Читать книгу The Cowboy's Return - Linda Warren - Страница 11

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?”

She gestured toward the window. “Camila. All the men watch her, but that’s all they do.”

“I’ve heard differently.”

“Depends on who you listen to.” She refilled his cup. “Once you get to know Camila, you’ll soon realize the truth.”

“Which is?”

Rose lifted an eyebrow. “Now, hon, you need to find that out for yourself.”

His eyes strayed back to Camila with her arms full of lavender boxes. “Is she taking those somewhere?” The more he learned about Camila, the more curious he became.

“Boy, you’ve been gone too long. Camila bought out Millie’s gift shop and she makes homemade soaps and quilts she sells over the Internet. She’s going to the post office.”

“Looks like she’s doing very well.”

“You bet, hon. Never seen anyone work harder.”

The bell over the door jingled and Jilly ran in. She paused when she saw Tripp. “Oh, hi, Mr. Daniels.”

“Hi, Jilly.”

“Hi there, hon,” Rose said. “What do you need today?”

“When I finish helping Mama, I’m going to put out Mrs. Shynosky’s trash and I thought I’d take her a piece of your coconut pie ’cause she likes it.”

“You got it, hon.”

Jilly fished in the pockets of her jeans and pulled out some change. “Oh, wait a minute. I have to get more money.”

“That’s okay,” Tripp offered. “I’ll pay for it.”

“No.” Jilly shook her head. “I can’t take your money. I’ll get some from Mama.” She darted out the door before he could stop her.

She talked to Camila and soon Jilly came running back. She laid the correct change on the counter and picked up the Styrofoam box. “Thanks, Rose.” Then she was gone.

“Does she do that often?” Tripp asked.

“All the time,” Rose replied. “We call her the angel of Bramble. I tried giving her the pie, but Camila makes her pay.”

He remembered last night and Jilly’s offer to help his parents. He thought that was unusual, but then, Jilly seemed to be an unusual girl. Then again, maybe not—Patrick had been the same way.

Tripp’s grandmother had lived with them until her death. Their paper had been delivered to the mailbox at the road and Patrick would ride his bike every morning to get the paper so she could read it with her coffee. When Leona had discovered a rat in the house, she’d had Morris set a trap. Patrick had had a fit, unable to stand the thought of killing the rat. He’d promised to hunt it down and catch it, which he had. He kept it in a cage until the rat had died from old age. So many similar episodes ran through Tripp’s mind. Patrick had been soft-hearted and kind and…

The bell over the door jingled again and Vance and Wallis Boggs came in. They had been in Patrick’s year at school, but Tripp wasn’t sure what kind of friends they’d been.

Melvin and Bert walked over and they all shook hands. “Damn. It’s good to have you back in Bramble,” Melvin said.

“Yeah, have a cup of coffee with us,” Vance invited.

“Sure,” Tripp replied.

“Got to get back to work,” Melvin said. “Maybe another time.”

“Me, too,” Bert said, and the brothers left.

“Coffee, Rose,” Vance yelled as they sat at a table.

“Keep your britches on, junior. I’ll be there in a minute.”

They talked about casual stuff and Wallis watched Camila out the window. Jilly climbed into the passenger side and they drove off.

“Can I ask y’all a question?” Tripp asked. He wanted answers, but doing this made his gut ache.

“Sure,” they answered simultaneously.

“Do y’all believe that Patrick is Jilly Walker’s father?”

“Hell, man,” Vance snickered. “That’s a million-dollar question. She could be anybody’s.”

“I was gone a lot back then so I don’t know that much about Camila Walker.”

“Every man in Bramble has had her,” Wallis said. “Don’t lose any sleep over it.”

Rose placed the cups of coffee on the table. Tripp gripped his warm cup. “So y’all have slept with her?”

“All the time in high school.” Wallis laughed. “Camila was always an easy lay.”

Tripp stared at Wallis. “Patrick said just the opposite.”

“What do you mean?” His voice became defensive.

“He said she was a nice girl.” He’d heard Patrick tell his parents that many times, to no avail.

Wallis waved a hand. “Patrick believed that about everybody.”

“Yeah.” Tripp shoved back his chair. “Even you boys.”

Vance glared at him. “What does that mean?”

“Anything you want it to.” Tripp walked to the counter, paid for his coffee and the dinners Rose had ready for him. He thanked Rose, picked up the bag and left.

Once you get to know Camila, you’ll soon realize the truth. That’s what Rose had said. He doubted he’d find the truth listening to the rumors in this small town.

He drove through the residential area, taking a shortcut to Lady Luck. He stopped as he saw Jilly lugging a trash can to the road at Mrs. Shynosky’s. Her bike was parked near the house.

As he watched her, something else became clear in his head. He didn’t need a DNA test to prove that Jilly was Patrick’s. All he had to do was look at this little girl and see her loving heart that was open to everyone—just like his brother.

Tripp stopped and got out to help her.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, blinking nervously.

“I know, but I wanted to.”

She stared openly at him.

“What?” he asked.

“Did Patrick look like you?”

“Some. We have the same blond hair and blue eyes.”

“That’s what my mama said.” She shuffled her feet. “I’m sorry I bothered you the other day.”

“You didn’t bother me,” he assured her. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

“Really?” Her dark eyes opened wide.

“Yes. Really.” He smiled. “And you’re welcome at Lady Luck any time.”

She smiled back. “Thanks. I gotta go. Mrs. Shynosky likes me to tell her what’s going on in Bramble. I’ll tell her the cowboy has returned. Bye.”

“Bye, Jilly.” He walked to his truck with a swing in his step.

Yes, Jilly was Patrick’s.

Now he had to convince his parents of that.