The Matchmakers' Daddy

“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.