The SEAL's Baby. Laura Marie Altom
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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