The Cowboy's Return

“So why don’t they believe that Patrick is my father?”

How did she explain this to her? “Remember last year when that new girl was transferred to your class from Temple?”

“Yes. Stephanie.”

“Her father was in prison for murder and her mother was on drugs and I didn’t want you playing with her. I didn’t know anything about her. I just knew the type of family she came from, and the nose ring didn’t help. Of course, I realized how unfair that was to Stephanie and she came to the house several times. She’d had a hard life and needed a lot of understanding.”

“She now lives in Kansas with her grandmother. I got a card from her at Christmas.”

“Yes. Stephanie is doing better now that she’s out of that environment.” She stroked Jilly’s hair. “That’s how people thought of me when I was her age. Benita worked in a bar and her dating habits were well known. People thought I was the same. So when I got pregnant, everyone said I probably didn’t know who the father was. Like mother, like daughter.” Those rumors still had the power to hurt, but she tried not to let it show.

“But you did, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” Patrick had been her only lover, and they’d only been together once.

“Everyone in Bramble loves you now, Mama, because they know you as the nice person you are.” Jilly sat up. “How could they think anything else? You don’t even date. All you do is work and take care of me. You’re probably a saint.”

“You need very little taking care of—just a watchful eye and some guidance.”

Jilly curled into her. “I love you, Mama,” she murmured sleepily.

“I love you, too.” She reached for the Southern belle quilt on the back of the sofa and pulled it over Jilly. She’d wake her in a moment. For now she just wanted to hold her baby.

From an early age, Camila had realized Jilly was special. She cared about people and they responded to her. Jilly was the reason the people in Bramble now accepted Camila, the main reason they saw her in a different way—as a mother, businesswoman and friend. But there were those like the Boggses who looked down their noses at her. They were the influential people in Bramble who judged and condemned her for having a child out of wedlock.

That didn’t matter to Camila. She’d matured and gotten beyond that—somewhat. At times it still hurt, like today.

She’d told Jilly the basics of the story. No one knew the real story but her…and Patrick. Young and insecure about herself, her life, she’d clung to her friendship with him. In school, he was known as the nerd and she was the tramp’s daughter. They were kindred spirits who found comfort in each other.

Patrick’s feelings changed in high school. He started to hold her hand and she’d told him to stop. But he wouldn’t. He seemed to want everyone to believe they were a couple. She wanted just the opposite.

Years of being embarrassed by her mother’s reputation caused Camila to avoid all contact with boys. It didn’t keep boys from seeking her out, though, wanting her to go for a ride to the lake or to Lover’s Point, the usual necking spots. They only wanted one thing—sex. They assumed she was easy and she never accepted any of their invitations.

Patrick was different. Until the one event that was the beginning of her nightmare. The Daniels were giving Patrick a big graduation party at the ranch. Camila didn’t get an invitation in the mail like the other kids, but Patrick asked her to come.

The moment she arrived, she knew the Danielses didn’t want her there. She wanted to leave, but Patrick insisted that she stay. Through the course of the night, Patrick became a different person, eager to please his classmates and to show them he had a hot number—Camila.

Patrick was drinking, which she’d never seen him do. He put something in her Coke. She didn’t know he’d done that until she started to feel relaxed and at ease. Patrick said he wanted her to have a good time. When the kids started to dance around the pool, she and Patrick joined in. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tripp watching them.

Every girl in Bramble had a crush on Tripp and she was no exception. He never paid her any attention, but that night she wanted to dance with him. Later, feeling woozy from the drink, she thought she was going to faint. Then there Tripp was holding her and every foolish dream she’d ever harbored about him suddenly came true. She swayed in his arms to the beat of the music. Patrick had accused Tripp of flirting with her and they’d had a big argument.

Jilly stirred, but she didn’t wake up. Camila’s arms tightened around her daughter. She’d worked hard so Jilly would have a better life and the Danielses were not going to destroy that. Tripp could demand all he wanted, but there would be no DNA test.

Not now. Not ever.

TRIPP DROVE HOME CURSING himself for being so thickheaded. What did he expect Camila to say? But he sure as hell wanted to know the truth. He’d give it a rest for now because he wasn’t getting anywhere barging into her house and demanding answers.

