The SEAL's Baby

by Laura Marie Altom

  How had it happened? Why? What had possessed her to press her lips to his? Or had it been the other way around and he’d kissed her? How was she supposed to remember when every nerve in her body still felt hyperaware of the moment they’d finally touched.

  “Want more potato salad?” Darryl asked. Or was it Terryl? Even under normal circumstances, she could never keep them straight.

  “That’s plenty, thanks.”

  “Want a brownie?”

  She shook her head. “You’re a doll to offer, but I’m not that hungry.”

  Hattie and Mason and their three adorable kids shared a table with Morris and the redheaded fisherman she’d met in the motel lobby her first night in town.

  “You should be starving,” Darryl rambled on. At least she assumed it was Darryl due to the Dodgers cap. “When my cousin was in your condition, she ate anything that wasn’t nailed down—that is, assuming it was salty or sweet. She hates vegetables. Dad brought a couple dozen doughnuts for the shop right before her baby was due, and I swear she ate darn near the whole box—cardboard included.”

  “That’s a lot of doughnuts,” Libby said with a half smile. Heath, where are you? Why do I get the feeling you’re avoiding me like Darryl’s cousin avoids broccoli?

  “Yeah, she did that with our Halloween candy, too.”

  When Darryl launched into a new story, she politely commented here and there, but couldn’t entirely focus. She needed to find Heath, talk over what had happened and reassure him nothing like that would ever happen again.

  Are you sure that’s what you want?

  The voice came from out of nowhere and rocked her to her core. Of course, that’s what she wanted. She was weeks away from becoming a single mother. The only thing she needed to focus on was her baby and earning enough money to fix her car. After that, she’d eventually need to reconcile with her parents. Nowhere in any of that did canoodling with a brooding widower have a place.

  Then why are your lips still tingling?

  Chapter Nine

  By the morning of the fifty-second annual Bent Road Craft Fair, Heath’s fists had healed from his stupid fight with a tree, and he’d turned avoiding Libby and his mom into an art form.

  He’d been up early each day, either fishing the Umpqua with Sam or working in the shed on her display shelves. Each night, he headed back to the cabin to share dinner with Mason, Hattie and their kids.

  As much as it hurt being around them, and seeing them reminded him of the double dates they’d all once shared when he’d been with Patricia, it hurt far less than dwelling on the guilt he felt about that kiss. But he also found himself more often than he’d like revisiting Libby’s sweet smell and taste.

  While ground-hugging fog still cloaked his mother’s backyard, he skipped the formal breakfast Morris had served in favor of loading Libby’s tent and shelving in the back of his truck. Then he took extra care to wrap her creations with bubble wrap before packing them in sturdy boxes.

  By the time everything was good to go, he hoped breakfast was long over and his mom and Libby would be getting ready for the fair.

  He couldn’t have been more wrong.

  Morris, his mom and Libby all still occupied the kitchen table and his mother was in the midst of one of her stories about him that made him look like a doofus.

  “—so there we were at the San Diego Zoo when Heath decided he wanted to hug the bears. I nearly died, I was so scared. Back then, the enclosures weren’t nearly as safe, and at four, Heath was a pistol. When he got it in his mind he wanted to do something, there was no stopping him. Well, he made it within five feet of the grizzly before a zookeeper could grab him, but the bear let out such a loud roar that Heath messed his pants!”

  While everyone shared a nice, long laugh at his expense, Heath cleared his throat. “I’ve got everything loaded, so I’m heading to the park.”

  “Do you know my site assignment?” Libby asked.

  “No, but it won’t be hard to find someone who does.” He grabbed a cinnamon roll and waved on his way out the door.

  “Heath, wait!” his mom called. “Actually, you need to hold back a little because Libby’s going to need a ride. You might as well go together so she can direct you on how to best set up all of her things. Oh—and I want you to take one of the back porch chairs and an ottoman, so she’ll get plenty of rest in between sales.”

