And Babies Make Five / At Long Last, a Bride: And Babies Make Five
Judy Duarte
Susan Crosby
And Babies Make FiveSamantha wanted a family – and now she was pregnant with triplets! She wasn’t looking for a father for her babies. It had to be her hormones affecting her feelings for Hector Garza – the handsome man next door. Because surely he wouldn’t be interested in a mother-to-be…At Long Last, a Bride For years, Joe and Dixie had adored one another – and pushed each other away. Well, no more! Joe knew it was past time for his now ex-fiancée to stand on her own two feet. So why were all roads leading back to each other’s arms?
AND BABIES MAKE FIVE
JUDY DUARTE
AT LONG LAST, A BRIDE
SUSAN CROSBY
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Dear Reader,
I love creating romances for Silhouette Special Edition, and I love reading them, too. Who can resist a heart warming story with real-life characters a reader can relate to? But I especially enjoy taking part in a series like The Baby Chase.
There are times when writing can be a lonely profession, but working on a six-book continuity allows me the opportunity to be in close contact with the other authors, each one a dedicated professional who has become a friend over the years.
The editors come up with the series idea, the characters and the conflicts. Then it’s up to the authors to make those characters come alive, to develop stories that jump off the page and to make sure the subplots line up.
So as you settle into your easy chair and take another trip to Boston’s Armstrong Fertility Institute, you’ll meet Samantha Keating and Hector Garza. I hope you enjoy their romance as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Happy reading!
Judy
www.JudyDuarte.com
AND BABIES MAKE FIVE
JUDY DUARTE
About the Author
JUDY DUARTE always knew there was a book inside her, but since English was her least favourite subject in school, she never considered herself a writer. An avid reader who enjoys a happy ending, Judy couldn’t shake the dream of creating a book of her own.
Her dream became a reality in March of 2002, when her first book was released. Since then, she has published more than twenty novels.
Her stories have touched the hearts of readers around the world. And in July of 2005, Judy won the prestigious Readers’ Choice Award.
Judy makes her home near the beach in Southern California. When she’s not cooped up in her writing cave, she’s spending time with her somewhat enormous but delightfully close family.
To the other authors in The Baby Chase series:
Marie Ferrarella, Nancy Robards Thompson,
Susan Crosby, Lois Faye Dyer and Allison Leigh.
Thanks for making this book so much fun to write.
Chapter One
Samantha Keating was on top of the world. Just forty-five minutes earlier, she’d been at her obstetrician’s office, on edge and waiting to hear that everything was just as it should be, even though her ever-enlarging baby bump was proof that it was.
She’d been lying on the exam table, her belly exposed and slathered in gel, as Dr. Chance Demetrios ran the ultrasound scanner over her womb.
“Congratulations,” he’d said with a grin. “The babies look good, Mom. And we’ve got at least one boy.”
“But are the others doing okay?” she’d asked. “They aren’t too small for you to tell?”
Dr. Demetrios had chuckled. “They’re the right size, and they’ve got their fingers and toes, but the other two aren’t in a position where I can see the telltale signs.”
“It really doesn’t matter,” she’d said. “I’ll love them no matter what.”
And now, with the good news still ringing in her ears and in her heart, she couldn’t be happier.
Four months ago, at the world-renowned Armstrong Fertility Institute, a leading biotech firm that specialized in areas of infertility and genetic testing, she’d had her procedure done. Dr. Demetrios had transplanted three embryos into her womb, hoping that one would take. It had been so clinical, so unpredictable.
“Now all we have to do is wait,” Dr. Demetrios had said afterward.
But Samantha had been too eager to sit around at her mother’s house and twiddle her thumbs. So before the clinic could run the official lab work, she’d taken a home pregnancy test and had been thrilled to see the results were positive.
Then, at her first follow-up appointment at the clinic, she’d learned that she was expecting triplets, which was awesome. But it was worrisome, too. There were so many things that could go wrong.
Thank goodness she’d made it through that difficult first trimester. With each month that passed, as the babies grew and developed, she felt more content, more hopeful. And now that she was well into her second trimester and knew that all three babies were healthy and thriving, she could finally relax and enjoy her pregnancy.
And she could finally move back into the house she’d once shared with Peter, the house she’d left after his death. The house that had been a mansion compared to the home in which she’d grown up.
Of course, things would never be the same—and she didn’t expect them to be. Her life was about to change dramatically—again—but this time in a wonderful way.
She didn’t harbor any unrealistic expectations, though. It would be difficult raising three children alone. She’d realized that going in, and she fully accepted the challenge. This was a choice she’d made five years ago, a decision she would never regret.
A lot of the women who went to the Armstrong Fertility Institute were unable to conceive, but Samantha’s circumstances had been different. She hadn’t been infertile. Instead, she’d needed medical help to conceive her late husband’s babies.
In those dreadful days after Peter had been fatally injured in a tragic car accident, she’d sat at his bedside, grief-stricken and heartbroken, watching a myriad of bleeping machines keep him alive and realizing her hopes and dreams for a family were dying with him.
He’d already made the decision to be a donor, so while plans were being made to harvest his organs for transplant, she’d made a spur-of-the-moment decision to extract his sperm—a secret no one knew, not even her in-laws.
Samantha glanced in the rearview mirror at her smiling reflection, saw the maternal glimmer dancing in her eyes, the healthy glow of pregnancy on her face.
Of course, she realized that there still could be complications up ahead, that the pregnancy was considered high risk, that the babies would probably come early. But Dr. Demetrios didn’t foresee any problems at this point, so Samantha refused to dwell on what could go wrong.
Instead, she would focus on eating well, getting her rest and making sure she had plenty of fresh air and sunshine.
Of course, she wouldn’t be getting any sunshine today. She glanced at the sky, with its storm clouds growing darker with each city block she passed.
As she neared Primrose Lane, she spotted a moving van turning ahead of her and realized that her furniture would arrive on the tree-lined street just as she did.
She wasn’t sure where she’d put the new things, since she’d taken very little with her when she left after the funeral and had gone to stay with her mom. She planned to do a bit of redecorating over the next few months and would probably get rid of more than she kept.
There was a lot to do; she’d locked up the house after Peter’s funeral and hadn’t been back since. She’d managed to orchestrate all the ongoing maintenance work and landscaping from a distance. And just last week, she’d hired a cleaning crew to get things ready for her return.
All the dishes that had been gathering dust over the years had been washed and put back into the cupboards and on the shelves. Still, she knew there would be a lot of work to do on a home that hadn’t been lived in for so long.
At first, she’d stayed away because it had been too painful to be there without Peter. And because she’d never really felt as though she belonged in Beacon Hill, anyway. While she’d been gone, she’d considered selling the house and getting on with her life, but she just hadn’t been able to.
Now she was glad she’d held on to it. With three children on the way, she couldn’t very well expect to raise them in her mom’s small, two-bedroom brownstone in Cambridge, no matter how comfortable she’d been there.
No, Peter’s children needed to grow up in the house he’d loved, where she would prepare a nursery filled with three of everything.
It would cost a small fortune, but his trust fund had left her without any financial worries. She’d be able to raise the children and provide them with all the little extras without having to get a job and leaving them in the care of a nanny.
A couple of raindrops splattered on the windshield, and again she glanced up at the darkening sky. Although she’d wanted to get indoors and settled before the rain hit, she’d taken time to stop by the market after she left the clinic. She’d decided to pick up a few necessities, saving the bulk of her shopping until after the storm.
Still, the dreary late-spring weather didn’t bother her in the least. She planned to make the best of it by putting on a pot of soup and by getting some baking done.
As she drove down the quiet, tree-lined street, excitement buzzed from her head to her toes. She scanned the old homes in the historic Boston neighborhood. Near the cul-de-sac, next to her own brick, two-story house, she spotted a familiar figure standing in his front yard—her neighbor, Hector Garza.
At well over six feet tall and whipcord thin, the handsome, dark-haired corporate-law attorney was an imposing sight. He always had been.
She remembered the day he’d moved into the neighborhood. She’d come outside to cut a couple of blossoms from her rose garden and spotted her handsome new neighbor watering his lawn. She’d stopped dead in her tracks and nearly dropped the shears, but she’d regrouped and reminded herself that she was married and had no business giving another man a second look.
The ploy had worked, of course. She never would have done anything to hurt or disappoint Peter. Nor would she have done anything that would have been disrespectful. But that didn’t mean that she hadn’t cast an occasional glance Hector’s way whenever she’d been sure that no one was looking.
And now, as he noticed the arrival of the moving van, he turned toward her car, and she quickly averted her gaze to avoid making eye contact.
Some old habits were hard to break, she supposed.
So as the moving van slowed in front of her house, and she waited for it to park, she took note of Hector’s yard. The well-manicured lawn and the impressive brick structure in which he lived certainly looked nicer than she’d remembered. Hector, who’d bought his once–run-down house in a distress sale, had clearly put a lot of work into the place.
He’d been newly divorced when he moved into the neighborhood, and she wondered if he’d remarried, if a woman had helped him turn the house and yard into a showpiece.
Probably. Those tall, handsome and successful types usually were involved with someone. But it really didn’t matter to her if he’d remarried or not. She didn’t have any plans to get too friendly with her neighbors, particularly that one.
Shortly before Peter died, he’d had some kind of argument or disagreement with Hector. Samantha hadn’t known the details; Peter had only said that Hector was a jerk and that they should avoid him.
Avoiding the neighbors hadn’t been a problem for Samantha. She’d thought that a couple of them had a tendency to be stuffy, which was one reason she didn’t expect to get too chummy with them now. But a couple of days after Peter’s run-in with Hector, Samantha had been carrying several bags of groceries to the house, when one of the paper sacks slipped out of her hand. A bottle of expensive red wine had broken, and her produce had spilled all down the drive.
Hector had been watering his lawn. When he saw what happened, he came over and helped her clean up the mess. His thoughtfulness and kindness had surprised her. Apparently, whatever problem he had with Peter hadn’t carried over to her.
She’d always been appreciative when people showed her a kindness, so she’d given Hector a plate of brownies as thanks. She hadn’t told Peter about it, though. He probably wouldn’t have understood what she’d done or why.
But the truth was, she’d realized that he might have considered her attempts to avoid contact with him as arrogance or conceit, which wasn’t the case. And for some reason, she hadn’t wanted him to think badly of her.
So now, when Hector spotted her arriving in the car and their gazes finally locked, both recognition and surprise dawned on his face, somehow making him appear even more handsome, more imposing than before. And an unexpected tingle shimmied down her spine.
He lifted his hand in a wave, acknowledging her, and she automatically smiled and wiggled her fingers back. An innocent, neighborly acknowledgement, that’s all it was. After all, she wasn’t like some of the others who lived on this street and bordered on being snobbish.
Just then, the little tingle of awareness she’d felt when their gazes met somehow became a wave of warmth, one that settled where she hadn’t felt anything in a long time.
Had to be hormones, she decided.
A quick glance in the rearview mirror proved her cheeks to be bright red, and she immediately broke eye contact, eager to separate herself from Hector and her runaway musing. Then she clicked on the garage-door opener and parked inside.
Using the remote, she shut herself safely away from the curious eyes of her handsome neighbor.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Hector Garza muttered when he spotted a stunning blonde behind the wheel of a white, late-model Jag. It didn’t take long for him to realize it was Samantha Keating.
Over the years, he’d thought about her a lot, probably because he’d felt sorry for her. She was too young to be widowed. Yet even before she’d lost Peter, she’d had a smile most people might call wistful. Hector had thought it was more than that, something he considered hauntingly pensive.
Either way, she’d always intrigued him, and he wasn’t exactly sure why, especially since he considered married women off-limits—under any circumstances. Still, it hadn’t prevented him from simply wondering about her, both then and now.
On the outside, Samantha and her husband had seemed happy, but Hector, who’d gone through a painful and unexpected divorce, had always figured a lot of marriages weren’t all that happy behind closed doors. Or maybe he just liked to think that Peter Keating, who’d been born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth, hadn’t actually had the world by a string. But that was probably because the two of them had butted heads shortly after Hector moved into the neighborhood.
One morning, while he was taking the trash cans out to the curb for the garbage collectors to pick up, he’d met Peter doing the same thing. Hector couldn’t help noting that the Keatings’ waste had been neatly packed in color-coded recycling bins.
The men had introduced themselves, and when Hector asked what he did for a living, Peter mentioned that he was retired. Then he’d chuckled and added, “My grandfather worked hard, so I don’t have to.”
Hector, who’d pulled himself up by his bootstraps, hadn’t found the comment the least bit funny.
From then on, he’d nodded politely at Peter whenever they passed on the street or spotted each other in the yard, but that was about it. Besides, Hector didn’t have time to socialize, especially with a man who didn’t value hard work.
Then, a few weeks later, Hector was retained in a high-profile case involving a big corporation and a group of environmental activists. The tree huggers had been making false accusations and stirring up trouble for the businessmen. And, it turned out their financial backing came from Peter Keating.
The next time the men met at the curb, Hector couldn’t help saying something to Peter about his over-zealous environmental stand.
Okay, to be honest, Hector was concerned about the environment, too. He did whatever he could, but he didn’t obsess about it. Besides, he had great respect for the corporate officers who’d worked their butts off to become successful.
