Книга - The Matchmakers’ Daddy

The Matchmakers' Daddy
Judy Duarte


WHEN HE HELD HER, HE HELD EVERYTHING HE WANTED…AND COULD NEVER HAVE.He'd done his time, for a crime he hadn't committed, and now Zack Henderson was ready for a fresh start. With a good job, some savings and weekends with his little girl, his prospects were bright. But this rugged ex-con's plan for a new life hadn't included falling for two adorable neighborhood girls–or their beautiful mother. Diana Lynch was the kind of woman he knew he couldn't have–a good girl, a true lady. And in her arms he almost felt like some kind of hero. Problem was, he knew she was better off without a man like him…no matter what his heart–or Diana's two little matchmakers–had to say.









Diana wanted to take another peek


at the construction worker outside her kitchen window. He was a big man, brawny and tan, with coal-black hair some might think needed a trim.



She didn’t think so. Hair that was a bit long and unruly looked good on him. And he had one of those don’t-mess-with-me auras. Something that suggested he hadn’t been pampered.



It had been a long time since a guy with an edge had turned her head. But Diana knew better than to get involved with anyone again. Just the other night, while tucking her daughters into bed and listening to their prayers, her daughters had asked God for a new daddy to make their family complete. But Diana hadn’t been able to utter an amen to that.



She didn’t want another husband. Every man who’d ever loved her, every man she should have been able to depend upon, had disappointed her or hurt her, in one way or another.



Yet, for some silly reason, she couldn’t help looking out the kitchen window one last time.


Dear Reader,



June, the ideal month for weddings, is the perfect time to celebrate true love. And we are doing it in style here at Silhouette Special Edition as we celebrate the conclusion of several wonderful series. With For the Love of Pete, Sherryl Woods happily marries off the last of her ROSE COTTAGE SISTERS. It’s Jo’s turn this time—and she’d thought she’d gotten Pete Catlett out of her system for good. But at her childhood haven, anything can happen! Next, MONTANA MAVERICKS: GOLD RUSH GROOMS concludes with Cheryl St. John’s Million-Dollar Makeover. We finally learn the identity of the true heir to the Queen of Hearts Mine—and no one is more shocked than the owner herself, the plain-Jane town…dog walker. When she finds herself in need of financial advice, she consults devastatingly handsome Riley Douglas—but she soon finds his influence exceeds the business sphere….



And speaking of conclusions, Judy Duarte finishes off her BAYSIDE BACHELORS miniseries with The Matchmakers’ Daddy, in which a wrongly imprisoned ex-con finds all kinds of second chances with a beautiful single mother and her adorable little girls. Next up in GOING HOME, Christine Flynn’s heartwarming miniseries, is The Sugar House, in which a man who comes home to right a wrong finds himself falling for the woman who’s always seen him as her adversary. Patricia McLinn’s next book in her SOMETHING OLD, SOMETHING NEW… miniseries, Baby Blues and Wedding Bells, tells the story of a man who suddenly learns that his niece is really…his daughter. And in The Secrets Between Them by Nikki Benjamin, a divorced woman who’s falling hard for her gardener learns that he is in reality an investigator hired by her ex-father-in-law to try to prove her an unfit mother.



So enjoy all those beautiful weddings, and be sure to come back next month! Here’s hoping you catch the bouquet….



Gail Chasan

Senior Editor




The Matchmakers’ Daddy

Judy Duarte







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To Betty Astleford, who never met a bad boy she didn’t like. You’ve taught us a lot about tolerance and second chances.

I love you, Mom.




JUDY DUARTE


An avid reader who enjoys a happy ending, Judy Duarte always wanted to write books of her own. One day, she decided to make that dream come true. Five years and six manuscripts later, she sold her first book to Silhouette Special Edition.

Her unpublished stories have won the Emily and the Orange Rose, and in 2001, she became a double Golden Heart finalist. Judy credits her success to Romance Writers of America and two wonderful critique partners, Sheri WhiteFeather and Crystal Green, both of whom write for Silhouette.

At times, when a stubborn hero and a headstrong heroine claim her undivided attention, she and her family are thankful for fast food, pizza delivery and video games. When she’s not at the keyboard or in a Walter Mitty–type world, she enjoys traveling, spending romantic evenings with her personal hero and playing board games with her kids.

Judy lives in Southern California and loves to hear from her readers. You may write to her at: P.O. Box 498, San Luis Rey, CA 92068-0498. You can also visit her Web site at www.judyduarte.com.


From the Bayside Banner:

Two men, one armed with a 9mm automatic, robbed the Speedy-Stop on Richland Road last night. Shots rang out as Charles Tompkins, owner of the convenience store, tried to defend himself and his clerk, Clara Willet, a forty-seven-year-old grandmother of two.



The gunman ran off with an estimated four hundred dollars, but his accomplice, nineteen-year-old Zachary Henderson, was arrested at the scene.



Marilyn Santos, who lives down the street from the Speedy-Stop and was in the store at the time, said, “That Zack Henderson has been a juvenile delinquent for years and is a known troublemaker. He said he wasn’t involved in the robbery, but I saw him and the other man get out of the same car and enter the store together.”



Mrs. Willet was shot in the shoulder and is being treated at Oceana General Hospital. The condition of Mr. Tompkins, who received a gunshot wound to the back, was not available at press time.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen




Chapter One


Zack Henderson was used to neighborhood kids gawking at him when he ran the bulldozer at local construction sites, but usually those kids were boys.

What possible interest could girls have in tractors, dirt and diesel fuel?

Along the block wall that separated the backyards of an older neighborhood from the future site of a new subdivision, two little girls perched in the summer sun, giggling, whispering to themselves and occasionally waving at him.

And for some goofy reason, he would always wave back. Maybe because it made him feel a bit heroic, in spite of being anything but.

He wiped his hand across his forehead, drying the perspiration that gathered there. Then he took a swig of water from the jug he kept in the cab of his dozer.

God, it was hot today. He glanced at the girls and wondered when they’d get tired or bored and go inside. Not anytime soon, he guessed. The heat and noise didn’t seem to bother them at all.

They were cute kids. The smaller one had brown, curly, shoulder-length hair and held a teddy bear in the crook of her arm.

The older girl, a blonde with long hair, looked about ten or eleven. While Zack watched, she took a drink from the red plastic cup that rested between them, then wiggled her fingers at him again. And like he’d done several times over the course of the afternoon, he smiled and waved back.

Their interest in him and his tractor had him stumped. But what did an ex-con like him know about kids—especially girls?

He’d only met Emily, his four-year-old daughter, for the very first time a couple of months ago, just after he’d been paroled. And he still felt way out of his league. But he had learned Emily was big on kitties and new party shoes—not bulldozers, dust and noise.

The warm, pungent smell of diesel and the roar of the engine hung in the cab of the D9L Caterpillar, as Zack continued to clear and grub the thirty-seven acres that would soon be a new housing development called Mariposa Glen.

Bob Adams, the owner of Bayside Construction, had taken a chance and hired Zack right out of prison, going so far as to write letters to the parole board on his behalf and getting him into the union. Bob used to live down the street from Zack and his uncle, and when Zack started working on an old beat-up truck in the driveway, Bob would stop by and shoot the breeze about the Chargers, rebuilt engines and stuff like that.

At the time, Zack hadn’t thought of Bob as a friend, since there was a fifteen-to-twenty-year age difference between them. But the older man’s faith in him had been one of the first breaks Zack had received since his conviction.

And it wasn’t something he’d ever forget.

