Right Next Door (20 page)

Expelling a sigh, Carol surveyed her appearance in the mirror one last time, confident that she looked her best. With a prepared smile on her face, she headed for the living room.

The instant she appeared, Alex's gaze rushed to hers. The impact of seeing him again was immediate. It was difficult to take her eyes off him. Instead, she found herself thinking that his build suggested finely honed muscles. He was tall, his shoulders were wide and his chest solid. Carol thought he was incredibly good-looking in his pin-striped suit. His face was weathered from working out of doors, his features bronzed by the sun.

So much for the best-laid plans, Carol mused, shaking from the inside out. She'd planned this evening down to the smallest detail. They would have dinner, during which
Carol would subtly inform him that she wasn't interested in anything more than a casual friendship, then he'd take her home, and that would be the end of it. Five seconds after she'd walked into the living room, she was thinking about silk sheets and long, slow, heart-melting kisses.

Her mother was responsible for this. Her outrageous, wonderful mother and the softly murmured Italian words that reminded Carol she was still young and it was time to live and love again. She was alive, all right. From the top of her head to the bottom of her feet, she was
alive.

“Hello, Carol.”

“Alex.”

“Mom's taking you to Jake's,” Peter muttered, not bothering to hide his envy. “She can't afford to bring me anything, but that's okay.”

“Peter,” she chastised, doubting Alex had heard him.

“Are you ready?”

She nodded, taking an additional moment to gather her composure while she reached for her jacket and purse. Glancing at her son, she felt obliged to say, “You know the rules. I'll call you later.”

“You don't need to phone,” he said, making a show of rolling his eyes as if to suggest she was going overboard on this parental thing.

“We'll be back early.”

Alex cupped her elbow as he directed her to the door. “Not too early,” he amended.

By the time they were outside, Carol had bridled her fears. Her years of medical training contributed to her skill at presenting a calm, composed front. And really, there wasn't a reason in the world she should panic….

They talked amicably on the drive into downtown
Portland, commenting on such ordinary subjects as the weather, when her car would be fixed and the approach of summer, which they both dreaded because the boys would be constantly underfoot.

Alex managed to find parking on the street, which was a feat in its own right. He opened her car door and took her hand, which he didn't release.

Since Carol had made a reservation, they were immediately seated in a high-backed polished wood booth and greeted by their waiter, who brought them a wine list and recited the specials of the day.

“Jim tells me you're buying him a truck,” Carol said conversationally when they'd placed their order.

“So he'd like to believe.”

Carol hesitated. “You mean you aren't?”

“Not to the best of my knowledge,” Alex admitted, grinning.

Once more, Carol found herself fascinated by his smile. She found herself wondering how his mouth would feel on hers. As quickly as the thought entered her mind, she discarded it.

“According to Jim it's going to be the latest model, red with flames decorating the sidewalls.”

“The boy likes to dream,” Alex said, leaning back. “If he drives any vehicle during the next two years, it'll be because he's impressed me with his grades and his maturity.”

“Oh, Alex,” Carol said with a sigh, “you don't know how relieved I am to hear that. For weeks, Peter's been making me feel as though I'm an abusive mother because I'm not buying him a car—or, better yet, a truck. Time and time again he's told me that
you're
buying one for Jim and
how sharing the Ford with me could damage his self-esteem, which might result in long-term counseling.”

Alex laughed outright. “By the way,” he added, “Jim isn't Jim anymore, he's James.”

“James?”

“Right. He noticed that his learner's permit listed his name as James Preston, and he's insisting everyone call him that. Actually, I think he came up with the idea after I spoke to him about driving and his level of maturity. Apparently, James is more mature-sounding than Jim.”

“Apparently,” Carol returned, smiling. “Well, at least if Peter does end up having to go to a counselor, he'll have company.”

Their wine arrived and they both commented on its delicious flavor and talked about the quality of Walla Walla area wineries.

Their meal came soon after. The steaming
étouffée
was placed before her, and she didn't experience the slightest bit of guilt when she tasted the first bite. It was as delicious as she remembered.

“Have you been a nurse long?” Alex asked, when their conversation lagged.