Peter had bristled, tossing out a barb of his own about greedy corporations and the barely passed-the-bar shysters who catered to them. From then on, Hector had taken his trash out the night before, just to make sure he avoided Peter.
He didn’t have anything against Samantha—other than deciding that she had poor judgment when it came to men. For the record, he’d always found the tall, statuesque blonde attractive. And he remembered the day she’d dropped her groceries in the drive, breaking a bottle of cabernet sauvignon and ripping open a bag of oranges that rolled all the way to the street. He’d never been what you’d call gallant, but without hesitation he’d headed next door and helped her clean up the glass and pick up the stray oranges. And then he’d helped her carry the rest of her groceries into the house.
She’d had a nice lilt to her voice and a pretty smile.
And in appreciation, she’d sent him home with a plate of homemade brownies—the best he’d ever tasted.
If she hadn’t been married, he might have asked her out right then and there. But she was married. And to a guy he didn’t like, although he had to give Peter Keating credit for having damn good taste when it came to women.
So, needless to say, when Samantha glanced at him from the driver’s seat of the Jag, smiled and gave him a fluttery little wave, it had set his heart strumming and his curiosity reeling.
Had she stopped to say hello or been the least bit warmer or friendlier, he might have crossed the lawn to her house, welcomed her back to the neighborhood and worked up to asking a few questions—for example, “How have you been? Are you seeing anyone?”
But she’d used the remote to open the garage and parked inside, shutting herself off from the world around her.
Too bad, he thought.
He couldn’t help wondering if she was still as pretty and shapely as he remembered.
Looked like he’d have to wait to find out.
Two hours later, Hector drove through the pouring rain on his way back home, his windshield wipers swishing at high speed.
He’d had a meeting with a client who’d been hospitalized with a serious heart condition, a meeting he’d tried to postpone to no avail. The stress of discussing an upcoming multimillion-dollar litigation couldn’t possibly be good for him, but the CEO had insisted, much to the dismay of his wife and doctors.
And much to Hector’s dismay, too. He’d heard the weather report and hadn’t wanted to be outdoors when the storm hit. But here he was—on the road and finally headed home.
The wind had really kicked up while he’d been inside the hospital, littering the city streets with leaves, twigs and other green debris.
According to the forecast, the storm was going to be a bad one, and several inches of rain were expected. So he would have preferred to stay inside today, to watch the Golf Channel on TV and to kick back where it was dry and warm. But thanks to Bradley Langston, he’d had no such luck. And the guy wanted another meeting on Monday morning.
As a crack of lightning flashed in the east, followed by a boom and shudder of thunder, a branch from a maple tree crashed to the sidewalk, a large portion of it jutting onto the asphalt.
Hector swerved around it and swore under his breath, frustrated about being forced to go out in the storm and having to cater to the whims of a client with the proverbial type A personality, a CEO who was also a control freak.
Hector could understand Langston’s concern about false allegations of sexual harassment, but most people would have put off business concerns until after their discharge from the hospital. Langston hadn’t been the least bit worried about adding to his stress levels. So Hector had obliged him, reiterating what he’d already told the CEO over the phone, that both he and the entire law firm were on top of the litigation, that neither Langston nor the other members of the board of directors had anything to worry about.
Of course, Hector wasn’t entirely sure that things would be that cut-and-dried. The case might not get thrown out of court, as he’d implied to Langston and the other executives who’d gathered at the hospital upon the CEO’s request. Hector figured it was more likely that they’d end up settling, unless Langston hadn’t been completely forthcoming about the details and something unexpected came out during the deposition stage.
But right now, Hector was more concerned about getting off the city streets before they became any more hazardous than they already were.
When he turned onto Primrose Lane, it appeared as though the entire neighborhood was battened down and waiting out the late-spring storm.
The moving van was gone, too.
Earlier today, when Hector had set out for his meeting with Langston, he’d been surprised to see it lumber down Primrose Lane and park in front of the Keating house. After all, Samantha had packed her bags and disappeared the day after her husband’s funeral, leaving the property vacant for ages.
Hector could understand why a grieving widow might want to escape the memories of all she’d lost. In fact, if Samantha had sold or leased out the place, he wouldn’t have given it any thought at all. But as far as he knew, she’d never actually moved out completely.
Every Thursday evening, after Hector got home from the office, he could see that the gardeners had come by and manicured the lawn and yard. And during the summer, the automatic sprinklers kicked on regularly around 4:00 a.m.
He was glad she hadn’t let the place run down, but keeping up an empty house for the past five years seemed like an awful waste of money to him. But then again, he’d never truly understood people who had such an abundance of disposable income.
Peter Keating had been a trust-fund baby, so apparently there hadn’t been any financial reason for his wife to put the place up for sale.
Still, Hector had been surprised to see her back.
He didn’t see any lights on inside the house now.
Was she even home?
He made a quick scan of the other homes on the street, noting that all the windows were dark.
Had the power gone out in the neighborhood? He wouldn’t be surprised if it had. With as much lightning and thunder as they’d had near the hospital, it was definitely possible that a transformer had been hit.
As Hector pulled into his driveway, he pressed the button on the remote to open the garage, only to find it not working. Okay, so the power had gone out.
He left the car outside and entered the house through the front door, leaving his wet umbrella and shoes in the entry. Then he proceeded to the kitchen and out to the service porch, where he’d built shelves along the walls to hold emergency supplies. He wasn’t what you’d call a survivalist, but he did keep plenty of certain things on hand: a first-aid kit, bottled water, canned goods, candles and matches, flashlights and batteries.
He had enough food to last a couple of weeks, something his immigrant parents had encouraged him and his siblings to do.
Jorge and Carmen Garza had not only instilled a strong work ethic in their three children and a desire to succeed, they’d also stressed the importance of being prepared for the unexpected.
As Hector reached for a box of candles, he wondered how Samantha was faring with no electricity. If she was anything like Patrice, his ex-wife, she wouldn’t be prepared for anything, not even a broken nail. It would be dark before long, and if the storm or the power outage had caught her off guard, she’d be in a real fix.
Oh, what the heck, he thought as he snatched a few things off the shelves to take to her. After putting the supplies into an empty cardboard box, he returned to the entry, slipped on his loafers, grabbed the umbrella and headed outdoors to brave the weather.
Along the way, the wind played havoc with his hair and the flaps of his jacket, but he pressed on, fighting the driving rain and doing his best to avoid the puddles.
As a rule, he wasn’t what you’d call a neighborly type and probably wouldn’t have gone to this effort for anyone else on the street, unless it had been old Mrs. Reynolds, the eighty-year-old widow who lived three doors down. But her grandson had moved in with her a few weeks ago, so he figured she was okay.
“Dammit,” Hector muttered as he stepped into a puddle that reached up to the hem of his slacks. He sure hoped Samantha appreciated his efforts to ensure that she wasn’t stuck in the dark tonight.
He turned onto the walkway that led to her stoop, and when he reached the entrance to her house, he knocked loudly, then rang the bell.
Before long, the front door swung open a few inches, and when their gazes met, Samantha’s blue eyes grew wide and her lips parted.
“I thought you might need some candles. I saw the moving van earlier, but I figured you hadn’t had time to unpack everything yet.”
Her smile, in and of itself, lit up the entry. For an instant, it was almost as though the storm had passed them by. “Thank you for thinking of me. To be honest, I don’t have any candles or a flashlight, and I was wondering what I would do if the electricity didn’t come back on soon.”
They stood there for a moment, him holding the box and her holding back the door. Then she seemed to realize that, in his kindness, he was still getting wet as the wind blew sheets of rain onto the stoop.
“What am I thinking?” she asked. “Would you like to come in where it’s dry? Maybe have some hot cocoa? I managed to light the gas stove and just made it.”
Why not? he thought. Besides, his curiosity was killing him. More than ever he wanted to know what had brought her back after all these years. “Sure. I never turn down chocolate.”
As Samantha stepped aside and away from the door, he couldn’t help noticing that she was wearing an oversize shirt, which didn’t hide a pronounced baby bump.
She was pregnant? Well, that certainly answered one of the questions he’d had. She must have remarried. If not, then she was definitely involved with someone.
He suddenly wished he’d declined her offer to come inside but found himself following her through the house to the kitchen, where the warm scent of sugar and spice filled the air, as well as the aroma of what had to be her dinner cooking.
So where was the baby’s father on this stormy afternoon? Why wasn’t he here with her so she didn’t have to rely on her neighbor for help?
Hector probably should have handed over the matches and candles right then and there, but he’d always had a sweet tooth. And his curiosity wouldn’t let up.
“I was surprised to see you today,” he said. “I’d thought that you would eventually sell the house.”
“I’d always planned to return home, but time got away from me.” She nodded toward the kitchen table. “Why don’t you have a seat?”
He took a large candle out of the box, lit it and placed it in the middle of the table. Then he sat down. He watched as she opened the cupboard, reached to the second shelf and pulled out a couple of lime-green mugs.
His gaze lingered on her face, then lowered, taking in the curve of her silhouette. Somehow her being pregnant made her even more beautiful. He’d heard other men describe a similar attraction in casual conversation, but he was genuinely surprised to experience the feeling himself.
He wondered how far along she was. She was about the same size as his sister, who was expecting her first baby in August. So he guessed Samantha to be at least six months pregnant.
His curiosity was probably going to be the death of him someday, but he couldn’t help wondering about her situation, about where she’d been, why she’d finally returned.
Why the hell did he find her so intriguing—even more so now that she was back on Primrose Lane?
He filtered his questions down to one—as a starter—and tried to coax the information out of her indirectly. “It’s nice to have you back in the neighborhood. I’d come to think that you were gone for good.”
“After Peter’s funeral, I went to stay with my mom in Cambridge for a few months. It gave me some time to heal, but the months turned into a year. And before I could move back to Boston, my mom was diagnosed with terminal cancer.”
“I’m sorry.”
Her lips tightened into a firm line, as though holding back emotion, and she nodded. “Thanks. Me, too.”
“So you stayed to take care of her?”
“Yes. I wanted to be there for her. We’d been through a lot together, and we were especially close.” She poured the cocoa from a pan on the stove into the cups and gave him one. “After she died, I decided I needed a little R and R and took an extended trip to Europe.”
She’d obviously been through a rough five years, and he couldn’t blame her for wanting to escape. To take a break from responsibility, maybe. But he kept that assumption to himself.
“Anyway,” she said, “I’m home now and looking forward to the future.”
He glanced at her distended belly and smiled. “I can see that you are.” That damned curiosity, laced with a wee bit of disappointment, pressed him to ask, “So where did you meet your new husband? In Cambridge or in Europe?”
“Neither,” she said.
He opened his mouth to quiz her further, then thought better of it and lifted the mug to his lips instead. As he took a drink of the sweet, creamy cocoa, he was glad he’d taken her up on having a cup. Still, he couldn’t help wondering whom she’d hooked up with.
Or why it seemed to matter.
“I didn’t remarry,” she offered. “Did you?”
He shook his head to indicate he hadn’t, since he’d suddenly found himself at a loss for words.
There were plenty of women who didn’t feel the need to sign a piece of paper to make a relationship legal, although he wouldn’t have thought Samantha would be one of them. But she must have her reasons.
Life was complicated sometimes, and he realized it really wasn’t any of his business.
Yet he couldn’t help asking, “So, are you living with someone?” Then, for good measure, he threw out a little chuckle and added, “I’d hate to have anyone find us together and be uneasy about it.”
“You don’t need to worry about that.” She took a seat across from him. “I’m not involved with anyone.”
Okay. But there’d definitely been a man in her life about six months ago. Obviously the relationship hadn’t lasted, and he wondered why. She didn’t seem to be the one-night-stand type. But then, what did he really know about Samantha Keating?
As she slid her index finger into the handle of the mug on the table in front of her, the cup spun forward, slipped from her hand and spilled, making a chocolaty mess all over the table.
“Oops.” She blushed and clicked her tongue. “How clumsy was that?”
She pushed back her chair and went to the sink for a dishcloth. As she moved across the floor, he couldn’t help but watch her.
From behind, she didn’t appear to be pregnant at all, but she definitely had a basketball-size bulge in front.
“I guess you could say that I’m going to join the ranks of single mothers.” She turned on the spigot, wet the cloth, then wrung it out. “And I’m looking forward to being a mom.”
Then her pregnancy hadn’t been an accident.
“The baby was planned?” he asked before he could filter the question.
She stopped her movements near the sink, then shut off the water, slowly turned around and faced him, the damp cloth dangling in her hand. She appeared to be a little perplexed. Or maybe annoyed. And he couldn’t blame her if she was.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to pry.” Okay, so that wasn’t true. He’d felt compelled to fish for information, but he couldn’t explain why. So he concocted an excuse for it instead. “My sister is due in August, so I’ve found myself intrigued by pregnant women.”
She placed her free hand on top of her belly and smiled, once again illuminating the room. “I had in vitro fertilization done at the Armstrong Fertility Institute. So, yes, the pregnancy was planned.”
Now it was Hector’s turn to feel clumsy and off stride. She’d gone the sperm-donor route?
What a waste, he thought. She wouldn’t even have a romantic evening to remember it all by. And that was a real shame.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing.” He took another sip of cocoa, trying to sort through the news she’d dropped on him, trying to get a grip on his curiosity that hadn’t lessened in the least.
