The Matchmakers' Daddy. Judy Duarte

But it merely made him realize how very little he knew about the widowed mother of two. “What brought you out to California?”

      Before she could answer, Jessie spoke up. “Mommy worked at a ranch. She counted all their money. But we had to move.”

      Had she lost her job? Been falsely accused of something, like he’d been? God knew he didn’t like people digging into his past. Of course, that didn’t make him any less curious about hers.

      “Becky,” the soft-spoken mother said to the older girl, “why don’t you and your sister set the table out on the patio. It’s a bit warm to eat inside.”

      “Cool. Jessie and I like it when we eat outdoors. Can I light the bug candle, too?”

      “Not until I’m there to supervise.”

      The girls dashed off, and Diana took a seat on a worn plaid recliner. She sat at the edge of the cushion, leaning forward slightly, hands on her knees.

      She looked ready to bolt.

      Silence stretched between them until she said, “You start work pretty early each day.”

      Okay, so she’d turned the conversation away from her reasons for moving to California. He took the hint and let it drop. “I start at seven o’clock. In the next few days, the rest of the crew will join me. And I’m afraid the equipment will only get louder.”

      “That’s all right. My alarm goes off about that time. And the noise from your bulldozer just reminds me to get in the shower.”

      Zack doubted he’d ever fire up that engine again without glancing in the direction of Diana’s house and wondering if she was awake.

      And headed for the shower.

      He envisioned the shapely brunette taking off a white cotton gown and stepping under the gentle spray of a warm shower. Naked. Water sluicing over her.

      “So,” he said, trying to squelch the sexual curiosity that seemed sinful in the case of a widowed church secretary and the mother of two. “Do you like living in Bayside better than Texas?”

      “Yes, but we really miss our friends, the Merediths. They were like family to us.”

      “What made you move?” Okay, so he was prodding her, when turnabout wasn’t fair play.

      “We were living with my father and…” She glanced in the direction the girls had run. “He’s a good man, but critical to a fault. And I had to put a little distance between him and the girls. I didn’t want them to grow up in a harsh environment.”

      The kind of environment she’d grown up in, no doubt. But she seemed to have come away unscathed.

      “Well,” she said, nodding toward the kitchen. “If you’ll excuse me for a minute, I have to check something on the stove.”

      “Sure.” He watched her walk away, unable to ignore the gentle sway of her rounded hips. He blew out a pent-up sigh, hoping to shake off the attraction that brewed under his surface.

      He glanced at the lamp table, spotting a framed photograph of a smiling man and woman.

      A groom and his pretty, brown-haired bride.

      Diana and her husband.

      The girls had said their father passed away. They seemed to be okay with the loss. But how about their mother?

      Was she still grieving? Still brokenhearted?

      He hoped not. Diana was too young, too sweet, too perfect to be hurting.

      And too damned young to be sleeping alone.

      Again, he cursed his sexual attraction to a woman who was way out of his reach.