Zack swiped at his brow again. After lunch—about the time the girls had taken an interest in his work—he’d shed his shirt. But the heat of the summer sun hadn’t eased up much, even though it was nearing five and he’d been on overtime for an hour or so.

As he turned the dozer, he again looked at the wall where the children sat. The blonde lifted the hand that rested near her beverage, but before he could nod or acknowledge her, the little brown-haired girl reached to take a drink while juggling her teddy bear. The stuffed animal slipped from her grasp, and as she tried to catch it, she lost her balance and tumbled forward.

Damn. That was a long, hard fall for a little kid. He quickly decelerated, threw the gear into Neutral, lowered the dozer blade, then jumped from the rig and ran toward the crying child, who lay on the ground in a heap of pink and white.

His heart echoed in his chest, as he leaped over clods of dirt and twigs that had yet to be cleared.

The older girl tried to scramble off the wall, but was having a difficult time of it.

When he reached the child in the dirt, he knelt by her side. “Are you all right?”

“No,” she shrieked between sobs. “I broke my leg. And my back. And my bottom. And it hurts really bad.”

The crazy kid could have broken her neck. As she sat up and peered at her knee, which sported a blood-tinged scrape, she let out a piercing wail.

“I’ll go get Mommy’s doctor book,” the older girl said, as she turned and tried to figure out how to scale the six-foot wall.

“Why don’t you go get your mommy instead,” Zack suggested. He could use some backup. Surely the child’s mother could handle this situation a hell of a lot better than he could. For Pete’s sake, he’d never felt so inept in all his life.

“Our mom is at work,” the older girl said.

“And what about your dad?” he asked her.

“He’s in Heaven.”

Oops. What was he supposed to say to that?

Hoping to distract the crying child from her pain and get her thoughts off the loss of her father, he asked her name.

She sniffled, sucking back her tears in a ragged wheeze. “J-Jessie.”

“It’s Jessica Marie,” the older girl supplied. “My name is Becky. I was named after my grandmother, Rebecca Ann. She’s in Heaven, too.”

Zack didn’t want to touch the Heaven stuff with a ten-foot pole, so he clamped his mouth shut.

“What’s your name?” Becky asked.

He really didn’t want to get chummy with a couple of kids. But he didn’t want to be rude, either. “You can call me Zack.” He didn’t give her a last name; he didn’t see a point.

“Our mom’s name is Diana,” she added. “She’s very pretty. And she’s nice, too.”

He knew for a fact that some pretty mothers left their children alone. But he didn’t think nice ones would. “Who’s looking after you?”

“Megan,” Becky supplied. “Our baby-sitter. She’s a teenager.”

Thank goodness there was someone better qualified for this than him, even if his successor was in her teens.

The injured child—Jessie—had finally stopped crying, but the tears had left a telltale muddy path along her cheeks.

“Do you think you can stand up?” he asked her.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’ll try.”

“Good. I’ll help you. Then we can go find Megan.”

As he tried to pull the little girl to her feet, she cried out. “Owie. I can’t. My leg is still broken.”

It looked okay to him. Just a little red near the knee.

Oh, what the hell. He’d just have to carry her home. The crew was spread a little thin this week, so he was the only one working on this project until Monday. He glanced at the dozer that sat idling in the field. With the blade down, it was safe to leave it for a little while, but he went back to the tractor and turned off the ignition.

When he returned to the girls, he picked up the teddy bear and handed it to Becky, then scooped Jessie into his arms.

“You sure are strong,” Becky said, as she walked along beside him.

He shrugged. Jessie didn’t weigh much more than his daughter, but he figured Becky was actually referring to his size.

At six foot six and with the bulk he’d built up in the prison gym, Zack got plenty of notice on the street. And not just from kids.

“Your muscles are really big,” the smaller girl said. “Just like the ’credible Hulk. Do you get green and big when you get mad?”

A smile tugged at his lips. “I get a little red in the face and puff out my chest. But I pretty much stay this color and size.”

They walked along the block wall until they reached the end, then cut through an unfenced backyard to the street.

“Which house is yours?” he asked, eager to pass the baton—or rather the child—to the sitter.

Becky pointed ahead. “Our house is the white one with the yellow sunflower on the mailbox. My mom painted it. She’s a good artist.”

As Zack continued down the street in the direction Becky had indicated, she asked, “Are you married?”

It seemed like an odd question, but he answered truthfully. “No, I’m not.”

“That’s good.”

Uh-oh. Warning bells went off in Zack’s head. Surely the preteen didn’t have a crush on him. How was a guy supposed to deal with stuff like that?

“Our mom’s not married, either,” Becky added.

Their mom? Oh, the widow.

He wasn’t sure how that came up. But good. Maybe the childish crush thing was the wrong assumption.

“What about you?” he countered. “Are either of you married?”

They both giggled.

Jessie, who no longer appeared to be shaken by her fall, brightened and her brown eyes sparkled. “No, silly. We’re just kids.”

As Becky lagged behind, Zack turned and noticed she was struggling to keep up with his stride, so he slowed down. He had to do that when walking with Emily, too.

When the girl finally caught up to him, she asked, “Do tractor drivers make a lot of money?”

What kind of question was that? He was making union scale—a damn good wage, especially for a felon. And he’d be able to buy his own house someday. A place with a second bedroom he could fix up for his daughter and a backyard big enough to hold a swing set, a playhouse and all the other outdoor, childhood necessities he’d yet to learn about.

“I’m happy with my paycheck,” he told the girl.

“That’s good.”

He snuck a glance at Becky’s bright-eyed, freckled face and saw the wheels turning. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out the direction of her thoughts.

But maybe it was only his imagination. He’d never quite gotten a handle on the complex way women thought. So what made him think a preteen girl would be any simpler?

As they neared the children’s house, one side of a duplex, a plump, gray-haired woman stepped onto the porch shared by both families. She frowned and strode toward him, her stubby arms swinging, her chest heaving with exertion. She furrowed her brow and, as she drew near, pointed a finger at him. “What do you think you’re doing? You put that child down immediately, or I’ll call the police.”

Just the thought of the woman calling the cops made Zack’s blood run hot and cold. He’d kept his nose clean since a few months before the robbery at the Speedy Stop. But no one in the D.A.’s office had believed his story. After all, he’d been a known juvenile delinquent who’d admitted arriving at the convenience store with the robber and gunman.

So what made him think things would be different now that the teenage troublemaker was a grown-up ex-con?

“He can’t put me down,” Jessie told the neighbor. “I broke my leg and my back. And he’s taking me home.”

“She fell off the block wall and onto the construction site,” Zack explained, not sure if it would diffuse the older woman’s suspicion. “I don’t think she’s really hurt.”

Jessie pooched out her bottom lip. “I am so. I’m hurt really bad.”

The woman waddled down her steps and met Zack in the street. “You can bring her into my house. I’ll take over from here.”

That was fine with Zack. He needed to get back on that dozer, since he was working overtime this week and still had another couple of hours before dark. If Bob came out to check on him, Zack wanted the man to see him hard at work and doing a good job.

“Oh, look!” The child in his arms pointed to an old green Plymouth rumbling down the street. “Mommy’s home.”

At this point, Zack didn’t care who took over for him. He was completely out of his element when it came to looking after wounded kids, even if their injuries were as minor as Jessie’s appeared to be.

The Plymouth stopped in the middle of the street, and a slender brunette climbed from the idling car. “What’s going on? Jessie, what’s the matter?”

“I broke my leg,” the girl began, reciting the list of injuries she’d self-diagnosed.

“And this is Zack,” her older sister said. “He was driving a tractor in the field and saved her life. Isn’t he nice?”

