Читать онлайн книгу «The SEAL′s Baby» автора Laura Altom

The SEAL's Baby
Laura Marie Altom
To Save A SEAL…When Navy SEAL Heath Stone's wife died, he thought his heart was closed forever. When he finds Libby Dewitt, eight months pregnant and stranded outside Bent Road, Oregon, he is drawn to her beauty, but also to her sweet and generous nature. But how can he even think about being with someone else? He had love once and lost it–and he's not sure he can take that kind of loss a second time.Alone and estranged from her family, Libby Dewitt always wondered what it would feel like to truly belong. She feels at home with Heath, but he just won't let her in. Despite her own troubles, her heart aches for everything Heath has been through. To save this SEAL, Libby is ready to fight–for love!


“I guess I’m destined to spend the rest of my life alone.” Libby sobbed harder.
“Libby, no.” Heath hugged her close. “That’s not true. And as for Liam not finding you desirable, well …” He gripped her shoulders and nudged her back just far enough to meet his gaze. “He’s a fool, because I think you’re adorable.”
“You do?” She sniffled, peering up at him with her pretty blue eyes.
“Of course. You’re sweet and funny and thoughtful. Any guy in his right mind would think you’re a serious catch.”
“Really?”
He nodded, intoxicated by her sweet smell—strawberries and snapdragons and summer night air all rolled into one.
“B-because I think you’d be a good catch, too.” He couldn’t fully focus on her words, because as she spoke, she drifted closer and closer until her warm breath tickled his lips. Lips that had been so long without comfort or warmth they’d forgotten the simple pleasure of pressing against another’s.
She leaned closer.
And so did he.
The SEAL’s Baby
Laura Marie Altom


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
After college (Go, Hogs!), bestselling, award-winning author LAURA MARIE ALTOM did a brief stint as an interior designer before becoming a stay-at-home mom to boygirl twins and a bonus son. Always an avid romance reader, she knew it was time to try her hand at writing when she found herself replotting the afternoon soaps.
When not immersed in her next story, Laura teaches art at a local middle school. In her free time, she beats her kids at video games, tackles Mount Laundry and, of course, reads romance!
Laura loves hearing from readers at either PO Box 2074, Tulsa, OK 74101, USA, or by e-mail, balipalm@aol.com (http://balipalm@aol.com).
Love winning fun stuff?
Check out www.lauramariealtom.com (http://www.lauramariealtom.com).


For my dear old friend and talented author, Amy Lillard.
Have I mentioned lately how blessed I feel to have you back in my life?!
Contents
Chapter One (#ud2155621-6328-5d2f-b1e9-cd4ada4bfba7)
Chapter Two (#uf9afde9c-f623-5872-8502-9a3e0084c3cc)
Chapter Three (#ua6c4dcde-b890-5847-8de7-6f910399546e)
Chapter Four (#u1c84117e-f3a6-5739-8391-290a1cec6d87)
Chapter Five (#ub4a3dccc-0b74-550c-b767-0aa29d4ec6eb)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
“Sam? Where the hell are you?” Southern Oregon’s dense coastal fog absorbed Heath Stone’s words, rendering his words useless in the search for his dog, who lately felt like his only friend.
Heath had let him out the previous night at 2200 for his usual evening constitutional, but the dog had caught the scent of something, and a chase ensued through the forest thick with sitka spruce, western hemlock and red cedar. Heath had spent the entire night searching the pungent woods, his footfalls silent on winding pine needle-strewn paths, all the while fighting the urge to panic.
Now, in dawn’s fragile light, with his heart empty from mourning Patricia and the pain still too raw, he couldn’t even consider suffering another loss. “Come on, Sam! Quit fooling around!”
Heath clapped, then whistled, hoping the shrill sound carried.
It did not.
Thirty minutes later, he’d wound his way back to the one-bedroom log cabin that for the past year he’d called home. After relieving himself, he washed his hands and splashed cold water on his face.
He took an energy bar from the cabinet alongside the propane stove and a bottled water from the fridge. Stopping only long enough to retrieve his wallet and keys from the metal bucket he stored them in beside the door, he soon sat behind the wheel of the 1960 Ford pickup that his grandpa had bought new.
The trek down the cabin’s single-lane drive proved daunting, with visibility being a few feet at best. After rolling down both windows, he called periodically out either side.
By the time he reached the main road, the fog had thinned to the point he could at least make out the double yellow lines on the pavement. Usually, at this time of the morning, he and Sam set out to fish on the Umpqua River. Most weekdays, the road was deserted. Hell, most weekends—unless his hometown of Bent Road was hosting a holiday festival or fishing tourney. Most tourists traveling north from Coos Bay on Oregon Coast Highway 101 blew right by the lonely road leading to the largely forgotten town. With no trendy B and Bs or campgrounds, visitors had no reason beyond curiosity to ever stop by. A fact that suited Heath just fine.
