by Judy Duarte
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 kn
ew 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.