“Yeah,” Jessie said. “And Mommy, he’s super-strong, too. You should feel his muscles.”

Jessie’s mother flushed and tucked a strand of honey-brown hair behind her ear. She flashed Zack an appreciative smile. “Thank you for helping my daughter. But I’m not sure what she was doing out in the field, since the girls aren’t allowed out of the yard while I’m gone.”

“We weren’t in the field,” Becky explained. “We were sitting on the wall, watching Zack work. Then Jessie fell over like Humpty Dumpty.”

“And Zack put me together again.” Jessie patted him on the shoulder.

A bare shoulder, he realized. But heck, he hadn’t had time to think about putting on a shirt. Or cleaning up so that he could make a good impression on a woman who seemed to grow lovelier by the minute.

She blessed Zack with another sweet smile, and his heart skipped a beat.

“Thank you for rescuing Jessie,” she told him, before addressing her oldest daughter with a furrowed brow. “Becky, where’s Megan?”

“She’s sick with a major headache and taking a nap on the sofa. But don’t worry. I took good care of Jessie.”

Zack couldn’t help but arch a brow at that comment, but he supposed she had tried to look after her sister—after the fall.

“We’ll talk about that later,” the mother said.

“Do you want me to carry her inside for you?” Zack asked, surprised that he’d uttered the words. But as crazy as it seemed, he almost wished she’d say yes.

“Thanks, but I can manage.” She lifted her arms to take her daughter from him.

As they shifted the girl from one pair of arms to the other, Zack feared he’d get her light blue blouse or her beige slacks dirty.

“Be careful,” he told her. “I’m dusty and sweaty.”

“That’s all right.”

Her hand brushed his several times, making his skin tingle.

“I’ve got her,” she said. “Thanks.”

For a moment their gazes locked, and something sweet and gentle drew him to her, threatening to leave him tongue-tied and stammering.

Of course, he couldn’t very well stand there gawking at her, especially in front of her daughters and neighbor, so he shook off the mushy feeling. “Well, I’d better go.”

Her green eyes glimmered as she nodded, but her gaze never left him. He couldn’t help wondering if she found him attractive.

But how stupid was that? She was probably trying to determine his character. And with his luck, her maternal instinct would probably snitch, telling her he’d spent the past five years in prison.

“Thanks again,” she said, giving him his cue, his excuse to cut out and return to work.

But he just stood there. “You’re welcome.”

The unsmiling neighbor stepped closer, eyeing him in a way the girls’ mother hadn’t. “You look familiar. Have you lived in Bayside long?”

No, he hadn’t. But five years ago, his picture had been plastered on the front page of every newspaper in San Diego county, including the Bayside Banner. “I moved to town a couple of months ago.”

The older woman furrowed her brow, as though not believing him. But hell, he’d told her the truth.

“Thanks again for bringing Jessie home,” the girls’ mother said.

“Glad I could help.” Then Zack turned and strode away, eager to escape the older woman’s gaze.

From behind, he could hear the mother tell her girls to stay off the fence. And that she needed to have a talk with Megan.

What had the girls said their mother’s name was? Diana?

He supposed it didn’t matter. He doubted he’d ever see her or the girls again.

Still, he couldn’t help thinking that she was too young to be a widow. His thoughts drifted to her late husband. Dying wasn’t anything a man looked forward to, that’s for sure. But leaving a wife like her behind would make it a whole lot worse.

He struggled with the urge to turn his head, to take one last look at the woman whose daughter had told the truth when she’d said her mom was pretty and nice.

But he didn’t.

Women like that didn’t give men like him a second glance.



Diana carried Jessie to the house, but several times she wanted to turn her head and take another peek at the construction worker who was returning to the job site.

He was a big man, brawny and tanned, with coal-black hair some might think needed a trim.

But she didn’t think so. Hair that was a bit long and unruly looked good on him. And so did the tattoo that wrapped around his arm.

Zack had what she’d call a hard edge, although compelling blue eyes and a dimpled smile softened it just enough.

She guessed him to be in his midtwenties, yet it was tough to tell for sure. Still, she figured he was at least five or six years younger than she was—not that it mattered.

“Zack is really handsome,” Becky said. “Don’t you think so, Mom? And he’s nice, too. Kind of like a hero. Did you see his cool tattoo?”

“I saw it,” Martha Ashton interjected. “Those flames on his arm reminded me of the hounds of hell.”

Diana averted her face and rolled her eyes. It was only a tattoo, for goodness sake, and certainly nothing to use in judging a man’s character. He had, after all, brought Jessie home after she’d fallen and gotten hurt.

“Didn’t you see that nasty thing?” Martha asked Diana.

How could she not notice the flicker of flames along a bulging biceps? Diana hadn’t seen many tattoos up close. Nor had she seen such a big, muscular man without his shirt. Her father was a truck driver, and he was one of the strongest, bulkiest men she’d ever met.

Until today.

“But did you see his tattoo, Mom?” Becky asked.

“Yes, I did. It was…interesting. And I think it was nice of him to bring Jessie home.”

Martha harrumphed.

Diana always tried to overlook her neighbor’s negativity, if she could. Martha had good intentions but could be a bit intrusive. So she slid her a warm smile. “Thanks for seeing about the girls, Martha. I need to get them home and fix dinner.”

“I wish I could look out for them while you’re working,” Martha said. “But with all my volunteer work, I just don’t have the time.”

“I understand.” Diana turned toward the front stoop. “We’re getting along just fine. And Megan’s doing a good job.”

But was Megan really doing a good job watching the girls?

The fact that the teenage girl had neglected to call Diana when she became ill didn’t sit very well. And that error in judgment reminded Diana how young and inexperienced her childcare provider was.

But she hadn’t been able to afford the summer day-camp program the city provided working parents—at least, not for both girls. So she was doing the best she could, under the circumstances.

Of course, she could have remained in Texas, where her father was able to help financially and could occasionally look after the girls. But that wasn’t an option. Not if she wanted her daughters to escape the criticism she’d lived with as a child. She wanted them to grow up with their self-esteem intact.

Her father was as tough and strong as those trucks he drove, big rigs that barreled down the interstate and could crush any other vehicle that got in its way.

That didn’t mean Diana didn’t love him. He was a good man and an even better provider. But living under his thumb, as well as his roof, had become unbearable. Over the years, he’d criticized her to a fault.

This sauce needs more salt.

There’s not enough starch on this shirt.

Who the hell left this damn crayon on the coffee table?

Am I the only one who can see that sock on the laundry room floor?

No matter how hard she tried, first as a young girl trying to run the household after her mother left, then as a grown woman returning home with two girls of her own, her best had never been enough.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Martha said, as she walked toward her house.

As Diana turned down her own sidewalk, Megan opened the door.

When the teenager spotted Jessie in Diana’s arms, her jaw dropped momentarily. “Oh, my gosh. What happened?”

“I fell and broke my leg,” Jessie said. “And Zack saved me.”

Megan grimaced, as guilt spread over her lightly freckled face. “I’m sorry. I…uh…got sick and dozed off.”

And, consequently, no one had been looking after the girls. The drop on the other side of the wall had to be six feet or more. Thank God Jessie hadn’t been seriously injured. She could have broken her neck.

Or she could have been run over by a tractor.

Diana blew out a shaky breath, as she struggled with the urge to snap at the fifteen-year-old. To react the way her father would have. To forget that the teenager had nice parents and had come highly recommended. And that it wasn’t Megan’s fault she’d become ill today.

It was so unfair to look only at the bad and disregard the good.

But that didn’t mean Diana would sweep the issue under the rug. “You should have called me at work, Megan. I would have come home early.”

