The SEAL's Baby. Laura Marie Altom

      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