Samantha Keating was back in town. She was also unattached and pregnant. He ought to guzzle down the rest of the hot cocoa—which was really delicious—then thank her for her hospitality and hightail it out of here. But for some crazy reason, he seemed to be all the more fascinated by her.
And he’d be damned if he knew why.
Chapter Two
Samantha cleaned up the mess on the table, then carried the dirty dishcloth back to the sink to rinse it off. She wasn’t exactly sure why she’d not only welcomed Hector inside the house, but offered him hot cocoa.
She supposed it was because she’d appreciated his thoughtfulness. Yet in all honesty, she’d also been a little unnerved by the blackout, by the isolation of being home alone on such a dreary afternoon.
As she’d wandered through the silent, memory-laden rooms of the big old house, she’d felt unsettled, on edge. The knock at the door had surprised her, but she’d been glad to see a friendly face. Chatting with Hector had been a nice diversion, so she didn’t mind his visit. But she wasn’t about to fill him in on all the details of her situation, no matter how nice he’d been, no matter how many questions he asked.
His curiosity about her pregnancy had seemed a bit out of the ordinary, even though he’d explained his interest, and it made sense.
She wondered how his sister was faring, if she’d had any morning sickness, if she had plans to take any childbirth classes, if she had someone to coach her through labor and delivery.
Samantha had been nauseous the first few months, but she was feeling a lot better now. And while she’d like to take the classes, she didn’t see any point in it. A natural delivery was just too risky. Dr. Demetrios was going to schedule her for a C-section.
As the storm continued to pound the windowpanes, Hector reached into the box he’d placed on the table and pulled out a handful of small candles. “It’s getting pretty dark in here. What do you think about lighting a few more of these?”
“Good idea.” Samantha went to the cupboard and reached for several saucers on which they could place the votives. Then she carried them back to the table.
Moments later, there were candles flickering throughout the downstairs rooms.
“Would you like me to build a fire in the hearth?” Hector asked. “That would give you more light, and it will keep you warm, too. I’ve got some wood that I keep stacked in a storage shed in my yard.”
“It’s a gas fireplace,” she said, “so you don’t need to go back out in the rain. But if you don’t mind lighting it for me, I’d appreciate it. Peter used to take care of things like that.”
As her neighbor pushed back his chair, she watched his body unfold and rise. He was a big man, and the kitchen, which had always been roomy, seemed to shrink with him in it.
He moved like a man who was sure of himself, and she wondered what it would be like to face off with him in the courtroom. Intimidating, she suspected. Yet she didn’t feel the least bit uneasy about him now and couldn’t help studying him while he wasn’t looking.
Some might think he needed a haircut, but she didn’t. Those dark curls, still damp from the rain, made him appear rugged and rebellious.
She stared after him longer than she should have, until something sizzled on the stove. The soup, she realized, as she hurried to turn down the burner, to check the tenderness of the vegetables and to clean up the mess.
When Hector returned from the family room, he cast her a heart-shifting, blood-strumming smile. “The fire’s lit.”
She never had been able to ignore a courtesy, and a thank-you didn’t seem to be quite enough. The poor man was still pretty damp from bringing over the box of candles.
“I made chicken-noodle soup for dinner. There’s more than enough for two. I can also make grilled-cheese sandwiches, if you’d like to eat with me.”
She expected him to turn her down, but instead he brightened. “Actually, I worked through lunch today, so if you’re sure you have enough, that would be great.”
“Good. I’ll have everything ready in a few minutes.”
“Do you want me to set the table?” he asked.
“All right.” She handed him two sheets of paper towels to use as napkins, and silverware, then pointed out where he could find the glasses. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t had a chance to do any real grocery shopping yet, so my beverage selection is limited.”
“No problem.”
They settled on water for him and milk for her.
The rain continued to splatter hard against the windowpanes as the storm battered Boston, yet inside Samantha’s house, the candles flickered on the tables, casting a romantic glow in the room.
“You know,” Hector said, “Over the years I kept expecting to see a for sale or lease sign in front of your house.”
“I would have had a hard time selling or letting someone else move in. Peter really liked this house.”
“You didn’t?”
“Oh, yes. It’s just that …” She wouldn’t go into all the details about why she’d never quite felt comfortable here, about how she was determined to get over all of that now and make this her home.
“It’s just what?”
“Well, the house was so big and empty after Peter died, and I was never comfortable staying here by myself.”
“Are you feeling better about living alone now?”
“Yes, I am.” The extended trip to Europe had been good for her in a lot of ways—some much needed respite, fresh surroundings, a boost in her self-confidence.
“If you ever get scared or uneasy, give me a call. I’m pretty good at chasing off bogeymen.”
She smiled. “Thanks for the offer. But I’ve got a security system, so I’ll be okay.”
“I’m sure you will be.” He smiled, revealing boyish dimples. “Again, welcome back.”
“Thanks. It’s good to be home.” She placed a hand on her bulging tummy, something that was fast becoming a habit.
“By the way, I have to give you credit for going after what you want. Deciding to have a baby on your own was a big step to make.”
He didn’t know the half of it. “I’d wanted children for a long time, even before Peter died. So the Armstrong Fertility Institute made it happen for me.”
She realized that he might assume she’d had issues with infertility while she’d been married to Peter, and while she hadn’t meant to give him that idea, maybe it was best if he thought so. She couldn’t very well go into all the intimate details of her babies’ conception with a man her husband hadn’t particularly liked. Besides, the first to hear her good news ought to be Peter’s parents.
“Do you know anything about the father?” Hector asked.
“Yes, actually I do.” A lot more than Hector might guess, but there wasn’t any reason to give him more of an answer than that.
She slid a sideways glance his way, saw him staring at his nearly empty bowl with his brow furrowed. She assumed that he was struggling with her decision to raise a child without the benefit of a man in the house. He might have admitted admiration, but she suspected there was a part of him that didn’t approve.
Yet she felt drawn to him tonight, to his presence, his kindness, his … friendship?
Funny how the first neighbor she’d reconnected with after moving home would be the one who’d had an issue with Peter.
After a moment of silence stretched longer than expected, he seemed to let the subject of her pregnancy drop by saying, “This soup is delicious. I’m surprised you’re able to cook after just moving in.”
“I’m pretty good at whipping up a meal out of limited supplies.” It had been a trick she’d learned while growing up poor and making dinner out of whatever slim pickings she could find—Spam, fruit cocktail, stale saltines. Besides, she enjoyed puttering around in the kitchen, which had suited her far more than being a socialite had.
“Do you like to cook?” he asked.
“I do now.”
“You didn’t before?”
“When Peter and I were first married, I was pretty insecure in the kitchen. But then I took a few classes and learned to cook some great dishes. Now I love trying new recipes and creating meals.”
“I’m impressed that you went to the effort, and that it worked so well for you.”
“Thanks, but it really wasn’t a big deal.” She’d just wanted to please Peter, to be a good wife and make him happy he’d married her.
Yet when she stole another glance at Hector, she could see the interest in his eyes, the questions that remained.
Or maybe he was just being polite and a good listener.
Rather than risk any more personal disclosures, she laughed them off. “You’d be surprised at what I can do.”
Hector was surprised already, and not just because the soup was tasty and hit the spot.
He was amazed that he was inside the Keating house, that he and Samantha were eating dinner together and having this conversation. And even though she’d answered each of his questions so far, there was a lot more he wanted know, like: What other talents did she have? And why had she stayed away so long before coming back now?
Sure, she’d told him that her mother had been terminally ill, that she’d nursed her until she’d died. And she’d mentioned an “extended trip” to Europe. But five years was a long time, especially when she had to pay property taxes and upkeep on an empty house in an upscale neighborhood.
He figured she must have really loved Peter a lot and assumed that it had been too tough for her to stay here after he’d died.
Then again, maybe it was just that she’d finally quit grieving and had decided to start living. The pregnancy certainly suggested that she’d put the past behind her.
He continued to eat in silence, to relish the taste of his soup—a rich chicken broth, tender meat, noodles and fresh vegetables. As far as meals went, this was only simple fare—but just the kind of thing his mother whipped up on a rainy day. And it sure hit the spot.
The wind, which had been blowing steadily for the past hour or so, seemed to die down some. The rain was still coming down, though, but it wasn’t beating against the windows like it had done earlier.
The lights flickered a time or two, then kicked back on.
“Hey, how about that?” she said. “We’ve got electricity again.”
“Just like magic,” he joked.
She smiled, an alluring glimmer in her eyes that suggested the magic wasn’t limited to the wiring in the house. Or was he reading too much into her expression because he wanted to see some kind of spark there?
Damn. She was a beautiful woman, and the fact that he found her so attractive was a little unsettling. He tried to shake it all off, yet even when he stole a peek at her profile, at the growing baby bump, he couldn’t think of a better description of what he felt. Samantha Keating was a stunning beauty and as sexy as hell—pregnant or not.
And now that the lights had come on and extinguished the romantic aura, he needed to clear his head of crazy thoughts. It was probably best if he thanked her for dinner and left.
“Well, I guess I’d better take advantage of the lull in the storm and head home.” He got to his feet and picked up their empty bowls, stacking them, along with their spoons. Then he snatched their glasses and carried them to the sink. “Are you going to be okay? Do you need anything?”
“Thanks for asking. I’ve got your candles and matches in case the lights go out again, so I’ll be fine.”
Yeah, but she probably wasn’t all that comfortable staying alone. She’d said so herself.
But that wasn’t his problem, he reminded himself. He’d brought her candles, provided a little company.
He’d already gone above and beyond the call of neighborly duty.
Their mess was cleaned up in no time at all, and he made his way to the front door.
“Thanks again,” she said.
“No problem.” He tossed her a safe, neighborly smile and stepped outside. Once on the porch, he opened his umbrella, then headed home. As he neared his front yard, he couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder for one last look at the Keating house.
Samantha stood at the living-room window, watching him go.
The moment her eyes caught his, his pulse kicked up a notch. But he didn’t look away. And for a long, heart-tingling moment, neither did she. Had she felt something, too? The attraction, the … chemistry?
Before he could come to any kind of conclusion, she slowly turned away and closed the blinds.
The momentary connection in their gaze had left him unbalanced, and so had his reaction to it.
He’d never been attracted to pregnant women before. Why would he be? Yet for some crazy reason, he seemed to be attracted to this one.
Or maybe it wasn’t attraction at all. Maybe he was just drawn to her because she was so vulnerable right now. And not just because of her obvious physical limitations. He’d sensed an emotional vulnerability in her, too.
With her mother gone, there was no one to look after her—certainly not the father of the baby, who’d probably sold his sperm to a clinic, pocketed the cash and never looked back.
For a guy who’d learned to put emotions aside, especially in the courtroom, he sure seemed to be wallowing in sympathy for his neighbor. And maybe that was a good thing, a sign that he wasn’t as unfeeling as some women might think.
His ex-wife hadn’t been the only one to point out his emotional distance, his tendency to be cold and remote. Roxanne, the woman he’d been dating up until last month, had made a similar comment right before they’d broken up.
“You’re insensitive to anyone’s needs but your own,” she’d said.
At the time, Hector had wondered if she might have been right. Maybe his job had hardened him. But he’d come to the conclusion that there’d been another reason he hadn’t been too concerned with Roxanne’s needs. He had to admit there hadn’t been much chemistry between them, no real connection. So it hadn’t taken much to make their relationship fall apart, and after an argument—he couldn’t even remember what it had been about—it had been time to let go and to move on.
So now, in one sense, he was relieved to know that his sensitive side had kicked in with Samantha. At least that meant he wasn’t as cold and unfeeling as Roxanne or Patrice had claimed he was.
He started to look over his shoulder one more time, then caught himself. What in the hell was he doing? That blasted curiosity was going to be his downfall one of these days, especially when it came to Samantha. You’d think he was actually interested in going out with her or something.
Shaking off the mislabeled attraction, he picked up his pace and hurried home.
After the blackout, Samantha did her best to forget about Hector’s kindness, although she couldn’t quite get over the fact that he’d caught her gawking at him on his way home.
Her breath had caught when their eyes met, and her blood had zipped through her veins—and not just because she’d felt a momentary rush of attraction or sudden embarrassment, but because it had seemed as if he’d felt something, too.
Had he?
As she’d turned away from the fogging glass, she wondered if he’d struggled with the same urge she’d had, if he’d felt compelled to take one last look at her, too.
Then she’d scolded herself for having such a wild and crazy thought. How could a man like that be attracted to a pregnant woman?
He’d probably just felt her eyes on his back and looked over his shoulder. Or maybe he’d heard a sound, a branch falling or something.
Either way, she had no business thinking about any man in that way, let alone a handsome and successful attorney who would be considered an eligible bachelor by any woman with a pair of eyes and good sense.
Her only focus in the world right now should be in creating a home for the triplets. So with that in mind, she’d shut herself in for the night.
She’d read for a while, then went to bed, where she slept fairly well, considering she was alone in a house that seemed to have more than its fair share of creaks and groans. Placing an extra pillow over her head had helped some.
In the morning, she’d had fruit, yogurt and granola for breakfast, then spent the bulk of her day going though closets and boxing up Peter’s clothes and belongings, as well as the other things she no longer needed or wanted. She’d stacked the boxes along the far wall of the garage before she’d filled them. She would have to make arrangements for the Salvation Army or another charity organization to pick them up next week.