“I didn’t want to bother you. I thought if I just laid down for a little while I’d be all right.”

“Are you feeling better now?”

Megan shrugged. “I guess so.”

Diana carried Jessie into the house and placed her on the sofa. “Call me tomorrow. If you’re still sick or have a headache, I’ll try to work out something else.”

“Okay.” The teen grabbed her knapsack and headed out the door. “I’m sorry about falling asleep.”

“I know.” Diana smiled. “But call me next time, okay?”

When Megan had gone and Jessie had decided she was healed of any and all broken bones, Diana went into the kitchen to start dinner.

Sometimes it was tough not having someone on her team, someone she could depend on for emotional support during a trying day. But Diana had learned the hard way that it was much easier to live on her own, relying only on herself.

As she stood at the sink, washing and peeling potatoes, she glanced out the window, where, beyond the brick wall, she could see Zack sitting in the cab of his tractor, hard at work.

Becky was right. He was certainly handsome. And he had one of those don’t-mess-with-me auras. Something that suggested he hadn’t been pampered.

He reminded her of Travis Dayton, a rebellious teenage boy she’d once known, who smoked, drank and rode a motorcycle with a gutted muffler. There’d been something daring and dangerous about Travis, something wild and forbidden that, as a high school good girl, she’d found attractive. And one night, she’d nearly made the biggest mistake of her life.

At the time, she’d gotten what she considered a divine appeal, one of those once in a lifetime get-out-of-hell-free cards. And there was no way she’d risk throwing caution to the wind again.

The engine of the dozer groaned as it worked in the field. And Diana couldn’t help studying the young, brawny operator who was still shirtless. She wondered if he’d been genetically blessed with those muscles or whether hard work had done the job for him.

It had been a long time since a guy with an edge had turned her head. But Diana knew better than to get involved with anyone again. Not even a kind and gentle man like Peter Lynch, the minister she’d married.

In his own way, Peter had been a disappointment, too. But that was her secret. She’d never let the girls know their father hadn’t been the perfect man that had been engrained in their memories.

Just the other night, while tucking her daughters into bed and listening to their prayers, Jessie had asked God for a new daddy to make their family complete. But Diana hadn’t been able to utter an amen to that.

She didn’t want another husband. Every man who’d ever loved her, every man she should have been able to depend upon, had disappointed her or hurt her, in one way or another.

No, a new husband and a stepfather wouldn’t make their lives complete.

She might have believed so once upon a time, but she’d put away girlish dreams years ago.

Yet, for some silly reason, she couldn’t help looking out the kitchen window one last time.




Chapter Two


The next day, Zack continued to work on his own until two mechanics showed up on the site to set up a ten thousand-gallon drop tank that would provide water for dust control and compaction. He cleared a suitable spot near the water main and the entrance on Callaway Drive, which wasn’t far from the brick wall where Becky and Jessie had watched him yesterday.

But the girls hadn’t shown their faces today. He figured that after he’d handed over Jessie to her mom and gone back to work, Diana had told her daughters to stay away from the construction site completely. Or maybe the girls had just lost interest in the dirt and dust. He certainly couldn’t blame them if they had.

After the mechanics left, he continued to work alone. But he didn’t mind. Keeping busy helped the week to pass until he could again spend a couple of hours with his daughter.

Ever since his parole, his life and Sunday afternoons had taken on a whole new meaning.

Some people might not understand why Zack hadn’t sought full custody and taken Emily from the foster mother who’d raised her. He’d meant to, while he was still in prison, but when he was released and met his four-year-old daughter for the very first time, he didn’t have the heart to upset her little world and take her from a loving home.

Besides, Caitlin Tanner, Emily’s foster mom, should be named Bayside Mother of the Year.

Of course, that didn’t mean Zack didn’t want to spend more time with Emily. Or that he wasn’t trying his damnedest to be a good father. But truthfully, he still felt a little awkward around her, since he didn’t know jack squat about kids, especially girls.

Little by little he was learning, though—every Sunday afternoon.

He turned the dozer and moved to the far side of the field, away from the bordering neighborhood. Every now and then he glanced toward Becky and Jessie’s backyard. They were obviously obedient kids. He would have been, too, if he’d had a mother like theirs.

Just after eleven, he looked toward the water tank. And this time, he spotted their faces peering over the wall, their hands clutching the gray, roughened cinder blocks.

He probably should ignore them so they’d return to the house and do something other than watch him work, but he decided to head over there and remind them of what their mother had said. He didn’t want them to get forgetful and climb to the top of the wall as the day progressed.

As he neared the girls, it was impossible to hear their voices over the drone of the diesel engine, but eager waves and lip movements made it easy to decipher a greeting.

Their childish enthusiasm tickled him, and he waved back. Then he set down the blade, placed the gear into Neutral and climbed from the rig.

“Hi, Zack!” Jessie started to wave, then her eyes widened. “Oops!” She gasped and wobbled from whatever she’d perched on, then quickly grabbed the wall to steady herself.

“You girls need to be careful,” he admonished, his voice loud enough to be heard over the noise. “I thought your mother said you weren’t supposed to climb up there.”

“We aren’t climbing on the wall,” the older girl said. “We’re standing on stuff.”

Their yard sat higher than the field where Zack stood. But at his height, he had no trouble peering over the six-foot barrier, which was probably only two-thirds as high on their side. They stood on a tricycle and a wagon.

“I’m not sure that your mother would approve of this, either,” he said. “Where’s your baby-sitter?”

“Megan?” Jessie, the younger girl, blew out a big sigh and rolled her eyes. “She used to play with us when Mommy went to work. But now that she got a new cell phone for her birthday, all she ever does is talk to her friends about boys and parties.”

Becky tossed a long strand of blond hair over her shoulder. “She’s a teenager. You know how it is.”

No, Zack didn’t figure he knew much about teenage girls. Or about babysitters. But he didn’t think Diana was paying Megan to chat on the phone and leave her daughters to fend for themselves.

He, himself, was just learning how to parent. God knew he’d never had a decent role model, other than his grandmother in the early years. And try as he might, he really couldn’t remember as much as he’d like to.

So he tried to imagine the way Emily’s foster mom would handle a situation like this. Caitlin was really fussy when it came to Emily’s care—something that gave him great peace of mind.

“Want a snack?” Jessie asked. “We made cookies for you last night, after Mommy washed the dishes.”

“Your mom made cookies for me?”

“No,” Jessie said. “She made them for our lunch this week. But me and Becky saved some for you.”

For a moment, a stupid little thrill had shot through him, thinking that the girls’ attractive mother had made cookies for him. But he should have known better, especially when talking to kids. Emily had an interesting way of looking at things and came up with some real doozies sometimes.

“They’re oatmeal raisin cookies with nuts,” the older girl—Becky—added. “They’re very healthy and good for you. Our mom is big on things like that.”

He figured she would be. “Oatmeal raisin, huh?” He’d lived with his grandmother in Escondido when he was a kid, but not long enough to create more than a few faded memories.

Homemade cookies, fresh out of the oven, had been one of them.

Zack had always had a sweet tooth, although he’d usually appeased it with the candy he hid in the glove box of his Camaro. But a snack made by the girls and their mother sounded pretty darn tempting. “You know, I’d really like a cookie. But it’ll have to wait for lunch. I don’t want to make my foreman angry if he shows up and I’m loafing on the job.”

“What’s a foreman?” little Jessie asked.

“My boss.”

She nodded her head sagely. “Oh, I get it. Like Reverend Morton.”

