The Matchmakers' Daddy. Judy Duarte

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,