But even though she’d been careful not to lift anything heavy, her efforts had caused a slight muscle twinge in her lower back.
It was nearly four when she slipped off to The Green Grocer to stock up on all the things she would need to run a household. And when she returned, her car was loaded down with groceries, paper goods and cleaning supplies.
As she slid out from behind the steering wheel, she decided that her back felt better, but it still nagged at her. So she again massaged the pesky muscle. Then she circled the car, opened the trunk and surveyed her many purchases, which had been packed lightly into bright yellow reusable canvas shopping totes with The Green Grocer logo.
Before she could reach inside for the first bag, Hector drove up and parked in his driveway. She waved, and he headed her way.
He was wearing gym shorts and a Harvard Law School T-shirt, which appeared to be damp from a workout. She couldn’t help noting that he was toned and buff. His hair was mussed in an appealing way, and she found it difficult not to stare at him. But she’d already been caught gawking at him once, so she wasn’t about to let him see her doing it again.
“Here,” he said as he approached. “Let me carry those for you.”
She really ought to shoo him off, to tell him she could take in the groceries by herself, yet it was nice that he’d offered to help, and since her back was only feeling marginally better, she decided to take him up on it. “Thanks, Hector. I’d appreciate that.”
“No problem.” He made easy work of the chore, taking several totes at a time, and before she knew it, he’d brought them all into the kitchen and placed them on the table, as well as the countertop.
“You sure have a lot of those reusable shopping bags,” he said.
She’d had to purchase more than she’d probably ever use again, just to restock her pantry and cupboards. “I’ve got a few I can spare, if you would like to have them.”
“I guess it’s better than using the plastic sacks they provide at the store. So, yes, I could probably use one or two.”
“Don’t you recycle?”
“I would, but I don’t do a lot of shopping. I eat most of my meals out.”
Did that translate into: I date a lot? Or did that mean he was so caught up with work at the office and meetings he had to attend that he didn’t have the time or the inclination to prepare meals at home?
Either way, she supposed it wasn’t any of her business.
As she reached into one of the two bags that contained her frozen food, Hector did, too, and their hands grazed each other. She jerked back, more from the sizzle of his touch than the surprise of it.
“Whoops,” he said, tossing her a smile. “It looks like we were both thinking the same thing.”
That the frozen food needed to be put away before it thawed?
Or that that they were fated to catch each other’s eye repeatedly, and drawn to touch?
Hector took several packages of vegetables to the freezer and put them away.
Samantha peeked into yet another tote bag, pulled out a loaf of wheat bread and placed it in the pantry.
After Peter died and she’d gone to stay with her mom, she’d paid someone to go into the kitchen, to empty the cupboards and donate the canned food and the dry goods to a local soup kitchen. So the shelves had been bare for years. But just last week, when the cleaning crew had been here, she’d asked them to wash all the dishes and wipe down the entire kitchen prior to her arrival.
She found herself actually looking forward to filling the shelves. Maybe a growing urge to nest was a side effect of her pregnancy. It made sense.
While closing the pantry door, she stopped to rub the small of her back, which was still a little tender. She suspected her pregnancy and her growing girth made her think about every little ache or pain more than she otherwise might.
Still, in hindsight, she probably should have asked the cleaning crew to pack up Peter’s belongings and haul them all out to the garage, too. But she hadn’t liked the idea of a stranger digging in her closets and drawers and sorting through all of the personal items.
Yet even though the house and furniture were familiar, she felt a little … uneasy about being back on Primrose Lane. So much had changed.
“What’s the matter?” Hector asked.
She offered him an unaffected smile as she removed her hand from her back. “Nothing.”
“Did you hurt yourself?” he asked.
“Not really. I was just shuffling a few boxes earlier and might have strained a muscle. It’s actually feeling better now.”
His expression grew concerned. “You shouldn’t have moved things around in your condition.”
No, she probably shouldn’t have. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“Sit down,” he told her. “I’ll put away the rest of this stuff.”
For some reason, she didn’t object. Instead, she took a seat at the table and watched him put the groceries and cleaning supplies where they belonged, instructing him whenever he asked—and sometimes even when he didn’t. She hated to admit it, but she’d always been a little fussy about her kitchen.
He pulled out a small container of cinnamon, as well as the nutmeg and sea salt, and headed for the pantry.
“No, not in there,” she said. “I put the herbs and spices in the cupboard to the right of the stove. I like having them handy when I cook.”
His movements slowed as he turned to face her, and his head tilted to the side. “You’re not planning to cook tonight, are you?”
“I was. But I’ll probably just fix a bowl of cereal—something light and easy.” She really didn’t need anyone to tell her she might have overdone things earlier today.
“I’ve got an idea.” His eyes, a pretty golden brown shade, brightened, and he tossed her a crooked smile. “I’ll take you out tonight. There’s a new bistro down on the corner of Fourth and Highland that I’ve been meaning to try. And I hate eating alone.”
So he did have a lot of dates. She meant to tell him no thanks, which was the wisest thing to do. Yet she was giving his invitation a lot more thought than she should have. Although that was probably because she couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually gone out, been waited on and pampered since her return from Europe.
“Come on,” he said. “You’d like something tastier than cereal tonight, wouldn’t you?”
Actually, she would. But did she really want to have dinner with him again? At a restaurant?
She should have made an excuse, told him that she preferred having a bowl of the Raisin Bran she’d just bought, but for some strange reason—loneliness, boredom or something else altogether?—she agreed. “When do you want to go?”
“I just got back from the gym, so I’ll need a shower. But it won’t take me long. Fifteen minutes, maybe. Unless you need longer than that.”
“Give me twenty, okay?”
“You’ve got it.” He tossed her a boyish grin, and her heart tumbled in her chest.
Uh-oh. She needed to get a grip. He was just being friendly and extending a neighborly gesture.
Or was he?
The next thing she knew, she was heading for the closet to find an outfit to wear. Then she would jump in the shower and put on fresh makeup. She probably ought to shampoo her hair, but she’d said twenty minutes, and she hated to make him wait on her.
Besides, going out with Hector was no big deal, she told herself on the way upstairs. It was just two neighbors trying a new restaurant in town.
Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that this seemed to be a whole lot more than that.
For some crazy reason, it felt way too much like a date.
Chapter Three
Hector couldn’t believe he’d asked his pregnant neighbor out to dinner, but at the time he’d made the offer, it had seemed like a natural thing to do.
His sister, Yolanda, had told him about The Old World Bistro, saying that she and her husband had really enjoyed it and recommending it highly. So he’d planned to check it out, anyway. It didn’t seem to be the kind of place he’d want to dine alone, so he’d asked Samantha to come along.
Now, after showering, splashing on a dab of aftershave and slipping on a pair of black slacks, a white button-down shirt and a sports jacket, he was heading over to Samantha’s house to pick her up.
The storm had finally passed by, leaving the lawns and grounds wet, but as he walked next door, he savored the earthy, after-the-rain scent that clung to the plants and shrubs.
When he reached her stoop, he rang the bell and waited for her to answer. She was an attractive woman, so he’d expected that she would look nice when she swung open the door. But he hadn’t been prepared to come face-to-face with a beautiful, statuesque blonde who could put Katherine Heigl, his favorite Grey’s Anatomy actress, to shame.
She’d pulled her hair up into a twist, revealing pearl studs in her ears. And she’d applied a light coat of mascara that emphasized the biggest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Expressive eyes that boasted a warmth he rarely saw in people these days.
The adolescent in him wanted to utter “Wow …” but the man in him bit his tongue.
Had a woman ever appealed to him more?
He couldn’t help scanning the length of her, completely forgetting she was pregnant until he noticed how her classic black dress fit snugly over her baby bump. Yet he still found her as sexy as hell.
But he’d be damned if he’d ogle her any more than he probably already had.
“You’re ready,” he said, making light of it all.
Her lips, which bore a pretty shade of pink lipstick, parted, and she glanced at her bangle watch. “You said twenty minutes …?”
Yes, he had. But he’d never known a woman who could pull off getting dressed within the time allotted, especially when it appeared as though she’d been fussing in front of the bathroom mirror for hours.
“You look great,” he said.
“Thanks.” Her face lit up, as if she hadn’t been complimented in ages and had taken it to heart. Then she reached for her purse, which had been sitting by the door on an entryway table, locked up the house and walked with him to his car.
The soles of their shoes—his Italian leather loafers and her sling-back heels—clicked upon the sidewalk and echoed in the evening air, which was clean and fragrant after the rain.
Her shoulder brushed his upper arm, setting off a rush of hormones in his blood, and he had the strangest compulsion to take her hand in his. He didn’t, though, and the fact that he’d wanted to made him realize he might have made a big mistake by asking her out to dinner.
But there was no way to backpedal now, so he shook it off, determined to enjoy a casual, carefree evening with his neighbor—even if he wasn’t feeling the least bit neighborly.
Once inside his car, he stole a glance at her, saw her profile as she glanced out the passenger window.
Damn, she looked good sitting across the console from him.
Nevertheless, he turned on the ignition, started the car and backed out of the driveway.
Ten minutes later, they arrived at the bistro. He parked at the curb, just two shops down from the entrance, and escorted her to the front door.
A hostess in her mid-thirties stood at a podium and welcomed them.
“Reservations for Garza,” he told the woman.
“Yes, sir. Right this way.” She reached for two faux-leather-covered menus and led them to a linen-draped, café-style table in back, where a violinist played softly. Votive candles and a single red rose in a bud vase added to a romantic ambience Hector hadn’t expected.
He pulled out Samantha’s chair, and before taking a seat, she scanned the white plastered walls, the dark wood trim and the various pieces of art that had been tastefully placed throughout the restaurant.
“What a nice place,” she said. “I don’t remember seeing it before.”
“It opened up about six months ago.” He sat across from her. “I was told the service was excellent and the food even better than that. So I’ve been meaning to try it.”
“Who told you about it?”
“My sister and her husband found it one day while they were shopping, and they’ve been raving about it for weeks.”
“Your sister?” she asked. “The pregnant one?”
He nodded. “Her name is Yolanda, and she’s my only sister.” He chuckled. “She’s three years younger than I am, but you’d never know it. She’s been mothering me for as long as I can remember.”
Samantha smiled and leaned into the table, clearly engaged in the conversation. “Do you have any brothers?”
“One. His name is Diego.”
“So your parents had three children?”
“Yes.”
Her smile broadened, and her blue eyes glimmered in the candlelight. “That’s a nice family size.”
He shrugged. “I guess it is.” He’d never thought about his family in terms of the number of siblings he had.
Was she thinking about having another child down the road, maybe giving her baby a brother or sister?
He couldn’t blame her for wanting to create a family, but you’d think that she’d consider adding a husband for herself, and a father for the baby. Yet that didn’t seem to be part of her game plan, and he wondered why.
Had she loved Peter too much to consider replacing him in her life?
That was hard to imagine. But then again, maybe that was because Hector hadn’t really liked the guy. Either way, it wasn’t any of his business.
Silence settled over them until the maitre d’ arrived. “Can I start you out with a bottle of wine?” he asked.
“Not for me,” Samantha said. “I’ll stick with water.”
Hector ordered a glass of merlot from his favorite California winery.
“Good choice, sir.” The maitre d’ motioned for one of the other waiters to bring water for the table, then left.
When they were alone, Samantha leaned forward again and said, “I’m curious about your sister.”
“What about her?”
“How’s she feeling? When is she due? Has she taken any childbirth classes?” She gave a little half shrug. “Just that sort of thing.”
“Oh,” he said. “I get it. Being pregnant means the two of you have a lot in common. And now that I think about it, I’ve noticed that expectant mothers tend to gravitate toward each other at every opportunity.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I’ve been with Yolanda at a couple of social events recently, and she’s drawn to any other pregnant woman within fifty feet of her.”
Samantha chuckled. “I’d probably do that, too. I’m going through so many physical and emotional changes right now. It would sure be nice to have someone to share it all with.”
But not a husband?
Why had she gone the sperm-donor route to get pregnant? A woman as beautiful as Samantha shouldn’t have had any trouble finding a man willing to donate his sperm—especially the old-fashioned way.
Hector certainly would have been tempted.
“You know,” he said, resting his forearm on the table, “this really isn’t any of my business, but I’m surprised that you went to the Armstrong Fertility Institute.”
“Why would that surprise you? They’re one of the most reputable and successful fertility clinics around.”
Fertility? He hadn’t realized that she might not have been able to get pregnant without the help of doctors.
“So it wasn’t a matter of not finding a suitable man to father your baby?”
“No.” She lifted her glass of water and took a sip. “Actually, I haven’t dated anyone since Peter died.”
That struck him as odd, and he couldn’t help saying so. “I would have thought that a woman as attractive as you would have eventually found another man and gotten married.”
“Thank you.” She lowered her glass and her gaze at the same time, and he wondered if his compliment had somehow surprised or embarrassed her. When she glanced up, she said, “Actually, I never gave dating much thought.”
“Why not?”
Hector’s latest question caught Samantha off guard, and she pondered her answer.
For one thing, she’d been grieving Peter’s loss that first year. Then she’d been so caught up in her mother’s illness, in her suffering, in the failed attempts to beat the cancer, that thoughts of romance had been the last thing on her mind.