  Libby interjected, “Gretta, that’s really not—”

  “I’ll grab the chair,” Heath said, “but I’m sure she’d be more comfortable riding with you than in my truck. Besides— What the—”

  Fred helped himself to the cinnamon roll Heath had held in his right hand.

  While his mom and uncle exchanged belly laughs as the hound slinked off to his smelly bed to devour his stolen treasure, Heath could’ve sworn he felt the heat from Libby’s stare, but he didn’t want to risk looking that direction. As far as he was concerned, the less contact they shared, the better.

  “Damn dog...” he mumbled.

  “Watch your mouth,” his mother reminded. “And you should know better than to leave food lying around.”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to argue that the roll had been in his hand, but he didn’t want to lower himself to petty arguing over semantics regarding a dog. If anything, the incident just made him all the more ready for Mason and Hattie and their brood to head back to Virginia Beach, so he could get back to the solitude of his cabin.

  “Okay, so back to our logistics issue,” Gretta said, “I’ve got a few quick cabin turnarounds I forgot about this morning, so I won’t be able to get to the fair until my guests are ready. Since Morris is needed at the diner, Heath, that leaves you to take Libby to set up her booth.”

  Swell.

  “Sorry to be such a bother,” Libby said.

  “It’s not a problem,” he said, even though being trapped next to her in the close confines of his truck very much was!

  *

  BY THE TIME Heath drove past the fire station, Libby had had just about all she could stand of his silent treatment. “It was just a kiss,” she said in her most matter-of-fact tone. “It’ll never happen again, so you don’t have to keep avoiding me.”

  “I’m not avoiding you. Why would I do that?”

  “Seriously?”

  When he managed a sideways stare, she stuck out her tongue at him.

  When he couldn’t help but laugh, she asked, “See? Was it so hard to share a civil moment?”

  “No, but for real, that kiss was a straight-up mistake. I’m not sure what happened—don’t wanna know. No offense, but for all practical purposes, I might as well still be married, and you’re carrying another guy’s baby. He could show up anytime and realize he made a mistake. You two could get married and live happily ever after.”

  Libby folded her arms.

  “What? It could happen.”

  “And this truck could grow wings and a beak. Trust me, Liam’s long gone. Besides, even if he could find me, why would he want me?”

  “You need to stop with the whole self-pity routine.” He pulled the truck to a four-way stop a block from the park where the arts and craft fair was being held. “The kiss was a mistake, but I meant what I said about you being talented and attractive. Hell, if circumstances were different, back in the day I’d have for sure made a play for you.”

  “Well, thanks, but while your flattery is appreciated, it isn’t necessary. I’m secure in the fact that I’m a talented artist, but the whole pending single-parent thing has me spooked. I know Gretta told you some of why I left Seattle, but once I get back, for the baby’s sake, I’m going to have to eat a buffet’s worth of crow to get back in my parents’ good graces.

  “As for my eight-thousand-pound outward appearance, I doubt I’ll win any pageants soon.”

  “Stop. That’s what I’m talking about. You may not realize it, but you’re beautiful—and I mean that in a strictly platonic way. You have this inner glow about you that’s extraordinary�
�really.”

  Her cheeks reddened from the intensity behind his stare. Had his eyes always been so green? His jawline so chiseled? He sported a couple days’ stubble which made him look even more manly and rugged.

  The driver in the minivan behind them honked.

  Heath drove on, but not without shocking her by grabbing her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I mean it. You’re special.”

  “Thanks.” She looked down, then back to him. Fragile morning sun tried breaking through the fog but ended up diffused and hazy, wreathing him in backlit perfection. At that moment she wished she was the kind of artist who captured scenes like this in watercolor or oils. That way she could keep him with her forever. Patricia might’ve died young, but she’d been lucky to have shared even a portion of her life with a man like Heath. Libby hoped she realized that while she was still alive. “I think you’re pretty special, too.”

  He shrugged off her comment but couldn’t hide the faint smile tugging at the corners of his highly kissable lips.