Was she talking about a minister? Zack didn’t get the comparison, unless old Reverend Morton was full of dos and don’ts.

“Is he pretty bossy?” Zack asked.

“Nope. He’s pretty nice, as far as pastors go,” Becky said, as though she had a wealth of experience with ministers. “He’s our mom’s boss.”

Their mother worked at a church? He supposed a job like that suited her.

“Our mom is the office manager,” Jessie said. “And she works on the computer and answers the phone. And she knows everything about what happens at church. Reverend Morton said she’s a real blessing. And he can’t get along without her.”

Zack wondered if Reverend Morton was old or young, married or single. Then he kicked himself for giving a rip about something like that. Why should he care? Diana was the kind of woman who’d attract a preacher. And if she had? Good for her and the girls.

“Reverend Morton likes our mom a whole lot,” Becky said.

Oh, yeah? How much was a whole lot?

“He’s a very nice man,” the older girl added, “but he’s not her type.”

What was her type? Zack wondered.

A convicted felon certainly wasn’t, but no need to get into that.

“Well,” he said. “I need to get back to work. But I’m going to eat lunch in the shade of the water tank. We can talk then.”

“Okay,” the girls said in unison.

“And be careful climbing down,” he advised them, using what he hoped was a paternal tone.

Thirty minutes later, Zack broke for lunch. He’d no more than kicked back in the shade, bit into the pastrami sandwich he’d fixed himself and taken a swig of the lemonade he’d made out of a powdered mix when the girls returned. Again, they used their toys to help them peer over the wall.

He passed on the milk they offered him, but the chewy cookies were out of this world. “These are great.”

“Thank you,” Becky said.

“Our mom helped us. And she’s the bestest cooker in the whole, wide world,” Jessie added. “She’s going to make meat loaf tonight, ’cause it’s my favorite.”

“I don’t know about that,” the older girl corrected. “Mom’s going to get home pretty late. And I bet we have to eat soup and sandwiches like last time.”

Was the widowed church secretary going out after work? That seemed a little surprising, although he didn’t know much about nice women like her. Maybe she and the Bible thumper had a thing going.

“Why is she coming home late?” he asked, immediately wishing he hadn’t.

“She has to take the bus home,” Jessie said. “That’s how she got to work today. The car is broken again.”

He didn’t doubt it. That old Plymouth had sounded as though it was on its last wheel when she’d come home yesterday.

“She’s probably going to be riding the bus for a long time,” the older girl said. “She can’t afford to have someone fix the car yet.”

“That’s all right,” the younger girl said. “Riding the bus is really fun.”

It might be fun for a child. And public transportation was certainly an option. But Zack doubted their mother was happy about not having a dependable car.

“How far away is your mom’s work?” he asked.

“About twenty minutes when she drives us to church,” Becky said. “But it takes a lot longer on the bus, because it’s all the way in San Diego, and we have to take two or three different ones, just to get there.”

For a moment he thought about a darkened bus stop in the bad part of town. A pregnant woman waiting alone, trying to catch the 209 home. A dark sedan driving by. The glint of metal. A gunshot. A body slumping to the ground. A pool of blood. Screams. Sirens.

It had been a fluke. A random shooting that wasn’t likely to happen again.

He’d been locked up, unable to help Teresa. Unable to sit with a premature baby. Unable to do anything but stare at the damned bars that had imprisoned him.

Zack blew out a sigh. Maybe he ought to check out that rusted out old clunker Diana drove. He was a pretty decent mechanic and knew a guy down at the auto junkyard where he got used parts at a discount.

He reached into the bag of barbecue chips, but paused before sticking one in his mouth. “After work, I’ll take a look at your mom’s car. Maybe I can get it running again.”

“That’s way cool,” Becky said. “My mom is going to think you’re a real live hero.”

With his record and his past, Zack was about as far from hero material as a man came, especially in the eyes of a pretty widow who worked as a church secretary.



It was almost seven o’clock when Diana finally started down Shady Lane to the small rented home where she and the girls lived.

She wished she’d worn walking shoes rather than heels, but when the car engine wouldn’t turn over this morning, she’d been afraid to take the time to run inside for a pair of tennies or flats. If she couldn’t make it to the bus stop by eight o’clock, she would have had to wait another thirty minutes for the 213. As it was, she’d power-walked and had to run the last fifty yards.

The sun had lowered over the Pacific, but due to a hurricane off the coast of Mexico, there wasn’t the usual ocean breeze to cool the sultry air. After two long bus rides and a five-block walk, her clothes were clinging to her damp skin. She tugged at her silky blouse and shifted the long strap of her purse to the other shoulder.

Jessie had asked for meat loaf and mashed potatoes for dinner, but there was no way Diana would turn on the oven tonight. In fact, she planned to take a shower and slip on a pair of shorts and a tank top as soon as she got home.

As she neared her driveway, she spotted the opened hood of her car and a hulk of a man bent over the engine. Her daughters stood at his side.

Zack?

Her heart fluttered, and she’d be darned if she wanted to contemplate why.

When Jessie glanced down the street, she let out a shriek. “Mommy’s home.” Then she ran down the sidewalk with open arms, welcoming Diana home with a child-size bear hug.

Diana wrapped her youngest child in a warm embrace. “What’s going on, Jes?”

“Zack is the best car fixer in the whole wide world. And he’s going to fix ours for free. Isn’t he nice?”

“It sure looks that way.” She took Jessie’s hand and continued home, aware of the way her bra stuck to her skin, the way her blouse clung to her chest and arms. Aware that she needed to comb her hair and apply a light coat of lipstick.

She tried to use the excuse of the weather, physical exertion and being hot and tired as a reason to dash inside and freshen up.

But she was having a hard time buying into that explanation, especially when the tall, dark and ruggedly handsome man pushed away from the car to face her.

He wore a T-shirt this evening, yet she could still see the flex of his muscles as he slowly lifted his head from the car and turned.

His size alone was enough to make a woman catch her breath. But that’s not the only thing that caused sexual awareness to build into a slow and steady rush.

A shank of unruly dark hair taunted her to brush it off his forehead. And a sky-is-the-limit gaze lanced her to the core. A square cut jaw suggested he could take it on the chin—and probably had, more times than not.

His lips quirked in a boyish half smile, and he nodded at the worn-out sedan. “I hope you don’t mind that I took a look under the hood.”

“No. Not at all.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, feeling a bit awkward. Shy. Self-conscious.

How could she have such a silly, adolescent reaction to a stranger who was only being a Good Samaritan?

The screen door squeaked, and Megan walked outside. “How was your day at work, Mrs. Lynch?”

“It was fine.” The trek home had been a bit bothersome. But other than that, Diana couldn’t complain. At least she had a job. And Reverend Morton had been more than understanding about her plight. In fact, he’d wanted to give her a ride home, but he’d had a meeting with the deacons at five-thirty.

“Well,” the teen said, reaching for her backpack that sat just inside the door. “I guess I’d better go.”

“Thank you for looking after the girls. Can you please come a half an hour earlier tomorrow? I’ll need to take the bus again.”

“Sure.” The teenager turned toward the Plymouth. “It’s too bad about your car.”

Diana merely nodded in response. The trusty vehicle had gotten them from Texas to California without any mishaps. And she ought to be thankful it had broken down in the driveway, rather than on the interstate. At least she’d saved money on a towing bill.

“If it makes you feel better,” Zack said, “I think I can get it running. But I’ll need a few parts.”

“I hate to put you out.”

“No problem.” Those baby blues locked on her again, this time drawing her in like a fisherman reeling in his catch—hook, line and sinker.