Looking back, she had to admit that she’d never even considered replacing Peter in her life. At least, not right away.
But then again, she hadn’t been looking for a husband when she’d first met him, either.
Her experience with marriage had been a dysfunctional relationship between her mother and stepdad, so she hadn’t seen a relationship as a catch-all/end-all. But Peter began to court her, which had slowly worn down her reluctance and proven to her that some relationships could be healthy and happy.
“There aren’t many men like Peter,” she finally answered. He’d had a kind heart and a gentle touch. He’d also saved her from a life of poverty and shown her that not all men were physically and mentally abusive.
“You must have really loved him,” Hector said.
“Yes, I did.” Peter had been a wonderful human being, a good husband, and she would never forget all he’d done for her. Still, she supposed, if she met the right guy, she might be able to love someone again. But with the babies coming … Well, there wouldn’t be any men in her life for a very long time. She couldn’t imagine anyone willing to take on an instant family of triplets.
“Lucky guy,” Hector said.
Touched by Hector’s comment, yet doubting it, Samantha smiled. “I was the lucky one.”
As she glanced across the table and caught Hector eyeing her with an expression she couldn’t read, something stirred deep within her, something she couldn’t quite understand. Something that made her question what she’d actually felt for Peter, which was silly. She’d loved him, of course. How could she not?
“So you’re not interested in dating anyone?”
She placed a hand on the upper ledge of her pregnant belly. “Come on, Hector. Who’d be interested in me now? Before you know it, I’ll be bigger than a house. Besides, I have a lot more on my mind than romance.”
“Like what?”
“For one thing, I have a nursery to decorate.” And since she’d need three of everything, it was going to take all of her organizational skills to get the kids’ room ready for their homecoming.
A grin tugged at her lips as she thought about how much fun she was going to have getting ready for her babies.
The wine steward brought Hector’s merlot, stayed long enough to ask if they needed anything else, then left them alone again.
“You’re obviously happy to be pregnant,” Hector said. “And that’s great. I’m happy for you.”
“You have no idea how thrilled I am to be expecting. Unlike you, I was an only child. My dad took off when
I was a preschooler, and for the first half of my life, it was just my mom and me. So I’m really looking forward to having a family of my own.”
The pregnancy was also her way of thanking Peter, of saying goodbye to him without ever forgetting him. Of course, she’d never forget how he’d rescued her, how he’d offered her a life of luxury that she’d never even imagined, how he’d loved her in a way no one else ever had.
Having the babies would also mark a new beginning for her, but Hector didn’t need to know all of that.
Besides, what would he say if he learned that the father of her babies was her late husband, a man he hadn’t liked? A man who’d been dead for five years?
No one, especially Hector, would be able to understand her decision. She wasn’t entirely sure she understood the complexities herself.
“Hey,” a cheerful female voice called out. “What a surprise. Look who’s here, honey.”
Samantha turned to the woman, a petite Latina who appeared to be about six months’ pregnant. The man with her was tall, lanky, and fair-haired. He, too, seemed bright-eyed and cheerful as they approached the table where Hector and Samantha sat.
“You said you really liked this restaurant, but I didn’t expect to run into you here tonight.” Hector rose to his feet and extended a hand to greet the man. “We were just talking about you.”
The woman offered Samantha a friendly smile. “We’ve been telling Hector all about this place, so I’m glad he took our advice. I’m Yolanda, his sister. And this is my husband, Chad.”
Samantha had already made that assumption, noting a family resemblance between the siblings, even if there was a definite difference in size. “It’s nice to meet you, Yolanda. I was hoping we would. I just hadn’t expected to meet you here tonight.”
“Really?” Yolanda turned to Hector and smiled in a you’ve-been-holding-out-on-me way.
Obviously, she thought the two of them were an item, so Samantha decided to explain. “Hector said you were expecting, too. I thought it might be fun to compare notes sometime.”
Yolanda, who hadn’t yet noticed Samantha’s pregnancy, since it was hidden behind the table, zeroed in on her baby bump now. As she did so, her eyes widened, and her lips parted, clearly unable to hold back her surprise. “Oh, my goodness. So you are.” She glanced at Hector, then to Samantha and back at Hector again.
It was, Samantha supposed, an easy conclusion to jump to: that Hector and Samantha were dating; that he was the expectant father. But she thought it was best if he clarified things. In fact, he’d probably be fielding a lot of questions from his sister when she got him alone, which seemed fair. After all, he’d been quizzing Samantha all evening.
Yet he seemed oblivious to his sister’s assumptions and did nothing to set her at ease.
“How about lunch someday?” Yolanda asked. “I’m free on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
Samantha hadn’t expected such a quick response, but her calendar was clear. “Sure.”
“If you give me your number, I’ll call later in the week, and we can choose a day that works for both of us.”
Samantha reached into her purse, pulled out a pen and the little notepad she carried, and scratched out her cell number. Then she tore out the small sheet and handed it to Hector’s sister.
She wasn’t sure if the two of them would actually get together. People often said things like that upon meeting, but then dropped the ball for one reason or another. Either way, whether they met for lunch or not, she’d be okay with it.
It’s not as though she was desperate to find friends, although in a sense she needed to connect with someone. For the longest time, her life had revolved around Peter and his family, then her mom. So she’d lost a lot when her husband died and even more when her mother passed away.
Besides, with the babies coming, it wasn’t a good time to be alone.
There was a support group for expectant mothers at the clinic that she’d considered joining. It was just that she felt a little uneasy in a crowd, especially when meeting people for the first time. And for that reason, a one-on-one lunch with Yolanda was far more appealing.
“Would you two like to join us?” Hector asked. “We can ask the waiter to give us a bigger table.”
Yolanda brightened, but before she could speak, Chad responded. “Thanks for asking, Hector, but I planned a romantic dinner tonight.”
“Oh, honey, that’s so sweet.” Yolanda turned to her husband and smiled. “But it might be fun to—”
Chad put his arm around his wife’s shoulders and drew her close. “I didn’t tell you yet, but the company’s got me scheduled to work a lot of overtime for the next month or two. So this might be our last chance for a special evening. And with the baby coming …?”
Yolanda nodded, then placed a hand on her brother’s shoulder. “In that case, we’re going to have to pass on joining you tonight. Maybe, when Chad has more free time, we can make it a double date.”
Samantha waited for Hector to correct his sister about the date comment, but he didn’t.
Instead, Yolanda added, “So what do you think of the Old World Bistro? Isn’t it great?”
“I like the setting and décor.” Hector lifted his wine glass, tilting it just a tad. “The merlot is good, too, but the jury’s still out on the food. We’ll let you know after we eat.”
“Just wait until you try the spinach salad,” Yolanda said. “You’re going to love it.”
Chad gave Yolanda an affectionate squeeze. “We don’t want to keep the hostess waiting, so we’ll let you two get back to your menus.” Then he ushered her back to the table they’d been given.
But as they walked away, Yolanda glanced over her shoulder, taking one last look at Samantha, her curiosity evident.
Samantha waited until Chad and Yolanda were clearly out of hearing range, then said, “Your sister thinks that I’m your date tonight.”
A grin curled the corners of his mouth, setting off a pair of impish dimples and a glimmer in those pretty brown eyes. “I know.”
Samantha placed a hand on her rounded belly. “And she thinks that you’ve been hiding a big secret.”
Hector chuckled. “It’s going to drive her crazy until she learns the details.”
“You kept her in the dark on purpose?”
“Yolanda’s a great sister, but I can’t help giving her a hard time every once in a while.”
Samantha didn’t have a sister—or a brother, for that matter. So she didn’t understand the dynamics at play in the Garza family.
Would her three children grow up to care about what was happening in each others’ lives? To tease each other in a goodhearted way? She hoped so. It all seemed so normal, so loving.
She glanced across the restaurant at Yolanda and Chad’s table and caught Hector’s sister looking at her again. Then Samantha offered Hector a smile. “Whatever you’re up to seems to be working. Her wheels are definitely turning.”
“If you think she’s wondering now, watch this.” Hector reached across the table and took Samantha’s hand in his.
The surprise of his touch, the heat of it, nearly knocked the wind right out of her. As his thumb caressed her skin, her heart soared.
She could have pulled her hand away, she supposed. In fact, she really should have. But she was so taken aback by the bold move, so caught up in it, that she sought his gaze instead. And while she’d expected to see those impish dimples, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes that reflected the whimsical game he was playing with his sister, something entirely different passed between them, something blood-stirring.
Something real? she wondered.
Too real to ponder, she decided. The handsome bachelor sitting across from her was playing a game, all right, but on her senses. And so was the romantic ambience—the candles, the red roses on the table.
She clicked her tongue and drew back her hand, trying her best to regroup. “You need to stop teasing her, Hector. Or you’ll really have some explaining to do. In fact, your phone will probably be ringing off the hook before you can unlock your front door.”
He smiled again, but the playful glimmer in his eyes had completely disappeared, and a shadow of something altogether different had taken its place.
Something serious, something heart-stirring. Something a woman in Samantha’s delicate condition had no business toying around with.
Then whatever had simmered in his eyes and had sizzled in the air around them faded as quickly as it had settled over her, leaving her to wonder if she’d imagined it all.
What had started out as an opportunity to tease Yolanda earlier this evening had morphed into something else the moment Hector had touched Samantha’s hand and looked into her eyes, and his playful plan had quickly fallen by the wayside.
He tried to blame it on the evening, on the romantic setting, but he feared there was more going on than that, which caused him to withdraw.
They finished their dinner without another touch, another heated gaze, but he’d been on edge for the rest of their time together.
After paying the bill, he orchestrated a brief stop at his sister’s table to thank her for the restaurant suggestion and to say goodbye. Then he and Samantha headed back to Primrose Lane. As they drove, he turned on the radio and found his favorite station. He thought a little music would eliminate the need to make conversation. And, for the most part, it worked, until Joe Cocker began singing “You Are So Beautiful.”
He parked in his driveway, still a bit off-balance and eager to end the evening and set his world to rights.
As he walked her home, the moon and stars were especially bright, and the scent of night-blooming jasmine laced the air. Apparently, in spite of his best intentions, a romantic mood was going to dog him all evening long.
“Thanks for dinner,” she said. “It was nice getting out, and the food was great.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“Your sister was right. The Old World Bistro is wonderful.”
“Yes, it is.” And far more romantic than Hector had expected.
For a moment, he had the strongest compulsion to touch her, to cup her cheek, to press a good-night kiss upon her lips.
But that would be utterly foolish.
And so would lollygagging at her front door until he lost his resolve to keep things neighborly—and completely platonic.
“I’ll see you around,” he said, making a decision to steer clear of her for a while.
She nodded. “Take care.”
As he returned to his car so he could park it in the garage, he realized that Samantha had made a quick escape easy for him.
Apparently, she hadn’t read anything into that momentary rush when he’d touched her hand—thank goodness for that. Whatever crazy romantic notions that might have crossed his mind had been put to rest.
He heard her door close behind him, and it took all he had not to turn, to look over his shoulder.
But he didn’t want to give her any ideas. And he didn’t want things to become any more awkward between them. They were, after all, neighbors and bound to run into each other more often than not.
He pulled the car into the garage, then let himself into the house. He’d no more than opened the door, stepped into the living room and reached for the light switch when his phone rang. He took his time answering, assuming it was his sister on the line. Yolanda had been trying to hook him up with someone—anyone—for the past six months.
When he answered, Yolanda skipped the formalities of a greeting and launched right into the reason for the call. “Okay, Hector. What gives? Who is Samantha? Where did you meet her? And better yet, who’s the father of her baby?”
“Hang on a minute. I just walked in.” If he hadn’t actually struggled with some real-life attraction tonight, he would have considered her inquisition amusing. But as it was, he didn’t find anything remotely funny about it now.
He slipped the house keys into his pocket, took a seat in the easy chair and kicked off his shoes. “I was expecting your call.”
“Don’t give me a hard time. You can’t blame me for wondering. I’ve been trying to talk you into settling down forever. But maybe I shouldn’t have bothered. It looks like you might have already found someone.”
“Slow down, sis. Samantha is my neighbor. And since she’s a single mom, I thought she deserved a night out. We’re just friends.”
“She’s not pregnant with your baby?”
“Nope. ‘Fraid not.”
He could hear the disappointment in her sigh, and he decided to set her straight. “If the woman I got involved with was expecting my baby, my family would definitely know about it.”
“I guess you’re right. But you can be so secretive at times.”
“Relax. Samantha’s a nice woman. But no, we’re not involved.”
“I’m actually sorry to hear that.”
“I’m sure you are.”
Recently, Hector’s parents had joined his sister in pressuring him to remarry, to start a family and to enjoy the fruits of his labor. According to his brother, Diego, they were proud of him and his Horatio Alger success, but they were worried about him and his nonexistent social life.
He’d tried to explain to them that a woman and kids didn’t fit into his life, which was why his first marriage didn’t last.
“Samantha is a beautiful woman,” Yolanda said. “Aren’t you the least bit interested in her?”
A bit too much, he realized. “Come on, sis. She’s pregnant.”
