Katherine Garbera - The Bachelor Next Door

For Matt, best friend, lover and husband—without your

support and belief in me, I couldn’t have done it. And

for my children, Courtney and Lucas, who make me

remember why we’re here.

KATHERINE GARBERA

has always enjoyed creating stories. She is a member of Romance Writers of America and has served on her local chapter’s board as president and treasurer. She’s had a varied career path, including: lifeguard, production page, VIP tour guide and secretary. Reading, shopping, playing the flute and counted cross-stitch are just some of her hobbies. She’s always believed that everything she dreams she can do. With the support of her husband, daughter and family, she wrote her first novel and found she had to write another one. In 1995 she won the Georgia Romance Writers Maggie Award for excellence in unpublished short contemporary writing. In a world that is so technologically advanced, Katherine believes we need more romance in our daily lives and hopes to create that with her novels.

The Silhouette Spotlight

“Where Passion Lives”

MEET WOMAN TO WATCH

What was your inspiration for

THE BACHELOR NEXT DOOR?

KG: “My family. In developing my hero and heroine, that importance of family came across. I especially needed a key to who Rafe Santinu was. Rafe had a strong sense of family...so I took his family away from hun and left him with the guilt of their deaths. The want of a family is still strong within Rafe, but he believes he will destroy anyone he cares for.”

What about the Desire line appeals

to you as a reader and as a writer?

KG: “It’s fast paced, sometimes serious and sometimes funny, but always sensual.”

Why is this book special to you?

KG: “Because of Rafe Santini. I fell in love with the lonely playboy who lives across the street from the heroine and her son. While I was writing this book, for the first time I was able to deal honestly with the emotions my characters were feeling. I learned a lot about myself as a writer from It. I set the story in Florida where I was born and raised, because I love this state.”

Any additional information about

yourself or your book?

KG: “After I won the Georgia Romance Writers Maggie Award for this book, I was serenaded by an entire Marine Corps unit in the bar. It was very exciting and fun.”

One

“Mommy’s trapped in the bathroom and I’ve got to get to school.”

Rafe Santini ran a hand over his bleary eyes, willing the tiny apparition standing in his doorway to disappear. A quick glance at his battered watch confirmed that it was 7:00 a.m. He scratched the stubble on his chin and stretched his arms above his head before looking down again.

The boy was still there. Rafe knew nothing about children and liked it that way. This child had invaded his private retreat, and though Rafe knew he should regret the intrusion, part of him was intrigued by the situation.

“Come on, mister. Will you help me?” The boy’s eyes were teary, and Rafe feared the child would start crying.

Rafe leaned against the front door frame and sighed. Ah, hell, he couldn’t leave the child in the lurch. “Okay, okay. Give me a minute.”

Rafe slid his feet into the buffalo sandals he’d left on the porch for late-night walks with his dog. He scratched his bare chest, debating whether he had time to grab a shirt before leaving, then decided the kid looked too desperate for even a minute’s delay. The boy lived directly across the street from Rafe. He’d seen the kid on the front porch studying, when he went for his daily jog.

The yard was neat and tidy, no toys, bikes or plastic pools littered the grounds. In fact, there was no evidence that a kid lived there, much less a young boy.

A battered Volvo wagon stood in the driveway. The boy grabbed Rafe’s hand, hurrying him along. The door opened smoothly and a fresh floral scent beckoned him closer.

The house was laid out similarly to his, except all of the remodeling had been completed. The hardwood floor shone brightly under handwoven rugs. The banister on the stairs had been cleaned until the details of the intricate carvings were clearly visible. His banister was still covered with years of dirt and grime, but he hoped it would be in the same condition as this one when he removed the layers of filth.

“Andy! Where are you?” called a worried voice from upstairs. “You better get back up here pronto.”

Pronto? Who used that word anymore? Rafe smiled at the frazzled sound of the woman’s voice. It reminded him of his mother’s when he’d been into mischief. The grin on the boy’s face mirrored Rafe’s own.

“Andy.” Anger was clear in the voice now. Amusement slid from the boy’s face like a rain cloud covering the sun.

“We’d better hurry.” The kid scrambled up the stairs, Rafe followed. They stopped outside the hall in front of the bathroom door.

“Don’t worry, Mommy. I brought help.”

“Who? The only person you’re allowed to speak to is on vacation.”

“It’s okay. I got the man from across the street. The one you said had nice buns.”

“Andy,” the voice protested, taking on a squeaky quality.

Rafe ignored that comment, figuring he’d better help the lady out of the bathroom before she exploded out of there in a killer rage. He grinned, thinking there were worse ways to be woken up. Maybe this wasn’t going to be such a bad day.

Rafe returned his attention to the door. The problem appeared to be a small, plastic army’s front row of soldiers wedged under it. “Reenacting a battle?”

A row of perfect white teeth were revealed when the boy smiled. “Yeah, Gettysberg. We’re studying the Civil War in school.”

“Andy the word is yes, not yeah. Please save the war stories for another time.” Again the voice from behind the door. “The problem isn’t on the battlefield, the lock is stuck.”

“Sorry, Mommy.”

“That’s okay, Andy. I think a bobby pin ought to work.”

“I’m fresh out of bobby pins,” Rafe said.

She’d calmed down now, and her voice had lost the frazzled, worried quality. The woman’s voice was straight out of his dreams. Distant dreams that he hadn’t allowed himself to think of in years. A sweet voice that reminded him of church on Sunday mornings and lazy days spent in bed. Images of home and family danced through his mind before he firmly shut them out.

“But I’ll improvise. Do you have a screwdriver?” he asked.

“Downstairs in the kitchen. What are you planning to do?”

The worried edge had returned to her voice, and he also detected a hint of resentment. Rafe wondered how long she’d been trapped in the bathroom. She was probably apprehensive about having a stranger in her house and the boy being alone with him. But he wasn’t a rapist or ax murderer and he was trying to rescue her. She’d just have to take what she got from him.

“Go get it for me, Andy.” The boy moved quickly to do Rafe’s bidding.

He bent to examine the doorknob and the lock. Rafe had always had a knack for fixing things and had spent his adult life working in construction. The old-fashioned handle would make taking it apart easier than a newer model would have been. But he wasn’t as sure of the inner workings.

“Excuse me, sir. Are you still out there?” Her voice was prim and proper now, almost cold with formality. Where had the soft, sweet tone disappeared to?

“Yes, ma’am.” He drawled out the words in a way he’d been told was annoying. Two could play at this game. In fact, he wagered he would win the manners match.