The Cowboy's Return. Linda Warren
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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