And Babies Make Five / At Long Last, a Bride: And Babies Make Five

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.