The SEAL's Baby. Laura Marie Altom

suggest it just makes me loathe you that much more.”

      At the top of the bluff, with both of them breathing heavy, Heath might have found the energy to laugh at her crazy-ass statement if he hadn’t been carrying his injured dog. As if he cared if she loathed him.

      But then, when the trail widened, she passed him, and all those blond curls bounced with her every snappy step. For a woman in her condition, she sure could move. Though from behind, she didn’t even look pregnant. In fact, the way the morning sun shone through the flimsy fabric of her dress, not a whole lot of her was left to his imagination. His body’s involuntary—and swift—reaction to the sight of her soft curves soured his mood all the more.

      “I can’t believe he’s all right.” His mom charged down the trail to meet them. “I set bowls of food and water in the truck.”

      “Thanks.”

      She reached to pet Sam, but Heath didn’t want to slow his momentum.

      “Why’re you so prickly?” she asked when he sidestepped her. “Sam’s safe. You should be overjoyed.”

      “I am. But he’s not out of the woods yet.” Plus, I just had my first erection caused by a woman other than my wife....

      * * *

      “HE’S GOING TO be fine, you know?” While driving Heath’s truck, for a split second, Libby took her eyes from the deserted highway to glance toward him and his dog. Sam had long since finished off his water and now started in on his food. His eyes had already brightened, and she found herself liking him much better than his doggy dad. “It’s okay for you to relax.”

      “Could you please just focus on the road?”

      Gretta followed behind them in her SUV.

      Heath sat all stiff and straight and his handsome features were marred by the oddest expression. Was the big, strong guy trying not to cry? She’d been touched by seeing how much Sam meant to Heath. Was there a significance beyond any normal dog bond? Had he shared Sam with his wife?

      Though it was none of her business, Libby couldn’t help but ask, “Did you and your wife get Sam together?”

      For the longest time, Heath remained silent. The way a muscle ticked in his hardened jaw set her on edge. Had she picked at a wound still too tender for casual conversation?

      “I’m sorry.” She steered the truck around a small branch that had fallen onto the road. “Please, forget I even asked.”

      “Yeah...” When he finally did speak, his tone was raspy. He stroked one of Sam’s ears. “A friend told us his Lab-collie mix was having a litter, and we picked this guy out as a puppy. He had five littermates, but we could tell right away he was the one. He had spunk. He was always into everything. A little too curious for his own good—which I guess is how he landed in this predicament.”

      “Poor guy.” She patted the dog’s head.

      A glance at Heath had her thinking he might say something more, but much to her disappointment, he did not. Which made no sense—not so much the lack of conversation, but why his sudden silence bothered her.

      * * *

      THE RELIEF SHIMMERING through him after Sam’s positive health report left Heath a little punch-drunk. He’d dodged a bullet with that one. Everyone from his mom and uncle to his old SEAL gang kept telling him it was time to move on. He needed to get on with things. Get back to work. There was always lots of getting in their well-meaning speeches, but none of their words amounted to squat when it came to making him feel even a fraction better about having lost his wife.

      If he’d then lost her dog, too...

      Well, he was just damned lucky it hadn’t come to that.

      The fact that he ultimately had Libby to thank for spotting Sam didn’t escape him. As soon as the dog was doing better, maybe he’d take her to a formal thank-you lunch.

      While you’re feeling generous, think you owe her an apology for being such an ass on the beach?

      Heath folded his arms, focusing on his dog rather than his pansy conscience, which had apparently gone as soft as his out-of-shape body.

      “You’re one lucky fella,” said Cassidy Mitchell, the town veterinarian, while applying the last of Sam’s bandages. She’d given him pain meds and antibiotics, and at the moment, with his giant pink tongue lolling and tail lightly thumping the metal exam table, the dog looked about as happy as could be expected. To Heath, the vet said, “Since you live a ways out, I’ll send you home with supplies to clean and change these bandages. Once he starts feeling better, he’s gonna want to go straight back to his normally wild ways, but just to be safe, I’d keep him inside and resting as much as he’ll let you.”

      “Will do,” he said, scooping Sam into his arms.

      Gretta had left right after hearing Sam was okay. The commode in room ten had overflowed, and she’d had to meet the plumber. Heath would have called her, but he’d left his cell back at the cabin.

      “Think you can handle carrying Sam’s supplies?” the vet asked Libby.

      Libby nodded, taking the multiple packages Cassidy’s assistant had assembled.

      “Sure you’re okay?” the vet asked Libby. Heath had made brief introductions upon their arrival. “You’ve paled about ten shades since you first got here.”

      “I’m fine,” Libby said, but having witnessed her previous faint, and seeing her expression look similar now, Heath wasn’t so sure.

      “Just in case...” The vet’s teen assistant trailed them outside. “Let me take Sam’s bandages and meds, and then you just open the truck door.”

      “You’re both being silly.” Libby made the trade-off, then opened the door. “I’m abso-lute-lee...”

      Fine? Heath finished her sentence just as her legs buckled from beneath her.