He’d never been sure about Patrick’s relationship with Camila. They’d never gone on a date that he was aware of. His parents hadn’t wanted him being friends with her and Patrick had always adhered to their wishes. That’s why Tripp had been surprised when she’d shown up at Patrick’s graduation party.

His parents were furious, but Patrick said that he’d invited all his friends. Tripp could see that she was nervous. None of the other kids spoke to her and he felt sorry for her. Patrick hung onto her as if she were his special gift.

As the evening wore on, Tripp realized something wasn’t quite right. There was a lot of drinking going on and small white packets being passed around. Camila became mellower, laughing and dancing. All the guys were watching her and Patrick, and nudging each other. When Patrick went to change the music on the stereo, she stood alone, swaying, and Tripp grabbed her before she hit the concrete.

She pressed her body against his and began to move to the music. He was stunned that she was coming on to him in front of everyone. Before he could push her away, Patrick came roaring back shouting words Tripp had never heard him use before. Over the years, he cursed himself more times than he could remember for coming to Camila’s aid.

She and Patrick disappeared, and he couldn’t get the scent and feel of her out of his system. At two in the morning, he saw her coming out of Patrick’s room. She was buttoning her blouse and she looked like hell. At that moment, he knew all the rumors he’d heard were true.

And he was disappointed.

He went in to talk to Patrick to see what was going on. Patrick was hyped up and nervous, which wasn’t like his brother at all, and he knew Patrick was drunk or on something. Tripp told him to sleep it off and Patrick said things like Tripp was jealous and Tripp couldn’t have her now. Camila was his.

Tripp helped his brother into bed, hoping that was the last of the insane talk. The next morning, Patrick came out to the barn upset because Tripp had mentioned to his parents that he thought there were drugs at the party. He told Patrick he needed to stop and think about what he was doing and that he didn’t need the drugs. Patrick became subdued, saying that was easy for Tripp to say because the girls loved him. Then all of a sudden he became angry, saying Camila was his and Tripp couldn’t have her. Tripp tried to tell him he didn’t even know Camila and Patrick wasn’t making sense. That made Patrick angrier. He ran out of the barn before Tripp could stop him. He climbed into the Corvette his parents had given him as a graduation present and yelled that he wasn’t coming back.

And he didn’t.

He died two hours later.

One of the ranch hands told his father about the argument and Griffin wanted to know what was going on with Tripp and “that tramp.” Tripp told him the truth and Griffin didn’t believe him, just as Griffin didn’t believe a word about the drugs. And Patrick had already told his father that Tripp had come on to Camila at the party. His father accused Tripp of the unforgivable, hurting his brother when Tripp could have had any woman he wanted.

Tripp was well aware that Patrick envied him, but he’d always thought they’d had a good relationship. The kids at school called him a nerd, a geek, and Patrick just wanted to be popular. He’d asked Tripp a dozen times about how to fit in. His baby brother had been a sweet kid and a lot of the nice kids had liked him, but Patrick had never seen how people had admired his soft-hearted, caring personality.

Like Jilly’s.

Tripp crossed the cattle guard to Lady Luck. After his brother’s death, he hadn’t thought he’d ever return here. When the sheriff had come with the news of Patrick’s accident, it was a day Tripp would never forget. His life, his whole world had changed.

As had his parents.

They blamed Tripp for upsetting Patrick. He’d been told to leave and never come back. Later, Tripp had realized they’d spoken out of grief and he’d called home, but his parents wouldn’t talk to him. Even while he’d buried himself in the rodeo circuit, a day hadn’t gone by that he hadn’t thought of Patrick. Of his parents.

Guilt was his constant companion.

He’d cursed himself many times for that night, for the way he’d handled it. He’d cursed Camila, too.

Now, he had a chance to ease some of that guilt. He had to find out if Jilly was Patrick’s, and he knew where to start—by asking the people in Bramble.

Chapter Three

After Tripp’s visit, Camila managed to calm her shaky nerves. She fought hard against the memories of that night. She only prayed Tripp stayed out of their lives.

