Kitabı oku: «And Babies Make Five / At Long Last, a Bride»

AND BABIES MAKE FIVE

JUDY DUARTE

AT LONG LAST, A BRIDE

SUSAN CROSBY

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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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.