by Judy Duarte
“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.
But why should she? She’d quit seeing all of her old friends when she married Peter, and she hadn’t really been all that close to the women she’d met after they’d become a couple. Then, after he died, life just wasn’t the same anymore.
Still, she studied the photos, wondering if she would recognize anyone she knew.
There were the usual wedding announcements, but her gaze was drawn to a picture that touched her heart—an adoption celebration that was held at the Boston Children’s Home yesterday.
“What a sweet story,” she said.
Hector looked up from his reading. “What’s that?”
“There was a big celebration held at the Children’s Home yesterday afternoon, and if I had known about it, I would have stopped by.”
“What were they celebrating?”
“Do you know Olivia Mallory?”
“The name sounds familiar.”
“She’s the daughter of Dr. Gerald Armstrong, the man who founded the Armstrong Institute. And she’s married to Jamison Mallory.”
“The junior senator?”
“Yes. She’s also the president of the board of directors of the Children’s Home and has volunteered there for years.”
“I take it that you know her personally. Is she a friend?”
“Yes, but I haven’t seen her in a long time.”
Samantha and Olivia had run in the same circle when Peter had been alive. And she was one of the few women in that crowd Samantha had actually felt comfortable around.
“Olivia and Jamison have adopted two orphaned brothers, a seven-year-old named Kevin, and Danny, who’s three.” She turned the paper so he could see the photo.
“Cute kids,” Hector said.
“They’re darling. And they actually resemble Olivia. If I didn’t know they were adopted, I’d assume Olivia ha
d given birth to them.”
“Does Olivia know you’re back in town?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Maybe you should call her.”
It struck her as odd that he’d make that suggestion, but it was one she’d already considered. It would be nice to renew their friendship. “Later this morning, I’ll give her a call to congratulate her.” And maybe she’d ask if they could meet for lunch one day soon.
Samantha took one last look at the photo of Olivia and her sons before moving on to another article about a benefit that was held at the Belle Fleur Country Club. The proceeds of a silent auction would fund scholarships for underprivileged high-school seniors.
In one of several photos that accompanied that spread, she spotted her in-laws—front and center.
They looked great, she decided. And they seemed to be in good spirits.
She’d stayed in contact with Randall and Marian Keating after Peter’s death, calling about once a month and having dinner on birthdays. She wasn’t hurt that they’d seemed to pull away over the years. She assumed that seeing her was painful for them.
Truth be told, she’d never felt fully connected to or accepted by them before, and since Peter was gone, their pulling away only served to make the chasm deeper.
She really hoped that the news of the babies would correct that, and again she wondered how they would feel when she told them.
Admittedly, she was really dragging her feet, although she wasn’t sure why. At one time, she’d wanted nothing more than to be totally accepted by them, to be considered a Keating in every sense of the name.
Maybe, deep inside, she was afraid of how Marian was going to handle the news. She suspected that she’d be happy, but the woman had been so hard to please when Peter was alive.
There was a strong possibility that Peter’s mother would try to tell Samantha how to raise the children, advice that wouldn’t be welcome. But in the past five years, she’d come to believe she was more ready for a face-off, if one became necessary.
The newsprint crinkled as Hector set the front page of the business section on the table, drawing Samantha from her musing.
“It looks like the Armstrong Fertility Institute is experiencing some serious financial problems,” he said.
“Oh, really?”
He nodded, his expression intense as he glanced back at the article he’d just read.
“What happened?”
“It’s not clear, but it sounds to me as if it’s more than just mishandling funds or some poor business decisions.”
Samantha lowered the paper she’d been reading. “Are you suggesting that something criminal might be going on?”
He shrugged. “It’s hard to say, but you can bet the media is going to keep a close eye on it.”
“I hope that’s not the case,” Samantha said. “The Institute and the doctors there have been a real blessing to childless couples all over the country.”
Hector glanced across the table at her and smiled. “I’m sure they’ve been a blessing to you.”
Three times the blessing, she thought. But although she’d been tempted a couple of times, she still couldn’t quite bring herself to tell Hector she was carrying triplets.
Or that Peter was their father.
Chapter Six
Samantha waited two hours on Tuesday for the painter to arrive and give her an estimate on the cost of painting the nursery. He called once to tell her he was running late.
When he finally showed up, the lanky fellow took off his paint-splattered cap, revealing a shock of red hair. “I’m really sorry for being late.”
He’d said that before, and since she was a little annoyed, she didn’t respond to his apology. Instead, she led him to the soon-to-be nursery.
“I pride myself on being prompt,” he said, “and providing a professional service. I hope you don’t think that this sort of thing happens very often.”
“It’s okay,” she said, letting him off the hook. “I didn’t have anything pressing to do this afternoon.”
“Good, but that’s not the point.”
She led him down the hall, thinking he’d let the issue drop.
