by Judy Duarte
Zack had been involved in a robbery and a shooting?
It seemed impossible to imagine him as a violent criminal. But the thought that she might have misjudged him weighed heavily on her mind.
“Are you sure it was Zack?” she asked, hoping Martha was mistaken.
“I certainly am. And I’m so glad I put two and two together. He’s a convicted criminal. And he’s been nosing around your place, possibly even staking it out.”
“I know that Zack got into trouble as a kid,” Diana said, wanting desperately to defend him, yet having a difficult time doing so. She couldn’t get over the fact that someone had been shot during a crime he might have been involved in.
“That’s putting it mildly. Both of those young men were known juvenile delinquents.”
“Zack’s trying hard to be a law-abiding citizen,” Diana added, although she was unsure whether she was hoping to convince Martha or herself.
“Well, tell that to poor Mr. Tompkins. He used to play Santa Claus down at the boys and girls club each year. And he used to donate many of the toys himself. And now he’s crippled.”
“I appreciate you telling me,” Diana said, as she shuffled the bag again. “And you’re right. Having an ex-con hanging around the neighborhood is a concern. But I’ve come to trust Zack.”
“Humph.” Martha shook her head slowly. “You have a lot more faith in the criminal justice system than I do.”
“I believe in forgiveness and giving people second chances, especially when they’re trying to turn their lives around,” Diana said, using both hands to steady her load.
” Well, that’s all well and good. But I watch a lot of television and read the paper, too. And while I realize we shouldn’t be casting stones, I think you ought to be leery about who comes in contact with those sweet little girls of yours.”
“I am careful,” Diana said, hoping that she and Harry Logan were both right about Zack.
“Well, I believe that old saying. Leopards don’t change their spots.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Diana tried her best to muster a smile. “Thank you for your concern.”
Then she headed for the front porch, her stomach clenched into a knot and her heart as heavy as the sack of groceries she carried into the house.
Chapter Nine
Following Martha’s revelation, Diana vacillated between confidence and suspicion.
Deep in her heart, she wanted to believe Zack was innocent, that he hadn’t been involved in a violent crime. After all, he’d been so sweet, so gentle with the girls. And he’d treated her with the utmost respect.
That evening, she’d gone through the motions of feeding the girls and getting them ready for bed.
But it had taken her hours to fall asleep, only to wake in a cold sweat, with a gunshot echoing in her dream, the shadowed vision of a body slumping to the floor of a convenience store. Bright red seeping through a white, cotton shirt, turning it a haunting shade of crimson.
She’d risen while it was still dark and splashed cold water on her face, trying to chase away her doubts.
Martha could have gotten her facts wrong. Maybe it had been another Zachary who’d been involved in the robbery.
But Zack had told Diana he’d gotten into some trouble and hadn’t been able to take care of Emily after her birth. Diana had just assumed he’d spent a little time in jail.
But had he been in prison for armed robbery?
It was Wednesday morning.
And she’d invited Zack to dinner tonight.
A part of her wanted to call him and postpone. Or even to cancel altogether. But there would be no way around her uneasiness until she had a chance to talk to him and hear his side of the story.
She was still going through the motions, her heart torn between blind trust and cold doubt.
But as far as she was concerned, there was only one thing to do. She had to learn the truth. And what better way than to confront Zack tonight while they sat across the table from one another.
She prepared a pot roast for this evening and would ask Megan to take the roasting pan out of the fridge and put it into the oven this afternoon so it would be ready when Zack arrived.
And since Diana didn’t want the conversation hampered by the presence of her daughters, she had to figure out a way to get the girls out of the house tonight.
Once at work, she called Eleanor Pringle, an elderly woman who lived on the other side of town and occasionally baby-sat to earn a little spending money to supplement her income from Social Security.
Eleanor said she’d be happy to watch Becky and Jessie, and Diana promised to bring hamburgers for dinner and a child-appropriate video for them to watch that evening.
So when Reverend Morton agreed to let her off work early, the plan was set into motion.
Diana arrived home to the hearty aroma of roast beef—thank goodness Megan hadn’t forgotten her instructions. Then she announced that the girls were going to spend the evening with Mrs. Pringle. And since she hadn’t told them she’d invited Zack to dinner, they were excited about their evening plans.
So forty-five minutes later, Diana delivered her daughters, a cartoon video, three orders of fries, two kid-sized hamburgers and a double cheeseburger to Mrs. Pringle’s house. Then she went home to freshen up, set the table and wait for Zack to arrive.
As the clock ticked steadily, announcing that the time was drawing near, Diana fiddled with the place settings several times and adjusted the simple but pretty centerpiece, a small glass bowl of water that held three pink camellia blossoms.
She fought the urge to run to her bedroom and check her hair and lipstick one more time, especially when she thought about the heady, mind-spinning, knee-buckling kiss they’d shared. A kiss she hoped wouldn’t cloud her judgment when it came to gauging Zack’s true character tonight.
