by Judy Duarte
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 provi
der. 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.