The Cowboy's Return (12 page)

His eyes narrowed. “Where are you going?”

“I lit a heater for Unie earlier and sometimes she turns it off. I have to make sure it’s still on or she’ll freeze to death.”

“Why doesn’t she light it herself?”

“The gas company turned off her gas about a year ago because she couldn’t pay her bill. I had it turned back on and pretended the gas company had done it by mistake. If she knew I was paying for the gas, she wouldn’t use it. So when it’s cold, I go over and light her heater. She won’t light it because she’s afraid she’ll be arrested. I tell her not to worry that when she’s used up all the money she’s paid in, they’ll cut it off. But she doesn’t quite grasp everything. I just don’t want her to be cold.”

She buttoned her coat and pulled her hair back into a ponytail and slipped a band around it. “I’ll be gone ten minutes tops.”

She flew out the door and Tripp stood there with his mouth open. He’d never met anyone like Camila before—giving so much of herself and asking nothing in return. Patrick had known her good qualities though, that’s why he’d been so crazy about her.

Tripp tried to sort through everything he’d learned tonight. But only one thing stood out. Camila was an incredible woman.

♦ ♦ ♦

C
AMILA PARKED IN FRONT
of Unie’s house, glad for the diversion. It gave her time to gather her wits, her emotions. “Unie, it’s Camila.” She knocked loudly on the door. “Open up. It’s cold.”

“Who is it?” Unie shouted.

“Camila.”

“You alone?”

“Yes.”

The door opened a crack and Unie peered at her. “You alone?” Unie asked again.

“Yes, Unie, I’m alone. I came to see if your heater works. It’s getting colder.”

Unie opened the door, Lu Lu in her arms. She had the same clothes on she had earlier in the day. “Gas company turned off my gas.”

“I’ll just check,” Camila said, walking into the house, which was dark and very cluttered. One side of the living room was piled with plastic bags filled with cans. The house felt like an icebox. Camila sighed. Unie had turned off the heater. She pulled matches from her pocket and squatted at the only heater in the house. It roared to life within seconds.

“There,” Camila said. “Now the room will get warmer.”

“Bless you child.” Unie came closer to the fire.

Unie sat in her chair close to the fire then jerked forward. “Is Bert outside?”

“No.”

“You better leave, child. I can’t have Bert stealing my cans.”

“Okay. Don’t turn the fire off. Just leave it on until you leave the house tomorrow. “

“It feels good.”

“Unie, leave the heater on.” Camila wanted to make sure Unie understood her.

Unie looked at her with a blank look.

“It’s night and no one will know but you and me.”

A thin smile touched her lips. “Good. No one will know.”

“That’s right so leave the heater on.” She’d gotten through. Unie understood. “Good night, Unie.”

♦ ♦ ♦

W
HEN
C
AMILA WALKED IN
, Tripp glanced at the clock. “Wow. Ten minutes exactly.”

Camila removed her coat. “Unie doesn’t like anyone in her house too long.”

“You do this every time it gets cold?”

“Yes.” She hung her coat in the closet. “Thanks for staying.”

“No problem.” He placed his hat on his head. “How old is Unie? I remember her when I was kid.”

“She’s about ninety. No one knows that much about her. She took care of her parents until they died, then she became a recluse.”

His eyes caught hers. “You’re an incredible person.”

A slight flush stained her cheeks and neither said a word for a moment.

“Thanks for telling me about that night. I know it was hard for you.”

“I’d sworn never to tell anyone.”

“Because of Jilly?”

“Yes. My main goal in life is to protect her.”

He nodded. “From now on it will be mine, too. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thank you.”

“Good night, Camila.”

“Good night,” she whispered, feeling as if he’d kissed her.

She walked into the living room and lay on the sofa. Tears rolled from her eyes and she didn’t know why she was crying. She felt good and she felt bad. The two emotions together filled her with sadness. A sadness that one night had changed so many lives. A sadness that Patrick was gone. A sadness that she and Tripp would never be anything more than close acquaintances.

“Camila?”

Her mother stood in the doorway—the last person she wanted to see.

Camila sat up. “What are you doing here?”

Benita flopped down beside her. “Just wanted to talk to my chick.” She gestured toward the street. “Saw the cowboy leaving. Dare I hope you have something going with him?”

Camila glared at her. “I do not. Tripp came to talk about Jilly visiting his parents.”

“Are you allowing it?”