“Sam! You out there, boy?” Crawling along at the harrowing rate of fifteen miles per hour, Heath continued calling, intermittently scanning the faded blacktop for the potentially gut-wrenching sight of his wounded—or even dead—dog.
“What the—” He’d driven maybe five miles before pumping his brakes, having damn near hit not his dog, but a woman—a very pregnant woman—standing in the road’s center, waving her arms. “What’s the matter with you?” he hollered, easing the truck onto the weed-choked shoulder. “Got some kind of death wish?”
Upon killing the engine, he hopped out and slammed the door shut behind him. The dense fog stole the thunder of a gratifying bang, leaving him with a less satisfactory thud.
“Th-thank you so much for stopping.” The ethereal blonde staggered his direction. Was she drunk? “M-my car broke down yesterday. I tried walking, but—”
“It’s a good thirty miles to town.”
She placed her hands protectively over her bulging belly. “If you could just take me to a phone, I’d...” Before finishing her halting sentence, she crumpled before him like a building that had suddenly lost its foundation.
He rushed to her, checking her pulse and finding it strong.
Abandoning his worries for Sam, he hefted the woman’s deadweight into his arms and then onto his truck’s passenger seat.
He then retrieved her giant purse from the road.
“W-what happened?” she asked, stirring when he buckled her in and set her purse beside her.
“You fainted. How long has it been since you’ve had a decent meal?”
“I—I don’t know. I’m saving my cash for gas.”
The fog had lifted enough to reveal a VW Bug as old as his truck. The backseat was crammed so tightly with the woman’s belongings, daylight couldn’t even be seen through the front window.
“I’ll run you to my cabin—get you fed and call for a tow.”
“Thank you—but I don’t have the money for a tow or mechanic.”
He closed her door. “You prefer I leave you out here for the crows?”
Groaning, she pressed her fingertips to her forehead. “What I’d prefer is to have never wound up in this position.”
All too well, he knew the feeling.
* * *
LIBBY DEWITT STRUGGLED to stay awake while the stranger drove. Exhaustion—physical and emotional—weighed down her shoulders, making even turning her head an effort.
“Stay with me...” the man urged. “Sure I shouldn’t take you straight to a doc?”
“I’m fine,” she assured. It took much of her remaining energy to meet his curiously hollow stare. “Just tired and hungry.”
“I can help with both of those issues. And since you’re low on cash, I’ll see what I can do with your car. But fair warning, I’m good with a lot of things, but engine repair has never been one of them.”
From somewhere inside she managed a laugh. “At this point, a cracker and glass of water would be downright gourmet. To expect more would be greedy.”
His sideways glance spoke volumes, but at the same time, nothing at all. Again, she had the sense that part of him was emotionally missing. What had he been through?
He turned the truck onto a dirt lane so narrow the weeds grew between twin tire ruts.
Woods, dark and brooding, surrounded them, yet over a small hill, sunbeams punched through the fog, the soft light promising to end the day’s gloom.
Over the next hill stood the sweetest log cabin—sun-and weather-faded with rich green moss growing between the logs’ seams. Two smallish paned windows flanked a wooden front door. A wide, covered porch held two rockers and a pair of dead hanging ferns. The Pacific glistened in teasing strips just beyond massive pines.
“I-it’s beautiful,” she said, not trying to disguise her awe. “How lucky you are.”
Parking the truck, he shrugged. “It’s okay.”
Okay? To be jaded about such a view implied he wasn’t really alive at all. Despite the lousy circumstances she found herself in, Libby hoped she’d never lose her ability to be wowed by Mother Nature showing off.
“You able to walk under your own steam?”
“I—I think so...” To prove it she opened the door with an echoing creak, then placed her feet firmly on the ground. Her legs wobbled a little at first, but then held strong as the stranger set his arm about her shoulders, assisting her into his home. In another world she may have appraised his warm, strong touch, but for now she was merely grateful for the help. “By the way, I’m Libby.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Heath.”
Inside, it took her eyes a moment to adjust to the dimness.
“Sorry about the mess.” After leading her to a dilapidated yet comfy brown plaid sofa, he plucked a couple dirty shirts from the back of a wood rocker and a ladder-back kitchen chair. “It’s just me around here, and, well...” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “There’s not much need to clean.”
She waved off his concern. “Considering I’ve spent the past two years in a tent, the fact that you have an actual roof ranks this place right up there with the Taj Mahal.”
“A tent, huh?” He’d ducked in the fridge and emerged with milk, cheese and a carton of eggs. “Sounds like a good story.” He set his finds on the butcher-block counter lining the cabin’s front wall, then took an energy bar from a cabinet and tossed it to her. “Eat this, then tell me more about how a woman willingly spends two years sleeping under the stars.”
Three bites later she’d devoured her snack and drank half the bottled water he’d also given her. “Thank you. That was delicious.” She finished off the water, then patted her hands to her bulging belly. “Long story short, the father of this little gal considered himself a free spirit. He believed houses were the equivalent of cells, and marriage a life sentence.”