  *

  BY THE TIME Heath set up Libby’s tent and she’d unwrapped and placed all of her pieces, he had to admit the setup didn’t look half-bad. “We make a good team.”

  “Yes, we do. Thanks again for all your help. I can’t believe how you managed to salvage this wreck of a tent—and the shelves are perfect. Nice and wide and stable. And I love what you did with the paint.” He’d taken at least five different shades of yellow that the motel’s shutters had been painted with over the years and colored each row a corresponding shade. When viewed from afar, it looked festive, yet in a classy, organized way—especially with the green canvas tent. Because of what he’d gone through with Patricia, he’d never consider yellow a favorite color, but making Libby smile almost had him forgetting the memories the color dredged up.

  “It was my pleasure. Need anything before the crowd gets thick?” The fair, which would kick off the first day of the town’s Fourth of July festivities, didn’t officially open for thirty minutes, but there were already quite a few lookers passing by.

  “I hate to be a pain, but a lemonade from the snack wagon would be delicious. And if a funnel cake happened to fall on what’s left of my lap, that’d be okay, too.”

  He shook his head, but wore just enough of a grin that she knew he didn’t mind too much indulging her cravings.

  It’d been a month since her last show—a summer festival held north of San Francisco. At the time, she’d suspected Liam had been fooling around, and right before making a big sale, her suspicions had been confirmed when she’d slipped behind their tent for packing materials only to catch him making out with Rachel—a supposed friend who made fresh flower head wreaths. Though her creations were lovely with curled ribbons streaming down the back, Libby had found the woman’s actions abhorrent. Everyone in their circle knew Libby carried Liam’s child. How could Rachel be so cruel? As for Liam? His behavior was repulsive—especially so when he outright admitted to having been unfaithful more than once, then blamed it on her for gaining baby weight!

  Libby had felt not only stupid for being the last one to realize everyone had known what was going on, but embarrassed and hurt and disillusioned by having thought herself in love with a man capable of such despicable actions.

  It wasn’t fair.

  But then neither was the way her own father had treated her. Though he’d never been unfaithful to Libby’s mom, his actions in expecting both of the women in his life to always accommodate his needs were no less cruel.

  The fact that her most important relationships had ended disastrously didn’t give much hope for her romantic future.

  “Here you go, your highness.” She glanced up to find Heath presenting her snacks with a silly flourish that was so unlike him she laughed.

  “Thank you, kind sir. Would you like to share?”

  “As a matter of fact—yes. I still can’t believe Fred stole my cinnamon roll right out of my hand.” He sat alongside her in the second chair Gretta had insisted he cart along.

  “That dog eats like a pregnant woman.”

  “True.”

  They chewed in companionable silence, hands brushing while tearing off chunks of the sugary, fried cake. Every time they touched, Libby tried ignoring the achy awareness just being near Heath evoked. When he drank from her lemonade, she especially fought the memory of his lips pressed to hers.

  For an instant their gazes met and locked before he hastily looked away. Had he felt it, too? The attraction that had no business being there, but was growing ever harder to ignore?

  “Great day, huh?” After taking their trash to a nearby bin, he’d reclaimed his chair, stretching out his long legs, tilting his head back to catch the warmth of midmorning sun.

  “Beautiful. Couldn’t be more perfect. You wouldn’t believe how many of these things I attend that get rained out.”

  “Oh—I remember a couple of years when this show has been chilly. We for sure got lucky.”

  She liked that. The fact that he’d used we in regard to the day. It implied he had an investment in the outcome. Maybe not so much monetarily—although, she’d certainly offer to reimburse him for expenses he’d incurred—but emotionally. Even though he’d avoided her ever since that kiss, apparently he hadn’t been as detached from her as his actions had implied.

  When the crowd grew thick and Libby actually made a few sales, Heath was on hand to help her wrap and pack customer purchases. He was there again with a turkey sandwich for lunch and more lemonade before she’d even realized she was thirsty.

