The SEAL's Baby. Laura Altom Marie
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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