The Cowboy's Return

“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.”