“May I help you? I’m Tripp Daniels.”

The girls stared at him, mouths open.

“Are you selling something?”

The dark-haired girl shook her head.

“Did you find a lost dog?”

She shook her head again and held the dog tighter against her chest.

“Well, I’m running out of questions, so you’d better tell me what you want.”

There was no response—just wide-eyed silence.

“I have to get back to work,” he said, and stepped back to close the door.

“I’m Jilly Walker,” the dark-haired girl blurted out.

Tripp paused. Was this Camila Walker’s kid? Yeah, she had the same gorgeous hair, skin and eyes. That would mean…

“I make straight A’s and I’m going to be a doctor. I’m a good kid, everyone says so, and your family missed a lot by not knowing me. You missed even more by not knowing my mama. That’s all I have to say.”

She took a step backward and ran into her friend, who seemed to have turned to stone. The two of them locked hands and ran toward their bikes, then quickly rode away.

Dear Reader,

If you’ve read The Christmas Cradle, you might remember Tripp Daniels, a rodeo cowboy estranged from his family. The Cowboy’s Return is his story. After thirteen years, he returns home to face his past and a woman he can’t forget.

Camila Walker is used to rumors and gossip. Those tidbits of malicious hearsay have affected her life, her relationships and the way she feels about herself. She is a survivor, though, and she’s built a good life for her daughter.

Tripp is still drawn to the beautiful Camila, but he’s determined to find out if her daughter is his dead brother’s child. Through the lies and the secrets, they can’t deny the attraction building between them. But will they be able to overcome the past?

Come along and get involved in the rumors and gossip. Just don’t believe everything you hear.

Hope you enjoy Camila and Tripp’s story.

Warmly,

Linda Warren

P.S. It’s always a pleasure to hear from readers. You can e-mail me at Lw1508@aol.com or write me at P.O. Box 5182, Bryan, TX 77805 or visit my Web site at lindawarren.net or superauthors.com. Your letters will be answered.

The Cowboy’s Return
Linda Warren

MILLS & BOON

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Mrs. Ida Baker (Big Mama)—To our amazing grandmother

When I first married my husband, his grandmother

would give us lye soap. Young and immature, I wasn’t

sure what to do with it. But as always, years bring wisdom,

and I began to see this wonderful lady’s ability to create

necessities out of the simplest things and admired

her indomitable spirit and immeasurable love.

We still miss you.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Lola Dee Vavra—thanks for lovingly sharing your knowledge of quilting.

Becky Hess of Eden Naturals for graciously explaining her soap-making techniques. Thanks.

Any errors are strictly mine.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Epilogue

Chapter One

“We’re gonna be in so much trouble.”

Eleven-year-old Jilly Walker ignored her friend, Kerri, and pedaled her bicycle that much faster against the cool February breeze. She had to do this, even if it meant she’d be grounded for life. In two weeks she’d turn twelve and her mama had said that she could do something special for the big day. Special meant one thing to Jilly…meeting her father’s family.

And this was the only day she could sneak away to make it happen.

The Danielses lived on a large ranch about a mile outside of Bramble, Texas, population 994 and counting. Everyone kept track of the births. The city council planned a big celebration for number one thousand, but Jilly wasn’t thinking about that today. The bike’s wheels slid on the gravel as she stopped outside the Danielses’ entrance to the Lady Luck Ranch.

Patrick Daniels, her father, had died before her parents could get married. The Danielses shunned her mother, Camila, saying the baby she’d been carrying wasn’t a part of their family. Jilly didn’t understand how they could have said that, but she respected her mother’s wishes and stayed away from the Danielses’.

Until today.

Over the years, she’d seen Leona and Griffin, her grandparents, in their chauffeur-driven car. She’d never had enough nerve to speak to them—she didn’t know if she had enough today, either.

Kerri stopped beside her, gasping for breath. “Are we going home now?”

Jilly stared at the broken boards on the fence and the weeds growing wild around them. She didn’t expect the entrance to be so unkempt. The stone pillars with the Lady Luck brand were impressive, though.

“Jilly?”

“No,” she answered and pedaled across the cattle guard to the big house. Her hands trembled on the handlebars, but she wouldn’t let her nervousness stop her—she was going to introduce herself to the Danielses. The bike bounced over potholes, jarring her insides, and finally she rolled to a stop in the circular drive. A round brick pond with a broken waterfall stood in the center of the overgrown yard. Stagnant water caked with mildew stank like Mr. Wiley’s pig farm.

At the odor, she wrinkled her nose and jumped off her bike. She adjusted the kickstand and scooped Button, her Chihuahua, out of the basket on the handlebars. Button shivered and Jilly tucked the dog inside her navy windbreaker, stroking the dog’s ears.

“It’s okay. We won’t be here long.”

Kerri hopped off her bike and joined her. They looked up at the white stone two-story colonial house with the weatherworn and peeling brown trim. Shutters hung like broken arms, dust and spiderwebs coated the windows, and weeds had taken over the flower beds.

“This place is like totally spooky,” Kerri said.

“Yeah,” Jilly murmured. She hadn’t expected this, either. The Danielses were supposed to be rich.