When the doorbell rang, her heart nearly fluttered out of her chest, and her hands, which were a little too clammy for comfort, had a slight tremble.
She stood straight, brushed her palms along the cotton fabric of a simple black dress, inhaled a deep breath, then slowly let it out as she made her way to the door to allow her guest entrance.
Zack stood on the stoop, blue eyes dancing, a crooked grin tugging the corner of his lips.
He’d shaved. And although he looked about as handsome as a man could be in a pair of neatly pressed khaki slacks and a turquoise and green Hawaiian shirt, she couldn’t help missing that rebellious five-o’clock-shadow—just a little.
Realizing that she’d been studying him a bit longer than was polite, she stepped aside and cast him a smile. “Hi.”
“Hey.” He lifted a bottle he held in his hand. “I brought some red wine, thinking you might like some with dinner.”
“That was nice. Come on in.” She led him into the living room, aware of his presence, the woodsy scent of his cologne.
Way too aware.
“The girls are sure quiet,” he said.
“I…uh…took them to a sitter.”
A heavy silence filled the room, as pheromones zipped and zapped between them.
They were alone.
Would he assume she’d done it on purpose to make this evening more romantic? Would he think she wanted to see where the kiss they’d shared last Saturday would lead?
The memory of his lips on hers, tongues seeking, hands caressing, warred with Martha’s revelation. It demanded that Diana learn the truth about Zack’s alleged crime, to exonerate him and get on with life. To see where the future might lead.
Or to end things before she got in too deep, before she dragged her innocent children into something they didn’t deserve.
“I thought,” she said, deciding to be direct, “that we had a few things to talk about. And I figured the girls didn’t need to hear them.”
“You’re probably right.”
They stood in the center of the living room, guest and hostess. Man and woman. A couple treading upon uncharted ground.
He again lifted the wine. “Would you like to open it before we eat?”
He gripped the neck of the bottle, with a big hand that had once caressed her almost reverently.
A hand that had gripped a gun.
No.
She hadn’t misjudged this gentle giant of a man. And she wouldn’t give fear free rein.
“Sure, a glass of wine sounds good.” Of course, she rarely touched alcohol, but tonight, she suspected it would make broaching the subject she wanted to talk about a little easier. “Come on. There’s a corkscrew in one of the drawers in the kitchen.”
Zack followed Diana through the small house, his eyes scanning the length of her.
She wore a plain black dress, nothing fancy. Yet he couldn’t help watching the way the fabric swished softly against her hips, the way the hem brushed against her shapely legs. Even from behind, she was a beautiful woman.
Once inside the kitchen, she reached into a drawer, pulled out a corkscrew and handed it to him. “I’m afraid I don’t drink wine very often. And I’m not familiar with opening a bottle like that. The corkscrew came with the furnished house. So, do you mind doing the honors?”
“No, not at all.” Zack wasn’t all that familiar with wine, either. Harry had suggested a nice bottle of Merlot, giving Zack the name of several good California wineries.
After fiddling with the darn corkscrew for a moment, not quite sure how it worked and hoping an aptitude in mechanics would help him figure it out, he finally managed to pop the cork.
He turned to see Diana on tiptoes and reaching for the glasses on the highest shelf in the cupboard, the fabric of her dress stretching and tugging at the hem, giving him a quick glimpse of shapely thighs.
“Here,” he said, “let me get those for you.”
She tossed him an appreciative smile. “Thanks.”
Minutes later, he poured them both a glass.
He wondered if he ought to toast her, like he’d seen suave, cocky actors do in the movies a time or two. But he figured he’d botch it up somehow. And rather than risk having her think he was goofy, he just lifted the glass to his lips and took a drink.
The taste of Merlot, he supposed, was something he’d have to get used to. Truthfully, he’d rather have a cold beer.
But dating a woman like Diana—if dating was what they were doing—was new to him. And so was the proper protocol in social situations.
“I’ve never had red wine before,” she said.
Did he dare admit he hadn’t either? At least, not the kind that had a real cork and cost more than twenty dollars a bottle.
“What do you think?” he asked her.
“It’s kind of nice.” She offered him a shy smile, then turned to grab a pair of potholders and removed the roast from the oven.
She seemed nervous, as though she had something heavy weighing on her mind. But whatever it was, she didn’t bring it up at dinner. And he didn’t ask. After all, he didn’t like people probing his mind, prying into his thoughts. Digging up his past.
So they pretty much made small talk while they ate roast beef, potatoes and carrots, commenting about the warm summer they’d been having. About the Padres’ winning streak. About the traffic congestion at the merge. But he couldn’t help thinking about the things that had been left unsaid over dinner.
“Why don’t we go into the living room,” she suggested, when they’d finished eating.
“All right.”
“I’ll just put the plates in the sink and leave them for later. Would you like a bowl of ice cream?”
“No,” he said. “Actually, the wine is starting to grow on me. I think I’ll have another glass. How about you?”
“Sure.”