They ate supper and Jilly went to her room to finish her homework. Camila called Betty Sue and talked about the girls’ punishment. They agreed keeping them apart for a week would suffice.

As Camila finished cleaning the kitchen, Millie stopped by. She’d gone to Brenham to visit her sister who was in a nursing home.

Millie took one look at Camila’s face and asked, “What’s wrong, kid?”

Camila folded a dish towel. “That’s the same thing you asked me when you found me at the bus stop all those years ago.”

Millie dropped into a chair. “Yeah. One of the luckiest days of my life. I found the most beautiful young woman—inside and out. I’m so proud of you. You and Jilly have brightened my life. I’d be a sour old widow woman by now if not for the two of you.”

“Thank you.” Camila blinked away a tear. “It was a lucky day for me, too. I’m not sure what would’ve happened to me if you hadn’t taken me in hand.”

“Pleeeaase.” Millie rolled her eyes. “Don’t you know by now that you’re a survivor?”

She did. But those insecurities from her childhood sometimes weighed heavily upon her, especially when people questioned her child’s paternity.

“How’s your sister?” Camila asked, not wanting to think about Tripp anymore.

“Pretty good. I enjoyed visiting with her and I stayed at my niece’s catching up.” Millie looked around. “Where’s Jilly?”

“In her room.” She told her what Jilly had done and about Tripp’s visit.

Millie’s blue eyes blazed with fury. “He has some nerve coming here.” Millie had red hair, or used to—these days it came out of a bottle. She wasn’t letting anyone see her gray. But the quick temper was real. Everyone in Bramble knew better than to get on her wrong side. “I hope you told him to go to hell.”

“No. But he got the message.” Camila sucked in a breath. “He wants to know if Patrick is Jilly’s father.”

“It’s a little late for that.”

“I should forget about it, but Jilly made the first move. After I talked with her, I could see she’s curious about the Danielses. She’s curious about her father. What am I going—”

“Nothing,” Millie told her. “That’s what you’re going to do. Absolutely nothing. Because if Tripp hurts Jilly or you, he’ll have me and the whole town to contend with.”

“Not the whole town.”

“The Boggses don’t count.”

Camila managed a small smile, but it soon faded. “I feel as if I’ve failed as a mother. I didn’t know Jilly had these feelings about her father. I thought we were able to talk about anything.”

“She’s turning into a teenager and you’re not going to know everything she’s thinking and feeling. So stop beating yourself up.”

“I guess.”

Millie watched her. “So why didn’t you tell Tripp that Patrick is Jilly’s father? All it would have taken was one little word.”

Camila tucked a stray tendril behind her ear. “I guess it was the way he asked—kind of like I might not know and could Patrick be a possible candidate.”

Millie’s eyes softened. “Sweetie, everyone in this town knows Patrick is the father. It’s not a secret or a mystery to anyone but the Danielses and a few hypocrites who don’t deserve a second thought.”

Millie was talking about the Boggses. They controlled the town. Melvin Boggs was president of the school board and his brother Earl was also on the board. Their brother Bert was mayor and superintendent of schools. Camila had gone to school with Wallis Boggs and Vance Boggs, sons of Earl and Bert. They told lies about her and their parents had believed them—even to this day.

Of all the Boggses, she liked Melvin the best. He was always nice to her and he had two daughters who were older and had moved away from Bramble. His twin sons, Max and Mason, were a year younger than Camila and she had very little contact with them. Maybe that’s why she got along with him.

Betty Sue had married Max. Camila and Betty Sue had known each other in school, but hadn’t been close either. When Max had left his wife for another woman and had moved to Temple, Texas, Camila became Betty Sue’s friend. Betty Sue had told her that she’d never believed any of the rumors the boys had spread around—she knew they were just angry that Camila had rebuffed them.

Camila placed the dish towel on the counter. “One night out of my life and I can’t seem to get past it or the repercussions.”

“That’s what happens when you’re in love with two brothers.”

Camila whirled around. “Don’t say that—especially out loud.”

“It’s not a sin to care for one brother and love another.”

“Please, Millie. I don’t want to talk about this—ever.”