Beating eggs, her savior asked, “You’re talking about this guy in the past tense. Is he...dead?”
“Gosh, no.” Though too many times than she’d liked, she could’ve cheerfully clubbed him. “Liam left me for a woman who makes fresh flower headbands. We all traveled together in an unofficial craft show circuit. I’m a potter.”
“No kidding?” She didn’t miss his raised eyebrows when he shot her a glance. Used to be, that kind of look by so-called acceptable society sent her dashing off for a discreet cry, but no more. She was done apologizing for the life she loved. “You make bowls and vases and stuff?”
“Uh huh.”
“Eat up.” He handed her a plate filled with eggs scrambled with cheese and two slices of whole wheat toast with butter.
“Oh, wow. This looks delicious. Thanks.”
“No problem.” After handing her another bottled water, he spun a kitchen chair around and straddled it, resting his forearms on the back. “Should’ve asked sooner, but want me to call anyone for you? There’s gotta be someone you know who’d want to help.”
She shook her head. “It’s complicated.”
“Yeah, well...” He looked to the door. “Make yourself at home, and I’ll see what I can do with your car.”
“I should probably tag along.” She reached beside her for the oversize hobo bag serving as her purse.
“Don’t sweat it. I’ve got this.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. But I’ll need your keys.” His half grin did funny things to her insides—or maybe it was just the satisfaction of for once having a full stomach. Regardless, she took her first in-depth look at her new friend and was duly impressed. Dark, slightly overgrown buzz cut and the most amazing pale green eyes. He wore desert camo fatigues, boots and a sand-colored T-shirt that hugged his pecs in a way a woman in her condition shouldn’t notice.
Distracting herself from the unexpectedly hot view, she fished for her keys and handed them over.
“Thanks,” he said. “Be back soon, okay?”
She nodded, and then just as abruptly as he’d entered her life, he was gone.
Hugging her tummy, she said, “Baby, if your daddy was as nice as our new friend, we might not be in such a pickle.”
Tilting her head back, Libby groaned.
Despite this temporary respite, she could hardly bear thinking of the hours, let alone days and weeks, to come. She’d thought the journey home would be relatively simple, but it was proving tougher than she’d ever imagined.
* * *
“SAM!” DURING THE short return trek to Libby’s car, Heath squashed his many questions about the woman by continuing his search for his dog. “You out there, boy?”
The fog had burned off, making for an annoyingly hot and sunny day. No doubt everyone else in town was thrilled, but sun reminded him of days spent on the beach with Patricia and all of the perfect days they’d spent planning out the rest of their perfect lives.
On the main road, again looking to the shoulders for Sam, Heath’s stomach knotted in disgust for the guy who’d left Libby on her own while carrying his child. Who did that? Here he’d have selfishly given anything for Patricia to have been with him long enough for them to have a kid, so he’d at least have something tangible beyond pictures to remember her by, yet that lucky asshole was about to have a son or daughter and didn’t even care.
Within minutes he made it to Libby’s Bug.
He veered his truck around to try giving her vehicle a jump, but the engine wouldn’t turn over. The car was an older model he’d only seen while on missions with his navy SEAL unit in developing countries, meaning it didn’t even have a gas gauge. Back under the hood he checked the fuel level the way he’d check the oil on any normal car. The stick read nearly a quarter-tank. Which meant he’d reached the end of his personal bag of tricks.
Good thing his cell got better reception on the side of the road than at his cabin.
Thirty minutes later, Hal Kramer arrived with his tow truck.
“Haven’t seen one of these in a while,” he said, backing out the driver’s side door to climb down from his truck. He sauntered over to where Heath stood, wiping sweat from his forehead with a red shop rag. While appraising the situation, he twirled the left side of his handlebar mustache. “Girl I used to date up in Portland drove one of these. Whenever she drank too much wine, I drove. My legs were so long I usually ended up turning off the engine switch with my knee.”
“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.
Thick ferns hung from every lamppost, and the sidewalks were made of weathered brick.
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—”
“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 careful 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.
* * *
AFTER A FITFUL night’s sleep, Heath woke at dawn to resume his search for Sam.
He’d been out a few hours, then returned to the cabin to grab energy bars and more water.
The previous night, when his mom told him she’d be back, he’d hoped Uncle Morris was so busy with the diner that he wouldn’t be able to help with the motel—in fact, he’d have rather she sent her brother as her proxy. Heath’s easygoing uncle wasn’t constantly nagging with questions, and he sure as hell would never be so insensitive as to suggest he “climb back on his horse” to find a new love as Gretta occasionally liked to do.
What kind of Happy Land planet was his mom living on that she believed for one second he’d ever be able to replace Patricia? The very idea was insulting.
After downing a piece of white bread smeared with peanut butter, he was loading bottled water into his knapsack when a car roared down his road.