“Let’s go,” Kerri said. “I don’t think anyone lives here.”

“Yes, they do,” Jilly insisted, clutching Button. “The Temple paper said he came home to the family ranch.”

“I don’t understand why you have to see Tripp Daniels anyway.”

Sometimes she didn’t, either, but from the moment she’d seen his picture in the paper, a handsome man on a bucking horse, she’d wondered if her father had really looked like that. Tripp was a national champion bareback rider and calf roper, and the paper had mentioned all the awards he’d won. The town of Bramble was very proud of him. Her mama had said that the Daniels brothers favored and she wanted to see the man who so closely resembled her father.

Kerri caught her arm. “C’mon.”

She focused on her blond, blue-eyed friend. Jilly had dark hair and eyes and they both had long ponytails. They were letting their hair grow, to see whose would grow the fastest and the longest. So far Jilly was winning.

They’d been friends forever and lived two blocks apart. Kerri’s parents were divorced and Kerri saw her father every other weekend and two weeks in the summer. Jilly wanted just a tiny bit of that—a bit of a father. She marched to the front door before she could change her mind. The bell didn’t work so she tapped the tarnished brass knocker.

“We’re gonna be in so much trouble,” Kerri said from behind her.

“You can go home if you want,” Jilly told her.

“Why do you have to do this?”

“I don’t know. I just do.” She tapped louder.

WEDGED BENEATH the kitchen sink, Tripp Daniels tightened the new drainpipe he’d just installed. He’d heard the knock and thought Morris would get it, then the knock came again.

“Morris!” he shouted.

Nothing.

He’d had a helluva time getting his long frame under the sink and he didn’t want to quit until he’d finished the job. Another loud knock. Dammit. He uncurled himself and saw Morris sitting at the kitchen table knitting, the needles clicking, the yarn in his lap. Tripp shook his head in aggravation.

“Morris!” he shouted again.

The older man jumped. “Yes, sir.” He pushed to his feet, blinking.

“There’s someone at the door.”

“Really?” He laid his knitting down and scratched his bald head. “I didn’t hear a thing.” He didn’t move, just kept standing there.

“Morris, would you get the door, please? I’m rather busy at the moment.”

“Oh.” Morris gazed at him with a blank look. “Did you say something, sir?”

“The door, Morris.”

“Yes, yes.” He shuffled away in the direction of the front door. By the time he reached it, he’d probably forget what he was there for. Morris had worked as a butler and a housekeeper for the Daniels family ever since Tripp could remember. At seventy-two, he was hard of hearing and forgetful, but he was the only person to care for his parents.

A stab of guilt pierced him. It had been almost thirteen years since he’d seen them. After his brother’s death, his father had told him to leave and never come back. They blamed him for what had happened. Tripp, too, blamed himself. He’d thrown himself into the rodeo scene, but he checked on his parents constantly through Morris.

His father had fallen and broken his hip six months ago. Tripp had gotten a call from Morris, who’d said Tripp needed to come home. He’d spent thirteen years avoiding the past, avoiding thoughts of Patrick, but he couldn’t avoid the fact that his parents now needed him. He wasn’t sure if he’d be welcome but he’d come anyway.

The moment they’d seen him, they’d begun to cry and he’d hugged them. The arguments and the pain over Patrick’s death faded away. He’d realized then he should have returned long ago.

Nothing had prepared him for the dilapidated sight of the ranch and the house. Everything was in disrepair and run-down and his parents had gotten old. His mother’s sight was so bad that she couldn’t see the dust and cobwebs. His father had sunk so far into depression that he didn’t care about anything.

How could he let this happen to his family? Guilt hammered away at Tripp, but all he could do was be here for them now and restore the place to its original splendor. That would take money, and he’d soon found there wasn’t any. The oil wells had dried up and his father now leased the land for ranching. With that small income, along with their social security, they were barely getting by. Tripp had a little money and he’d spend every dime to make his parents comfortable.

Morris ambled back to his chair. “There’s two young fillies to see you, sir.”

He raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t expecting anyone. “How young are we talking here, Morris?” He spoke loudly so Morris could hear.

“Schoolgirls,” Morris replied with a twinkle in his eye.

Tripp frowned. “Do they have the right house?”

“No. They’re not riding a horse.” Morris picked up his knitting.

Tripp didn’t respond. There was no need. He and Morris were seldom on the same page. Shoving to his feet, he laid his wrench on the counter. He grabbed a rag, wiped his hands and hurried to the door.

Two young girls stood there, one dark, the other blond. The dark-haired girl held a small dog inside her jacket. Neither spoke.

“May I help you? I’m Tripp Daniels.” He ran a hand through his tousled hair.

They stared at him, mouths open.

“Are you selling something?”

The dark-haired girl shook her head.

The dog grunted and shivered. “Did you find a lost dog?”

She shook her head again and held the dog tighter against her chest.

“Well, I’m running out of questions so you’d better tell me what you want.”

There was no response—just wide-eyed silence.

“I have to get back to work,” he said and stepped back to close the door.

