Marrying O'malley

When the prickling on the back of her neck ceased, Sarita glanced over her shoulder to see Wolf again staring at his father’s stone. A smile began to curl one corner of her mouth. She wanted to issue a shriek of delight. He was alive! It was as if a rush of fresh, sweet air was swirling around her, giving the day a sense of energy and renewal.

In the next instant the smile had turned to a self-directed scowl. It didn’t make any sense that his being alive should mean that much to her. They were the same age and had both grown up in this town. And from the beginning she and Wolf O’Malley had been at odds with each other. A flush of embarrassment reddened her neck and traveled upward. He was probably thinking she was a desperately lonely woman to waste her time stopping by the grave of a man who had not even been a friend.

And she couldn’t blame him if he did think that. There had been many times when she’d considered cutting those visits from her morning route. But she hadn’t. She pondered this as she continued into town.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Gladys Kowaski, Sarita’s fellow waitress said, looking up from giving the tables a final inspection as Sarita entered the Cactus Café. The thirty-two-year-old, pretty, blond, blue-eyed woman gave her body a shake to imitate an exaggerated chill. “I don’t know how you can walk through that cemetery every morning. It gives me the creeps.”

“The unhappy souls haunt the places where they died, not their graves.” Sarita tossed back her usual rebuttal, unable to recall how many times she and Gladys had had this same exchange.

Gladys continued to regard her narrowly. “No, really. This morning you look as if something really shook you.”

Sarita wasn’t ready to discuss Wolf O’Malley. Besides, it occurred to her that maybe he wasn’t ready for anyone to know he was in town. He had chosen a very early hour to visit the cemetery. “There’s just something unusual in the air, don’t you think?” she replied, continuing into the back room to find her apron.

“And what has my two lovely waitresses looking as if they are on the verge of an argument this morning?” Jules Desmond, the owner and chef, asked as the two women entered the kitchen where he was preparing the food for cooking and serving. He added a “tisk-tisk.” “Strife is not good for the customers’ digestion.”

“And neither is your food with all those chilies you put in it,” Gladys returned.

Jules, fifty-eight, widowed, balding and slightly on the plump side, skewed his face into an exaggerated expression of dismay. “That was an unfair cut.”

Looking repentant, Gladys put her arm around his shoulders. “You’re right. Your cooking is actually very good.”

Jules’s smile returned. “So what’s going on between the two of you?”

“Nothing,” Sarita assured him.

Disappointment showed on his face. “In New York there was always some juicy gossip to start the day, or at least one dispute between the employees that needed settling. Here there is next to nothing.”

“Your doctor sent you here for your health. You’re supposed to be living in a relaxed, laid-back environment,” Gladys reminded him.

He tossed her a disgruntled look. “I would like a little more excitement than wondering if Charlie Gregor will order his omelet with pickles or without today.”

“Maybe you’ll get it. Sarita says she can feel something unusual in the air.”

Jules turned his attention to Sarita. “You could be right Mary Beth came in last night to bake pies, and not only did she bake her usuals, she made a gooseberry one, a chocolate layer cake and a coconut layer cake.”

“Sounds more like she’s pregnant again,” Gladys said. “Or she had a hell of a fight with Ned. Both send her into cooking frenzies.”

A knock on the front door caused them all to look through the serving slit to the public area of the café.

“Looks like Charlie’s here,” Jules said, glancing at the clock over the stove. “And right on the minute. Time to open up.”

“Fifty cents he wants pickles this morning,” Gladys wagered, heading out of the kitchen.

“No bet,” Sarita replied. “This morning I wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted sauerkraut.”

Gladys glanced back at her. “You really meant it when you said you thought there was something unusual in the air.”

“Believe me, today this town could be in for a surprise,” Sarita replied.

Gladys stopped, the expression on her face stern. “What...?”

Charlie knocked harder on the door and Sarita wished she’d kept her mouth shut. She wasn’t a gossip. When Wolf O’Malley wanted people to know he was in town, he’d let them know. “Better get that door open before Charlie breaks it down.”

Realizing she wasn’t going to get any answer that would satisfy her, Gladys grinned good-naturedly. “Now that would be news. Starving Patron Breaks Down Door of Local Diner to Get to Food. We’d probably have people coming all the way from Phoenix for breakfast,” she jested, hurrying to open the door.

