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.
Dear Reader,
Have you ever been at a party where you didn’t know anyone? Or maybe you did know people, but didn’t really feel you belonged? That sensation is the worst!
Sometimes when I’m at a big writers’ conference, I find myself lost in a sea of strangers. It makes me feel lonely and a little scared. I know I should use the opportunity to make new friends, but that’s not always easy. Every once in a while, a kind soul wanders up to spark a conversation, and that lone sweet gesture changes everything.
When this story opens, Libby Dewitt’s lost in not just a crowd, but seemingly, the whole world. She’s very pregnant, estranged from her baby’s father and even her parents. When her car, finances and health also let her down, she’s forced to rely on the kindness of strangers, and she finds herself immersed in the kind of wondrous family she’d never dreamed possible.
Trouble is, her new life is an illusion. And her inevitable leaving will open old wounds. Making matters worse is the man whose mere presence gives her glimpses into the life she’s always wanted, but fears may never be.
Will Libby make Heath Stone believe in second chances? Or is she destined to raise her baby alone? I’ll never tell! Lol!
Happy reading!
Laura Marie
THE SEAL’S BABY
Laura Marie Altom
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
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 boy-girl 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 P.O. Box 2074, Tulsa, OK 74101, or by email, [email protected].
Love winning fun stuff? Check out www.lauramariealtom.com.
Books by Laura Marie Altom
HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE
1086—SAVING JOE*
1099—MARRYING THE MARSHAL*
1110—HIS BABY BONUS*
1123—TO CATCH A HUSBAND*
1132—DADDY DAYCARE
1147—HER MILITARY MAN
1160—THE RIGHT TWIN
1165—SUMMER LOVIN’
“A Baby on the Way”
1178—DANCING WITH DALTON
1211—THREE BOYS AND A BABY
1233—A DADDY FOR CHRISTMAS
1257—THE MARINE’S BABIES
1276—A WEDDING FOR BABY**
1299—THE BABY BATTLE**
1305—THE BABY TWINS**
1336—THE BULL RIDER’S CHRISTMAS BABY***
1342—THE RANCHER’S TWIN TROUBLES***
1359—A COWGIRL’S SECRET***
1383—A BABY IN HIS STOCKING***
1415—A SEAL’S SECRET BABY‡
1430—THE SEAL’S STOLEN CHILD‡
1435—THE SEAL’S VALENTINE‡
1466—A NAVY SEAL’S SURPRISE BABY‡
1480—THE SEAL’S CHRISTMAS TWINS‡
*U.S. Marshals
**Baby Boom
***The Buckhorn Ranch
‡Operation: Family
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
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Excerpt
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.
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“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.”
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