“I’m Jilly Walker,” the dark-haired girl blurted out.

Tripp paused. Was this Camila Walker’s kid? Yeah, she had the same gorgeous hair, skin and eyes. That would mean…

“I make straight A’s and I’m going to be a doctor.”

“Very impressive.”

“I’m a good kid, everyone says so, and your family missed a lot by not knowing me. You missed even more by not knowing my mama. That’s all I have to say.” She took a step backward and ran into her friend, who seemed to have turned to stone. The two of them locked hands and ran toward their bikes, then quickly rode away.

TRIPP GAZED AFTER THEM. Camila’s daughter. The rumor mill in Bramble said Camila didn’t know who the father was. There were some who named Patrick as the father, but the Danielses didn’t believe that for a minute. Camila, a tramp like her mother, had slept around—that’s what his father had said and his mother had agreed. Tripp had had reason to believe them. But now…

“Tripp, where are you?”

“I’m here, Mom,” he called. He closed the door and found his mother in the den. Leona Daniels had once been tall, regal and sophisticated. Now Tripp hardly recognized the stooped lady wearing thick wire-rimmed glasses. Her white hair was cut in a short style and she looked much older than her sixty-five years. Patrick’s untimely death had devastated his parents, and him, too. It had been years since that awful car crash and still the family hadn’t recovered.

“What do you need, Mom?” he asked and gently clutched her elbow.

“Oh, Tripp, there you are.” She stroked the hand on her arm. “I was looking for Morris and I can’t find him. I think he’s hiding from me.”

Tripp smiled slightly. Morris probably was hiding. Tripp sometimes wondered about the man’s hearing problems. He could hear certain things, like the TV, just fine, but his parents’ constant orders, he could shut out completely.

“Why do you need Morris?” He guided her toward the sofa.

“I was wanting a cup of tea.”

“You have a seat and I’ll fix it.”

“Okay, dear. You’re such a sweet boy.” She slowly sat down.

A sweet boy. He was thirty-eight years old and he didn’t think his mother realized it. His parents’ frailty tore at his heart.

“Where’s Dad?”

“In the bedroom watching sports. Sports, sports, sports, that’s all he watches. It gets on my nerves.”

“There’s a TV in here. Why don’t you watch a movie?”

“It’s all sex and violence and not fit to watch. I can’t see it anyway. No. I’ll just sit for a while.”

Leona had once been an energetic woman involved in all sorts of activities with the town, but now she barely went out and Tripp knew she was bored to death. Death. An eerie feeling came over him. His parents were marking time, waiting to die.

Filling the kettle, he thought how wonderful it would be if Camila’s daughter was Patrick’s. Life would return to this house again.

What did she say her name was? Jilly. Yes, Jilly with the flashing brown eyes, just like Camila’s. Camila. Her dark Latin beauty flashed through his mind. Something about her sensuous, sad eyes always got to him even though he knew she was his brother’s girlfriend. He set the kettle on the stove with more force than necessary. Maybe he should have a heart-to-heart with Camila.

The mere thought caused his pulse to accelerate.

He could break a wild horse. Rope a calf in a split second. But speaking with Camila about her child’s paternity could prove a bit harder for a man whose main goal in life was never to see, speak or think about Camila again.

“Tripp,” Leona called.

“Coming, Mom.” He poured water into a cup. This might be one of those times he’d have to bite the bullet for the sake of his parents.

And that meant talking with Camila Walker.

CAMILA GLANCED AT THE CLOCK. It was after five so Jilly should be finished. She and Kerri were working on a school project at Kerri’s house and Camila thought she’d call and see if Jilly wanted a ride home. They could put her bike in back of the Suburban. This was the best part of her day—the time she spent with her daughter.

She stuck her needle in the pincushion, rubbed the tight muscles in her neck and looked around. The sign on the door read Common Threads and below that was printed Camila’s Quilts, Soaps and Gifts. Every time she saw that sign, her chest swelled with pride. She owned her own business and was doing very well—better than she’d ever planned. She sold handmade quilts and homemade soaps on the Internet and people came from all around to buy them in the shop. Specialty shops in Houston, Dallas, Austin, College Station and Temple also stocked her soaps.

She’d bought the store from Millie, who owned the adjoining bakery and coffee shop. Millie used to have a craft shop and Camila had worked for her as a teenager, trying to make a living for her and Jilly. At that time, Mrs. Ida Baker had made the soap that Millie sold, but the arthritis in her hands had become so bad she couldn’t do it anymore. People had come in regularly asking for it, so Camila had asked Mrs. Baker to teach her. And she had. Camila now used her own recipe, perfected over the last few years. She never dreamed it would sell so well—even younger people used it, young girls wanting something different.

Her grandmother, Alta, was born in Puerto Rico and sewed for people. She’d taught Camila how to quilt. When Camila, a young single mother, had been searching for ways to make money, she’d brought a quilt she’d made to the store. It had sold immediately. She couldn’t seem to make them fast enough. Hand-stitched quilts were a dying art and people came to Bramble looking for antiques and rare goods. From then on, her store had been busy and profitable.

