Judy Duarte - The Matchmakers' Daddy

“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.

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.