“My four-year-old son was running a fever,” the man explained, “and his preschool called. My wife’s out of town, which left things up to me. My mother usually steps in to help, but she was having some tests run at the medical center, so I had to pick him up and wait with him at home until she could relieve me. I’m afraid that threw off my schedule for the rest of the day.”
“I understand,” Samantha said, realizing that his excuse was a good one. And that if it had happened to her, she… Well, she would have chosen her child over an appointment, too. But unlike the painter and his son, she and her kids wouldn’t have a grandma to step in to help when the unexpected happened.
Of course, they would have Marian Keating, but Peter’s mother wasn’t the warm, nurturing type. Peter had insisted that his mom had been different when he was a kid, but Samantha hadn’t ever seen that side of her mother-in-law.
At times like this, when she was reminded of all she’d lost when her mother died, Samantha got a little sad. But she wasn’t about to lose it and start sniffling in front of the painter, so she took a deep, calming breath.
“This is it,” she said, pointing inside the room. “I’m going to have wallpaper on two of the walls and a border along the edge of the ceiling. I’ll also need the inside of the closet painted.”
“All right.” He took some measurements, then reached for his clipboard and scratched out the estimate on a bid form. When he’d finished, he tore off the top copy and handed it to her.
She looked it over and decided the price was reasonable. “This works for me. How long will it take? And when can you start?”
“I can get it all done in a day. And I can start tomorrow, if you’d like. Work’s been pretty slow lately. In fact, that’s what my wife is doing out of town—interviewing for a job. It’ll mean a heck of a commute for her, but…well, things have been a little tight.”
And they had a son, she thought, a preschooler who was sick today.
Her heart, which seemed to be especially soft and sympathetic these days, went out to the man.
“You know,” she said, “the rest of the house could use some paint, too.”
He brightened. “If you’ll let me do it, I’ll give you a great deal.”
She wasn’t as concerned about the price as she was about providing the man with some work. “Why don’t you give me an estimate for that, too?”
After he measured the rest of the house, he gave her a revised price. Normally, she would have gotten another bid on a project. That is, if the walls had really needed a fresh coat of paint, and they didn’t. But the man and his family were struggling financially, and she was in a position to help.
She’d also been thinking about redecorating. She wanted to give the house a new look, to make it more child-friendly instead of having the Marian Keating stamp of approval. So she took the time to choose the colors she liked from some sample sheets he pulled from the clipboard and told the painter he could start tomorrow.
She followed him to the door, and as he stepped outside, Hector’s car turned into his driveway. She waved at him, and as the painter climbed behind the wheel of his pickup and started the engine, Hector parked and headed toward her house.
She waited for him, noting how nice he looked in a tie, how professional. Yet he wore a crooked grin that suggested there was a boyish side that seemed to balance him out.
He nodded toward the departing pickup. “Is that the painter?”
“Yes. He’s going to start tomorrow.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I decided to go ahead and have him paint the entire place.”
Hector furrowed his brow. “Where are you going to go?”
“Go?”
“You can’t sleep there. The fumes won’t be good for you or the baby.”
He was right, of course. And s
he would have come to that conclusion eventually. She’d only planned to paint the nursery, so she would have just closed the bedroom door to shut out the smell and opened the windows in the rest of the house.
But with all of the rooms being painted? She’d definitely have to move out for a couple of days.
“I guess I hadn’t thought quite that far. I’ll just have to go to a hotel.”
Hector seemed to ponder her response, but only for a moment. “I’ll tell you what. Pack up some things and come stay with me until the house is finished. You can sleep in my guestroom.”
“Oh, no. I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
She couldn’t come up with an immediate reason, at least not one she was willing to share with him. She wasn’t about to say that moving in with him for a couple of days sounded way too appealing, and that the mere thought of it had sent her heartbeat hammering in her chest.
So she said, “Thanks for the offer, but I think staying at a hotel would be easier.”
“Easier than walking twenty yards? Besides, if you forget anything, I can go into your house and get it for you.”
“That’s really thoughtful, Hector, but I don’t want to put you out.”
He laughed. “You’re not putting me out. The way I see it, I’m taking full advantage of the situation.”
What did he mean by that? Was he hoping to get her into bed?
“If I’m lucky,” he added, “I just might get some more homemade muffins out of it.”
Okay, so she’d taken a great big leap and missed his point altogether, which was the problem with staying in his guestroom. Her thoughts were getting way out of hand, and he was only trying to be neighborly.
He tossed her a smile that turned her heart end over end. “I could pick up a DVD on the way home from the office, and we could kick back and watch a movie. What do you say?”
It might be fun. And it would certainly be better than staying alone in a hotel room. Just the thought of packing her things made her weary, and staying in an impersonal room at a hotel wasn’t very appealing.