“Eight years. I returned to school after my husband was killed, and nursing was a natural for me. I was forever putting Band-Aids on my dolls and treating everyone from my dog to my tolerant mother.”

“Next time I have a cold, I'll know who to call,” Alex teased.

“Oh, good. And when I'm ready to put the addition on the house, I'll contact you,” Carol told him.

They both laughed.

The evening wasn't nearly as difficult as Carol had feared. Alex was easy to talk to, and with the boys as common ground, there was never a lack of subject matter. Before Carol was aware of it, it was nearly ten.

“Oh, dear,” she said, sliding from the booth. “I told Peter I'd check in with him. Excuse me a minute.”

“Sure,” Alex said, standing himself.

Carol was in the foyer on her cell, waiting for Peter to answer when she looked over and saw that Alex was using his own cell phone.

“Hello.”

“Peter, it's Mom.”

“Mom, you said you were going to phone,” he said, sounding offended. “Do you know what time it is? When you say you're going to phone you usually do. James is worried, too. Where have you guys been?”

“Jake's—you knew that.”

“All this time?”

“Yes. I'm sorry, sweetheart, the evening got away from us.”

“Uh-huh,” Peter said and paused. “So you like Mr. Preston?”

Carol hedged. “He's very nice,” she murmured.

“Do you think you'll go out with him again? What did you guys talk about? Just how long does it take to eat dinner, anyway?”

“Peter, this isn't the time or place to be having this discussion.”

“Were there any leftovers?”

“None.”

Her son sighed as if he'd actually been counting on her to bring home her untouched dinner—a reward for the
supreme sacrifice of having to eat chicken pot pie, which just happened to be one of his favorites.

“When will you be home? I mean, you don't have to rush on my account or anything, but you'd never let
me
stay out this late on a weeknight.”

“I'll be back before eleven,” she promised, ignoring his comment about the lateness of the hour. Sometimes Peter forgot who was the adult and who was the child.

“You
do
like Mr. Preston, don't you?” His tone was too smug for comfort.

“Peter,” she moaned. “I'll talk to you later.” She was about to replace the receiver when she heard him call her name. “What is it now?” she said sharply, impatiently.

He hesitated, apparently taken aback by her brusqueness. “Nothing, I just wanted to tell you to wake me up when you get home, all right?”

“All right,” she said, feeling guilty.

She met Alex back at their table. “Everything okay at home?” he asked.

“Couldn't be better.” There was no need to inform Alex of the inquisition Peter had attempted. “What about Jim—James?”

“He's surviving.”

“I suppose we should think about getting home,” Carol suggested, eager now to leave. The evening had flown by. At some point during dinner, her guard had slipped and she'd begun to enjoy his company. There'd been none of the terrible tension that had plagued her earlier.

“I suppose you're right,” Alex said with enough reluctance to alarm her. He'd obviously enjoyed their time as much as she had.

They had a small disagreement over the check, which
Alex refused to let her take. He silenced her protests by reminding her that she owed him a home-cooked meal and he wasn't accepting any substitutes. After a couple of glasses of wine and a good dinner, Carol was too mellow to put up much of an argument.

“Just don't let Peter know,” she said as they walked toward the car. Alex held her hand, and it seemed far too natural, but she didn't object.

“Why?”

“If Peter discovers you paid, he'll want to know why I didn't bring anything home for him.”

Alex grinned as he unlocked his car door and held it open. He rested his hand on the curve of her shoulder. “You
will
make me that dinner sometime, won't you?”

Before she realized what she was doing, Carol found herself nodding. She hadn't had a chance to compose herself by the time he'd walked around the front of the car and joined her.

Neither of them spoke on the drive back to her house. Carol's mind was filled with the things she'd planned to tell him. The things she'd carefully thought out before-hand—about what a nice time she'd had, and how she hoped they'd stay in touch and what a good boy Jim—James—was and how Alex was doing a wonderful job raising him. But the trite, rehearsed words refused to come.

Alex pulled into her driveway and turned off the engine. The living room was dark and the curtains drawn. The only illumination was the dim light on her front porch. When Alex turned to face her, Carol's heart exploded with dread and wonder. His look was warm, eager enough to make her blood run hot…and then immediately cold.

