by Judy Duarte
It would be nice to have him stay in her bed until morning. But would any of her neighbors know his car had been parked in front of her house all night long?
Oh, for Pete’s sake, she told herself. Get over it.
She wasn’t going to feel guilty about something that felt so right. And she wasn’t going to worry about what other people thought.
Not even Martha Ashton, who woke early and usually went out to get her newspaper before daybreak.
Chapter Twelve
At 6:07 in the morning, after an incredible night of marathon lovemaking, the telephone rang, jarring Diana awake.
She tried to dive for the receiver, but Zack’s arm weighed her down.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” she whispered.
“Huh?” He drew her even closer to his chest, her bare bottom resting comfortably in his lap.
“Zack, the phone is ringing.”
He lifted his arm, allowing her to snatch the receiver from the cradle.
“Hello.”
“Diana, are you okay?”
Uh-oh. It was Martha.
“I’m fine. Why?”
“Because that man’s car is in your driveway. And it has been since about two this morning when I got up to go to the bathroom.”
Diana dug deep into her imagination, searching for a lie. The best thing that came to mind was that Zack’s car wouldn’t start last night, and he had taken a cab home.
But she couldn’t seem to form the words to save her soul.
“Oh,” Martha said, in the short, clipped sound of a gavel.
“Is there something you need?” Diana asked the woman.
“No. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t lying in a bloody heap. I guess you’re all right. Sort of.”
Guilt reared its head, jabbing at Diana, stirring up all kinds of insecurities she’d thought she’d outgrown.
“I’m fine, Martha. Thank you for checking.”
“Well,” the woman said, releasing the word in an exaggerated humph. “I don’t need to tell you that I disapprove of your behavior.”
Diana’s chest tightened, and her stomach clenched. But she wasn’t going to discuss something this special, this personal, with her neighbor. Not when she had a naked man in her bed.
And she wouldn’t discuss it with Martha later, either.
It wasn’t anyone’s business but hers and Zack’s.
“No, Martha. You don’t have to tell me anything. And I don’t owe you an apology or an explanation. What I do in the privacy of my home, whether it’s something real or created in your imagination, is my business. I do, however, appreciate your concern.”
When the line disconnected, she hung up the phone and turned to see Zack lying on his side, his upper body raised, braced by an elbow. “What was that all about?”
“My neighbor noticed your car in the driveway. And she doesn’t approve of sleepovers.”
“Are you okay with that?”
The call? Or the sleepover?
She definitely wasn’t all right with Martha’s opinion. Some things, like the need for approval, ran deep after so many years. But she managed a smile for Zack. “I’m fine. How about you?”
“I’m used to people pointing their fingers at me. But I don’t like them doing it to you. What we shared was good, Diana. And it was special.”
She nodded, trying to take on that attitude, too. “How about a cup of coffee?”
“Sounds good.”
“Why don’t you take the first shower,” she suggested. “I’ll rustle up something for us to eat.”
“Why don’t we take a shower together?”
The idea had merit, but she had a fear that Martha might come charging up the steps and knock at the door. Okay, so that phone call had probably been the end of it, the one and only confrontation they’d have. But it was hard keeping her worries to herself without letting Zack think she regretted what they’d done.
Because she didn’t.
It had been special. Wonderful.
But if Martha told Reverend Morton about her having a man spend the night, would he fire her for something like that?
It didn’t seem likely. But then again, he was a minister. And Diana had known one particular pastor who’d been self-righteous. And, at least in Peter’s case, when it came to forgiveness and turning the other cheek, a minister didn’t always practice what he preached.
“That call was a little unexpected,” she admitted. “So I’d really like to have a cup of coffee and think about how I should have responded, in case she mentions anything to me again.”
“All right.” He brushed a kiss across her brow, then climbed from bed.
His body—hard, buff, tanned and naked—taunted her, telling her that Martha could take a flying leap and that standing under the shower head with Zack sounded a heck of a lot better than a cup of coffee.
But she fought the temptation—this morning, anyway.
Should she have put up more of a fight last night?
She swore under her breath, something she hadn’t done since she was a child and had mimicked her father. She’d gotten a smack that time. But she was angry and frustrated now. And another word hadn’t seemed to do the trick.
After all, she hadn’t done anything wrong or sinful last night. But she didn’t like others thinking she had.
And that, more than anything, stirred up a ration of guilt.
Would she ever stop trying to please everyone but herself?
Zack stood under the pulsating spray of hot water, amazed at what he and Diana had shared last night. He’d had other lovers, but none had touched something deep inside of him, not like Diana had.
And maybe what touched him most was that she’d been wounded, too. By a father who focused on her flaws, rather than her perfection. And by a husband who didn’t appreciate the angel in his arms.
But Zack would appreciate her, value her. And that made him realize he did have something to offer her. His respect. His desire to create a family with her and the girls. His love.
The reality of what he felt for her, what he wanted, slammed into him.