While his initial thought was to punch a hole through the nearest wall, he soon enough realized that since his home was built of logs, that might not be such a great idea for his fist.
A minute later he glanced out the open front door to see his mom’s perpetual smile. Making matters worse was the fact that she’d dragged Libby along with her.
Hands in his pockets, he did the right thing by heading out to the SUV to greet them, though he wanted nothing to do with either of their cheery smiles.
“Any luck?” his mom asked, first out of the car.
“Nope.”
Libby had opened her door, but clearly needed help getting out. On autopilot, he went to her, steeling himself to ignore her pretty floral smell and the way her petite frame made him feel oversized and all thumbs. “Here we go again....”
“This does feel familiar.” Her friendly grin did uncomfortable things to his gut. Made him wistful for days when he used to have an easy smile. Now nothing was easy—especially being around this very pregnant woman who reminded him all too much of what he’d always dreamed his life would be.
“Libby,” his mom said, “I didn’t even think to ask, but did you have breakfast?”
“No, ma’am.”
Gretta conked her forehead. “I’m the worst hostess ever.” She turned toward the cabin. “Let me whip up grub for us all, then we’ll start our search. Heath, how about showing Libby the bench Grandpa made for your grandmother.”
Lips pressed tight, Heath looked to the sky, willing patience for his mom to rain down on him.
“She’s a pistol,” Libby noted.
“That’s one way of putting it.” He gestured toward the pine needle–strewn trail leading to the property’s bluff. “Feel up to a short walk?”
“Sure, though I’m not exactly steady.”
“Let me take your arm—just in case. Last thing I need on top of my missing dog is a busted-up pregnant lady.”
Laughing, she shook her head. “Thanks. I think?”
He shot her a sideways glance and came damn close to cracking his own grin while taking hold of her arm. It couldn’t have been over fifty yards to the bluff, but worry over his guest’s well-being had Heath working up a sweat.
Finally, they made it. Heath tried corralling Libby onto the bench his grandfather made as a romantic gift decades earlier, but she wasn’t having it.
“Look at this view....” The awe he used to feel for the land rang through in her breathy tone. “It’s amazing. The sun looks like diamonds on the water. Don’t you feel like you can see all the way to Japan?”
“Don’t get too close to the edge.” She stood only a foot away from the two-hundred-foot drop.
“I’m fine,” she assured him. “I’ve always had a great sense of—” In turning to face him, she wobbled.
Heath ran to her, tugging her into the safety of his arms. “Why can’t you listen?”
With her baby bump pressed against areas it had no business being, he set her a safe distance back while trying to figure out why just touching her produced such visceral results.
“I told you I was fine,” she snapped. “Stop being such a worrywart.”
Arms folded, he said, “My apologies for yet again charging to your rescue.”
She held her arms defensively crossed over her chest, as well. “Did it ever occur to you that I don’t need saving? That I’m doing fine all on my own?”
“Which is why you’re living on charity until your car gets fixed? Even then, how are you planning to reimburse Hal?” The moment the acidic questions left Heath’s mouth, he regretted them. He especially regretted the telltale signs of tears shimmering in Libby’s sky-blue eyes. “I’m sorry.”
He approached her, held out his hands to maybe touch her, but then thought better and backed away.
“Doesn’t matter,” she said with a shrug. “What would an apology help when what you said is true?”
“Yeah, but...” She’d returned to the ledge, which made his pulse race uncomfortably. Why the hell couldn’t she just behave?
“Stop. I’m sorry your mom dragged me out here. After we eat, I’ll ask her to take me back to the motel, and with any luck, you’ll never see me again.”
“Libby...” He rammed his hands into his pockets. In an odd way, even saying her name felt uncomfortably intimate.
“No, really, just hush. You’re not the only one with troubles, you know? Maybe I didn’t lose a spouse, but—”
“Mom told you about Patricia?”
Hand over her mouth, she nodded.
Was nothing sacred?
“I’m sorry for your loss, but that doesn’t give you the right to take your pain out on others—especially your sweet mom.”
No longer in the mood for sightseeing, Heath turned his back on the pint-size pain in his ass by heading back down the trail.
“What?” she called after him. “You got your feelings hurt, so you’re just going to leave?”
Had she been a dude, he’d have flipped her a backhanded bird.
“Fine! Be that way!” she hollered after him. “Being sad won’t fix anything, you know! Just makes you more sad, and—”
When she punctuated her sentence with a yelp, despite his frustration, he turned and ran in her direction. What the hell kind of trouble had she gotten herself into this time?
Only once he reached her, he found her yards down the bluff, pointing to a limp ball of fur, far down on the rocks below. Heath’s mouth went dry, and his stomach roiled.
“I-is that your dog?”
Chapter Four
Caring little about his own personal safety, Heath sprinted a few hundred more yards down the bluff’s edge until he reached the only somewhat sane route to the crashing surf.
