“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
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, [email protected].
Love winning fun stuff?
Check out www.lauramariealtom.com.
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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
“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