Four years ago, she’d purchased the space next door and expanded. She now had an up-to-date kitchen for making soap and large tables for working space. She’d hired a couple of schoolgirls to help in the store and, of course, Millie was always in the coffee shop. The double doors that joined the two businesses were always open. Millie made homemade kolaches, cinnamon rolls and bread, and her place was a hive of activity in the mornings, with people stopping in to get a roll and coffee on the way to work.

Dear Millie. What would she have done without her? Camila had been seventeen when she’d gotten pregnant. Being so young and raising a child alone had been frightening, but she’d wanted her baby. Back then, with Millie’s help, she’d made all the right choices for her daughter. Jilly was the bright spot in Camila’s life. She was her whole life. Everything she did, she did for Jilly.

Her mother, Benita, appeared on her doorstep from time to time when she was in between men and needing a place to stay. Even though they were so different, they were still mother and daughter. And Camila never forgot that fact.

Benita was known as the town slut, a tramp. Different people used different words, but even as a child Camila had known what they’d meant. Her mother worked in a bar and drank heavily, and when she did, she danced the Latin dances, and men loved to watch her. Benita had full breasts and long slim legs, and she didn’t mind showing them off. As Benita’s reputation had grown in the town, so had Camila’s embarrassment. It hadn’t taken her long to realize that everyone thought she was the same as her mother.

Everyone, except Patrick.

One night had changed her whole life. After Patrick’s death, she’d discovered she was pregnant and she hadn’t known what she was going to do. Her grandmother had raised her and had passed away six months before. Camila couldn’t stay in Bramble and face the rumors.

She hadn’t seen her mother in three months. Benita was married to husband number four and Camila knew she’d get no support from her so she’d packed her things and sat at the bus stop waiting for the next bus—not caring where it was going. In tears, she felt desperate and afraid. Patrick was dead and no one else cared about her. She barely had a hundred dollars in her purse and she had no idea how long that would last.

Millie found her sitting on the bench in the July heat with tears streaming down her face. She told her everything and Millie took her back to her house and they talked into the early hours of the morning. Camila confided her fears about raising a child alone.

Millie was her lifeline. She gave her a job and helped her adjust to being a young mother. Millie took care of Jilly so Camila could attend Temple Junior College. When Benita finally surfaced, she didn’t like that Camila depended on Millie, but Benita didn’t stay around long enough to voice many complaints.

Camila took business, marketing and computer courses, learning all she could. It was impossible to make a living working for minimum wage and she had to have some sort of skills to build a decent life for herself and Jilly. From there, her business savvy just evolved.

Within a few months of putting up a Web site on the Internet, she’d known it was going to be a success. Camila’s specialty was baby quilts, which were very popular with doting parents and grandparents.

Her most popular style was the photo quilt. She transferred family photos to fabric and people liked that personal touch. The white eyelet was the most popular for newborns. She kept trying to think of new ideas.

Six years ago, she’d saved enough money to buy herself and Jilly a home. The Pattersons had been moving to Temple to be near their daughter and they’d put their place up for sale. When Camila had gone inside, she’d fallen in love with the country style of the three-bedroom brick house.

Benita now owned Alta’s house, where Camila had lived as a child, but she’d wanted a place of her own. Her moving had angered Benita, but Camila had stuck to her decision. She wanted independence. She’d worked hard for that and she wasn’t changing her mind.

Alta’s house was two blocks away and Camila still took care of it so her mother could have a place to stay when she breezed into town.

Camila walked into the coffee shop. A domino game was in full swing. Bubba Carter, Slim Gorshack, Joe Bob Horton and Billy Clyde Yesak were semiretired ranchers and businessmen—widowers and bachelors who came in every afternoon to visit, drink coffee and play dominoes. They were also good friends; people who had not judged her according to the rumors they’d heard. They accepted her for the woman they knew her to be.

Last year they had encouraged her to run for a seat on the city council and she had. She’d won without a problem, which had been a big surprise to her. Then again, she had spent a lot of years building a good reputation for her daughter. Most of the town now saw her as a good citizen and an asset to the town, and she was glad. She never wanted Jilly to be ashamed of her.

She stretched her aching shoulders. “Do you mind locking up?” she asked Millie. “I’d like to spend some time with Jilly.”

“No, sweetie, you go ahead.” Millie poured a round of coffee for the men. “I’m giving these old coots thirty more minutes then I’m kicking them out.”

Joe Bob held a hand over his heart. “Aw. You’ve wounded my manly pride.”

“Yeah, right,” Millie laughed, then she turned to Camila. “Got the party all planned?”

“Yes,” Camila answered, her tiredness easing at thoughts of her daughter. “I told Jilly she could do something special for her twelfth birthday and I’m sure she wants to have a slumber party. She’s going to be really surprised that I’ve planned a party here for all her friends. Thought we could push back the tables and they could dance.”

“Do I get an invite?” Slim winked.

Camila patted his gray head. Slim was the youngest of the group. His wife had died of cancer about five years ago and he was lonely. “You’re always invited. Now I’d better call and see if my daughter’s ready to go home.”

