Читать книгу The Matchmakers' Daddy - Judy Duarte, Judy Duarte - Страница 9

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.