Kitabı oku: «Marrying O'malley»

Chapter One

Returning to Lost River had not been in Wolf O‘Malley’s plans. But a couple of days ago he’d learned of his father’s death nearly two months earlier. The news had come as a shock, but he hadn’t returned to pay his last respects to his father. He’d come out of respect to his mother’s memory and to claim what should rightfully be his. He wanted nothing that had belonged to the O’Malleys; it was the dowry that his mother had taken into her marriage, land that had belonged to her family for generations, that he’d come for. Willow O‘Malley had died when he was ten, but time had not dulled his memories of her. Her spirit, he knew, would not rest easy with her land in the hands of Katherine O’Malley, Frank’s second wife.

He had sent no word of his arrival ahead. Surprise was always an advantage, and where Katherine was concerned, a man would be a fool not to use any advantage in his favor. Last night he’d stayed in Phoenix, intending to make his presence first known when he walked into Bradford Dillion’s law office at nine this morning. But a mixture of emotions had refused to allow him to rest. He’d risen before dawn, and now, as the first rays of light were barely peeking over the horizon, he sought out his father’s grave.

The O’Malley plot, the burial site of four generations of his father’s family, loomed ahead of him, enclosed by a low iron fence. Standing in front of one of the graves was a woman. Her thick black hair was plaited into a single braid that hung nearly to her waist, and she was clothed in faded jeans, a blue blouse and sneakers.

Changing direction slightly, he used a nearby tree to mask his approach until he could get a look at her face. Pretty, of Mexican descent, he noted. His gaze narrowed as recognition dawned. She’d matured, lost that girlish, impish look, but he knew without a doubt that the woman was Sarita Lopez. So what was she doing at his family plot? The last he recalled, she had no connection to anyone in his family. While he watched, she bowed her head and clasped her hands together, presumably saying a prayer.

Leaving the shadow of the tree, he continued to the plot, stepping over the low fence instead of entering through the break left for visitors.

Sarita straightened abruptly as a flash of boot caught her eye. No one ever came to the cemetery this early. Silently she cursed under her breath. The last thing in the world she wanted was for anyone to find out she paid visits to the O’Malley plot.

Frantically trying to think of some plausible excuse, she met the intruder’s gaze. At first her mind refused to comprehend what she saw. The facial features of the tall, muscular man standing in front of her were harsher than she remembered, but there was no mistaking his identity. The color drained from her face. As her knees threatened to buckle, two strong hands closed around her upper arms.

“I never thought of you as the fainting type,” Wolf said.

“I thought you were dead!” she exclaimed. For one brief moment she considered the possibility that her imagination was working overtime. But her imagination wasn’t that good. Through the fabric of her shirt she could feel the calluses on his palms and the heat radiating from his hands was as hot as the flame of a log.

Startled by this statement, Wolf looked at the gravestone in front of where she’d placed the flower. It bore his name. According to the inscription, he’d been dead for six years. A bitter taste filled his mouth as the anger he’d thought he’d conquered returned. Seeing her color returning, he released her. “Did my father even send out a search party?”

The cold, icy glint in his eyes and the hard, authoritative set of his jaw were all as she remembered. Still, Sarita was finding it difficult to believe he was really there. “The wreckage of the plane you were in was found on a mountainside. It took the Canadian authorities two weeks to get a rescue team to the site. They found the remains of two bodies. From what I gather there wasn’t much left to identify. The plane had burned on impact. Since you and the pilot were the only scheduled people onboard, it was assumed the bodies belonged to the two of you.”

“A backwoodsman, a friend of the pilot, showed up at the last minute and we agreed to give him a lift back to his place. It was on our way. Apparently the pilot must not have taken the time to add the man’s name to his passenger list, and no one else must have noticed the man coming onboard.”

“Apparently,” Sarita replied. “But how did you get out of the plane? The authorities said it was a terrible impact.”

