Judy Duarte: The Matchmakers' Daddy

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 took 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?”