The intensity of the tenuous connection made her overly conscious of the moisture gathering under her arms, made her wish she’d run a brush through her hair before leaving the bus stop, maybe sprayed on a light splash of perfume.

For a woman who had absolutely no intention of allowing another man back in her life, how crazy was that?

She cleared her throat, hoping to gain control over her pulse and her wits. “I’m afraid my budget is pretty stretched right now.”

“Don’t worry about it. And although this car won’t make it much longer, I think I can get it running, at least temporarily, without too much effort. If you make me a batch of oatmeal cookies, we’ll call it even.”

“Mom,” Becky said, tugging at the sleeve of Diana’s blouse, “shouldn’t we invite Zack for dinner, too?”

“That’s not necessary,” he said, as though sensing Diana’s surprise at her daughter’s invitation. “I’ll get something on my way to the auto parts store.”

She ought to let it go, maybe even ask him to dinner tomorrow night instead. But it had been nice of him to look at her car. God knew she couldn’t afford a mechanic for another couple of weeks. She was still paying off Becky’s dental work.

“We’re not having anything special,” she told him with a smile. “But I’d be happy if you’d share dinner with us.”

He seemed to ponder the offer. Or maybe he was just trying to come up with a way to bow out gracefully. Then he gave her a slow, boyish shrug. “If you’re sure it’s no problem.”

“Not at all,” she said, although her heart was thumping to a primitive jungle beat. And that sounded a little problematic to her. “It’ll take me a few minutes, though. Do you mind waiting?”

“Nope. I’ll just drive down to the auto parts store and see if they’ve got a new battery.”

She froze in her tracks. If her math was correct, her check register boasted all of forty-seven dollars and thirteen cents to last her until next payday. “What will a new battery cost?”

“No more than fifty bucks, I’d say. But I’m going to put it on my credit card. I won’t need payment for another three weeks or so.”

She whispered a quick prayer, thanking God for looking out for her, even though she’d done her share of grumbling and complaining on the walk to the bus stop this morning. “Do you mind taking a postdated check?”

“Nope. Not at all.” He dropped the hood of the car, then swiped his hands together twice. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

As he strode down the street, she called out, “Wait a minute. Where’s your car? You’re not on foot, too, are you?”

He slid her a heart-strumming grin. “Nope. My car is parked on the job site.”

Then he continued on his way.

She didn’t know how long she had before he returned, hungry and ready to eat. But she decided a quick jump in the shower would make standing over a hot stove so much more bearable.

The thought that she might want to freshen up for more reasons than the heat and humidity crossed her mind, but she quickly brushed it aside. She wouldn’t put her heart on the line again.

The girls had hinted that they’d all be much happier when Diana found another husband. But Diana knew better than that.

Sometimes men placed demands and stress upon a woman in ways the outside world could never imagine.



Zack didn’t have a credit card, but he wasn’t about to tell Diana that. He would loan her the money for as long as she needed. In fact, if he could figure out a graceful way of making a gift out of it, he would.

So he purchased a heavy-duty battery and took it back to her house, where he put it in the car. He also replaced her spark plugs and put in a new fuel filter. All in all, it cost him more than a hundred dollars, but what the hell.

It made him feel good to help out the little family.

And he’d be getting a home-cooked dinner out of the deal, too. A guy couldn’t complain about that.

When he’d made sure the engine was running, he shut off the ignition, closed the car door and lowered the hood. Then he washed up at the faucet in front of the house. Maybe he should have asked for a rain check for a night when he could shower at home and come dressed appropriately.

But then again, he wouldn’t be surprised if Diana reneged on tonight’s dinner offer. Until very recently, his life had been one big disappointment after another.

That is, until two of the greatest guys he’d ever met had stepped up to the plate.

Bob Adams, his boss, for one. When Zack was a teen, the guy had taken an interest in him when no one else had, letting him borrow tools and work on an old pickup that most people thought would never run again. A beat-up, twenty-two-year-old truck he’d traded in on a ’67 Camaro when he’d gotten out of prison.

And when it seemed that no one in Bayside believed his story about being in the wrong place at the wrong time, Bob had believed him. He’d even come out to visit Zack at the Riverview Correctional Facility when no one else had.

The other man was Harry Logan, a detective who’d tried to help a miserable, hard-ass teenager who’d had more than his share of trouble with the law. Some of the things Harry had told Zack had finally taken root, but Harry hadn’t known that. Not when Zack had headed out to meet the cop one evening and ended up behind bars and on the six o’clock news.

When Zack was paroled, Harry had reached out again, welcoming Zack into a brotherhood of men known as Logan’s Heroes, a group of misfit delinquents who’d turned their sorry lives around because of Harry’s guidance and influence.

With guys like Bob and Harry on his side, Zack’s future was looking up.

The present, however, was another story.

As Zack stood before Diana’s door, he took a deep breath, then slowly blew it out. For some reason, a swarm of butterflies had swooped through his gut, and he wasn’t sure why. It’s not like this was a date or anything. He pulled open the screen, then knocked lightly.

Jessie and Becky struggled to be the first to let him inside a small but homey living room with mismatched furniture, where framed photographs lined the mantel over the fireplace.

“I’ll go tell my mom you’re here,” the older girl said, before dashing off.

All of a sudden, in spite of a whiff of something that smelled tasty and tempted a grumble from his belly, Zack had second thoughts about accepting this dinner invitation. He’d eaten with the Logans a few times and with Brett and Caitlin Tanner once or twice, but he still felt kind of weird in those sit-down-at-the-table situations.

When the pretty brunette entered the living room, wearing a pair of white shorts, a red sleeveless blouse and a heart-spinning smile, he couldn’t have conjured a reason to leave, even if he’d tried.

There was an old adage that said beauty was only skin deep. But Zack had a feeling Diana’s went clear to the bone.

“Hi,” she said.

Rather than slip into chitchat, which would make him uneasy, he grappled to find a safe conversation, something that promoted his self-confidence. “The car is running again. I’m not sure how long it will last before you’ll need to buy something newer, but it ought to get you to work and back for the time being.”

“Thank you.” She placed her hands on her hips, drawing his attention to her gentle curves and making him feel as though he’d crossed some divine line between right and wrong, Heaven and hell.

He tried to shrug off his inappropriate interest. “I like tinkering with engines and have a knack for mechanics. Always have. In fact, I bought an old, beat-up Camaro and have been fixing it up. I rebuilt the engine, and now it runs like a charm. It doesn’t look too pretty on the outside, but it will—someday.”

Crap. He hadn’t meant to spout off like that. He hoped she didn’t think he was boasting. But it wasn’t easy talking to a lady like her.

Hell, he’d never been tongue-tied around women before. Of course, his dates had always been a bit rough and ragged around the edges and not at all like Diana. And even if he was getting his life on track, getting his focus out of the gutter and on the kind of future that would make his daughter proud of him someday, he couldn’t see chasing after a woman like her.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” she said. “My dad gave me that old car when we lived with him in Texas, and it was pretty worn-out then. But he managed to keep it running for me.”

“Is he a mechanic?”

“By necessity. He’s actually a trucker.”

Zack nodded, as though it made perfect sense. But it merely made him realize how very little he knew about the widowed mother of two. “What brought you out to California?”

Before she could answer, Jessie spoke up. “Mommy worked at a ranch. She counted all their money. But we had to move.”

Had she lost her job? Been falsely accused of something, like he’d been? God knew he didn’t like people digging into his past. Of course, that didn’t make him any less curious about hers.

“Becky,” the soft-spoken mother said to the older girl, “why don’t you and your sister set the table out on the patio. It’s a bit warm to eat inside.”

