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.
“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.”
“Good times...” Heath said with a faint smile.
The burly town mechanic walked to the vehicle’s rear, then lifted the engine cover. “You happen to check the gas and battery?”
“Yep.” Hands in his pockets, Heath tried not to remember how frightened he’d been when Libby collapsed at his feet. He’d done his best to hide his fear from her, but inside, he’d been a wreck. Sam’s disappearing act already had Heath on edge. The reminder of how frail Patricia had been at the end finished the job of making a normally unflappable guy a nervous wreck.
“All right, old girl.” Hal crouched in front of the engine. “Let’s take a peek under your knickers....”
While his longtime friend tinkered at the rear of the car, Heath looked inside. A pottery wheel occupied the passenger seat and an assortment of suitcases and boxes had been crammed into the back. When Libby told him she was a potter, he’d honestly thought she’d been joking, but maybe not. Did that mean she’d also been telling the truth about spending two years in a tent?
Oddly enough, if he counted the total time he’d spent on missions, he’d probably slept under the stars more than her, but that was different. Given a choice between a bed and dirt, the bed would always win.
“Try starting it!” Hal called.
Heath gave the engine another try. “Nothing!”
A few curses later, Hal appeared, wiping his hands on his rag. “Thought there might be a quick fix—loose hose or something—but I’m guessing this is electrical. Let me run it into my shop and I’ll see what I can find.”
“Sounds good.” Heath would take Libby to town, where she’d be someone else’s problem—not that he’d minded helping, just that with her gone, he could focus on finding his dog. “Have any idea how long it’ll take?”
Hal shrugged. “Ten minutes. Ten days. If I need parts, depends on where they are and if the owner has the Ben Franklins to buy ’em.”
Heath released a long, slow exhale. “Yeah... What if the owner’s short on cash?”
“Is he from around here?”
“Nah. Belongs to a woman—she’s passing through. The reason I ask is she’s very pregnant, broke and must weigh less than a soaked kitten.”
Scratching