“Of course. They’re her grandparents.”

Benita shook her head. “Camila, chick, this is where you stick the knife in and twist. This is where you get even for the way they’ve treated you.”

Camila frowned. “Do you really believe that? Do you really believe that would be in Jilly’s best interest? Everything I do, I do for her—to make her life better.”

“Better than yours?” Benita lifted an arched eyebrow.

Camila sighed. “I’m not getting into that again.”

“I was a lousy mother. I admit it.”

Camila turned to face her. “Yes, you were. You never thought about me—just about what you wanted and a good time. You never cared how you embarrassed me. You—”

Tears slipped from Benita’s eyes, forcing Camila to stop. All her anger vanished at the sight. She’d never seen her mother cry.

“You don’t know what it was like,” Benita cried. “Papa loved me and I worshipped him. I’d dance and he’d clap and laugh and we’d sing. I was happy, then he died suddenly and I was lost without him.
Madre
was like a drill sergeant, don’t do this and don’t do that. Dancing wasn’t allowed anymore—it was sinful. Sometimes I was afraid to breathe, afraid of disappointing her. Then I discovered boys and they liked it when I danced. I could almost hear Papa clapping, saying, ‘Have a good time, Benita. Enjoy life.’”

Benita brushed away a speck on her pants. “I guess I’ve been looking for a man like Papa—kind, loving and with a great sense of humor, who would make me happy. I haven’t found him yet.”

“What about my father?” Camila asked, surprising herself. “Did you love him?” They’d never talked about this and she suddenly needed to know.

“Ah, Travis Holden was about the most handsome man I’d ever laid eyes on. I couldn’t concentrate in class for dreaming about him. He was my first sexual experience and I wasn’t too wise about contraception and got pregnant. Travis wasn’t happy about that, but he married me—mostly because
Madre
had a talk with his parents. We lived together about three months, then he went away to college in Lubbock and I stayed here to have you. We talked quite often at first, then the calls got fewer and fewer. He came back when you were born and asked for a divorce. He said he was going to seek custody of you, but I think he met someone else ’cause he never followed through.”

“You’ve never talked about him before.”

“I have a picture somewhere if you want to see what he looked like.”

“Yes. I’d like that.” Like Jilly, she wanted to see what her father looked like.

There was silence, then Benita said, “I wasn’t even eighteen when you were born and I didn’t know anything about babies, about love, about life.
Madre
took us from the hospital and took over—and I let her. I was young. I wanted to have fun. I didn’t have those motherly instincts and I felt different and did stupid things—like getting married again, and again.” She glanced at Camila. “But I loved you, chick. You were my little girl and probably the best thing I ever did was let
Madre
raise you.”

“Why would you think that? It was the same environment that you grew up in, stern, strict, no fun, but I was completely lost when she died. When I discovered I was pregnant, I was so afraid. I don’t know what I’d have done if it hadn’t been for Millie. I needed you then. I needed a mother.”

Benita began to cry again, but Camila didn’t stop. “When I was ten, you planned to take me with you, but you gave in to
Madre
and left me behind. That hurt. I wanted to be with my mother.”

“Dios.”

“You say you don’t have motherly instincts. How do you know? You’ve never tried. I was so nervous when Jilly was born. What if I held her wrong? What if she stopped breathing? She weighed six pounds and four ounces and she scared the life out of me. But no one was raising my child but me.”

Benita buried her face in her hands, continuing to cry.

“You have a daughter, a granddaughter and we need you. It’s time to grow up and stop chasing after a man you’re never going to find and to be a part of this family. You always come back so that has to be a sign that there’s something here that you care about.”

Benita groped for Camila and held her tight. “I love you, chickadee.” Then she jumped up and ran out the door.

“I love you, too,” Camila whispered. But her mother was gone.

♦ ♦ ♦

T
RIPP GRABBED A BEER
out of the refrigerator. Everyone was in bed so he went into the den and dropped to the sofa, propping his feet on the coffee table and resting his head against the cushions. He took a big swallow thinking of what those boys had done to Patrick. To Camila. His stomach churned with familiar anger.

But something wasn’t right. It wasn’t anything Camila had said. It was something about Patrick and the last time he’d seen him that day in the barn. He forced himself to remember. When Patrick had first come in, he hadn’t been angry, he’d just seemed despondent. Tripp had been brushing down a horse and Patrick had sat on a bale of hay, watching him.