He picked up the half-empty bottle and both glasses, then carried them into the cozy living room. He poured her a drink, then handed it to her when she returned.
She accepted it and sat on the sofa.
He took a seat on the sofa, too. Not too close, not too far.
God, this was awkward. But kind of nice.
She fingered the stem of her glass, while her eyes studied the rich, burgundy-colored liquid. Then she glanced across the sofa at him. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”
Yes. No. “Go ahead.”
“You mentioned getting in trouble before Emily was born. And that you weren’t able to take care of her.”
The dull thud of his heartbeat pounded in his ears, sounding out an omen of some kind. But he wasn’t going to tap dance around the truth, not with Diana. “Yeah, I did.”
“What kind of trouble did you get into?”
Zack wanted to backpedal, to renege on the permission he’d granted her, to refuse to answer the question she’d wanted to ask. Or at least to soften the blow.
More than anything, he wanted to keep his past from her forever.
All of it.
Every sorry detail that clearly proved why he didn’t deserve to have a woman like her as a friend, let alone as a lover.
But if she was going to end things between them before they even got a chance to get started, it was better now than later. Before he invested too much hope into an impossible dream.
So he made an irrevocable decision—one he feared might haunt him in the days to come.
He would own up to what happened, revealing the truth about his past so that there wouldn’t be any secrets circling like a vulture, ready to pounce and tear a dying relationship to bits.
He took one last look at her as she sat demurely with that wineglass in her hand, a datelike pose he might never see again.
“I didn’t have the kind of childhood you did,” he said, thinking that if she knew about the anger and resentment he’d grown up with as a child she might better understand his rebellion, the trouble he’d gotten into.
While behind bars, he’d been forced to look at his past, to account for his actions, to accept his present and plot out a new future.
She turned toward him, watching him with eyes that insisted she deserved to know the truth, that she deserved to map out her own future—with or without him.
“My mother had been a foster kid who’d struck out on her own and hooked up with the wrong crowd, the wrong guy. I don’t think she bothered seeing a doctor during her pregnancy, and she developed something called toxemia. She had me two months early.” He flashed her what seemed like a wimpy grin. “Hard to believe I only weighed a little over two pounds at birth, huh?”
She returned his smile. “It sounds to me like you were a born survivor.”
“Yeah, I guess you could say I came into this world fighting.” He’d never looked at it that way. But the chips had been stacked against him from birth. Maybe that’s where all that adolescent rebellion had come from.
She continued to watch him, waiting. Listening.
Actually giving a damn, maybe?
“I was born at home, delivered by paramedics, and my mother died from complications that could have been prevented.”
“That’s too bad,” she said.
Too bad that his mom died? Or that she hadn’t made her baby’s health and well-being a priority?
Both, he guessed.
“When the paramedics told the authorities about the situation at home in the rundown apartment where my mom and dad lived, I was sent to foster care. Well, once I got out of an incubator, that is.”
“So you grew up with foster parents?”
“Not for too long. When my dad’s mother was located, she took me in. Things were pretty stable and normal for my early years. But when I was six, my old man got married and supposedly straightened out. He’d gone into rehab and wanted to take me back. Then he petitioned the court, who decided, considering my grandma’s health was failing, that I should live with him.”
“It’s tough for children to be uprooted.”
“Yeah,” he said. “That’s one reason why I couldn’t do
it to Emily, not when I saw how much she and her foster mom loved each other.”
Diana nodded, and he hoped that she truly understood. That she realized he’d put his daughter’s happiness and well-being above his own. That he didn’t want to be the kind of parent he’d had.
“Were you happy living with your father?” she asked.
“At first, it wasn’t so bad. But my dad had never really kicked his drug habit. And eventually my stepmother got fed up and moved out. At least, that’s the way I saw it.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
He didn’t want her sympathy, just her understanding. So he shrugged it off. “When my dad hit the skids, my uncle stepped up to the plate.”
“What about your grandmother?” she asked. “Couldn’t you have gone back to live with her?”
“No. Her arthritis was getting worse. And the court thought a teenager would have been too much for her to handle. And knowing me, they were probably right.”
“Was your uncle good to you?”
Zack supposed that would be a mother’s concern, that a child was treated well. “He was nice enough and a heck of a hard worker, but every night after quitting time, he’d vegetate in front of the television with a case of beer, leaving me to raise myself.”
“Is that when you started getting into trouble?”
“Yeah.” The more serious trouble, anyway.
“What about school?”
“I did okay. At least, I managed to get a diploma.”
Actually, if Zack had given a damn about academics, he could have aced all of his classes. But he hadn’t—other than an auto shop class he’d had. He seemed to have an aptitude for anything mechanical, and it was the one thing that had made him feel halfway good about himself.
“I had plenty of reasons why I should have kept my nose clean. For my sixteenth birthday, my uncle gave me an old pickup that no longer ran. And I began taking apart the engine at night.” He slid her a smile he hoped didn’t seem too cocky. “I eventually got it running, too.”
“That’s something to be proud of.”