“Cool. Jessie and I like it when we eat outdoors. Can I light the bug candle, too?”

“Not until I’m there to supervise.”

The girls dashed off, and Diana took a seat on a worn plaid recliner. She sat at the edge of the cushion, leaning forward slightly, hands on her knees.

She looked ready to bolt.

Silence stretched between them until she said, “You start work pretty early each day.”

Okay, so she’d turned the conversation away from her reasons for moving to California. He took the hint and let it drop. “I start at seven o’clock. In the next few days, the rest of the crew will join me. And I’m afraid the equipment will only get louder.”

“That’s all right. My alarm goes off about that time. And the noise from your bulldozer just reminds me to get in the shower.”

Zack doubted he’d ever fire up that engine again without glancing in the direction of Diana’s house and wondering if she was awake.

And headed for the shower.

He envisioned the shapely brunette taking off a white cotton gown and stepping under the gentle spray of a warm shower. Naked. Water sluicing over her.

“So,” he said, trying to squelch the sexual curiosity that seemed sinful in the case of a widowed church secretary and the mother of two. “Do you like living in Bayside better than Texas?”

“Yes, but we really miss our friends, the Merediths. They were like family to us.”

“What made you move?” Okay, so he was prodding her, when turnabout wasn’t fair play.

“We were living with my father and…” She glanced in the direction the girls had run. “He’s a good man, but critical to a fault. And I had to put a little distance between him and the girls. I didn’t want them to grow up in a harsh environment.”

The kind of environment she’d grown up in, no doubt. But she seemed to have come away unscathed.

“Well,” she said, nodding toward the kitchen. “If you’ll excuse me for a minute, I have to check something on the stove.”

“Sure.” He watched her walk away, unable to ignore the gentle sway of her rounded hips. He blew out a pent-up sigh, hoping to shake off the attraction that brewed under his surface.

He glanced at the lamp table, spotting a framed photograph of a smiling man and woman.

A groom and his pretty, brown-haired bride.

Diana and her husband.

The girls had said their father passed away. They seemed to be okay with the loss. But how about their mother?

Was she still grieving? Still brokenhearted?

He hoped not. Diana was too young, too sweet, too perfect to be hurting.

And too damned young to be sleeping alone.

Again, he cursed his sexual attraction to a woman who was way out of his reach.




Chapter Three


Diana stood at the stove. As spaghetti sauce simmered over a low flame, she stared at a large pot of water, wondering if it would ever boil.

On the way home from the bus stop, she’d thought about fixing canned soup and sandwiches for dinner—something quick and easy. But she couldn’t very well serve a light meal like that to a construction worker the size of Paul Bunyon and with, she imagined, an appetite to match.

So she’d used the hamburger she’d set aside for meat loaf and added a jar of store-bought marinara she kept on hand for emergencies like this.

But she couldn’t very well let Zack wait alone in the living room, without even the girls to entertain him. So she left the pots, one simmering and the other on high, and headed back to her guest.

He sat on the worn, tweed sofa, studying a photograph of her and Peter on their wedding day.

When he heard her enter the room, he returned the silver frame to the lamp table, tossed her a half smile and nodded at the twelve-year-old picture that spoke of another time, another life. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, of course not.” She’d left that picture out for her daughters’ benefit, along with a couple of others down the hall.

“The girls told me your husband…their dad…passed away.”

She nodded. “About two years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

Most people felt awkward discussing death and loss, and for some reason, Diana wanted to make it easy on Zack. And easy on herself. “Time heals. And we’ve adjusted pretty well. At least, I think the girls are doing all right.”

Compassion spread across his face, and she realized he assumed she hadn’t gotten over her loss. But that’s not what she’d meant.

She took a seat in the easy chair that had, along with the other furniture, come with the house. “I’m doing all right, too.”

And she was. Her husband had been one of the kindest, gentlest men she’d ever known, but she’d gotten over his death easier than her daughters had.

She’d loved him, of course. How could she not? But she’d never really felt his love in return. His focus had always been on the church rather than on her and the girls. And, after a while, she’d grown to resent the time he spent trying to nurture everyone else in the small, struggling congregation.

So after holding down the home front by herself for what had seemed like forever, she continued to do the same after his death. And if truth be told—

Oh, God. It sounded so terrible to admit, but there hadn’t been a lot for her to miss.

At times, she wondered if she’d bypassed a step in the grieving process. But in reality, she’d probably been so busy trying to keep the wolf from the door that she’d passed through it all without a backward glance.

“What was his name?” Zack asked.

“Peter.”

“How did he die?”

“From a heart attack. And since he was only thirty-four, he probably overlooked any symptoms he might have had.” She fingered the frayed, braided edge on the armrest of the chair. “Late one evening, the church janitor found him slumped over his desk.”

“Wow.” The word came out as a solemn whisper.

She didn’t want Zack feeling sorry for them. It happened; they’d survived. End of story.

“Peter was a good man,” she told him. “And he’s in a better place.”

“Better than being with a beautiful wife and two great kids?” He frowned. Then he softened. “Sorry. Just my cynical nature busting loose.”

Over the past few years, Diana had grown a little cynical, too, although she usually hid it well. She offered Zack a smile that was steeped more in hope than reality. “Please don’t be sorry. Life goes on.”

He nodded, yet that awkwardness she’d wanted to avoid settled over them. She assumed it was due in part to them being strangers. Or, then again, maybe she was feeling uneasy about the thoughts she was usually so good at suppressing.

Yet there seemed to be something else happening, too. Something that had a lot to do with them being male and female.

It had been a long time since a man had held her in his arms. Maybe that’s why she found this virtual stranger so darn attractive, even though she had no intention of replacing the man she’d lost.

Death, they said, had a way of memorializing a person, making them seem almost saintly, when in reality, they’d been flawed and human. But in Peter’s case, that hadn’t happened. Not for her, anyway. He’d lost his footing on the pedestal on which she’d placed him years ago.

“The girls say you’re a secretary,” Zack said, obviously wanting to change the subject as badly as she did.

“Yes, I am. A friend from college knew I was looking to relocate, and she told me there was a perfect position for me at the Park Avenue Community Church. I interviewed over the phone, and Reverend Morton went to bat for me with the board of elders. Two days later, he offered me the job. And here we are.”

“I hear he can’t get along without you.” Zack didn’t know why he mentioned what the girls had told him, why he felt compelled to turn the conversation toward the preacher. But the fact was, he wanted to hear that the good reverend was seventy years old and happily married.

“Tom, or rather Pastor Morton, is a very busy man. And he appreciates someone taking care of the little things for him. I’m sure another secretary would be just as helpful.”

Before Zack could think of a response, the two girls entered the living room. It didn’t take long to figure out they’d been eavesdropping.

“Mrs. Ashton says our mom is perfect for the job because she used to be a pastor’s wife and knows just what to do to make Reverend Morton’s life easier,” Becky interjected.

Diana’s husband used to be a preacher?

Somehow, that didn’t surprise him. And, if anything, it only placed Diana on a higher level than most people.

When he was younger, before his time in prison, he’d never dated anyone who was considered a good girl, even though he’d sensed one or two of them had been attracted to him. It didn’t take a psychic to see the conflict in a mismatched relationship like that.

And from what he’d already seen and easily surmised, women didn’t get much nicer than Diana.

“Mrs. Ashton said Reverend Morton wants to ask Mom out on a date,” Becky said.

“Without us,” Jessie interjected. “But Mommy told Mrs. Ashton that she wasn’t interested.”

“That’s because she could do way better than him.”

