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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.”