“I had a good time tonight.” He spoke first.

“I did, too.” How weak she sounded, how tentative…

“I'd like to see you again.”

They were the words she'd feared—and longed for. The deep restlessness she'd experienced since the night her car had broken down reverberated within her, echoing through the empty years she'd spent alone.

“Carol?”

“I…don't know.” She tried to remind herself of what her life had been like with Bruce. The tireless lies, the crazy brushes with danger as though he were courting death. The anger and impatience, the pain that gnawed at her soul. She thought of the wall she'd so meticulously constructed around her heart. A wall years thick and so high no man had ever been able to breach it. “I…don't think so.”

“Why not? I don't understand.”

Words could never explain her fear.

“Let me revise my statement,” Alex said. “I
need
to see you again.”

“Why?” she cried. “This was only supposed to be one night…to thank you for your help. I can't give you any more…I just can't and…” Her breath scattered, and her lungs burned within her chest. She couldn't deny the things he made her feel.

“Carol,” he said softly. “There's no reason to be afraid.”

But there was. Except he wouldn't understand.

He reached up and placed his calloused palm against her cheek.

Carol flinched and quickly shut her eyes. “No…please, I have to go inside…Peter's waiting for me.” She grabbed the door handle, and it was all she could do not to escape from the car and rush into the house.

“Wait,” he said huskily, removing his hand from her face. “I didn't mean to frighten you.”

She nodded, opening her eyes, and her startled gaze collided with his. She watched as he slowly appraised her, taking in her flushed face and the rapid rise and fall of her breasts. He frowned.

“You're trembling.”

“I'm fine…really. Thank you for tonight. I had a marvelous time.”

His hand settled over hers. “You'll see me again.”

It wasn't until she was safely inside her living room and her heart was back to normal that Carol realized his parting words had been a statement of fact.

“S
o, Dad, how did dinner go with Mrs. Sommars?” James asked as he poured himself a huge bowl of cornflakes. He added enough sugar to make eating it worth his while, then for extra measure added a couple of teaspoons more.

Alex cupped his steaming mug of coffee as he considered his son's question. “Dinner went fine.” It was afterward that stayed in his mind. Someone had hurt Carol and hurt her badly. He'd hardly touched her and she'd trembled. Her dark brown eyes had clouded, and she couldn't seem to get out of his car fast enough. The crazy part was, Alex felt convinced she was attracted to him. He knew something else—she didn't want to be.

They'd spent hours talking over dinner, and it had seemed as though only a few moments had passed. There was no need for pretense between them. She didn't pretend to be anything she wasn't, and he was free to be himself as well. They were simply two single parents who had a lot in common. After two years of dealing with the singles
scene, Alex found Carol a refreshing change. He found her alluringly beautiful and at the same time shockingly innocent. During the course of their evening, she'd argued with him over politics, surprised him with her wit and challenged his opinions. In those few hours, Alex learned that this intriguing widow was a charming study in contrasts, and he couldn't wait to see her again.

“Mrs. Sommars is a neat lady,” James said, claiming the kitchen chair across from his father. “She's a little weird, though.”

Alex looked up from his coffee. “How's that?”

“She listens to opera,” James explained between bites. “Sings it, too—” he planted his elbows on the tabletop, leaned forward and whispered “—in Italian.”

“Whoa.” Alex was impressed.

“At the top of her voice. Peter told me she won't let him play his rap CDs nearly as loud as she does her operas.”

“The injustice of it all.”

James ignored his sarcasm. “Peter was telling me his grandmother's a real kick, too. She says things like ‘Eat your vegetables or I'm calling my uncle Vito in Jersey City.'”

Alex laughed, glanced at his watch and reluctantly got to his feet. He finished the last of his coffee, then set the mug in the sink. “Do you have your lunch money?”

“Dad, I'm not a kid anymore. You don't have to ask me stuff like that.”

“Do you?” Alex pressed.

James stood and reached inside his hip pocket. His eyes widened. “I…guess I left it in my room.”

“Don't forget your driver's permit, either.”

“Dad!”

Alex held up both hands. “Sorry.”

He was all the way to the front door when James's shout stopped him.

“Don't forget to pick me up from track practice, all right?”