Picking up the phone, she dialed Kerri’s mother. “Hi, Betty Sue, I was just checking to see if Jilly wants a ride home.”

There was a long pause on the line.

“Betty Sue, are you there?”

“Yes, I’m just a little shocked.”

“Why?”

“The girls are supposed to be working at your house.”

Camila was at a loss for words, but she recovered quickly. “What are those girls up to?”

“I don’t know, but it makes me nervous.”

“Me, too,” Camila admitted. “It’s not like Jilly to lie to me.” She’d never had a problem with her daughter. She made sure she was involved in her life and that she knew where Jilly was and what she was doing at all times. But something had slipped by her. Jilly wasn’t where she was supposed to be today. She’d really be worried if this weren’t Bramble, where everyone knew each other.

“I’m going home, Betty Sue. I’ll call you when I get there. Maybe they just wanted to be alone. They’re almost twelve, but Jilly assures me she’s grown.”

“I don’t like them lying to us.”

“I don’t, either, and I will definitely get to the bottom of this.”

Hanging up, she grabbed her purse and headed for her Suburban parked in the rear of the shop. Within five minutes, she was driving into her garage.

The house was quiet and the lights weren’t on. Jilly wasn’t there. She ran to her daughter’s room. Button wasn’t there, either. That meant Jilly had come home after school and gotten her, but where did they go?

She ran back to the kitchen and before panic could take root, she glanced out the kitchen window and saw Jilly ride into the garage on her bicycle. Camila took a deep breath, trying not to get angry. Jilly had thought that she’d be home before Camila and Camila would never have known she hadn’t been at Kerri’s today.

Camila busied herself at the sink and turned to Jilly with a smile, like always, as she entered with Button in her arms.

“Hi, baby,” Camila said and kissed Jilly’s warm cheek. Her daughter’s face was red and she looked flustered. Camila held the back of her hand to Jilly’s forehead. “Do you have a fever?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Jilly replied nervously. Button jumped from her arms and scurried for her bed in Jilly’s room.

“What’s wrong with Button?”

“I took her for a bike ride and I guess she didn’t like the wind.” Jilly avoided eye contact and Camila knew she was lying. Whenever Jilly had done something wrong, she couldn’t look at her mother.

Jilly grabbed some bottled water out of the refrigerator and drank thirstily.

“Did you and Kerri finish your project?”

“What?” Jilly looked at her with rounded eyes.

“The solar system you were working on, did you finish it?”

“Ah…ah…I…” Her bottom lip trembled. “I’m sorry…Mama…I’m sorry.”

Camila guided her to a chair at the table, then she sat beside her. “What are you sorry about?”

“I did something and…” She leveled a teary glance at Camila. “You know I wasn’t at Kerri’s, don’t you?”

Camila nodded, glad her daughter wasn’t going to lie further, and wondering why she’d had to in the first place. They were always able to talk about anything. But evidently there was something bothering Jilly that Camila didn’t know about. “I called to see if you wanted a ride home.”

Jilly winced. “Were you mad cause I wasn’t there?”

“No, just worried. Why did you lie to me?”

Jilly twisted her hands. “You’re going to be mad now.”

“Why?”

“Because I did something and I should have told you first.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I knew you wouldn’t let me do it.”

“I see,” Camila murmured, getting a bad feeling in her stomach. “What did you do?”

“Remember you said I could do something special for my birthday?”

“Yes.”

“When I saw Mr. Daniels’s picture in the paper, I wondered if my daddy looked like him and the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to see…to see what my daddy’s brother looked like in person.”

“Jilly, you didn’t.”

“Yes. I went to see Mr. Daniels.”

That bad feeling exploded into tiny pinpricks all over Camila’s body, leaving her nauseous and weak, but she had to concentrate on her daughter and not a past that she’d managed to put behind her. Yet sometimes that past had the power to make her feel frightened and alone, as she had when she was seventeen.

She gathered herself. “You should have told me what you were thinking.”

“I didn’t want to upset you,” Jilly mumbled.

“It upsets me more when you lie to me.”

“I’m sorry.”

Camila scooted closer and caught Jilly’s hands. “If you wanted to see your father’s family, I wouldn’t have said no. But they’ve made no attempt over the years and my only concern is you getting hurt.”

“I wish I hadn’t gone,” Jilly mumbled again.

The pinpricks turned to a cold chill, but she had to know what her daughter meant, “What happened?”

“Kerri and I rode over there on our bikes and the place is really run down and kind of spooky.”

“I heard the Danielses are having a difficult time.”

“It’s like nobody lives there and I was so scared, but I knocked anyway and Morris answered the door. I had to ask three times if I could speak with Mr. Daniels before he heard me. Then he came and his hair was a mess and he didn’t look too friendly.”

Camila’s stomach clenched. She’d seen Tripp’s picture in the paper, too, and she was hoping he wouldn’t be staying long in Bramble.

“I couldn’t say anything for a long time, my tongue wouldn’t work. He was going to close the door so I blurted out my name and told him I made straight A’s and I was going to be a doctor and his family missed a lot by not knowing me…and you.”

