The Strawberry Hearts Diner(58)

It was going to be an uphill battle.

The aromas of breakfast foods and smoked turkey had filled the diner half an hour later when Vicky went to the front to turn on the lights and unlock the doors.

Nettie was home. There was light at the end of the tunnel. In two weeks, max, things would be totally back to normal. Get up and go to work. Go home to a few hours with her girls, Emily and Jancy, and start all over the next day.

The future looked great right up until she saw Carlton Wolfe coming toward the diner. His toothy smile did not light up the place when he pushed his way inside.

“Coffee, please. No menu.”

The whole time that Vicky filled the cup, she wished she could lace it with arsenic. “What brings you out this mornin’?”

“I came to offer my condolences on your partner. I understand that she’s no longer able to work,” Carlton said.

“You heard bull crap,” Nettie called from the back room. “I’m working today.”

Carlton’s smile faded, and he lowered his voice. “Are you sure her coming back here in her weakened condition is wise? I came to make a final offer for your land and this diner. Someone”—he pointed toward the ceiling—“could be sending you a message.”

“Someone”—Vicky rolled her eyes upward—“would probably tell me to dig a hole six feet down and put you in the bottom before he told me to leave Pick, Texas. I’m not interested in your offers, no matter what they are. You might as well take your business elsewhere.”

“You will be sorry in ten years,” he said. “You’ll never get another offer like I’m making you. My final offer is a quarter of a million dollars. Here’s another of my business cards with my number on it. You have one week to change your mind. Your town can’t go on forever. Take advantage of what is before you. And that offer for dinner is still on the table, Victoria.”

She shot a mean look his way. “My name is—”

He butted in quickly. “I know you like to be called Vicky, but Victoria suits you so much better. It’s regal, like you are.”

The bell above the door let her know that someone had arrived. She’d never been so glad to see Ryder in her entire life. He popped a hip up on a stool right beside Carlton. “Mornin’, Mr. Wolfe. What brings you to Pick at the crack of dawn?”

“Just here to do a little business with Victoria. I’m going down to see Leonard and then I’ll be on my way.” Carlton pulled out two dollars and laid them on the counter.

“Don’t go yet,” Ryder said.

“You got property to sell me?” Carlton spun the stool around to face him.

“No, sir, I do not own property in Pick. At least not yet. But I’ve got a question to ask. Have you ever been to a cemetery cleanup?” Ryder asked.

Vicky’s hands clenched into fists. What on earth was Ryder thinking? The man was on his way out of the diner. Let him go.

“Of course not. It sounds horrible.” Carlton shuddered.

“Well, we’re goin’ to have one tonight. We all gather up at the cemetery and we bring a tailgate supper. We share the food and the duties, and even the little kids work to help get it in top-notch shape once a year. While we work we remember the stories that we’ve heard about the folks who are buried there. We remember that Jancy’s grandma made the best lemon pie in the whole state and always brought one to the church dinners. And we talk about how Vicky’s mama never lived long enough to see Emily. It’s a time of cleanin’, yes, and when we get done, it’ll look right nice for the folks comin’ in for the festival.”

“What’s that got to do with me?”

“Exactly,” Ryder said. “It has nothing to do with you or with the people who would buy your fancy houses. It has to do with the people who live in Pick now, the ones who will be buried out there in that cemetery someday and who know that their graves will be cleaned up before festival day. This isn’t just a chunk of dirt to us. It’s our heritage and our lives. And that’s not for sale at any price.”

“Everything is for sale. It’s just a matter of price and time,” Carlton snapped.

“You have my deepest sympathy,” Ryder said.

Vicky could have hugged Ryder. The younger generation was stepping up to the plate and realizing their responsibilities toward keeping their community intact.

Carlton jerked his head around to glare at Ryder. “Why would you feel sorry for me?”

“Because you have nothing of value if everything you have has a price tag on it. Just between me and you, you will not talk anyone out of their land here in Pick. You have a nice day now,” Ryder said. “Miz Vicky, I’d like a tall glass of milk and whatever breakfast special is on the menu today. And welcome home, Miz Nettie. It’s good to have you back even if they won’t let you do much today.”

“You have my offer, Victoria.” Carlton slid off the bar stool.

Ryder picked up the two bills and shoved them back into the pocket of Carlton’s snowy-white shirt. “Put his coffee on my tab, Miz Vicky. I’ll pay for the last cup he ever gets in this diner.”

Carlton stormed out, gunned his fancy little car enough to sling gravel against the metal siding, and left at least six months of rubber on the highway.

“I think that went very well.” Ryder grinned.