After losing Patricia, he’d sworn to never pray again, and he held that promise even now. The concrete hardening his emotions told him this mission was all about recovery rather than rescue. As much as he’d loved that dog, no way would Heath leave Sam’s body exposed to be pecked off bit by bit by scavengers.
The ground constantly gave way beneath him, as the rocks clattered in what had become a dangerous slide. Had he the slightest lick of good sense, he would have gone farther down the bluff to the established trail he usually used to access the beach, but in this case, urgency won over practicality.
Upon finally reaching the rocky shore, he ran until his lungs ached.
There was no hurry. No way even a tough guy like Sam could’ve possibly survived that fall, so why couldn’t Heath stop running to get to him? Why couldn’t he shake the feeling that just as it had on that sunny day when Patricia had slipped from him, his life was spinning out of control.
Sure, Sam was just a dog, but most days that mutt felt like the only thing keeping Heath sane. Sam gave him a reason to get up every morning. Beyond the necessities of keeping him fed and watered and letting him in and out, Heath had found solace in watching his dog’s tail wag the whole ride to their favorite fishing hole, or hearing him bark when the mutt chased after his ratty old tennis ball.
Twenty yards out, Heath hunched over, bracing his hands on his knees. He couldn’t bear going farther.
Eyes squeezed shut, all he saw was the hospice nurse dragging that damned yellow sheet over Patricia’s dear, faint smile. Ever since, he’d hated the color almost as much as he hated life.
“What’re you doing?” a faint, wind-tossed voice called from above. “Hurry, Heath! We need to get him to a vet.”
What was wrong with her?
Couldn’t she see he was in pain? Why was she even there, when all he wanted was to be left alone?
“Run!” she hollered.
In a mental fog, Heath raised his gaze to Libby, only to find her animated and waving toward poor Sam’s lifeless body. What was wrong with her that at a time like this, she refused to give him space?
“Heath, look at him! He’s trying to wag his tail! Don’t you know he’s alive?”
Alive?
She might as well have been speaking Latin for all the sense the word made in Heath’s grief-stricken mind. Hope had long since left his vocabulary.
But then a strange thing happened....
Seagulls rioted near Sam’s body, and Sam gave a short woof, sending the birds flying.
Charging to action, Heath made it to Sam’s side in well under a minute. He kneeled to scoop Sam into his arms, and instead of the cold, salt water–matted fur he’d expected, he was met with solid warmth, a whimper, a feeble tail wag.
Was he dreaming? Had he really been given this second chance?
A quick inspection of his dog showed why Sam hadn’t come home. His feet were covered in purple sea urchin spikes. The urchins weren’t poisonous, but clearly painful and if it hadn’t already, infection was likely to set in.
Shooting to action, uncaring of his own comfort, Heath knelt in the rising surf. Cold water soaked his legs, but he ignored any physical pain to gingerly pluck spike after spike from the swollen and clearly tender pads of Sam’s paws.
“Hang in there,” Heath soothed, 100 percent focused on the task at hand. “We’ll get all of these things out, then run you to the vet. In a few days, you’ll be good as new.”
Once again having purpose drove Heath to work even more efficiently. Guilt for not having thought to look for Sam on the beach much sooner caused acid to rise from his stomach and high into his throat until bile flavored his tongue.
“I’m sorry,” Heath said, stroking behind the dog’s silky ears.
Sam whined, lurching forward when Heath tugged at a particularly large and deep spike.
“Be gentle,” a soft voice said behind him. Libby had somehow waddled her way to the beach and lowered herself onto a sun-bleached driftwood log.
“You shouldn’t be down here.” Though he couldn’t have begun to explain why, Heath resented her presence. As a man who’d spent years in the business of saving others, it was a rush to once again be on the job. The purpose and drive felt damn good. The knowledge that for once in a very long time he was making a positive difference—if only to his dog—deeply mattered.
“I thought you might need help. What happened? How did he even get down here?”
“How do you think?” he growled. One glance at her crestfallen expression left Heath ashamed of his sharp words. “Sorry. I’ve got enough on my plate in carrying Sam safely up the bluff. I don’t want to have to worry about you, too.”
“Who said you had to?”
Having removed all the spikes, Heath wedged his hands under the dog’s fragile frame. Due to his negligence in not having remembered how much Sam enjoyed barking at the occasional sea lions who hung out on the point, the dog had been a while without food or water.
Crashing surf must’ve muted his bark.
“Drop it,” Heath said, already heading for the trail.
“Why are you acting like this?” She chased after him, which only made him feel worse, but no way was he slowing. “You should be thrilled Sam’s going to be okay.”
“I am.”
“So would it be too much of a strain to smile?”
“Shouldn’t you worry more about keeping your footing on these rocks?” He kept his gaze focused on the winding dirt trail leading up the bluff.
Sam whined.
“Just a few more minutes, boy...” Heath had never wished more he’d kept up with his physical training. Were he in top form, scaling the hill would’ve been no big deal—not that it was difficult now, he just lacked the speed he’d once had.