“Girls, that’s enough. Mrs. Ashton is well-intentioned, but she has entirely too big of an imagination.” Diana glanced at Zack, her embarrassment reflected by rosy cheeks. “There are a few people in this world who live by a Noah’s Ark philosophy.”

A smile tugged at Zack’s lips. “What’s that?”

“The idea that this world would be a much better place if everyone made the journey two-by-two. But I don’t agree.”

He wondered why. Had she been so in love with her husband that she couldn’t imagine another man taking his place?

If so, it made sense.

Diana looked at Zack. “Do you mind supervising while Becky lights the candle on the patio table?”

“No. Not at all.” He got to his feet and allowed the girls to lead him through a small dining room and out a sliding door to a patio, where they’d set the table for four. The truth was, he was glad to have something to do. Glad to have something to focus on.

Something other than a woman who needed what she’d once had—the kind of man Zack would never be.



For some dumb reason, in spite of two little kids sitting at the table, the evening held a romantic aura Zack found hard to ignore.

Maybe it was because of the faint scent of night-blooming jasmine, the air rustling the leaves in the tree, a full moon overhead.

Of course, the attractive woman sitting at his side held an aura of her own.

The flicker of two candles lit the small patio table, as forks clicked against ceramic dinnerware.

Zack dug into a plate filled high with spaghetti, hoping he didn’t dribble sauce all down his chin and on his shirt. He’d never been self-conscious while eating before. But this meal was different, and he hoped what few manners he’d acquired during his youth hadn’t been lost after five long years behind bars.

“Thanks for including me,” he told Diana. “The girls were right. You’re a good cook.”

“You should eat her meat loaf and mashed potatoes,” Jessie said. “I always eat a hundred helpings.”

“You’ll have to come over for dinner when Mom makes chicken-fried steak,” Becky added. “It’s really good, too.”

Zack glanced at Diana, saw her flush again. Was she embarrassed by the praise?

Or by the possibility that the girls would offer Zack another dinner invitation he might accept?

“I haven’t had many home-cooked meals,” he admitted. “But this is one of the best.”

“Thank you.”

As their gazes caught, her movements stilled.

His, too.

Something hovered in the night air. Sexual awareness, he suspected—something she’d sensed, too. But she looked away, cleared her throat and scooted her chair from the table. “Ice cream anyone? It’s Rocky Road.”

The girls eagerly placed their orders. And since Zack was big on dessert and chocolate was his favorite, he shot her a grin. “Sure. I’d like some. Thanks.”

When Diana went inside, Becky rested her elbows on the table, leaned forward and whispered, “Even if Mom wanted to go on a date, it wouldn’t be with Reverend Morton. He’s not her type. And not just because he’s going to be totally bald someday.”

Where had that come from? The preacher’s name hadn’t popped into the conversation since Diana had put a stop to it earlier. Obviously, the child had been holding back her opinion until her mother slipped way.

“When he wears his Padres baseball cap he looks kind of handsome,” the younger girl said. “But he doesn’t have muscles. Not like yours.”

Zack was pleased that the preacher couldn’t hold a candle to him—physically, at least. But he figured a woman like Diana was more interested in character and reputation. In that case, Morton had him beat by light years. Not that he was in the running.

Or was he?

Was he being set up by a couple of pint-sized matchmakers?

“You know the Noah’s Ark story?” Becky asked.

Not really, but he had a general idea, so he nodded sagely, as if he was an expert.

“The story’s true, even if Mom doesn’t believe it.”

Zack didn’t think Diana was questioning the story. She’d just been making a statement about people not needing to be paired off to be happy.

“God is very big on love and marriage,” Becky explained. “That’s why he made Adam and Eve.”

“And it’s why He made Noah and…” Jessie paused, screwed up her little face and looked at her all-knowing big sister. “What was his wife’s name, Becky?”

“I don’t remember. But she was very important to the whole story.”

As the screen door slid open, the subject immediately dropped—thank goodness.

Zack wasn’t sure where the blond, starry-eyed preteen was going with all that stuff. But his suspicion about being set up was growing stronger by the minute.

“All right,” Diana said, as she carried in a tray with four bowls. “Here it is.”

He found safety in the silence that followed, as Becky and Jessie grabbed their spoons and dug into the frozen concoction of chocolate ice cream, marshmallows and nuts.

For some reason, he got the feeling that the girls thought he might make a better catch for their mom than the preacher. But that was only because they didn’t have any idea who he was or where he’d been.

It was almost laughable.

Still, Zack couldn’t help being glad the preacher wasn’t their mother’s type.

Nor could he help wondering who was.

His gaze drifted to Diana, whose red T-shirt revealed the kind of breasts many women paid to have. Hers, he suspected, were real. In fact, everything about her was so womanly, so genuine, that it was hard to keep his eyes off her. And, in spite of himself, he stole another peek.

She had her eyes closed, a spoon in her mouth, savoring the sweet, creamy taste and wearing an almost-orgasmic expression that nearly knocked the breath right out of him.

Damn. He’d always thought women got old and frumpy after having kids. But not her.

In the conservative clothes she’d worn to work, she appeared to be fit and trim. But wearing a pair of white shorts and a T-shirt, there wasn’t much guesswork involved. She had the best pair of legs he’d ever snuck a peek at.

He figured she was at least thirty and a good five years older than him.

With sea-green eyes and honey-brown hair a man would love to see splayed on his pillow, she was a beautiful woman.

When she opened her eyes and saw him looking at her, the rebel in him tossed her a crooked grin.

She returned his smile, but not before flushing a pretty shade of pink.

Something told him he wasn’t the only one who suspected a romantic setup.



Diana had never been so uneasy in her life. Or so embarrassed by her children. Of course, she could understand why the girls were impressed with the handsome construction worker. He was a giant of a man, with a bulky build that suggested he protected what was his. Yet his baby blue eyes boasted a boyish innocence.

And when he’d shot her an I-walk-on-the-wild-side grin, it was enough to steal her breath away, not to mention her good sense.

Her daughters wouldn’t understand her reluctance to get involved with a man, especially one with a devilish smile that could tempt a woman to pick a forbidden apple and take a bite. But they’d obviously decided their mother needed another man in her life, when that couldn’t be further from the truth.

“It’s my turn to do the dishes,” Becky said, as she pushed her chair from the table and picked up her empty bowl and spoon. “And Jessie wants to help me.”

“But I don’t want—”

Becky cleared her throat. “Yes you do.”

“Oh, yeah,” the younger girl said. “I do.”

“Come on.” Becky led her sister through the sliding door and into the kitchen.

A moment later, Jessie ran back to close the door.

The girls were usually pretty good about helping out in the house—when prodded. But they never took the initiative on their own. There was only one conclusion to make.

Her daughters wanted her to be alone with a man they’d dressed in imaginary armor and placed on a white steed.

But was there any such thing as a real-life hero?

Diana had her doubts. Women often imagined a man was something he wasn’t, especially if she was attracted to him. But the truth struck a hard blow.

There was so much more to a man than met the eye.

Of course, in Zack’s case, what met the eye was very nice, even with—or maybe because of—a five o’clock shadow that lent him a raw, dangerous air, especially under the spell of candlelight.

Physically, he was the complete opposite of Peter, a man she’d practically handpicked when they were in college because he was so different from the dark-haired hellion who’d nearly ruined her life. She’d also chosen him because he’d been a man she thought her blue-collared, demanding-yet-impossible-to-please father would approve of. So she’d set her sights on the gentle man who hadn’t pointed out her every flaw and shortcoming.





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/judy-duarte/the-matchmakers-daddy/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.