Judy Duarte - The Matchmakers' Daddy

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.”