“If you’d slow down just a little,” Libby yapped, dogging his heels, “I could help soothe him.”
“I’ve got this,” he insisted. “Please—back the hell off.”
She held up her hands, stepping away per his request, but her glistening tears left him feeling dirty inside. What kind of man yelled at a pregnant woman? What had happened to his honor?
Ha! He and honor and giving a damn about anything parted ways around about the same time the love of his life died in his arms.
“Would it kill you to let me in?” The woman might’ve temporarily let him be, but there she was, right back in his business. “I just want to help you—you know, like you helped me.”
“I don’t need help.” Jaw clenched, Heath kept his gaze focused on the trail, mentally blocking Sam’s heartbreaking whimpers.
By the time Heath reached the trailhead at the top of the bluff, the dog’s ninety pounds had his untrained muscles screaming. How had he allowed himself to get so out of shape? Was he really so pathetic?
“You found him!” his mother cried as he approached. “Is he all right?”
“Find my keys!” he shouted back.
From behind him, the sounds of Libby’s labored breathing did little to improve his mood.
“Would you like me to drive or hold poor Sam on the way to the vet?” Libby asked.
“You have no lap,” he managed from between clenched teeth. His thigh muscles screamed from mounting the steep grade. Back when he’d been on the job, a trek like this would’ve been a cakewalk. Now, when his dog needed him, his body wasn’t delivering as it should. And that further pissed him off. But the anger was good. It gave him much-needed energy to fuel the rest of his way to the truck.
“There are very few people I’ve disliked over the years,” she said, “but you, Heath Stone, are definitely one of them. You’re thickheaded and stubborn and obstinate.”
“Aren’t those all basically the same?”
“Well...” His mind’s eye pictured her heart-shaped face all flushed and scrunched from concentration. And that image did nothing to improve his already dour mood. Because for the briefest flash of an instant, the thought of her coaxed his smile out of hiding. “They might be the same, but that’s okay, because I wanted to emphasize how truly awful you are. When you first rescued me, I thought you were the kindest soul I’d ever encountered, but—”
“Do you ever shut up?”
“No! And for you to suggest it just makes me loathe you that much more.”
At the top of the bluff, with both of them breathing heavy, Heath might have found the energy to laugh at her crazy-ass statement if he hadn’t been carrying his injured dog. As if he cared if she loathed him.
But then, when the trail widened, she passed him, and all those blond curls bounced with her every snappy step. For a woman in her condition, she sure could move. Though from behind, she didn’t even look pregnant. In fact, the way the morning sun shone through the flimsy fabric of her dress, not a whole lot of her was left to his imagination. His body’s involuntary—and swift—reaction to the sight of her soft curves soured his mood all the more.
“I can’t believe he’s all right.” His mom charged down the trail to meet them. “I set bowls of food and water in the truck.”
“Thanks.”
She reached to pet Sam, but Heath didn’t want to slow his momentum.
“Why’re you so prickly?” she asked when he sidestepped her. “Sam’s safe. You should be overjoyed.”
“I am. But he’s not out of the woods yet.” Plus, I just had my first erection caused by a woman other than my wife....
* * *
“HE’S GOING TO be fine, you know?” While driving Heath’s truck, for a split second, Libby took her eyes from the deserted highway to glance toward him and his dog. Sam had long since finished off his water and now started in on his food. His eyes had already brightened, and she found herself liking him much better than his doggy dad. “It’s okay for you to relax.”
“Could you please just focus on the road?”
Gretta followed behind them in her SUV.
Heath sat all stiff and straight and his handsome features were marred by the oddest expression. Was the big, strong guy trying not to cry? She’d been touched by seeing how much Sam meant to Heath. Was there a significance beyond any normal dog bond? Had he shared Sam with his wife?
Though it was none of her business, Libby couldn’t help but ask, “Did you and your wife get Sam together?”
For the longest time, Heath remained silent. The way a muscle ticked in his hardened jaw set her on edge. Had she picked at a wound still too tender for casual conversation?
“I’m sorry.” She steered the truck around a small branch that had fallen onto the road. “Please, forget I even asked.”
“Yeah...” When he finally did speak, his tone was raspy. He stroked one of Sam’s ears. “A friend told us his Lab-collie mix was having a litter, and we picked this guy out as a puppy. He had five littermates, but we could tell right away he was the one. He had spunk. He was always into everything. A little too curious for his own good—which I guess is how he landed in this predicament.”
“Poor guy.” She patted the dog’s head.
A glance at Heath had her thinking he might say something more, but much to her disappointment, he did not. Which made no sense—not so much the lack of conversation, but why his sudden silence bothered her.