“Oh, Jilly.” Camila wrapped her arms around her. She thought she knew her daughter, but she’d never dreamed she harbored these feelings. “Why didn’t you tell me you were thinking about your father?”

“’Cause it makes you sad.”

“There’s nothing you can’t talk to me about…even if it makes me sad. Don’t you know that?”

Jilly’s mouth trembled into a smile. “Yeah, and I won’t go back.”

Camila cupped Jilly’s face. “It’s okay to be curious about your father’s family, but next time, please talk it over with me first. I don’t like you riding that far on your bicycle.”

“Okay.” Jilly looped her arms around Camila’s waist and squeezed.

“Mama?”

“Hmm?”

“Do my grandparents live there?”

Camila swallowed. “Yes, they do.”

“But it’s so dirty and unkempt. Do you think they’re okay?”

This was her Jilly, always worried about everyone. There wasn’t an old person in Bramble who didn’t know Jilly. She ran errands and helped anyone who needed it. Jilly had a big heart and Camila cringed inside at the thought of anyone ever hurting her.

“Yes, they’re fine. Nurse Tisdale checks on them three times a week.” The nurse came in the shop occasionally and talked of the disrepair at the Lady Luck.

“I guess I’m like grounded for life,” Jilly muttered against Camila.

“Pretty much.”

Jilly drew away, her eyes worried. “But, Mama, I have to take out Mrs. Shynosky’s trash and pick up Mrs. Haskell’s groceries when she needs something and take Miss Unie food or she’ll just eat cat food.”

Camila tucked wisps of stray hair behind Jilly’s ear. “Do you know how special you are?”

Jilly grinned. “Then I can still help out?”

“Yes, but no TV or listening to music for a week.”

“Ah, piece of cake.” She kissed her mother. “I love you and I’m sorry I lied.”

“Just don’t do it again.”

“I won’t. I’d better check on Button.” She disappeared down the hall.

Camila buried her face in her hands. Oh, Jilly. What have you done? She’d thought she’d put the past behind her, closed that door forever. But now it was wide open and Camila didn’t know if she had the strength to go through it, to face a past that was painful, to face her daughter if she found out the truth. But she would make sure that never happened.

She’d guard the truth with her life.

Chapter Two

Jilly’s visit plagued Tripp and triggered thoughts of Camila. He’d often wondered how her life had turned out. Evidently she hadn’t married, since Jilly’s last name was Walker.

He worked until he was exhausted and still couldn’t shake them from his mind. So he worked that much harder. He fixed the tractor and lawn mower and cut the weeds around the house and mowed the grass. He hired the Garcia brothers to repair the entrance and the fence, then he went looking for Earl Boggs, who leased the land.

The Boggs family owned the little town of Bramble. Otis Boggs had died several years ago and his widow, Thelma Bramble, was the matriarch of the family. Earl, Bert and Melvin were her sons. Bert ran the bank, Melvin the feed and hardware store, and Earl took care of the Boggs ranch. Tripp went there to talk to him, but he was told that Earl was in town.

He drove to town and still couldn’t locate Earl. Frustrated, he went back to Lady Luck, not wanting to leave his parents too long. They were napping, as was Morris, so Tripp let them rest.

He called his friend and partner, Brodie Hayes. The two of them owned a Hereford cattle ranch near Mesquite, Texas, and Tripp had to let him know he wasn’t returning as soon as he’d planned.

“So you’re not coming back for a while?” Brodie asked.

“I can’t leave my parents just yet and the place is so run down.”

“Take all the time you need. I can run this place with my eyes closed.”

“Yeah, right.”

Brodie laughed. They’d been the best of friends since their rodeo days. The two of them and Colter Kincaid, another friend and rodeo rider, lived not far from each other. Colter had married the love of his life and now had two children.

“How’s Colter and the family?”

“Wonderful. Every time I’m over there it makes me think about getting married. Then I come home and take a cold shower and it brings me to my senses.”

“I guess we’re going to be two old bachelors.”

“Yep.”

There was silence for a moment.

“Something bothering you?” Brodie asked.

He told Brodie about Jilly’s visit.

“So you think this could be your brother’s daughter?”

“I’m not sure, but I can’t stop thinking how good it would be for my parents if she was.”

“Then find out.”

That would be easy for Brodie. He was a charmer, a talker.

“Hell, Tripp, you’re not a shy sixteen-year-old. Just ask the woman, or do you think she doesn’t know who the father is?”

“Not sure about that either, but I’ll definitely speak to her. Talk to you in a couple of days.”

Tripp stared at the phone. He’d never told Brodie or anyone about his feelings for Camila. Feelings? He scoffed at the word and forced himself to call it what it was—good old-fashioned lust. Every time he’d looked at her, he hadn’t been able to think straight, and she’d been a teenager and… That was in the past—a past he’d just as soon forget. He knew what he had to do for his family. He left a note for Morris and drove back to town.

CAMILA LOCKED UP for the day and saw Eunice Gimble across the street, pushing her shopping cart of plastic bags filled with aluminum cans. Unie was the can lady of Bramble. She was close to ninety and picked up cans from the street, diner, beer joints and roadsides, any place she could find them.

