The Matchmakers' Daddy (Bayside Bachelors #4)

by Judy Duarte

  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 too
k 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?”