* * *
THE RELIEF SHIMMERING through him after Sam’s positive health report left Heath a little punch-drunk. He’d dodged a bullet with that one. Everyone from his mom and uncle to his old SEAL gang kept telling him it was time to move on. He needed to get on with things. Get back to work. There was always lots of getting in their well-meaning speeches, but none of their words amounted to squat when it came to making him feel even a fraction better about having lost his wife.
If he’d then lost her dog, too...
Well, he was just damned lucky it hadn’t come to that.
The fact that he ultimately had Libby to thank for spotting Sam didn’t escape him. As soon as the dog was doing better, maybe he’d take her to a formal thank-you lunch.
While you’re feeling generous, think you owe her an apology for being such an ass on the beach?
Heath folded his arms, focusing on his dog rather than his pansy conscience, which had apparently gone as soft as his out-of-shape body.
“You’re one lucky fella,” said Cassidy Mitchell, the town veterinarian, while applying the last of Sam’s bandages. She’d given him pain meds and antibiotics, and at the moment, with his giant pink tongue lolling and tail lightly thumping the metal exam table, the dog looked about as happy as could be expected. To Heath, the vet said, “Since you live a ways out, I’ll send you home with supplies to clean and change these bandages. Once he starts feeling better, he’s gonna want to go straight back to his normally wild ways, but just to be safe, I’d keep him inside and resting as much as he’ll let you.”
“Will do,” he said, scooping Sam into his arms.
Gretta had left right after hearing Sam was okay. The commode in room ten had overflowed, and she’d had to meet the plumber. Heath would have called her, but he’d left his cell back at the cabin.
“Think you can handle carrying Sam’s supplies?” the vet asked Libby.
Libby nodded, taking the multiple packages Cassidy’s assistant had assembled.
“Sure you’re okay?” the vet asked Libby. Heath had made brief introductions upon their arrival. “You’ve paled about ten shades since you first got here.”
“I’m fine,” Libby said, but having witnessed her previous faint, and seeing her expression look similar now, Heath wasn’t so sure.
“Just in case...” The vet’s teen assistant trailed them outside. “Let me take Sam’s bandages and meds, and then you just open the truck door.”
“You’re both being silly.” Libby made the trade-off, then opened the door. “I’m abso-lute-lee...”
Fine? Heath finished her sentence just as her legs buckled from beneath her.
Chapter Five
With Sam centered on the truck’s bench seat, Heath shot into action, now hefting Libby up next to the dog.
“She okay?” The pimple-faced teen assistant couldn’t have been over sixteen. He’d paled as much as Libby.
“Hope so.” Heath took Sam’s supplies. “I’ll run her to the clinic, though, to make sure.”
Just as she had during her previous fainting spell, Libby woke within a few seconds. At which point, Heath, for the second time that morning, felt crazy-relieved. And guilty. If she hadn’t followed him to the beach to get Sam, would she have passed out?
“Whoa...” She’d rested her head against the seat back, and now pressed her fingertips to her forehead. “What happened?”
“You fainted again.”
She groaned. “That’s not good.”
“Nope. Which is why I’m running you to the doc.”
“I’m all right. Please—” she stroked Sam’s sleepy face “—take me to my room at the motel. I just need a nap.”
“Probably, but I don’t want it on my already full plate if it turns out there’s something more wrong.”
“Look...” Sighing, she hugged her belly. “The truth is, I can’t afford to pay a doctor. I’m good. I have to be, because really, I don’t have another choice.”
“There’s always a choice—this time, it’s doing the responsible thing for your baby by letting me pay for your treatment.”
“That’s not necessary. I’m already feeling better.”
“Perfect. Then you won’t mind me wasting my own money to prove it.”
Other than her pressing her lips together a bit tighter, Libby showed no other emotion. He was glad, because the day had been draining enough without her launching another fight.
He pulled to a stop at the red light on Archer.
With the Fourth of July so close, carnies were hard at work assembling rides on the elementary school’s soccer field. The Tilt-a-Whirl resembled a praying mantis with its legs still folded on the flatbed trailer where it lived when it wasn’t at play.
Back when he’d been a kid visiting his grandparents over the holiday while his dad was on leave, the annual carnival that started on the first was everything. Corn dogs and funnel cakes. Losing a month’s allowance worth of quarters on the Coin Dozer game. Best of all, spending time with his family, back when they really had been a family.
The light changed and he made a left, heading toward the clinic.
With Sam peacefully napping and a warm summer breeze riffling his hair through the open windows, Heath could’ve almost been at peace if it weren’t for the faint sniffles of Libby crying.
In no way prepared to deal with drama in the form of female tears—especially the pregnancy tears his married friends warned him were particularly potent—he tightened his grip on the wheel.
A few minutes later, past the fire station and library and the retirement home where, on a trip home for Easter, he and Patricia had teased each other about moving into when they both grew old, Heath pulled into the clinic’s freshly blacktopped parking lot. The asphalt sounded sticky beneath the truck’s tires and the pungent smell had Libby crinkling her nose.
“This is an all-around bad idea. I feel great. And what’re we going to do with Sam?”
