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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.
Chapter Two
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.
Just after eleven, he looked toward the water tank. And this time, he spotted their faces peering over the wall, their hands clutching the gray, roughened cinder blocks.
He probably should ignore them so they’d return to the house and do something other than watch him work, but he decided to head over there and remind them of what their mother had said. He didn’t want them to get forgetful and climb to the top of the wall as the day progressed.
As he neared the girls, it was impossible to hear their voices over the drone of the diesel engine, but eager waves and lip movements made it easy to decipher a greeting.
Their childish enthusiasm tickled him, and he waved back. Then he set down the blade, placed the gear into Neutral and climbed from the rig.
“Hi, Zack!” Jessie started to wave, then her eyes widened. “Oops!” She gasped and wobbled from whatever she’d perched on, then quickly grabbed the wall to steady herself.
“You girls need to be careful,” he admonished, his voice loud enough to be heard over the noise. “I thought your mother said you weren’t supposed to climb up there.”
“We aren’t climbing on the wall,” the older girl said. “We’re standing on stuff.”
Their yard sat higher than the field where Zack stood. But at his height, he had no trouble peering over the six-foot barrier, which was probably only two-thirds as high on their side. They stood on a tricycle and a wagon.
“I’m not sure that your mother would approve of this, either,” he said. “Where’s your baby-sitter?”
“Megan?” Jessie, the younger girl, blew out a big sigh and rolled her eyes. “She used to play with us when Mommy went to work. But now that she got a new cell phone for her birthday, all she ever does is talk to her friends about boys and parties.”
Becky tossed a long strand of blond hair over her shoulder. “She’s a teenager. You know how it is.”
No, Zack didn’t figure he knew much about teenage girls. Or about babysitters. But he didn’t think Diana was paying Megan to chat on the phone and leave her daughters to fend for themselves.
He, himself, was just learning how to parent. God knew he’d never had a decent role model, other than his grandmother in the early years. And try as he might, he really couldn’t remember as much as he’d like to.
So he tried to imagine the way Emily’s foster mom would handle a situation like this. Caitlin was really fussy when it came to Emily’s care—something that gave him great peace of mind.
“Want a snack?” Jessie asked. “We made cookies for you last night, after Mommy washed the dishes.”
“Your mom made cookies for me?”
“No,” Jessie said. “She made them for our lunch this week. But me and Becky saved some for you.”
For a moment, a stupid little thrill had shot through him, thinking that the girls’ attractive mother had made cookies for him. But he should have known better, especially when talking to kids. Emily had an interesting way of looking at things and came up with some real doozies sometimes.
“They’re oatmeal raisin cookies with nuts,” the older girl—Becky—added. “They’re very healthy and good for you. Our mom is big on things like that.”
He figured she would be. “Oatmeal raisin, huh?” He’d lived with his grandmother in Escondido when he was a kid, but not long enough to create more than a few faded memories.
Homemade cookies, fresh out of the oven, had been one of them.
Zack had always had a sweet tooth, although he’d usually appeased it with the candy he hid in the glove box of his Camaro. But a snack made by the girls and their mother sounded pretty darn tempting. “You know, I’d really like a cookie. But it’ll have to wait for lunch. I don’t want to make my foreman angry if he shows up and I’m loafing on the job.”
“What’s a foreman?” little Jessie asked.
“My boss.”
She nodded her head sagely. “Oh, I get it. Like Reverend Morton.”
Was she talking about a minister? Zack didn’t get the comparison, unless old Reverend Morton was full of dos and don’ts.
“Is he pretty bossy?” Zack asked.
“Nope. He’s pretty nice, as far as pastors go,” Becky said, as though she had a wealth of experience with ministers. “He’s our mom’s boss.”
Their mother worked at a church? He supposed a job like that suited her.
“Our mom is the office manager,” Jessie said. “And she works on the computer and answers the phone. And she knows everything about what happens at church. Reverend Morton said she’s a real blessing. And he can’t get along without her.”
Zack wondered if Reverend Morton was old or young, married or single. Then he kicked himself for giving a rip about something like that. Why should he care? Diana was the kind of woman who’d attract a preacher. And if she had? Good for her and the girls.
“Reverend Morton likes our mom a whole lot,” Becky said.
Oh, yeah? How much was a whole lot?
“He’s a very nice man,” the older girl added, “but he’s not her type.”
What was her type? Zack wondered.
A convicted felon certainly wasn’t, but no need to get into that.
“Well,” he said. “I need to get back to work. But I’m going to eat lunch in the shade of the water tank. We can talk then.”
“Okay,” the girls said in unison.
“And be careful climbing down,” he advised them, using what he hoped was a paternal tone.
Thirty minutes later, Zack broke for lunch. He’d no more than kicked back in the shade, bit into the pastrami sandwich he’d fixed himself and taken a swig of the lemonade he’d made out of a powdered mix when the girls returned. Again, they used their toys to help them peer over the wall.
He passed on the milk they offered him, but the chewy cookies were out of this world. “These are great.”
“Thank you,” Becky said.
“Our mom helped us. And she’s the bestest cooker in the whole, wide world,” Jessie added. “She’s going to make meat loaf tonight, ’cause it’s my favorite.”
“I don’t know about that,” the older girl corrected. “Mom’s going to get home pretty late. And I bet we have to eat soup and sandwiches like last time.”
Was the widowed church secretary going out after work? That seemed a little surprising, although he didn’t know much about nice women like her. Maybe she and the Bible thumper had a thing going.
“Why is she coming home late?” he asked, immediately wishing he hadn’t.
“She has to take the bus home,” Jessie said. “That’s how she got to work today. The car is broken again.”
He didn’t doubt it. That old Plymouth had sounded as though it was on its last wheel when she’d come home yesterday.
“She’s probably going to be riding the bus for a long time,” the older girl said. “She can’t afford to have someone fix the car yet.”
“That’s all right,” the younger girl said. “Riding the bus is really fun.”
It might be fun for a child. And public transportation was certainly an option. But Zack doubted their mother was happy about not having a dependable car.
“How far away is your mom’s work?” he asked.
“About twenty minutes when she drives us to church,” Becky said. “But it takes a lot longer on the bus, because it’s all the way in San Diego, and we have to take two or three different ones, just to get there.”
For a moment he thought about a darkened bus stop in the bad part of town. A pregnant woman waiting alone, trying to catch the 209 home. A dark sedan driving by. The glint of metal. A gunshot. A body slumping to the ground. A pool of blood. Screams. Sirens.
It had been a fluke. A random shooting that wasn’t likely to happen again.
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?”