“Okay.” Millie got to her feet. “You were a teenager with hormones raging out of control. That’s life, all women go through it, but it doesn’t make you a tramp. Please understand that.”

Camila didn’t answer. She couldn’t. After that night at the Danielses’, she’d believed that about herself—she was like Benita, tempting men. She was to blame for everything that had happened. She was to blame for Patrick acting the way he had.

Tripp coming back had opened up those old wounds. She was struggling to understand them and to understand herself.

“I’m going home to soak in a hot bath,” Millie said, heading for the door. “Oh.” She stopped. “Almost forgot what I came over here for. I went by the bakery to check on things and Benita called.”

“Did she say what she wanted?”

“No, sweetie. The less I say to that woman the better off I am.”

Millie blamed Benita for not being there when Camila had needed her. Benita blamed Millie for sticking her nose where it didn’t belong.

“Did she leave a message?”

“No.”

“I suppose she’ll call back.” Despite all the turmoil in their relationship, Camila still worried about her mother.

“Or maybe she’ll just disappear for good,” Millie muttered under her breath as she went out the door.

Camila sighed, but she couldn’t stop worrying. Maybe Benita was back in town, at Alta’s house. She grabbed her purse and called to Jilly, “I’m going to check Benita’s house. I’ll be right back.”

“Why can’t I go?”

“You’re grounded.”

“Awww,” her daughter replied.

“Finish the essay you have to write.”

Within minutes, she drove into her grandmother’s driveway. Alta had lived in the older section of Bramble in a white frame house that her husband, Charles, had built a few years after they had married. Camila had stayed in the house until she’d bought her own.

She entered with her key. For a moment, she soaked up the dark and quiet house. Clearly Benita was not here. Suddenly memories of arguments between her and her mother beat at her. Benita couldn’t understand why Camila didn’t want to live here, but then her mother didn’t really know her. Camila turned and went back to the comfort and warmth of her own home. She had more urgent matters to worry about.

Like Tripp Daniels.

TRIPP FIXED THE DOORBELL then spent the day cleaning house. He hated it, but the place was a mess so he didn’t have much choice. By mid-afternoon he had all the plumbing problems fixed, the laundry done and his parents’ room cleaned. They complained the whole time that he was bothering them and for him to run along and do something else. He yelled so much at Morris that his throat was sore but the old man still didn’t hear half of what he’d said. But he’d helped and Tripp couldn’t decide if that was a plus or a minus.

He took a break and drank a cup of coffee, wondering if he ever was going to get this place back into shape. He needed to call Brodie again, but decided to wait. After his estrangement from his family, his rodeo friends had become his family. But there had always been a part of him that yearned for home. Again he realized he should have come back years ago to sort through the pain of Patrick’s death.

Most of the night he’d thought about Camila and Jilly. Was Jilly Patrick’s? If she was, why wouldn’t Camila admit it?

In the den, his mom was listening to music and his dad was watching a basketball game. They were in different parts of the room and both had the volume turned up high. Tripp shook his head and went in search of Morris. He found him on the patio, feet propped up, puffing on one of his father’s cigars, the smoke spiraling above his head.

Tripp opened one of the French doors and stepped out. Morris crushed the cigar in an ashtray and swung to his feet. “Mr. Tripp,” he said in a guilty voice.

Tripp didn’t care that he was smoking cigars. He only cared that Morris looked out for his parents.

“I’m going into town. Please keep an eye on Mom and Dad.”

“Always do.”

“Don’t worry about supper, I’ll bring something from the Bramble Rose.”

Morris looked around. “There’s no roses. It’s too early. It’s just February.”

Tripp stepped closer. “I’ll bring something for supper,” he said louder.

“Oh. Gotcha.”

Tripp headed for his truck wondering how his parents had survived all these years without someone to guide them. After one week, he was totally exhausted. He’d check if there was someone in town who could provide some help. They all clearly needed it.

He drove into Bramble, which was barely a stop in the road. It consisted of main street that had businesses on both sides, mostly antique and gift shops, and a dollar store. There was a bank, a diner, two gas stations, a small grocery store, a feed store, and a hardware store and lumberyard. They also had a Dairy Queen.