Camila went over to her. A dirty black coat covered with cat hair hung on her thin body and she wore a multicolored wool scarf tied around her head. “Hi, Unie,” Camila said.

Unie whirled around, a frown on her wrinkled face. “Oh, Camila, it’s you. Thought you were someone trying to steal my cans.”

Unie’s mind wasn’t right. Sometimes she made sense and sometimes she didn’t, but she always talked about people being after her cans or her money. She lived in a run down house with weeds grown to the windowsills, and everyone knew she didn’t have any money.

Camila didn’t understand why the people of Bramble didn’t try to help her. She and Jilly were the only ones concerned about Unie. They mowed her grass when Unie would let them. Unie didn’t take kindly to charity. They still took her food and checked on her, but Unie needed more attention than that. People of Bramble tended to leave her alone, except those who made fun of her.

“Would you like a ride home? I can put your cart in the back of my Suburban.” Camila always felt sorry for this old lady who was all alone and lived in her own little world.

“Nope. Not through for the day.”

A purr rippled from the plastic bags and Lu Lu, Unie’s black-and-white cat and constant companion, raised her head from the bags.

Unie stroked Lu Lu for a second then pushed her cart farther down the street, pausing to look in a trash can.

Camila shook her head and headed for her car and home. Jilly was in her room, doing her homework. As part of her punishment, she wasn’t allowed to visit with her girlfriends after school.

Camila had been on pins and needles waiting for Tripp to make an appearance, but so far he hadn’t. Maybe he was going to forget about Jilly’s visit. Looking in the fridge, she tried to decide what they’d have for supper.

The doorbell rang and she went to answer it. Her breath stalled in her throat.

Tripp Daniels stood there with his hat in his hand. His chiseled features were bronzed by the sun and his blond streaked hair curled into the collar of a blue-and-white pin-striped shirt. Wrangler jeans molded his long legs and cowboy boots made his legs seem that much longer. A silver buckle gleamed on a tooled leather belt. His eyes were as striking and blue as a Texas sky, and he looked more handsome than she ever remembered. She hated herself for recognizing that.

And she hated that stir of excitement in her stomach.

“Tripp.” His name slipped out before she could stop it. She didn’t want them to be on a first-name basis.

“Camila.” He nodded. “Could I speak with you for a second?” He had a deep Texas drawl that as a silly teenager had evoked visions in her head of satin sheets, champagne, roses and soft music. Sadly, it still did.

“That’s not necessary.” She shook the image away, her hand gripping the doorknob to still the nervous flutter in her stomach. “Jilly told me what she did and I promise she won’t bother your family again.”

“She wasn’t bothering us,” he said, twisting his hat. “Could I come in, please?”

No. No. No.

“We don’t have anything to say to each other.”

He glanced at the street, then back at her, almost as if he was resigning himself to the fact he wasn’t getting past her doorway. “That’s where you’re wrong. I think we have a lot to talk about. If you want to have this conversation out here, well, I guess we can.”

She glared at him for forcing the issue, but stepped aside, knowing she might as well get this over with. “You’ve got five minutes, Mr. Daniels.”

He lifted an eyebrow at that. “Tripp, please.”

She’d always thought that was a strange name to give a child. But it had been his mother’s maiden name. Leona was the last of the Tripps and she wanted the name carried on.

They walked into the living room and Camila quickly moved the baby eyelet quilt in the quilting hoop from the sofa. She’d planned on finishing it tonight. As she turned, she bumped into him. She hadn’t realized he was so close behind her. His body was hard and firm, and his tangy aftershave jolted her senses, reminding her of that night. She jerked away. She didn’t mean to, but she couldn’t be that close to him and not remember.

Was there a look of sympathy in his eyes? That was the last thing she wanted from Tripp Daniels. He eased onto the sofa and she perched on the edge of a chair and waited. She knew what was coming.

Suddenly the living room seemed small, way too small. He looked out of place on her beige sofa and colorful throw pillows. She had trouble breathing and she didn’t know why, but something about having a Daniels in her home was unnerving.

He placed his hat beside himself and clasped his hands together. “I was surprised to see your daughter the other day.”

Your daughter. No mention of Patrick. Her jaw clenched tight.

“I told you that won’t happen again.” She kept her back straight, her hands folded in her lap.

“Obviously she believes we’ve slighted her.”

“As I said—”

He cut in. “Jilly looks a lot like you.”

Camila stiffened even more. “Yes.”

His gaze locked with hers. “This might be out of line, but I’d like to know if she’s Patrick’s?”

She sprang to her feet. “If you have to ask that question, then I don’t want you in my house. Please leave.”

As if she hadn’t spoken, he said, “I’ve been away for a long time and I was surprised to find my parents in such bad shape.”

She didn’t know what to say to that, so she said the first thing that came to mind. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have stayed away so long.”

He inhaled deeply. “If Jilly is Patrick’s, she could be what they need to give them a will to live. I’m asking a yes or no question.”

She bristled even more. “Jilly is not a dose of medicine. She’s a loving young girl and I will not have her hurt. Your parents have not shown the slightest interest in her.”