“I guess that means you’re not attracted to expectant mothers, and I can see why you wouldn’t be. I was looking in the mirror one morning and realized I was as getting to be as wide as I am tall. I started to cry—I do a lot of that these days—but Chad was such a sweetheart. He told me he loved me and said that I was more appealing to him now than ever before. He seemed sincere, so I sure hope he meant it.”
“He did mean it,” Hector said. “I can’t imagine how exciting it must be for him to know that a baby was created out of your love for each other. And looking at you, seeing that the baby is growing and getting ready for birth, has to be a real thrill for him.”
“Thanks, Hector. I needed to hear that.” She paused for a moment, as if taking it all in. “So I guess that means Samantha’s pregnancy is a turnoff to you since it’s not your baby.”
It certainly should have been, but for some reason, it wasn’t, and he had no idea why. But since he didn’t understand it himself, he certainly couldn’t explain it to someone else. So he decided to change the subject. “Hey, I’ve got a question for you.”
“What’s that?”
“Even though Samantha and I aren’t dating, do you still plan to give her a call?”
“I told her I would. And she seems like a nice person. Do you have a problem with us having lunch together?”
“No, not at all. I think it would be nice if you did. Her mother died recently, so she’s pretty much alone.”
“What about the baby’s father?” she asked.
“He’s out of the picture—completely.”
“And so you’re looking out for her?”
“I guess you could say that.”
“Hmm. Now, that’s really interesting, Hector.”
He blew out a sigh. “Stop trying to read things into this.”
“Okay, I won’t. But don’t you wish you had someone in your life again? Someone to come home to?”
“Not if she’s like Patrice.”
“You see similarities between Samantha and your ex-wife?”
Actually? Not a single one. But if he gave his sister any idea that he was interested in Samantha—well, he wasn’t; he couldn’t be. So he couldn’t let Yolanda jump on an idea like that, or he’d never hear the end of it. And neither would Samantha, if the two women did end up having lunch together.
“So you’re glad to be footloose and single?” his sister asked.
“Of course.” He scanned his living room, which was cluttered with this morning’s newspaper, a copy of Golf Digest, an empty beer bottle he’d forgotten to take to the kitchen a couple of days ago, a golf scorecard he was rather proud of.
If Patrice were here, she’d be bitching about how messy he was. Not that he didn’t like a clean house; he wasn’t a slob. If he spilled something, he mopped it up. And he never let the trash pile up until things smelled rotten.
He just didn’t always pick up after himself. But he had a maid come in once a week, and she did the things he didn’t have the time or the inclination to do.
And she never complained.
“You don’t miss having a wife?” Yolanda asked.
“Why would I? I take my dirty clothes to the laundry, and my shirts come back starched the way I like them. I eat at my favorite restaurants, and for the most part, my house is clean. It’s easier that way.”
“But you’re also missing out on love and companionship.”
“I’m happy,” he told his sister. “You’ve never heard me complain.”
But he had to admit, at least to himself, that it wasn’t all that fun coming home to a dark, empty house.
Or sleeping alone in a king-size bed.
Odd, he thought. Before Samantha moved back home, he hadn’t given either much thought.
Chapter Four
The next morning, as Hector walked out to get the morning newspaper, he noticed quite a few of the neighbors had taken their recycling bins and their rubbish to the curb, which was a reminder that it was trash day.
Samantha hadn’t yet taken out hers, either. And the truck always came early.
Maybe she’d overslept. Or maybe she’d completely forgotten it was Thursday.
Hector hated to think of her struggling with the bins and cans, especially in her condition. So even though he’d made up his mind to put a little distance between them from now on, he would offer to take her garbage out to the street for her.
He carried the newspaper with him, strode to her stoop and rang the bell. When the door swung open, he braced himself to see her wearing a robe, her hair tousled from sleep. But she was dressed for the day in a pair of black slacks and a light green blouse. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, which made her look a bit younger than she had last night. A bit more vulnerable—and sad.
“Did you forget what day it is?” he asked.
Her brow furrowed. “No, I haven’t forgotten. But how did you know?”
“Because everyone else has already carried their garbage to the curb. I was just about to drag mine out and thought I’d offer to take yours, too.”
“Oh,” she said, her voice a gentle wisp. “You mean, it’s trash day.”
“What did you think I was talking about?”
“It’s.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, today was my mom’s birthday.”
Oh, crap. No wonder she seemed so down. “I’m sorry, Samantha. I guess this is going to be a tough day for you.”
“I don’t want it to be, so I’m going to drive out to the cemetery for a while this morning.” She gave a little shrug and went on to explain. “It seems like the right thing to do. Then I’m going to go shopping. I’d like to buy some wallpaper for the nursery, which will give me something else to think about for the rest of the day.”
In spite of his resolve to distance himself, he just couldn’t do it. Not today. Not when she would be thinking about her mother and realizing how alone she was. But her plan to focus on the baby, on the future, was a good one. In fact, he suspected that had been her reason for getting pregnant in the first place. She probably wanted to re-create a family for herself.
“My sister chose a jungle theme for her nursery,” he said, wanting to keep her mind on the baby instead of her mom. “You ought to see it. She and Chad had a lot of fun setting up everything.”
Great, he thought. He’d just tossed out a reminder that she didn’t have a husband, either.
“I’ll bet it’s really cute. I’m not sure what kind of theme I’d like. I’ve still got a lot of time to decide.”
He couldn’t help glancing at her belly, noting the size of the mound. She seemed to be even bigger today than she had been last night, although that was probably only a result of the clothing she’d chosen to wear. But still, he doubted that she had as much time to prepare for the baby as she thought she did—probably only a couple of months or so.
“If I find some prints that I like, I’ll probably bring them home and think about it. Maybe you can help me decide which one to use.”
Picking out baby stuff was the last thing he wanted to do, but under the circumstances, how could he tell her no? “Sure, I’ll do that. It sounds like fun.”
Fun? How lame was that comment? Hector wasn’t into shopping, unless it was at Home Depot. He could hang out there all day. But looking for wallpaper with baby ducks and chickens? It would be pure torture.
“You could go with me,” she said, “if you want.”
Shopping? No way. He could still remember the time Patrice had dragged him to the mall to look for living-room furniture. It had been a pain in the butt, and they’d had a big fight that had landed him on the sofa for two nights.
He forced a smile. “I would, but it’s a work day.”
“Oh, yeah.” She smiled wistfully. “I forgot.”
Probably because her late husband was so wealthy he hadn’t needed to work. It was a good reminder of the different lives they lived, the little they had in common.
“Just let me know when you’re ready to show me some samples,” he said. “I’ll be home after five tonight.”
She nodded and offered him a smile that made him feel like some kind of hero, when he felt like everything but.
So he nodded toward the road. “If you’ll open your garage, I’ll carry your trash to the curb.”
“Thanks. I’ll do that now.”
Samantha went back into the house, and before long, the garage-door opener sounded. Moments later, she was showing him where she kept the recycle bins.
“The trash cans are on the side of the house,” she said. “But there’s just one, and it’s only half-full.”
He noticed a large number of boxes that had been lined along the east wall of the garage. Each was marked Salvation Army. “I see you’re recycling clothes and things, too.”
“Those were Peter’s. I decided it was time to get rid of them. I’d like to see someone else get some use out of them.”
The guy had always been impeccably dressed, so someone looking for secondhand clothing was going to get a heck of a bargain.
Still, he was happy to see she’d cleaned out the closets. That had to be a sign that she’d moved on.
Or maybe she was only trying to get over her husband and start anew. Maybe moving on was more of an effort than a reality.
He stole another glance at Samantha, saw her willowy shape, as well as a whisper of sadness in her eyes. Again he was struck by her beauty and the waiflike aura that seemed to envelop her, and something tugged at his heartstrings. She was expecting a baby and didn’t have the support of either a husband or a mother, like Yolanda had.
So he would do whatever he could to make things easier for her, especially until the baby was born. At that point, her life would be full of wonder and awe, rather than grief and loneliness. Then he would back off.
“Well,” he said, “I really ought to get moving. I’ve got a meeting first thing.”
“Thanks for all your help, Hector. I really appreciate it.”
“No problem.” He carried her trash and recyclables to the curb, then returned home and got ready to head to the office.
Life was short and unpredictable, he supposed. People divorced, spouses died and loved ones struggled to carry on.
Maybe Yolanda had been right. Maybe he needed to find a nice woman and settle down. But he had no idea where to look—or when he’d find time to do so.
A car engine started up, and Samantha backed her Jag out of the garage and into the street. Then she hit the remote to lower the door.
As she spotted Hector, she waved, and he gave her a nod.
No doubt she was a nice woman. And if a man got involved with her, he’d certainly have to settle down. After all, he’d soon have a little one underfoot.
But taking on a ready-made family?
Hector wasn’t up for the task, especially when it meant raising another man’s baby.
Samantha had decided to get the visit to her mother out of the way early, since she’d be thinking about it all day if she didn’t.
So after Hector came by and offered to take out her trash, she’d driven twenty-three miles to Hastings, where her mother had been born. Then she continued on to the little cemetery on the outskirts of town.
She parked and purchased a bouquet of pink roses from a vendor who sold flowers and pinwheels for people to place on grave sites. Then she made the short walk to the grassy knoll where her mother had been buried. Once she reached the familiar marble stone, with its carved cherubs, she took a seat on the lawn, which was still damp from the morning dew. There weren’t many people out and about yet—just two women bearing a container of red carnations and a lone man in front of a double-size headstone, a baseball cap in his hands and his head bowed.
Birds chattered in the treetops, and a family of ducks swam in the nearby pond, reminding Samantha that life went on.
She sat in pensive solitude for a while, basking in the loving memories she had of her mother.
She remembered the day they’d spent at the seashore when she was fourteen. The picnic lunch they’d eaten, their romp in the waves, the sandcastle they’d made. The chat they’d had about Samantha remaining a virgin until the right man came along, a man who would treat her with love and respect.
Several years later, while in her first year of college, she’d found that man in Peter Keating, a graduate student. He’d fallen for her quickly—and hard. With time and patience, he’d eventually convinced her that they were meant to be together.
Peter had adored her in a way most women only dreamed about, and at times she’d felt guilty for not quite loving him as much as he deserved. She’d talked about it to her mother once, about feeling as though there was something missing.
But her mom insisted it would come with time. And she’d gone on to ask, “Do you know how many women would give their left arms to be loved by a man like Peter Keating?”
Her mom had been right; it had come with time. Not the spark, but contentment and the realization that she’d done the right thing by marrying him.
She thought about her wedding day, when Mama had sat in the front row at the church, wearing a blue designer dress Peter had purchased for her. She’d looked every bit as elegant as the Keatings and their wealthy, high-society friends.
“This is the happiest day of my life,” her mom had said, her glimmering eyes the same shade as her dress. “You have no idea how relieved I am to know you’ll never want for anything.”
And she hadn’t. Peter had made sure that her life was picture-book perfect. And thanks to her quick thinking at his bedside five years ago, he’d even provided her with a family.
“Just think,” Samantha said softly, hoping her words would somehow reach her mom’s ears. “In less than five months I’m going to be a mother myself.”
Or sooner than that, she realized, as she recalled what Dr. Demetrios had said about triplets coming early.
A monarch butterfly fluttered by, as if carrying her mother’s happy response, and eventually landed on a dandelion nearby.
“I wish you could be here to see the babies when they come,” Samantha said. “We would have had so much fun fixing up the nursery, shopping for baby clothes and waiting for their arrival.”
She had Peter’s mother, though. But somehow she couldn’t imagine Marian Keating in a grandmother role, rocking the babies or changing their diapers. She’d be more apt to offer to pay for a nanny—one she interviewed herself and hired based upon credentials and references.
However, Samantha was going to be a hands-on mother, like hers had been. Of course, she was going to need help with the triplets at first. To be honest, she was a little apprehensive about bringing home not just one but three newborns.
“Don’t worry,” she whispered, her voice coming out a little louder than before, a little more confident. “I’ll read everything I can get my hands on about childcare and parenting. And I’ll hire help until I’m comfortable doing it all on my own.”
For some reason, Hector came to mind. He’d been so helpful the past couple of days, and she’d been so lonely. He’d stepped in when she’d needed a friend the most, and she found herself thinking about him more often than not.
“I met a man,” she whispered. “He’s been really sweet.”
She thought about Hector’s intense brown eyes, his square-cut jaw, his broad shoulders …
On more than one occasion, she’d imagined that she’d felt a spark—or at least the hint of one. The kind of spark she’d waited for with Peter, one that, if she was being totally honest, had never quite materialized.
“Actually,” she added, trying to put everything into perspective in an imaginary chat with her mother, “Hector is my neighbor.”
But the trouble was, Samantha could easily imagine him being more than a neighbor, more than a friend. But she didn’t dare voice that thought out loud.
Not even if her mom had actually been sitting beside her.
While perusing wallpaper samples in stacks of books at several different decorating stores, Samantha found quite a few that she liked. She narrowed it down to four, any of which would be darling. But one struck her as perfect. It was a farmyard print, with green and yellow tractors, red barns with silos, and the cutest little chickens and ducks she’d ever seen. She would have placed an order immediately, if she hadn’t promised to let Hector help her make the final choice.
He’d been so nice to her the past couple of days, and he’d said that looking at wallpaper would be fun. So, after the kindnesses he’d shown her, how could she not include him in making the final selection?
