by Judy Duarte
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 heart-strings. 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 thinki
ng 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 colleg
e 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?