Alex pointed his finger at his son and calmly said, “I'll be there.”

“Hey, Dad.”

“What now?” Alex complained.

James shrugged and leaned his shoulder against the door leading into the kitchen. “In case you're interested, Mrs. Sommars will be there, too.”

Alex was interested. Very interested.

He left the house and climbed inside his work van, sitting in the driver's seat with his hands on the steering wheel. He mulled over the events of the night before. He'd dated several women recently. Beautiful women, intelligent women, wealthy women. A couple of them had come on hot and heavy. But not one had appealed to him as strongly as this widow with the dark, frightened eyes and the soft, delectable mouth.

A deep part of him yearned to stroke away the pain she held on to so tightly, whatever its source. He longed to watch the anxiety fade from her eyes when she settled into his arms. He wanted her to feel secure enough with him to relax. The urge to hold her and kiss her was strong, but he doubted Carol would let him.

 

“Okay, Peggy, bear down…push…as hard as you can,” Carol urged the young mother-to-be, clutching her hand. Peggy did as Carol asked, gritting her teeth, arching forward and lifting her head off the hospital pillow. She gave it everything she had, whimpering softly with the in
tensity of the labor pain. When the contraction had passed, Peggy's head fell back and she took in several deep breaths.

“You're doing a good job,” Carol said, patting her shoulder.

“How much longer before my baby's born?”

“Soon,” Carol assured her. “The doctor's on his way now.”

The woman's eyes drifted closed. “Where's Danny? I need Danny.”

“He'll be back in a minute.” Carol had sent her patient's husband out for a much-needed coffee.

“I'm so glad you're here.”

Carol smiled. “I'm glad I'm here, too.”

“Danny wants a son so much.”

“I'm sure he'll be just as happy with a little girl.”

Peggy smiled, but that quickly faded as another contraction started. She reached for Carol's hand, her face marked by the long hours she'd struggled to give birth. Carol had spent the past hour with her. She preferred it when they weren't so busy and she could dedicate herself to one patient. But for more days than she cared to remember, the hospital's five labor rooms had been full, and she spent her time racing from one to the other.

Peggy groaned, staring at a focal point on the wall. The technique was one Carol taught in her classes. Concentrating on a set object helped the mother remember and practice the breathing techniques.

“You're doing just fine,” Carol said softly. “Take a deep breath now and let it out slowly.”

“I can't do it anymore…I can't,” Peggy cried. “Where's Danny? Why's he taking so long?”

“He'll be back any second.” Now that her patient was in the final stages of labor, the pains were stronger and closer together.

Danny walked into the room, looking pale and anxious…and so very young. He moved to the side of the bed and reached for his wife's hand, holding it to his cheek. He seemed as relieved as Peggy when the contraction eased.

Dr. Adams, old and wise and a hospital institution, sauntered into the room, hands in his pockets, smiling. “So, Peggy, it looks like we're going to finally have that baby.”

Peggy grinned sheepishly. “I told Dr. Adams yesterday I was sure I was going to be pregnant until Christmas. I didn't think this baby ever wanted to be born!”

Phil Adams gave his instructions to Carol, and within a few minutes the medical team had assembled. From that point on, everything happened exactly as it should. Before another hour had passed, a squalling Danny, Jr., was placed in his father's arms.

“Peggy…oh Peggy, a son.” Tears of joy rained down the young man's face as he sobbed unabashedly, holding his son close.

Although Carol witnessed scenes such as this day in and day out, the thrill of helping to bring a tiny being into the world never left her.

When her shift was over, she showered and changed clothes, conscious of the time. She had to pick Peter up from track practice on her way home, and she didn't want to keep him waiting, although she was the one likely to be twiddling her thumbs.

 

The first thing Carol noticed when she pulled into the school parking lot was a van with Preston Construction
printed in large black letters on the side. Alex. She drew in a shaky breath, determined to be friendly but reserved. After the way she'd escaped from his car the night before, it was doubtful he'd want anything to do with her, anyway.

The fact was, she couldn't blame him. She wasn't sure what had come over her. Then again, she did know…and she didn't want to dwell on it.