Railroad tracks ran along the west side. On the east side was the residential area with the schools and city offices. Some people had lived here all their lives, only going farther to Temple or Austin when needed.

He stopped at the diner. A sign across the street read Common Threads—Camila’s Quilts, Soaps and Gifts. Could it be? There was only one Camila that he knew of in Bramble. Without a second thought, he strolled toward the shop. As he went in, the bell tinkled over the door. A natural pleasing fragrance, like a flower garden, greeted him.

The walls were a pale lavender and shelves were filled with baskets of soaps in decorative boxes and some sort of see-through fabric. Folded quilts decorated racks and there was a special area for baby quilts. A couple of women oohed and aahed over one, clutching a box in their hands. The lavender box had a C written on it in calligraphy.

He removed his hat and spoke. The women eyed him with a strange look. He walked to the counter where a young girl was putting a quilt in a box; which was adorned with a fancy needle and thread logo.

“Can I help you?” the girl asked.

“I’m looking for Camila Walker.”

“She’s in the back.”

“Thanks, I’ll—”

“You can’t go—” The girl stopped as another woman interrupted with asked a question.

Tripp went through the door to a large back room. Two quilting frames with quilts in them hung from the ceiling. One wall held spools of thread of every color. At the back were rows of fabric and a large table the size of a king-size bed, obviously a working area. A sewing machine was in a corner.

He didn’t see Camila. There was another door and he opened it. A pungent smell almost sent him reeling back, but then he saw her. Camila, in rubber gloves and apron, was stretching plastic wrap over large molds of soap.

She glanced up, startled, her dark eyes like lasers ready to cut him in half. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to apologize for my rudeness last night.”

“I don’t allow people back here,” she said in a sharp tone.

He should leave, but he couldn’t. He was curious. Intrigued. “Are you making soap?”

“Yes.” She continued to work with quick, sure movements, covering all the molds, then she placed boards on top and covered the whole thing with blankets.

“What are you doing?”

“The soap has to be kept warm while it sets for twenty-four hours. I then clean and wrap it, but it has to cure for three to four weeks before I sell it.”

He twitched his nose in distaste. “What’s that smell?”

Her eyes softened for a second. “It’s the lye. This batch is almond scent and olive oil.”

“Very impressive operation you have here.”

She turned to face him, her dark eyes back in laser mode. “You said what you wanted to, now please leave.”

Tripp nodded, knowing it was time to back off. Camila wasn’t too friendly and he couldn’t blame her—not after suggesting the DNA test. That was way out of line. Even a blundering cowboy knew that.

He headed across the street to the diner, straddling a stool at the counter. With plastic red gingham tablecloths and chrome-and-plastic tables and chairs, the place was a typical diner, like he’d seen all over the country. A jukebox stood in a corner and country music played in the background.

Melvin and Bert Boggs sat at a table and Tripp nodded in their direction.

“Hey, handsome, what’ll you have?” Rose, a woman close to seventy, but nonetheless spry and energetic for her age wore an apron over jeans and a T-shirt. Her blondish-gray hair coiled at the back of her head had a pencil stuck in it. She’d owned the diner as long as he could remember and still looked the same.

“Coffee, and do you have any suggestions for supper for my parents?”

“Mmm.” Rose poured a cup of coffee. “They’re not doing too good?”

“They’re just getting older.”

“Aren’t we all, hon.” She placed the coffee in front of him with a napkin. “But you’re looking mighty fine. Where you been all these years?”

“All over. Settled around Mesquite.”

“That’s too far away, hon.”

“Yeah.” He took a swallow of coffee and thought he’d steer the conversation back to the matter at hand. “So do you have anything I can take home?”

“Grif loves my meat loaf and it’s on the menu today with all the trimmings, even homemade corn bread. How does that sound?”

“Great, I’ll take three orders for my parents and Morris but I’ll take a chicken-fried steak. No one can beat your steak, Rose.”

“Now, hon. You’re gonna make me blush.” She turned toward the kitchen and Tripp thought her blushing days were probably over.

He glanced out the window and saw Camila loading packages into a Suburban. What was she doing?

“Watching her, huh? All the guys watch her.”

He swung around to face Rose. “What?”