was glad she hadn’t let the place run down, but keeping up an empty house for the past five years seemed like an awful waste of money to him. But then again, he’d never truly understood people who had such an abundance of disposable income.
Peter Keating had been a trust-fund baby, so apparently there hadn’t been any financial reason for his wife to put the place up for sale.
Still, Hector had been surprised to see her back.
He didn’t see any lights on inside the house now.
Was she even home?
He made a quick scan of the other homes on the street, noting that all the windows were dark.
Had the power gone out in the neighborhood? He wouldn’t be surprised if it had. With as much lightning and thunder as they’d had near the hospital, it was definitely possible that a transformer had been hit.
As Hector pulled into his driveway, he pressed the button on the remote to open the garage, only to find it not working. Okay, so the power had gone out.
He left the car outside and entered the house through the front door, leaving his wet umbrella and shoes in the entry. Then he proceeded to the kitchen and out to the service porch, where he’d built shelves along the walls to hold emergency supplies. He wasn’t what you’d call a survivalist, but he did keep plenty of certain things on hand: a first-aid kit, bottled water, canned goods, candles and matches, flashlights and batteries.
He had enough food to last a couple of weeks, something his immigrant parents had encouraged him and his siblings to do.
Jorge and Carmen Garza had not only instilled a strong work ethic in their three children and a desire to succeed, they’d also stressed the importance of being prepared for the unexpected.
As Hector reached for a box of candles, he wondered how Samantha was faring with no electricity. If she was anything like Patrice, his ex-wife, she wouldn’t be prepared for anything, not even a broken nail. It would be dark before long, and if the storm or the power outage had caught her off guard, she’d be in a real fix.
Oh, what the heck, he thought as he snatched a few things off the shelves to take to her. After putting the supplies into an empty cardboard box, he returned to the entry, slipped on his loafers, grabbed the umbrella and headed outdoors to brave the weather.
Along the way, the wind played havoc with his hair and the flaps of his jacket, but he pressed on, fighting the driving rain and doing his best to avoid the puddles.
As a rule, he wasn’t what you’d call a neighborly type and probably wouldn’t have gone to this effort for anyone else on the street, unless it had been old Mrs. Reynolds, the eighty-year-old widow who lived three doors down. But her grandson had moved in with her a few weeks ago, so he figured she was okay.
“Dammit,” Hector muttered as he stepped into a puddle that reached up to the hem of his slacks. He sure hoped Samantha appreciated his efforts to ensure that she wasn’t stuck in the dark tonight.
He turned onto the walkway that led to her stoop, and when he reached the entrance to her house, he knocked loudly, then rang the bell.
Before long, the front door swung open a few inches, and when their gazes met, Samantha’s blue eyes grew wide and her lips parted.
“I thought you might need some candles. I saw the moving van earlier, but I figured you hadn’t had time to unpack everything yet.”
Her smile, in and of itself, lit up the entry. For an instant, it was almost as though the storm had passed them by. “Thank you for thinking of me. To be honest, I don’t have any candles or a flashlight, and I was wondering what I would do if the electricity didn’t come back on soon.”
They stood there for a moment, him holding the box and her holding back the door. Then she seemed to realize that, in his kindness, he was still getting wet as the wind blew sheets of rain onto the stoop.
“What am I thinking?” she asked. “Would you like to come in where it’s dry? Maybe have some hot cocoa? I managed to light the gas stove and just made it.”
Why not? he thought. Besides, his curiosity was killing him. More than ever he wanted to know what had brought her back after all these years. “Sure. I never turn down chocolate.”
As Samantha stepped aside and away from the door, he couldn’t help noticing that she was wearing an oversize shirt, which didn’t hide a pronounced baby bump.
She was pregnant? Well, that certainly answered one of the questions he’d had. She must have remarried. If not, then she was definitely involved with someone.
He suddenly wished he’d declined her offer to come inside but found himself following her through the house to the kitchen, where the warm scent of sugar and spice filled the air, as well as the aroma of what had to be her dinner cooking.
So where was the baby’s father on this stormy afternoon? Why wasn’t he here with her so she didn’t have to rely on her neighbor for help?
Hector probably should have handed over the matches and candles right then and there, but he’d always had a sweet tooth. And his curiosity wouldn’t let up.
“I was surprised to see you today,” he said. “I’d thought that you would eventually sell the house.”
“I’d always planned to return home, but time got away from me.” She nodded toward the kitchen table. “Why don’t you have a seat?”
He took a large candle out of the box, lit it and placed it in the middle of the table. Then he sat down. He watched as she opened the cupboard, reached to the second shelf and pulled out a couple of lime-green mugs.
His gaze lingered on her face, then lowered, taking in the curve of her silhouette. Somehow her being pregnant made her even more beautiful. He’d heard other men describe a similar attraction in casual conversation, but he was genuinely surprised to experience the feeling himself.
He wondered how far along she was. She was about the same size as his sister, who was expecting her first baby in August. So he guessed Samantha to be at least six months pregnant.
His curiosity was probably going to be the death of him someday, but he couldn’t help wondering about her situation, about where she’d been, why she’d finally returned.
Why the hell did he find her so intriguing—even more so now that she was back on Primrose Lane?
He filtered his questions down to one—as a starter—and tried to coax the information out of her indirectly. “It’s nice to have you back in the neighborhood. I’d come to think that you were gone for good.”
“After Peter’s funeral, I went to stay with my mom in Cambridge for a few months. It gave me some time to heal, but the months turned into a year. And before I could move back to Boston, my mom was diagnosed with terminal cancer.”
“I’m sorry.”
Her lips tightened into a firm line, as though holding back emotion, and she nodded. “Thanks. Me, too.”
“So you stayed to take care of her?”
“Yes.