She parked a safe distance away, praying that either Peter would be finished soon and they could leave or that Alex wouldn't notice her arrival. She lowered the window to let in the warm breeze, then turned off the ignition and reached for a magazine, burying her face in its pages. For five minutes nothing happened.

When the driver's side of the van opened, Carol realized her luck wasn't going to hold. She did her best to concentrate on a recipe for stuffed pork chops and pretend she hadn't seen Alex approach her. When she glanced up, he was standing beside her car. Their eyes met for what seemed the longest moment of her life.

“Hello again.” He leaned forward and rested his hands on her window.

“Hello, Alex.”

“Nice day, isn't it?”

“Lovely.” It wasn't only his smile that intrigued her, but his eyes. Their color was like a cool mist rising off a pond. Would this attraction she felt never diminish, never stop? Three brief encounters, and she was already so tied up in knots she couldn't think clearly.

“How was your day?” His eyes were relentless, searching for answers she couldn't give him to questions she didn't want him to ask.

She glanced away. “Good. How about yours?”

“Fine.” He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “I was going to call you later.”

“Oh?”

“To see if you'd like to attend the Home Show with me Friday night. I thought we could have dinner afterward.”

Carol opened her mouth to refuse, but he stopped her, laying his finger across her lips, silencing her. The instant his hand touched her, the warm, dizzy feeling began. As implausible, as preposterous as it seemed, a deep physical sensation flooded her body. And all he'd done was lightly press his finger to her lips!

“Don't say no,” Alex said, his voice husky.

She couldn't, at least not then. “I…I'll have to check my schedule.”

“You can tell me tomorrow.”

She nodded, although it was an effort.

“Good…I'll talk to you then.”

It wasn't until he'd removed his finger, sliding it across her moist lips, that Carol breathed again.

 

“What do you mean you can't pick me up from track?” Peter complained the next morning. “How else am I supposed to get home? Walk?”

“From track practice, of all things.” She added an extra oatmeal cookie to his lunch because, despite everything, she felt guilty about asking him to find another way home. She was such a coward.

“Mom, coach works us hard—you know that. I was so stiff last night I could barely move. Remember?”

Regretfully, Carol did. A third cookie went into the brown-paper sack.

“What's more important than picking me up?”

Escaping a man. If only Alex hadn't been so gentle. Carol had lain awake half the night, not knowing what was wrong with her or how to deal with it. This thing with Alex, whatever it was, perplexed and bewildered her. For most of her life, Carol had given and received countless hugs and kisses—from relatives, from friends. Touching and being touched were a natural part of her personality. But all Alex had done was press his finger to her lips, and her response…her response still left her stunned.

As she lay in bed, recalling each detail of their brief exchange, her body had reacted again. He didn't even need to be in the same room with her! Alone, in the wee hours of the morning, she was consumed by the need to be loved by him.

She woke with the alarm, in a cold sweat, trembling and frightened, convinced that she'd be a fool to let a man have that kind of power a second time.

“Mom,” Peter said impatiently. “I asked you a question.”

“Sorry,” she said. “What was it you wanted to know?”

“I asked why you aren't going to be at track this afternoon. It's a simple question.”

Intuitively Carol knew she wouldn't be able to escape Alex, and she'd be a bigger fool than she already was even to try.

She sighed. “I'll be there,” she said, and handed him his lunch.

Peter stood frozen, studying her. “Are you sure you're not coming down with a fever?”

If only he knew…

When Carol pulled into the school parking lot later that same day, she saw Alex's van in the same space as the day
before. Only this time he was standing outside, one foot braced against it, fingers tucked in his pockets. His jeans hugged his hips and fit tight across his thighs. He wore a checked work shirt with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows.

When she appeared, he lowered his foot and straightened, his movement leisurely and confident.

It was all Carol could do to slow down and park her car next to his. To avoid being placed at a disadvantage, she opened her door and climbed out.

“Good afternoon,” she said, smiling so brightly her mouth felt as though it would crack.

“Hello again.”

A lock of his dark hair fell over his forehead, and he threaded his fingers through its thickness, pushing it away from his face.

His gaze tugged at hers until their eyes met briefly, intently.

“It's warmer today than it was yesterday,” she said conversationally.

“Yes, it is.”