“I said that badly. I apologize.”

Camila marched to the door. “Mr. Daniels, Jilly is my daughter and no concern of yours or your family.”

He didn’t budge. “I’d like to have a DNA test done.”

She whirled around. “What?”

“Patrick could be the father. I want to know for sure.” His blue eyes turned to the color of steel.

Could be. Could be. Her blood pressure soared.

“Never. Now get out of my house.”

Tripp slowly stood, knowing he’d stepped over the line of good manners, but something about being this close to Camila made him act and do things out of character. When Patrick had brought her out to the ranch, he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. People had called her trash, but he’d seen an unbelievably beautiful young woman with dark eyes and hair who moved with a sensuousness he’d never seen before.

Looking at her now, he saw the same thing, but a mature version. The years had been kind to Camila. A clip held her long hair away from the clean lines of her face and her olive skin was touchable perfection. In jeans and a T-shirt, her body was more riveting than a starlet in a skimpy three-thousand-dollar gown. But the eyes were always what got him—dark as the night, as deep as the ocean and as mysterious as the Marfa lights, yet there was a hidden pain in them that she couldn’t disguise.

Thirteen years and she still made his heart race, and his body… He cleared his mind, searching for the right words to apologize again.

Jilly walked into the room. “Mama…” Her voice trailed away when she saw him. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Hi, Jilly.”

Jilly glanced at her mother then back at Tripp. “Hi.”

“Mr. Daniels was just leaving,” Camila said.

Tripp turned back to the sofa and retrieved his hat. “I just wanted to make sure I didn’t frighten you the other day.” The excuse sounded lame to his own ears, but he found he couldn’t say anything that would hurt this young girl. He’d have to sort this out with Camila, but at the moment, her dark eyes were about to sear him into a pile of ashes.

Jilly reached down and picked up her dog, who was making soft noises at her feet. “No. I’m fine.”

Tripp nodded. “Good.”

He headed for the door.

“Mr. Daniels?” Jilly asked.

He looked back. “Yes.”

“Are Mr. and Mrs. Daniels okay?”

Tripp was taken aback for a second. “Their health’s not very good but they’re okay.”

“Do they need anything?”

This time he didn’t know what to say. He’d never met anyone like Jilly before, except… For a moment he was shaken by the thought.

“Because I run errands for a lot of people,” Jilly informed him. “And if they need anything, I can pedal it out there. It doesn’t take long.”

Don’t do this, Jilly. Baby, don’t do this. Camila’s heart broke at the entreaty in her daughter’s voice. Jilly wanted to help the Danielses. It was very evident Jilly wanted to know her father’s family and Camila had to let it happen. But she would fiercely guard her daughter’s feelings.

“I’ll remember that,” Tripp said and placed his hat on his head. At the door, he spoke to Camila. “I’m sorry if my visit has disturbed you. I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Goodbye.” She closed the door, unable to deal with anything else right now but her daughter.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” Jilly said as Camila walked into the living room.

Camila sat on the sofa, bracing herself to tell Jilly about Patrick. She looked at her daughter. “Never be afraid to talk to me.”

“I’m not, Mama.”

“But you’re curious about your father and his family, so let’s talk about it.” She patted the spot beside her.

“Okay.” Jilly nestled into Camila’s side and Camila wrapped an arm around her. Button curled into a ball on her lap.

“Did my daddy look like Mr. Daniels?”

“Some.” Camila ran her fingers through Jilly’s dark tresses. “They have the same blond hair and blue eyes, but Tripp was the handsome older brother. Girls noticed him and he was popular. Patrick, on the other hand, was very shy and always felt overshadowed by his big brother. They lived on a ranch, but Patrick was never interested in horses or cows. He always had his head in a book and when he got his first computer, well, he found his joy. He was going to be a computer engineer.”

“But he got killed?”

“Yes.” Camila’s hand stopped. She could still feel that pain of long ago when she’d been told of Patrick’s death.

“And you and he were in love?”

She chose her words carefully. “Patrick and I were very good friends. We had been since kindergarten. Patrick was my protector. When kids said bad things about me or Benita, he’d always take up for me. He had a very big heart and I loved him for that.” She hadn’t been in love with Patrick, though—that’s what had caused the problem. She’d cared for him a great deal and had been so grateful for his support. But Patrick had wanted more.

“Why do the Danielses think you’re so bad?”

Her hand curled into a fist and she dreaded this part, but she wasn’t going to lie to Jilly.

Before she could find the words, Jilly asked, “Is it because Benita’s been married so many times?”

“That’s part of it.”

“Is it because she worked in a bar and danced when men asked her to?”

“Partly.”

“But that’s not fair. Benita’s a fun person and she’s always happy. She’s not a bad woman.”

Camila tucked hair behind Jilly’s ear. “That’s because you love her. Other people don’t see her that way.” She swallowed. “And some don’t see me that way either.”

Jilly raised her head. “Why, Mama? You didn’t sleep with other guys. I know you didn’t.”

She kissed the tip of Jilly’s nose. “Thank you for your faith in me. You get that soft heart from Patrick. He was the same way.”

“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?”

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.

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