“My seat belt must have been defective. It opened. I was thrown forward, my head hit something hard, and the world went black. I figure I went through the front windshield. Anyway, when I regained consciousness, I was in a snowbank about thirty feet from the charred wreckage in pretty bad shape but alive.” The bitterness in his voice deepened. “Guess nobody was all that interested in questioning the identity of the bodies. My being dead was as good a resolution to the conflicts between me and my father as any.”

Everyone in town knew Wolf had left because of the bitter feelings between him and his dad. It was possible he wouldn’t care, but she thought he deserved to know that his death had affected his father strongly. “I’m sure he didn’t feel that way. I take the shortcut through the cemetery almost daily and say a prayer over my parents’ and my grandmother’s graves on my way into town. Many mornings I saw him here. On your birthday he’d bring a special token...a feather or stone. The pain I saw on his face convinced me he regretted that things were never set right between the two of you.”

Knowing his father had felt some remorse caused a momentary chink in Wolf’s armor of cynicism, but flashes of memory quickly mended the dent. “His regrets came a little too late.”

She was still finding this turn of events hard to comprehend. “How did you survive? Where have you been? Why didn’t you come back?” She blurted out the questions in quick succession.

“An old woodsman found me and nursed me to back to health. For the first time since my mother’s death I found peace there with him in the wilderness. And since no one had come looking for me, I figured no one would miss me, so I stayed.” His gaze returned to her, and the question that had entered his mind when he first saw her repeated itself. “I am curious as to why you’re here. We were never on good terms.”

She’d asked herself that same thing many times and had not been able to come up with an answer. There was no reason his death should have affected her as deeply as it had. Her pride refused to let him guess that she’d missed him, so she shrugged to indicate her actions were of little consequence. “With your father gone, I figured someone should remember you.” Not wanting to give him a chance to question her further, she strode away.

Wolf watched her leave. She was right about there possibly being no one left to mourn him. Katherine, his stepmother, had taught him to distrust and had turned him bitter toward the world. By the time he’d left to inspect his father’s interests in Alaska, he’d alienated a great many people.

In his mind’s eye he saw Joe Johnson, the old woodsman who had found him. “Anger muddles the mind and dulls the senses,” Joe had cautioned him many times. “You become the prey instead of the hunter.”

Wolf turned back to his father’s gravestone. He had not been entirely honest with Sarita. Grudgingly he admitted to himself that at least part of the reason he’d stayed in the wilderness with Joe was because he was hiding out, escaping the constant battles with his stepmother. “I will not be bested a second time by that she-devil you married,” he vowed, his emotions once again under stern control.

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.

“Wolf. Returned from the dead. What a surprise,” Henry said, rising and moving toward the two men heading to Bradford’s table.

Wolf stopped and turned to his father’s former business partner. “Henry.” He extended his hand.

Henry accepted the handshake and added a pat to Wolf’s shoulder. “Give me a call when you’re ready to discuss the business.”

Wolf raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Your father never changed his will,” Bradford said. “Katherine got the house, a healthy chunk of cash and all the personal belongings, but the rest, including the business, was divided equally between her, you, your half sister and your stepbrother.”

Wolf’s gaze swung to him. “My mother’s land.”

“All yours,” Bradford assured him.

Wolf breathed a satisfied sigh.

Sarita, who had taken a step back, saw Greg’s hand tighten into a fist around his napkin. He definitely didn’t like this turn of events. It was Wolf’s mother’s land that was adjacent to Sarita’s grandfathes’s...the land Katherine had earmarked for her spa. That Greg hadn’t raced out the door to contact Katherine O’Malley showed a certain amount of reserve, Sarita thought. Then she realized that he wouldn’t want to leave until he’d found out all he could.

Still embarrassed that Wolf had found her at his grave site, she would have preferred to remain in the background. But that would be cowardly, and pride refused to allow her to exhibit cowardliness in front of him. As Henry Jarrot returned to his table, she approached Bradford’s table. “Would you like something to drink while you decide what you want for breakfast?” she addressed Wolf in cool, efficient tones.

