The Matchmakers' Daddy

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.