The Cowboy's Return. Linda Warren
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