Heath drove to the far side of the lot, parking beneath a row of Douglas firs on a section of pavement still old and sun-faded.
Sam was fast asleep, and judging by his snores, would be for a while. The day was fine. The temperature was in the mid-seventies. With the windows down, he’d be equally as content in the truck as he would’ve been on the living room couch.
“He’s gonna nap, just like the vet wanted.”
One hand on her belly, the other on her door, Libby still looked unsure. In that instant, she looked so alone and afraid, something in his long-frozen heart gave way.
He wasn’t a monster; he was just a man who’d essentially given up on his own life, but that didn’t mean he had the right to inflict his messed-up shit on this lost soul.
He tentatively reached out for her, for an endless few seconds, hovering his hand in the neutral zone over Sam before reaching the rest of the way to Libby’s forearm. Upon making contact, her vulnerability made him want to be strong. Not for himself, but for this fragile woman with an innocent child growing inside.
After giving her a gentle and what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze, they made eye contact for only an instant. He couldn’t have stood more, so he looked away, swallowing hard, wishing his pulse to slow. He was afraid, so very afraid, but of what he couldn’t comprehend. “Let’s, ah, head inside. Get you checked out.”
Her eyes shone, and she also shifted her gaze, sniffling before opening her door.
Heath hustled to her side of the vehicle in order to help her down.
It had been years since he’d been to Doc Meadows, but everyone in town knew appointments were welcome, but if you had something come up, the doctor and his nurse would stay as late as necessary to ensure everyone with a need was seen.
“Sure is pretty for a clinic....” Libby said, peering up at the three-story Victorian.
“Used to belong to one of the summer people.”
“Summer people?”
“Rich folks from Portland, even San Francisco, who used to come here to spend their summers on the shore. After the 1942 fire, hardly any homes were left. This one was owned by a bank president whose wife fancied herself to be a shade tree architect.” Heath was glad for the story. It distracted him from Libby’s slow pace—more guilt stemming from the realization that he should have driven her to the door. What kind of idiot was he to have made her walk? “Want me to go get the truck?”
“For what?” She pressed her hands to the small of her back.
“So you don’t have to exert yourself.”
She waved off his concern. “You worry too much. And what’s up with this new, polite travelogue version of your formerly crotchety self?”
“I’m not crotchety—reserved, maybe. Definitely not crotchety.”
“If you say so...” He wasn’t sure how she managed, but after casting him an exaggerated wink and grin, she sashayed right past him and mounted the stairs.
“You shouldn’t be taking off like that,” he urged, staying behind her in case she fell—at least that’s the line he fed himself in order to not feel like a creeper for having accidentally caught himself yet again checking out her behind. “Last thing I need is for you to pull another fainting spell.”
“I won’t,” she said from the top of the stairs, even though her exaggerated breathing told him she was winded.
He opened the door for her, ushering her inside the waiting room that his mom told him used to be the front parlor where Ingrid Mortimer—the former lady of the house—served formal tea every summer Sunday afternoon. He was just debating on whether or not to share the information with Libby, when the doctor’s receptionist, Eloise Hunter, shot out from behind her desk to usher Libby into a wheelchair.
“You poor thing,” Eloise clucked. The woman not only stood six feet tall—not counting her big red hair bun—but she was big around, too. And mean. But then his senior year in high school, she had caught him cutting all the roses from her garden for his latest crush. “Doc Mitchell’s office called and said you’d be coming. We’ve got a room all ready for you.” She glared at Heath, then said, “Your mother told me you dragged this poor girl all the way down Poplar’s Bluff to get Sam. What’s the matter with you?”
Seriously? “I didn’t—”
“Don’t blame him,” Libby said to Eloise with one of her big grins. “I made it to the beach all on my own. I’m probably just a little tired.”
Eloise didn’t look so sure. “Just to be safe, let’s let the doc have a look at you. Can’t be too cautious when there’s a little one involved.” After another pursed-lip glare in Heath’s direction, the receptionist ordered Heath to stay in the empty waiting area while she wheeled Libby off to an exam room.
For the longest time, Heath just sat there, staring at the overly fussy floral wallpaper.
He picked up a tattered copy of People. But the last thing he was interested in was some starlet’s issues with drugs.
A good ten minutes later, Eloise returned. “Libby sure is a pretty little thing. Seems like she has a real sweet spirit.”
“Yeah.” He feigned renewed interest in his magazine.
Ten more minutes passed, then thirty.
He checked on Sam. Found the temperature in the truck still pleasant and the dog lightly snoring.
Back in the waiting area, Heath wasn’t sure what to do with his arms and legs. He felt all squirmy—like a little kid forced to sit too long on a church pew.
What was going on back in that exam room? Was Libby all right? Had she really hurt herself and the baby? If so, was it his fault? He should’ve insisted she stay up at the cabin with his mom. But then hadn’t he told her to go back, and she’d ignored him?

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