by Judy Duarte
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
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.
Books by Judy Duarte
Silhouette Special Edition
Cowboy Courage #1458
Family Practice #1511
Almost Perfect #1540
Big Sky Baby #1563
The Virgin’s Makeover #1593
Bluegrass Baby #1598
The Rich Man’s Son #1634
*Hailey’s Hero #1659
*Their Secret Son #1667
*Their Unexpected Family #1676
*Worth Fighting For #1684
*The Matchmakers’ Daddy #1689
Silhouette Romance
A Bride for a Blue Ribbon Cowboy #1776
Silhouette Books
Double Destiny “Second Chance”
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 fo
ur-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.”