It was too early to think about a commitment like marriage, he supposed, but that’s what he wanted. To have Diana, at least in some way and at some level, to know she belonged to him. To know that she had the same claim on him.
But damn. He was on parole.
Among other things, he still worried about agents from the Department of Corrections swarming into his home, tearing things up, looking for contraband that wasn’t there. He’d heard about the searches that, because of his parolee status, didn’t require any kind of warrant. They could enter his house or car at any time of the day or night.
If it was only him at home, he’d deal with the disturbance—cursing under his breath, of course.
But he hadn’t wanted to subject Emily to something like that. And he felt the same way about Diana and the girls.
So what was he going to do? Ask her to marry him in two-and-a-half years, after his parole was up?
But asking her to marry him in the first place…He had no idea how Diana really felt about him. Or how she might someday feel.
Could she ever love him?
He hoped so, because he sure felt different in her arms—not like a rebel or a guy with a chip on his shoulder. But like some kind of hero.
After shutting off the faucet and climbing from the shower, he dried off, then put on the clothes he’d worn last night.
He’d said he’d been prepared for anything, but even though he’d hoped they would make love yesterday, he hadn’t brought a change of clothes. The condoms, yes. But spare clothing and a shaving kit would have been too much.
Heck, just having them in the trunk of his car probably would have jinxed things.
He opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out a tube of toothpaste, squeezed some on his finger and made an attempt to brush his teeth. Maybe he’d end up bringing a few of his things over here for the times when he might stay the
night.
Damn. He was sure making a lot of plans when they hadn’t discussed their feelings or what the future might bring.
He had it bad, didn’t he?
After putting the bathroom back in order, he headed out to the kitchen, where the aroma of fresh-perked coffee welcomed him.
Diana stood near the table, barefoot, wearing an old blue robe and holding a chipped yellow mug in both hands. But he didn’t think she’d ever looked more desirable. She reminded him of a sleep-tousled angel, passing a little time on earth with the mortals.
“Good morning.” He brushed a kiss across her brow, being careful not to jostle her cup of coffee. “It’s your turn in the shower, if you’re ready.”
“Good. I’ll make it quick.” She grinned as she headed to the counter, where an empty mug waited. She filled it with the dark, rich brew, then handed it to him. “I’ll fix breakfast after I get out of the shower. But in the meantime, there’s orange juice in the fridge. And bread in the pantry, if you’d like some toast.”
“Take your time.” He tossed her a carefree smile. “I’ll just go out and enjoy my coffee on the back porch.”
“Good. I’ll join you in a while.” Then she headed for the bathroom.
Zack carried his mug outside, watching as the steam curled into the morning air.
The sun had only started its ascent in the sky, but the warmth had already dried the dew from the plants and the patio furniture.
The grass, he noticed, looked a bit long and shabby. Maybe he’d mow today.
Funny thing, when he’d been a teenager and his uncle had made him do yard work, he’d hated it. But here he was, looking forward to a day outside, to puttering around Diana’s house.
Maybe he ought to go home first, change clothes and shave. Unless she wanted him to stick around a little longer this morning. He supposed he’d better play it by ear.
As he scanned the backyard, he spotted the tee he’d given Becky sitting alone and empty, which reminded him of his promise to look for the softball she’d lost.
He took a sip of coffee, then set the mug on the table and started across the lawn. When he got to the wall that bordered the construction site, he peered over the top to search.
No luck. Maybe someone had already found the ball and taken it home.
He looked over his shoulder, scanning Diana’s yard again. Maybe Becky had sent it sailing over one of the wooden fences that separated her house from the neighbor’s. He strode across the lawn in his bare feet, then peered over the fence and into Martha Ashton’s backyard.
The older woman was outside, bent over a rose bush, clipping yellow buds and placing them into a glass vase that sat on the sidewalk.
No ball in her yard, either. At least not that he could tell. Had it landed behind one of the many plants and shrubs?
“What are you doing?” the woman asked in a brusque tone, as she straightened and crossed her arms. “You have no business looking over that fence and snooping in my yard.”
If Zack still carried a Grand Canyon-sized chip on his shoulder, like the one he used to have before Harry had worked a bit of magic on him, he might have had a surly response for the woman. As it was, he decided a polite explanation would do the trick.
“Becky and Jessie lost their ball. I was just looking for it.”
She lifted her nose. “The girls went to camp yesterday afternoon. Don’t try to snowball me.”
He shook his head, cursing under his breath, and stepped away from both her property and the icy glare.
He’d better steer clear of that woman. With an attitude like that, she could only mean trouble.
Zack spent the night with Diana on Saturday, too. And their time together had been sweet, their lovemaking unbelievably good. And not once had he made her feel like anything other than a perfect lover.
Yet neither one of them had talked about the future. On Sunday morning, she’d asked him if he wanted to attend church with her. And he quickly but politely declined. She thought about staying home, too, but realized Martha would have a lot more to talk about if she did.