“’Bout time,” Charlie grumbled, shuffling in and taking a seat at his usual table by the window. Tall and only slightly stooped with age, lanky, with skin deeply wrinkled, permanently tanned and leathery from a lifetime spent in the outdoors, at ninety-seven years of age, he was the oldest resident of their town and some thought the most cantankerous. “There’s a chill in the air today,” he announced. “I’ll have black coffee, scrambled eggs, bacon and a side of beans and biscuits.”

“You’re right. There’s definitely something in the air. Charlie didn’t even order an omelet,” Gladys said as she passed Sarita on her way to the kitchen.

During the next few minutes the usual early-morning customers began to come in. The sheriff and a couple of his deputies joined the mayor for their regular off-the-record meeting to discuss issues important to them or relay any important information about happenings during the night.

Bradford Dillion took his usual seat toward the back. Elderly, lanky and dressed in a three-piece suit, he’d been the O’Malley family lawyer for as long as anyone could remember. Sarita trusted and liked him and was grateful his table was in her section.

She was equally grateful that Greg Pike’s table wasn’t. He, too, was a lawyer. In his late forties, handsome and always well dressed, he was considered quite a catch by many in town. But he was too glib for her taste. He always had something flattering to say, but to her it didn’t ring true. As usual he was joined by Henry Jarrot, the president of the Lost River Bank and Frank O’Malley’s former business partner.

“Sarita.” Greg Pike waved her over.

She knew what he wanted and she might as well get it out of the way early. “What can I do for you, Mr. Pike?” she asked, approaching his table.

“Your granddaddy ready to sell that worthless land of his yet?” Greg asked.

“He doesn’t consider it worthless. He considers it my legacy.”

“We’re offering him more than fair market value. There’s nobody else who’s even going to want it. If I was you, I’d talk to him. You two can keep the house and an acre, maybe even two or four, surrounding it. He’ll still have his home and his garden and he won’t have to tend other people’s yards or weed their gardens to made ends meet. As for you, you’ll have a nice nest egg in the bank.”

“We make ends meet just fine. He takes the yard and gardening jobs because he likes to keep busy. Like I’ve told you, the land is a part of who he is.” She eyed him suspiciously. Ever since he’d made the offer for the seventy acres her grandfather owned, she’d wondered why. “Besides, I don’t understand what’s so important about mγ grandfather’s land. There’s plenty of other property you could buy for less.”

“Now that Katherine...Mrs. O’Malley owns the land adjacent to his, she’s considering balding a health spa...a place where the wealthy from Phoenix can come and be rejuvenated,” Greg Pike elaborated. “She wants to ensure her guests privacy by having plenty of land surrounding the main buildings, plus she wants to provide them with an expanse for horseback riding. But most important, she feels that spring in the canyon on your grandfather’s property would be the perfect draw...an oasis in the midst of this arid land.”

“Paul Glasgow tried that spa idea and went bankrupt.”

“But he didn’t have a picturesque spring to p—” Greg’s protest died in his throat. His jaw froze and Sarita noticed Henry Jarrot pale, then realized that the entire diner had suddenly become quiet. Everyone was staring at the door. Even before she turned to see who had come in, she knew.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Charlie chortled. “Talk about rising from the dead.”

“It can’t be,” Henry Jarrot muttered, his tone telling Sarita he was not happy about this turn of events.

“Wolf? Wolf O’Malley?” Bradford Dillion had risen and was heading toward the newcomer, his hand outstretched. “Is it really you?”

“In the flesh,” Wolf replied. He’d been standing in the doorway, his bulk nearly filling it. Now he strode to meet the elderly lawyer. Figuring Sarita had already spread the word about his arrival, he’d decided that keeping in the shadows before he went to Bradford’s office was a waste of his time. But from the expressions on everyone’s faces, he guessed he’d misjudged her. Clearly she hadn’t said anything to anyone about him. “I was just going to have some breakfast before coming to see you.”

“Join me, boy, join me. You’re a sight for sore eyes.” Bradford had reached him and combined a welcoming handshake with a one-armed hug.

“Katherine O’Malley ain’t going to like this,” the sheriff drawled in hushed tones that carried to the others at his table and a few nearby including Sarita. She saw the mayor and deputies nod.

“You’re going to have to say something to him,” Greg insisted to Henry. Suspicion entered his voice. “Make sure it’s really him.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Sarita saw the facade of friendliness spread over Henry’s face.