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

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.