heath stopped by for a visit and...”

  “My Heath? Visiting?” Laughing, his mom stepped closer, making a production out of checking him for a fever. “Ouch! He’s burning up. Chatty Heath is a sure sign to call an ambulance.”

  Lips pressed tight, Heath willed his pulse to slow.

  The kiss had been just one of those things that didn’t mean anything. That’s all.

  “Well, you both look healthy enough to me.” His mom grabbed them both by their wrists. “Come on. Let’s get back to the party before Hal, Terryl and Darryl eat us out of house and home. You know how much Hal loves a nice, hearty plate of ribs.”

  No, actually, he didn’t. Their dance flashed into his mind’s eye. “Is something going on between you and Hal that you’re not tell
ing me?”

  “Don’t be silly. We’re old friends.” She dropped his hand to help Libby onto her feet. “You’re all flushed. Sure you feel up to walking? Heath could make you a plate and bring it back here...?”

  “I feel fine.” She forced a smile. “Let’s eat.”

  Heath said, “You two go ahead. I’ll be right there.”

  “Why can’t you walk with us?” his mother pressed.

  “I need to make a call.”

  Hands on her hips, Gretta asked, “Who would you be calling? Everyone you know is here.”

  “Mom...” He hoped his back-off look conveyed the full extent of how much he needed a few minutes alone.

  “Okay, okay...I can take a hint. Come on,” she urged Libby. “For whatever reason, let’s give him a few minutes alone. Men. As long as I live, I’ll never figure any of you out.” After a dramatic eye roll, she was finally gone, blessedly taking Libby along with her.

  Since the entire room smelled of Libby’s sweetness, reminding him of her light, and the way she’d made him not only forget his pain but once again feel whole, if only for an instant, Heath retreated to the back porch to be alone.

  But there he was accosted by her pottery wheel and kiln. And the memory of her clay-slick fingers working the wet, raw material.

  Only when he was outside did he feel capable of drawing a full breath.

  And only when he was a half mile down the well-worn trail his mother and Fred used for their morning walks did he feel even remotely back to his normal gloomy self.

  Leaning against the trunk of a massive Douglas fir, he closed his eyes, willing Patricia’s image to come. He needed to recall her smell, her taste. But when he needed her most, he found that no matter how hard he tried, his memories of her had faded.

  The notion enraged him. So much so that he lashed out at the tree until his fists were a bloody mess and tears of long-held grief finally escaped him.

  *

  LIBBY TRIED ACTING normal at the party, but how could she when her every thought centered around Heath’s kiss?