So she asked to take several samples, as well as a combination of paint chips, home with her so she could show them to him. Then she set an appointment to have someone from the store come and measure the bedroom walls next Tuesday. She was really looking forward to decorating the nursery.
By the time she stopped for a late lunch at the 1950’s–style Coach House Diner and finished running the rest of her errands, it was nearly four-thirty. So she didn’t get home until a quarter after five.
She parked her Jag in the garage, then carried her shopping bags into the house and put away her purchases. She couldn’t wait to spread out the wallpaper and paint samples on the kitchen table. She still preferred the farm pattern, but she’d wait to hear what Hector had to say.
If she had his phone number, she would have given him a call to see if he was home yet. As it was, she walked next door and rang the bell.
When he answered, her breath caught. But not because she’d been surprised to see him home. She just hadn’t expected to see him so laid back.
He was barefoot and wearing a pair of cargo shorts but no shirt. And while she tried her best to focus on those whiskey-brown eyes, she couldn’t keep her eyes off his broad chest and well-defined abs.
Had he forgotten they were going to look over wallpaper when he got home?
“Hey,” he said. “What’s up?”
Okay, so he had forgotten. Now what?
As her gaze began to sweep over his chest again, she forced herself to gaze back at his eyes and to remember why she was here. “I brought home some wallpaper samples for you to see, if you still want to.”
“Sure.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Now?”
“Unless this is a bad time. If it is, it can certainly wait.”
“No, that’s okay. This is as good a time as any. Do I need to put on a shirt?”
Yes. No. Probably.
She again scanned the length of his chest, from the dark patch of hair that started at his throat and trailed down to the drooping waistband of his shorts and back up again. “Whatever you’re comfortable doing.”
“By the end of the day, I’m so tired of being confined in a shirt and tie, that I usually start shedding my clothes the moment I step foot in the house.” He chuckled. “And after the day I had, you’re lucky I’m wearing anything at all.”
She was? She didn’t feel so lucky. She felt a little … unbalanced by the sight of him.
And intrigued by it.
Impressed, even. His skin was an olive shade, without any tan marks. And he clearly worked out regularly.
He was an arousing sight, a picture of male health and vitality that any woman could appreciate.
She felt the heat course through her veins once again, pooling in her core, in the place that had been long neglected.
What was she going to do about her growing attraction? She certainly wouldn’t pop over to his house unexpectedly after five in the evening on a work night ever again. God only knew what state of dress or undress she might find him in.
She managed to offer him a smile, hoping it didn’t reveal her thoughts or her interest in him.
“Come on in,” he said. “It won’t take me long to grab a shirt. And then we can head over to your place and see what you’ve got.”
As she stepped into the foyer, she couldn’t help but scan the interior of his well-decorated house: the beige walls, the forest-green accents, the brown shutters, dark wood furniture and travertine flooring.
He had a gym bag near the door. A set of golf clubs, too.
She’d no more than entered the living room before he returned, wearing a white T-shirt bearing a Harvard Law School logo.
“See?” he said. “That didn’t take long.”
He walked with her back to the foyer, and as she stepped outside, he closed the door behind them. Then he followed her home.
“Thanks for taking a look,” she said as she led him through her house and into the kitchen, where she’d laid out the samples. If she’d thought his presence had filled the room before, she hadn’t seen anything yet.
He studied the bunny print, then moved on to the fairies and the rest.
“I didn’t ask if you were having a girl or a boy,” he said, “but from the looks of these, I guess it’s a girl.”
“Actually,” she said, skating over the fact that there were three babies and at least one was a boy, “I’d like to keep it generic. And for the record, all baby stuff tends to be sweet and might even seem girly.”
“Okay, then.” He pointed at the farm pattern. “This one is too boyish. I think you should go with the rabbits.”
She looked at the bunny print, then cocked her head to the side. “What’s wrong with the farm pattern? Look at those little ducks and chicks. They’re darling.”
“It has tractors, which isn’t generic. It’s definitely a boy print.”
She crossed her arms, noticing how they rested across the ledge of her tummy these days. “I hope you’re not one of those guys who thinks that little boys always have to be dressed in blue and can’t ever carry a doll. Or that girls can’t play with blocks or trucks.”
“My kids can play with whatever catches their fancy,” he said, “as long as it isn’t dangerous.”
“Your son will get to play with dolls?”
He seemed to ponder that for a moment, then said, “Sure, if he wants to. But I might encourage him to trade them for a teddy bear or stuffed dinosaur instead.”
“Playing with dolls can help a boy learn to be nurturing and gentle,” she said.
“Maybe so. But most kids learn how to behave by watching their parents. And when mommy and daddy show kindness and love toward themselves and others, the kids are more apt to follow suit.”
He had a point, she supposed. Modeling the kinds of behavior and attitudes she wanted her children to have would certainly help. After all, it must work that way, because she’d grown up to be a lot like her mother.
“So tell me,” he said. “Did you play with trucks and cars when you were a little girl?”
“Actually, I played with whatever I could get my hands on—plastic containers my mom kept in cupboards, an old box she brought home from work and I colored to look like a castle. Money was pretty scarce when I was a child. So I learned to be content with what I had.”
His expression shifted from playful to serious. “I just assumed you were a trust-fund baby, like Peter.”
She was now, she supposed, thanks to Peter’s will. But it wasn’t always that way. “Actually, I had partial scholarships to college and worked at the bookstore all four years.”
“No kidding?”
“I wouldn’t joke about something like that.”
He studied her, it seemed. As if he’d suddenly seen something he hadn’t expected to see.
“Does that disappoint you?” she asked, wondering if he’d somehow found her lacking, too. She’d always felt like one of the commoners around her in-laws.
“Why would it?”
Because there were others who’d thought that she hadn’t fit into Peter’s world. But she let that go unsaid and gave a little shrug instead.
“To be honest,” he said, “I’m actually relieved that you’re more down-to-earth than I thought.”
“Why’s that?”
He hesitated. “I wasn’t all that fond of your late husband. And I’m glad to see how different the two of you were. It will make being neighbors a whole lot more pleasant.”
She pulled out a chair, indicated that he should sit there, then took a seat next to him. “Tell me something, Hector. What did you and Peter bump heads over?”
He paused for a moment, as if needing to think over his answer, then said, “Behaviors and attitudes. I suspect our parents modeled two different world views in us, two different sets of values.”
“And you argued?”
“Not exactly. Comments were made. Offense was taken. Bottom line? I guess you could say we just didn’t respect each other and decided to leave well enough alone.”
That surprised her. Peter had always treated people with respect. And other than Hector, she didn’t know anyone who disliked him.
Deciding to drop references to her late husband, she turned back to the wallpaper.
“So you really like the bunnies?”
“Don’t you?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t have brought it home for you to look at if I didn’t.” She offered him a smile.
“Does it matter what I think?”
For some reason, it did. And not just when it came to the nursery.
What would Hector say when she told him there were three babies growing in her womb? And that each of them was carrying half of Peter’s DNA?
And why in the world should it even matter?
After a little more small talk about ducks and chickens, fairies and unicorns, Hector got up to leave.
She almost invited him to stay for dinner, but she didn’t want him to think that she was trying to monopolize his time.
“Thanks for your giving me your opinion,” she said.
“Anytime. If there’s anything that’s a given about me, it’s that you can count on me to have an opinion.”
She smiled as she walked him to the door.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, as he reached for the brass knob, “I actually liked the farm print best.”
“But you said it was boyish.”
“I figured you for bunnies, so I told you what I thought you wanted to hear.”
“Why’s that?”
He studied her a moment, as though trying to decide whether to level with her or not, then he winked. “Because you have the prettiest smile I’ve ever seen.”
She couldn’t tell if he was teasing or serious or both. And when he reached for the doorknob to let himself out, she was more intrigued by him than ever.
Chapter Five
After their little talk last night, Samantha decided that she really ought to avoid Hector, especially since she was finding herself more drawn to him, more intrigued by what he had to say. More attracted, she realized. How crazy was that?
After all, he couldn’t possibly be interested in dating a woman with a ready-made family, especially when one plus one equaled five. So after a long, restless night that had her dreaming about all kinds of scenarios—including three darling little babies and a tall, dark and handsome daddy—she decided to keep to herself from now on.
And she would have done just that, if Hector hadn’t rung her doorbell again early the next morning.
She’d been up for hours, or so it seemed, yet she hadn’t expected anyone to stop by. When she’d swung open the door, her breath had caught when she’d spotted him standing on the stoop in a pair of khaki slacks and a pale blue golf shirt. She remembered that he had always packed his golf bag into the back of his trunk every Saturday morning before taking off for the bulk of the day. And that she’d seen his clubs in his foyer yesterday.
So why had he stopped by her house before heading to the country club?
“I’m on my way to the grocery store to pick up a few cleaning supplies and wondered if you needed anything.”
“Do you always dress so nicely when you’re scrubbing counters and mopping floors?” she asked.
He slipped her a crooked smile, and her heart slammed against her chest. “I have a woman who comes to work for me on Saturdays, and she told me last week that I was out of window spray and cleanser. But I forgot to pick it up, so I’m off to get it now, before she arrives.”
Her gaze traveled the length of him, then back to those intoxicating brown eyes. “What time do you play today?”
His grin brightened. “In an hour. So it’ll be a quick trip to the market. How’d you know that I was playing golf?”
“Just a lucky guess.”
“So,” he said, nodding toward his car, which was idling in the drive, “do you need anything while I’m at the market?”
“No, I’m okay. But thanks for asking.”
“No problem.”
As he headed to his vehicle, she turned to go back into the house, then thought of something she’d forgotten to pick up yesterday.
“Wait a minute,” she said. “I’m going to empty out the closet in the room that’s going to be the nursery, and I’ve already run out of boxes. Would you mind asking if they have any to spare?”
“Will do.”
He took off, and she went back inside. When he returned with more boxes than she needed, he asked if she wanted any help.
“No, thanks,” she said, even though she hated to deal with the heavy boxes. “Go on and play golf. I’ll be okay.”
But she wasn’t exactly okay. She was feeling way too many yearnings for her handsome neighbor. And she really needed to get her mind off Hector and back on nesting.
The next morning, when he spotted her sweeping the stoop, he crossed the lawn, took the broom away from her and finished the work himself.
If truth be told, she was glad that he had. It was getting harder and harder to do some of the simplest things.
But she had to stop relying on her neighbor to do them for her.
Three days later, when her doorbell rang, she didn’t need to peer out the peephole to see who it was. Hector, it seemed, had taken her on as some kind of pro bono case.
And in the past week and a half, he’d taken her recycling bins to the curb on trash-collection days, which was especially surprising since he wasn’t home very much and rarely had items that needed to be recycled—at least, not that she was aware of.
His kindness touched her, of course. And so did his boyish smile, the unruly hank of hair that flopped onto his forehead and the heart-spinning scent of his woodsy cologne. Just being near Hector had her thinking all kinds of wild and crazy things, some of them not the least bit neighborly.
She liked having him come around—maybe too much. What would happen if she got a little too used to his visits? What if …?
Well, there were a lot of things that could complicate her peaceful life, and she wasn’t sure that she was in any position to deal with any more than what she was already up against. And for that reason, she needed to get him, her heart and her zinging hormones back under control.
So when she swung open the door and found a smiling Hector on her stoop again, she invited him into the living room, intending to have a little heart-to-heart.
“I was just thinking,” he said. “This is a big house, and you probably shouldn’t be doing anything strenuous.”
“I’m not. The big stuff, like the moving, is over. And the Salvation Army will eventually come and take all those boxes in the garage.”
“I’m talking about scrubbing and cleaning and vacuuming. After I saw you sweeping the stoop yesterday, I called Margo, the woman who works for me. She has a free day each week, so if you’re interested, I can give you her number.”
He was concerned about her doing too much? And he was offering his cleaning lady?
Samantha wondered if Peter would be that worried about her, if he’d been alive and known they were expecting triplets.
Probably, but Hector …
She pointed to the sofa. “Why don’t you sit down for a minute.”
He complied, folding his long, lean and masculine body into the seat and stretching his arm across the backrest. “What’s the matter?”
“I really appreciate your thoughtfulness, Hector. But I guess it just seems …”
“Weird?”
“No. Not that. It’s just …”
“Unusual?”
“Yes, that’s what I’m getting at. I mean, you’re just a neighbor. And, well, you didn’t even like my husband.”
“I wasn’t fond of him, if that’s what you mean. But I’m sorry that he died. Sorry that you lost him.”
“Thanks. I’m sorry, too.”
His sympathy surprised her, yet it seemed to make it all better. Or maybe it made it worse. She struggled with her reactions to him, both physical and emotional. But she’d be darned if she knew what to do with them, other than put a stop to their budding friendship—or whatever it was—before things took a complicated turn.
“I’m uneasy with your help, Hector.”
“Why?”
“Because.” She didn’t dare give her primary reason, so she reached for another. “It feels as though you’ve taken me on as some kind of charity project.”
“That’s not it.”
“Then what is?”
“I have no idea. I guess you could say that I care for you. Maybe it’s sympathy. Maybe it’s a weird desire to look out for you. Hell, I don’t know what it is. Maybe
I’m attracted to you.” He laughed at that, and she didn’t know what to make of it.
He had to be joking, but she didn’t find anything funny about it, especially since her attraction to him was growing by leaps and bounds.
