The Matchmakers' Daddy. Judy Duarte
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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.
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.