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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.
Chapter Four
Camila locked up for the day and dropped her keys in her purse. Bert Boggs came out of the bank two doors down. “Had a good week, Camila?” he asked, a touch of sarcasm in his voice.
“Yes. Thank you,” she replied as politely as she could. She disliked Bert intensely and his son, Vance, even more.
“Just make sure that all you’re selling in there are homemade soaps and quilts.”
Anger jolted through her. “Excuse me?”
“I know all about you, Camila. I’m not easily fooled like the other people in this town. I’m keeping an eye on you.”
She swung her purse strap over her shoulder. “And I’m keeping an eye on you, Bert. If you get slack as mayor, I’ll be running for your position next election.”
“Why you—”
“Have a good evening.” She walked to her car before Bert could say anything else. She’d parked out front earlier because it was her post-office day. If she’d just parked in back, this confrontation could have been avoided. But she wasn’t hiding, even though she hated the way people like Bert made her feel—like a tramp.
Sometimes she wondered why she stayed in this town, although she knew it was because of Jilly. Jilly loved it here and everyone loved her. Camila started the engine and took a breath. It had been a stressful day. Tripp coming into her shop had sent her blood pressure into orbit. She just wanted him to go away and leave them alone. Jilly had said he’d been in the diner and her nerves had coiled into knots as she’d waited for another confrontation. He hadn’t returned.
But she knew she hadn’t seen the last of Tripp.
THAT EVENING SHE SPENT with her daughter. Since Jilly was grounded, Camila and Jilly made popcorn and gave each other a manicure and a pedicure. They laughed and giggled like teenagers and Camila realized this wasn’t much of a punishment. When it came to her daughter, she was weak.
Later, she brushed Jilly’s long hair.
“Mama?”
“Hmm?”
“Mr. Daniels helped me pull Mrs. Shynosky’s trash can to the curb.”
Camila forced herself to keep brushing even though her nerves were as tight as strings on a guitar. “Did he?”
“Yeah. He seems nice.”