  As the sun rose higher, so did the temperature, and thankfully the tent Heath had refurbished kept Libby cool in the shade. That said, the longer she sat next to Heath, sharing casual conversation on topics ranging from her favorite foods to movies, the warmer her feelings for him became. Which didn’t even make sense because the longer they were together, the more she realized how adept he was at carefully steering talk away from himself. Was it his company she was enjoying, or the novelty of someone actually caring about what she said?

  She was on the verge of calling him out when Mason and Hattie arrived with their considerable brood in tow.

  “This is stunning!” Hattie gravitated toward one of Libby’s favorite vases. It was squat and chubby in shape, but the iridescent glaze lent it a whimsical flair. Hattie manned the twins’ stroller, while Mason held squirmy Charlie. “Look, hon, wouldn’t this be pretty on that little side table next to the entry hall bench?”

  Mason wrinkled his nose. “Huh?”

  “Ignore him,” Hattie said. “I’ll take it. And could you please pack it extra sturdy so it survives our trip home?”

  “Will do.” Heath handled the packing, while Libby handled the cash.

  “You two make a good team,” Hattie noted.

  Heath grunted. “I’m only here because I have nowhere else to go since you guys invaded my cabin.”

  Though she was sure he’d meant his lighthearted statement as a joke, Libby feared there was a grain of truth to Heath’s sentiment. Was he only here out of a sense of duty? To make sure she didn’t overdo it?

  If so, that not only hurt, but tainted the pleasure she’d found in the day.

  When Heath handed Hattie her sturdy package, the women exchanged hugs and the guys shook hands.

  Once again on their own, Libby was just about to voice her laundry list of concerns when a woman who’d looked over her wares at least four times finally stopped.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but my name’s Zoe.” She handed Libby her card. “I run a gallery in Coos Bay, and if you have time, I’d love to talk with you about carrying your work. It’s quite lovely. I’ve never seen glazing with such a luminescent quality. How long have you worked in the medium?”

  “About four years.” Was this a dream? Libby struggled to maintain her composure.

  “Well, I’ve been in the art world forever, and trust me, there are potters who’ve been at this decades who haven’t got anywhere near your skil
l. Please call me.”

  “Thank you. I will.”

  “Good. In the meantime, I have to have this for my own collection.” She’d selected a tall narrow vase made of three intertwining, vinelike structures meant to hold a trio of blooms. The primary glazing was yellow, but had a dreamy depth it’d taken Libby days to achieve.

  While Libby worked in perfect union with Heath to complete the gallery owner’s purchase and packaging, Zoe asked, “You two must be excited. When’s your baby due?”

  “Oh—” Libby reddened. “He’s not the father. Just a friend.”

  “I’m sorry. Please don’t—”

  “It’s okay,” Heath said. “Honest mistake.”

  “Well, still...” She accepted her package with a nervous twitter. “Please don’t let my awkward assumption prevent you from giving me a call.”

  “I won’t,” Libby assured.

  “How great is that?” Heath asked once Zoe was out of earshot.

  “Pretty stinkin’ great.” Head spinning—for once in a good way, as opposed to feeling faint—Libby sat down before she fell down from excitement. “I’ve never had validation like this—from anyone—let alone an industry professional.” Cupping her hands to her tummy, she turned introspective. “My dad told me art was a waste of time. Liam said pottery was a dying art—if I really wanted to make something of myself, try water color or quilting.”

  “But what did our Libby do?” Our Libby? Heath shocked her by reaching out, softly stroking her hair. His smile was equally as attractive as it was unreadable. Which only made her crave learning what made him tick all the more. “Exactly what you wanted, and look how it turned out. I’m happy for you. Mom and Uncle Morris—hell, damn near half the town will be, too.”

  “I couldn’t have had such a successful day without your help.”

  He waved off her compliment. “All I did was wield bubble wrap and packing tape. You’re the artist.”

  She still wanted to drill him on so many things, but now hardly seemed right. Not when for the first time in she couldn’t remember when, she actually had something to celebrate.