Zack mentioned taking Emily to the tide pools in La Jolla today and then going by to see his grandmother in the convalescent home. Diana would have enjoyed meeting the older woman, if he’d invited her to go along.
But he hadn’t.
So she supposed she wouldn’t see him until this evening, when he went with her to pick up the girls. The bus was due back in town at six.
Several times during the sermon and even after church, Diana noticed Martha eyeing her carefully. But to the woman’s credit, she didn’t appear to whisper anything to anyone else, so the morning pretty much progressed as usual.
Except that today Diana didn’t feel like lingering and visiting with the others. She was eager to get home.
Feeling guilty?
Not about loving Zack, she responded to the internal voice that sounded too much like Peter.
Loving Zack.
Realization settled around her, as she faced what she’d been ignoring. She’d fallen in love with Zack.
They hadn’t discussed where their relationship was going, what either of them expected or what they felt. And they really should have since there wouldn’t be much of an opportunity to do so before the girls returned tonight.
Still, she climbed into her car and drove home, where she spent the afternoon doing laundry and scrubbing bathrooms, chores she’d neglected to do because she and Zack had spent the weekend in bed or curled up on the sofa watching TV.
At just after five o’clock, the doorbell rang. She assumed it was Zack, arriving early.
She placed the towel she’d been folding on top of the others, then hurried to let him in.
As she swung open the front door, expecting to see Zack’s smiling face, Martha glared back at her.
The woman, whose cheeks were flushed an angry red, held a canvas moneybag in her hands.
“What’s the matter?” Diana asked.
“This is.” The woman lifted the empty bag and shook it in front of Diana’s face. “The church offering was stolen. Where’s that criminal who’s been staying with you?”
“Now wait just one minute, Martha. What are you implying?”
“Only the obvious. I brought the weekly collection home today, like I always do, so that I could count it and deposit it in the bank on Monday morning. It was sitting on my kitchen table this afternoon, but now it’s gone. Stolen.”
“Zack didn’t take it,” Diana said. He couldn’t have. Not the man she’d come to know. To love.
“He’s a convicted felon who robbed a convenience store,” Martha countered.
Diana wanted to defend him, to tell Martha he’d gone to prison for a crime he hadn’t committed. But what was the use? The older woman she’d always thought of as a friend wouldn’t believe it. “You’ve judged him guilty, just because he served time.”
“Yes. And because I caught him looking in my backyard yesterday. He was probably casing the place, trying to find an easy way in and out of my house.”
Martha had seen Zack peering into her yard? Why would he have done that? For a moment, doubt settled over her, but reason rallied.
Diana believed in Zack.
He wasn’t involved in the Speedy Stop robbery. And he didn’t break into Martha’s home to rob her.
“I haven’t called the police yet,” Martha said. “But I’m going to. And as a courtesy to you, I’m advising you to talk to him. To get him to give back the money before he gets into any more trouble than he’s already in.”
He would be in trouble, Diana realized, although she didn’t know how much.
He was on parole. If Martha accused him, would the police automatically lock him up? Wouldn’t they need probable cause or something like that?
“I’m standing behind Zack, Martha. He couldn’t have taken that money.”
Martha crossed her arms and slowly shook her head. “For your sake, I hope you’re right. But I’d be remiss in
not telling the police about my suspicion.”
Then she turned and walked away.
Diana stood frozen in the open doorway. Before she could recover or regroup, she heard the sound of a car approaching.
It was Zack.
He parked the Camaro in her driveway, climbed out and strode toward her.
A grin lit his face, but it didn’t last long.
Probably because she’d found it impossible to return his smile and offer him the warm greeting he deserved.
His expression sobered. “What’s the matter?”
How did she tell him about an accusation like Martha’s? She certainly couldn’t blurt out the news in the front yard for all the neighbors to hear. “Come inside first.”
He followed her in, and she shut the door.
When she turned to face him, he gently placed his hands on her shoulders, his eyes filled with compassion, concern.
“Martha just came over here in a huff,” Diana began. “The church offering, which she’d brought home, was stolen. And she seems to think you might have taken it.”
His hands slid off her shoulders, then dropped to his sides. “So that old biddy accused the only possible criminal, the known ex-con.”
“I know how you feel—”
“Do you?” A flare of anger and pain filled his eyes.
No, she supposed she didn’t know how he felt. Not really. She’d never been accused of a crime she didn’t commit. And as far as she knew, this was the second time it had happened to Zack.
He crossed his arms. “After you left for church, I pulled some weeds in the backyard. And then around eleven-thirty, I went to get Emily. You can ask Caitlin.”
“I don’t have to talk to her, Zack. I believe you.”
Somehow, she didn’t think that was enough for him. And she didn’t know what else to do or say, other than to tell him all she’d heard.
“Martha is calling the police. And she’ll probably accuse you.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
It didn’t surprise Diana, either, since Martha had been distrustful of Zack from the start. For the most part, Martha was a good woman who wouldn’t intentionally hurt anyone. But her suspicion of Zack was far from harmless.