He looked up at her. Sarita Lopez had never behaved like he’d expected her to. “Apparently you are very good at keeping secrets,” he said in hushed tones.

“I figured that when you wanted people to know you were back, you’d let them know yourself,” she replied.

He nodded his approval. “I appreciate that.”

Glad she’d followed her instincts, Sarita noted that this had to be the first time the two of them hadn’t been arguing by the second sentence.

“You knew he was in town?” Bradford asked in the same lowered voice.

“I wanted to pay my respects to my mother,” Wolf elaborated. “We bumped into each other at the cemetery. She thought she was seeing a ghost.”

Grateful he hadn’t mentioned that she was at his grave site, she caught the look in his eye that told her he considered them even. And that suited her just fine. Returning her attention to her reason for even approaching him, she repeated, “Would you like something to drink while you look over the menu or are you ready to order?”

He glanced down at the menu. “Coffee to drink and I’ll have the Cowhand’s Special. Scramble the eggs,” he replied.

“Coming up.” Walking away, she saw the rest of the customers casting covert glances in Wolf’s direction. And unlike normal mornings when conversations flooded the place, voices overlapping each other until they were a muddle of noise, this morning conversations were being held softly, confining what was said to the occupants of the individual tables.

As she laid the paper containing Wolf’s order on the high, metal counter of the window between the kitchen and the serving area, Jules motioned her inside. Knowing she was going to have to talk to him sooner or later, she entered the kitchen.

“Who is this Wolf O’Malley?” he demanded in lowered tones, trying to keep an eye on his cooking food while watching for any further activity among the customers. “This is the first real excitement I’ve seen in this town since Norma Alexander caught Rupert Gordon peeping in her bedroom window.”

“He’s Frank O’Malley’s eldest son. Everyone thought he was dead,” Sarita replied. “Now I’ve really got to get back to my customers.”

But before she could make her escape, Gladys entered. “Isn’t this the most exciting thing? Ms. High and Mighty Katherine O’Malley is not going to like it.”

Jules looked confused. “I’d think she would be glad her son was alive.”

“He’s not her son,” Gladys explained. “He’s her stepson. His mother was Willow Bluefeather.”

“An Indian?” Jules asked, his interest increasing.

Gladys nodded. “Full-blooded Cherokee. I don’t remember her well. I do remember that she was very pretty.”

Jules peered harder out the window. “Yes, he does look as if he has Native American blood in him.”

“Willow Bluefeather O’Malley was beautiful and one of the sweetest women in the world,” Sarita said, recalling the kindness Willow had always exhibited toward everyone. “She died of some complication associated with the flu when Wolf was ten. His father married Katherine when he was twelve. He and his stepmother never got along.”

A knowing look came over Gladys’s face. “My Roy has always said Katherine wanted Wolf out of the picture so her own children could inherit everything.” In response to Jules’s raised eyebrow, she added, “Preston O’Malley was her son from a previous marriage. She made sure Frank adopted him so he would be sure to share in the inheritance. Claudia is Frank and Katherine’s child, but I think she only had her to satisfy Frank. Anyone can see that Katherine is partial to Preston. She thinks the sun rises and sets on him.”

Jules nodded his head. “She’s definitely spoiled him.”

Sarita had only been half listening. She’d been recalling how badly Wolf had taken his mother’s passing. In spite of the fact that she and he had never gotten along, she’d felt obliged to seek him out and offer her condolences. He’d growled at her, and she’d never approached him again. And she didn’t like gossiping about him now. She nodded toward the bacon that was fast becoming too crisp to serve. “We’d better get back to our customers, and you’d better get back to your cooking,” she told Jules.

Letting out a cry of dismay, he quickly returned his attention to his stove.

“Looks like life is going to get real interesting around here for a while,” Gladys noted as she and Sarita left the kitchen.

“I suppose interesting is as good a word as any,” Sarita muttered back, doubting Katherine O’Malley would use that same adjective.