But she’d be darned if she knew what to do about it—other than accept his help.
And then where would that leave her?
The Armstrong Fertility Institute, a modern structure located near the Harvard Medical Center, housed the administrative offices, as well as a research lab and the clinic where Dr. Chance Demetrios practiced.
Since Samantha had been instructed to return the following week, she’d scheduled her appointment on Wednesday at ten o’clock in the morning. And she made sure that she arrived ten minutes early.
She was eager to learn that the babies were growing, that everything was just as it should be.
There were only three other women seated in the waiting room, and since there were other doctors who practiced at the clinic, it wouldn’t be too long before she was called.
After the door shut quietly behind her, Samantha headed to the front desk so she could check in with Wilma Goodheart, the receptionist. Wilma, who was in her late fifties, had worked at the Institute almost since day one and seemed to know each patient by name.
As Samantha approached the desk, she said, “Good morning, Ms. Goodheart.”
The receptionist, with her silver-streaked hair swept into a no-nonsense bun, glanced up from her work and smiled warmly. “Hello, Mrs. Keating. You look bright and cheerful today. I take it you’re feeling well.”
“I am. Thank you.”
Samantha had asked the woman to call her by her first name several months ago to no avail. Apparently, Wilma insisted upon referring to all the patients as either Ms. or Mrs., which was nice. But Samantha didn’t like to be called Mrs. Keating. Every time someone addressed her that way, she felt compelled to turn around and see if Peter’s mother was standing behind her.
“Go ahead and find a seat,” Ms. Goodheart said. “I’ll let the nurse know that you’re here.”
“Thank you.”
Samantha chose a chair near the window and reached for a magazine. But as she did so, she couldn’t help noting that two of the other pregnant women were seated next to men. It was nice to see expectant fathers be so supportive of their wives or girlfriends, and Samantha couldn’t help being just a wee bit envious.
As she thumbed through the pages of the latest issue of Parents, her name was called. She looked up to see Sara Beth, the head nurse at the Institute, and smiled. Samantha had always liked the petite, red-haired nurse.
“How are you doing today?” Sara Beth asked as Samantha approached.
“I’m doing great, thanks.”
Sara Beth, who held a medical chart in her hand, led Samantha to the scale and weighed her. Then she took her to exam room two, where she had her blood pressure and pulse rate checked.
“Everything looks good, Samantha. I’ll let Dr. Demetrios know you’re here.”
“Thanks.”
She didn’t have to wait long, because a few minutes later, Dr. Demetrios entered the exam room.
He was a big man, with olive skin, dark hair and brown eyes. The first time she’d met him, she’d been surprised by how handsome he was. Based upon his professional reputation, she would have thought him to be a lot older, a lot more scholarly in his appearance.
“Good morning,” he said with a smile. “How are you doing, Samantha?”
“Great. In fact, I’ve never felt better.”
“I’m glad.” He studied the open chart Sara Beth had left on the counter.
Since Dr. Demetrious was a renowned fertility specialist who divided his time between research and his medical practice, he didn’t have as many patients as most obstetricians, so Samantha was glad to be able to count herself as one of them.
“Everything looks good,” he said. “But we’ll see what the sonogram shows us. I’d like to get a better view of Baby C.”
After she got settled on the exam table, Dr. Demetrios turned his back to her and made some adjustments to the equipment, and she watched him work.
The last time she’d been at the clinic, she’d overheard two women in the waiting room whispering about him. From what she’d gathered, a former patient had once claimed that he’d impregnated her. The story made the gossip column and the society page of the Boston Herald, and Dr. Demetrios took a leave of absence to clear his name.
A DNA test proved that the child wasn’t his, but the false accusation had shadowed his reputation, at least for a while.
Samantha wouldn’t have held his personal life against him, since he was such a good doctor, but she was glad that the charges were unfounded. And from what she understood, he’d recently eloped not long ago.
According to the women who’d been gossiping, his new wife had been a waitress and a single mom. And Samantha had found the story heartwarming. It gave her hope that one day she, too, might find someone to love, in spite of being the mother of three children.
She hoped the doctor’s troubles were finally over, and that his story had a Cinderella ending. After all he did for childless couples, he certainly deserved to be happy himself.
When the doctor had everything set up, he asked her to raise her blouse, then slathered her belly with gel so he could proceed with another ultrasound.
Samantha was mesmerized by the sight of her triplets.
“Baby C has turned around,” the doctor said, “and it looks like … yes, it’s a girl.”
Samantha’s heart soared with the news. She was going to have at least one of each, a boy and a girl. How cool was that?
“And Baby B?” she asked.
“Well, if it will move just a little. There we go. Another boy.”
“Two boys and a girl,” she said, smiling through the tears in her eyes. “I’m speechless. And so blessed. I don’t know how to thank you.”
Dr. Demetrious chuckled. “No need to do that. I just did my job. Nature did the rest.”
She couldn’t help giving God a whole lot of credit, too. And on the way out of the clinic and to the parking garage, she offered up a prayer of thanksgiving.
Then she climbed behind the wheel of her Jag. Before turning on the ignition, she stroked her growing belly. This pregnancy was the ultimate gift to Peter, to his parents. And she hoped they realized that.
They would be surprised when they heard the news—shocked, even. After all, it had been five years since Peter’s death. But thanks to Dr. Demetrios and the Armstrong Fertility Institute, Samantha was pregnant with the children she and Peter were meant to have.
She did, however, suspect the Keatings would eventually embrace the news. Peter had been their only child and the love of their lives. Yet she still couldn’t seem to pick up the phone and invite them over—or pop in on them, something she’d never done before.
Still, she’d have to tell them. And she’d have to tell Hector, too.
But for a woman who was bursting at the seams with excitement, she couldn’t help wanting to keep her secret to herself for a little while longer.
On Sunday morning, Hector walked outside to get the Boston Herald and noticed that Samantha’s sprinklers were on. He’d heard them go on at four that morning, but it was well after eight, and they hadn’t shut off.
Water saturated her lawn and had streamed onto the sidewalk, over the curb and into the gutter.
Her newspaper, which had been neatly folded when the paperboy had tossed it onto the lawn, was soaking wet. Hadn’t the guy noticed the sprinklers going?
Hector slowly shook his head. You’d think he’d be alert enough to put it on the porch or in the driveway.
Before retrieving his paper, he headed over to Samantha’s house and knocked at her door.
She answered wearing a pair of jeans, a blousy top and a breezy smile. When he pointed out the flooding, her lips parted, and she stepped onto the stoop.
He noticed that she wasn’t wearing shoes, which made the phrase “barefoot and pregnant” come to mind, and he couldn’t help but smile.
“The sprinklers are supposed to be automatic,” she said. “So why didn’t they turn off?”
“There’s probably a short in the timer. I can take a look at it, if you’d like me to.”
“Yes, I would. Thanks.”
As she led him through the house to get to the garage, he caught the whiff of something sweet baking in the oven, something that smelled awfully good.
Suddenly, the cereal he’d planned to eat later didn’t sound very appealing anymore.
She opened the door, stepped down into the garage and pointed out the box on the wall that held the timer. “I really appreciate this. I’d call the landscaping company and have them check it out, but it’s Sunday, so I’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”
“I don’t mind.” Hector took a look at the timer, shut off the sprinklers manually. Then he disconnected the apparatus for her.
“Thanks for doing this on your day off.”
“No problem.” He closed the little blue door on the timer box. “In the meantime, that doesn’t do your newspaper any good. I’m afraid you won’t be able to read it.”
She crossed her arms and blew out a sigh of resignation. “How’s that for luck? I’d wanted to check the weekly ads to see what baby things were going to be on sale this week.”
“Hang on,” he said. “I’ll go and get mine for you to read.”
“Are you finished with it?”
“Nope.” He grinned. “I haven’t even opened it. But if you’ll invite me to taste whatever you’re baking, I’d be happy to hand it over, along with all of the ads and coupons.”
She laughed. “You’ve got a deal. And for the record, I made orange-cranberry muffins. They just came out of the oven.”
“Sounds great.”
“But I’ve cut out caffeine from my diet, so I don’t have any coffee in my pantry. If you want some, you’ll have to bring your own grounds. I have a pot and filters, though.”
“Will do. I don’t eat many meals at home, especially breakfast. But I try to keep coffee on hand for … visitors.” He didn’t mention that his houseguests were women who’d stayed the night. “Is there anything else I can bring back?”
“Not that I can think of.”
He nodded, then went home.
True to his word, he returned with his newspaper and a small bag of Starbucks grounds he kept in the freezer.
Instead of knocking, he let himself in.
“Hector?” she called, when she heard the cricketlike chime indicating an open door. “I’m in here.”
He followed the sound of her voice and found her in the kitchen, preparing a fruit platter of sliced melon, pineapple and bananas, sprinkled with blueberries. He couldn’t help watching her work, watching her move.
But rather than continue to gape at her—and risk having her catch him doing so—he asked, “Is there anything I can do to help?”
She turned, leaned her back against the counter and offered him a heart-stopping smile. “No, I’ve got everything under control.”
As her gaze sketched over him, and he sensed feminine interest on her part, which set off a flurry of hormones in his bloodstream. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a more beautiful woman in his life.
If she weren’t pregnant.
If she weren’t Peter’s widow.
Then what? he asked himself. Would he actually hit on her?
Yes, he realized. He would. Then why let anything stop him now?
When the answer failed to form, he shook off the thought and handed her the coffee. Then he took a seat in the breakfast nook, at the table she’d already set.
A big bay window looked out into the backyard, which boasted a lawn big enough for a game of T-ball and a tree that would be perfect for climbing.
Samantha’s son or daughter would be lucky to grow up in this house. And as Samantha served the fruit and muffins on a china plate, he realized the kid would be lucky to have her for a mom.
As the coffee began to dribble into the carafe, she joined him at the table, saying, “Feel free to read the paper while you eat.”
As Hector took a bite of one of the best muffins he’d ever eaten, he sorted through the newspaper until he came across a department store advertisement that displayed baby things. Then he handed the page to Samantha. “Is this what you were looking for?”
She brightened as she took it from him. “Oh, how sweet. I really like that white crib. And it has a matching dresser and changing table.” She set the section she’d been reading back on the table and pointed at the furniture that had caught her eye. “Isn’t it cute?”
It looked like any old crib to him—white, with rails so the kid wouldn’t fall out. He didn’t see anything especially cute about it. He did, however, think Samantha was pretty damn cute herself, even if she was pregnant.
Hell, maybe even because of it.
He’d told her once that pregnant women intrigued him these days, which really wasn’t true. She was the only one who had actually caught his interest.
But maybe he’d be wise not to stew about it.
“You know,” he said, “you’ve got a lot of things you’re going to need to buy before the baby gets here, unless someone’s going to throw you a shower.”
“Oh. No, I don’t think so. I’m not sure who’d have one for me, but that’s okay. I really won’t need one.”
He supposed she had enough money to purchase everything herself, but his sister and his mother really enjoyed going to showers—for both babies and brides. It seemed to be a big deal to them, and they would “ooh” and “ahh” over the gifts they’d bought. Then they’d make a big deal about getting dressed up for the event.
So Hector figured that Samantha would enjoy having one. But if she hadn’t told people she was back, or if she hadn’t maintained any friendships in Boston, he realized there might not be anyone to host it.
Too bad, he thought, feeling sorry for her yet again.
“Would you like another muffin?” she asked.
“Sure.” While she stood to serve him, he couldn’t help adding, “The baby’s going to be here before you know it.”
“I know, but there’s still plenty of time.”
Maybe only a couple of months, he guessed, which wasn’t all that long. She really needed to look ahead, to prepare for the unexpected, especially since she didn’t have anyone to help her.
“Don’t some babies come early?” he asked, trying to send a subtle message.
“Yes, they do. And mine probably will.” She returned with a plate of muffins, then sat down and reached for the advertisement. As she scanned the vast assortment of baby furniture, supplies and clothing, she didn’t appear to be overly concerned, which he couldn’t understand. Especially if she thought her baby might be one that came early.
He was just about to prod her a little more, when she said, “Maybe I better go shopping this week. With all I need to buy, I want to take advantage of the sale price.”
Good. He’d made his point, so he settled back in his seat.
They continued to eat until the coffee stopped brewing with a tired wheeze.
“It’s ready,” Samantha said as she pushed back her chair and stood once again. Then she went to the cupboard and filled Hector’s mug.
On her way back to the table, she caught him studying her, the swell of her belly. As his eyes lifted, their gazes met and locked. Something warm stirred between them, something that set off a zing in her pulse, and she couldn’t help feeling a little … amazed by it all.
Trying to pretend it hadn’t happened, she asked, “Do you use cream and sugar?”
“No, this is fine. Thanks.” Hector took the mug in both hands, but didn’t take a sip. “By the way, did you ever order that wallpaper?”
“Yes, I got the farm print that we both liked, but it’s on back order. Hopefully, I’ll have it within a week. I also chose the blue paint for the walls and the white for the crown molding.”
“The baby ought to like that.”
“I hope so.”
After Hector had eaten his fill, he picked up the front page of the newspaper and scanned the headlines.
Samantha, too, sorted through the pages until she found the society section, something she’d read daily when she’d been married to Peter but hadn’t given much thought to reading these days.
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