Patrick had said he didn’t do drugs and Tripp shouldn’t have mentioned anything to their parents. They would start watching him like a hawk. Then out of the blue he’d asked, “How do you make someone love you?”

Tripp had told him that it had to happen naturally. That had angered Patrick and what he had said was engraved in Tripp’s mind.

All you have to do is be you and the girls fall all over you. She doesn’t even see me for you. No girl does. It’s the same way with them, too. They used me and I know how to get even and I will.

Patrick had run from the barn before Tripp could stop him.

He hadn’t known what Patrick had been talking about and later, after they’d found out he’d crashed his car, Tripp had thought that he’d meant suicide—that he’d kill himself. But now that didn’t sound right.

I know how to get even.
That didn’t sound like a person intending to commit suicide. It sounded like Patrick had wanted revenge. That was what Tripp wanted now in the worst way. But he’d bide his time and soon he and Vance and Wallis would meet. It wouldn’t be at night and it wouldn’t be an ambush. He would get some straight answers and he’d settle the score.

For Camila.

He took a big swig of beer, letting himself think about Patrick and what he’d done to her. His actions didn’t resemble the softhearted, intelligent boy Tripp had known, but then, Patrick had been swayed by other influences, and of course, his unrequited feelings for Camila. He’d wanted her to love him and she didn’t.

That didn’t excuse what he’d done. It only made it worse.

She doesn’t even see me for you.

He’d been talking about Camila.

Here came the guilt. Tenfold. Camila had been looking at him and he’d been looking back. And Patrick had known. Tripp would never have done anything about the way he felt about Camila—and never would. She’d been hurt enough. Good God. What a mess.

And the worst part of all—he’d believed the rumors like everyone else in this town. He went to bed wondering how he could have ever done that.

♦ ♦ ♦

T
HE NEXT MORNING
, Camila felt disoriented from the night before. Too many revelations, too many heartaches, yet it had felt good to share the past with Tripp. She’d carried that night with her for so long, her secret pain. Now Tripp knew and she felt lighter, understanding the past a little more—if that were possible. She didn’t think she’d ever really understand how that night had turned into a nightmare. But it was over and she had Jilly. That’s how she’d handled the past—by loving her daughter.

She dropped Jilly at school and drove to Bramble’s small grocery store to talk to Fred, the manager, about a cart for Unie. He had a broken one and said she could have it. She gave him five dollars for the cart and made him write out a bill of sale to Unie so Bert couldn’t take it away from her. She talked Slim into welding it together.

“Benita’s back,” she said, knowing it would be all over Bramble soon.

“Hot damn.” Slim wiped his hands. “That ought to liven up this town.”

Camila looked down at her sneakers. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Slim grinned. “Benita is Benita. And that’s not going to change.”

Normally she’d want to crawl away in a corner when anyone spoke of her mother, but Slim was right; Benita was Benita. Maybe it was time Camila accepted that.

Camila painted Property of Eunice Gimble in red on the cart, just in case Bert tried to pull a fast one. Then she pushed it down the street and into the bank.

Thelma Boggs watched her. Camila rolled the cart up to Bert’s desk.

“Why the hell did you bring that in here?” Bert asked, his brow knotted together.

Camila pointed to the name on the cart. “This cart is property of Eunice Gimble and if you take it away from her, I’ll have you arrested for theft.”

His eyes bulged out of his head. “Don’t come in here threatening me.”

“I’m just telling you, Bert. That’s the way it’s going to be.” She pushed the cart outside with everyone staring at her. That was okay. She’d made her point.

♦ ♦ ♦

T
RIPP WORKED TIRELESSLY
on the ranch, trying not to think about Camila, but she was in his every waking moment and most of his dreams. She should hate him because he could have stopped what had happened that night. But she didn’t seem to blame him for anything. He did, though.

He had people coming to clean the fountain and pool. Jilly might enjoy the pool this summer.

But he might not be here.

That thought edged its way through all the worries about his parents, about Camila. He couldn’t stay away from his ranch much longer. He couldn’t leave here, either. His parents needed him. What could he do? Work until he couldn’t think.

The accident kept running through his mind and he still felt something wasn’t right. There was more to it. It could have been that Patrick was distracted by revenge so he wasn’t watching the road. As many times as Tripp told himself that, he didn’t believe it. He’d talk to Wyatt as soon as he could. He hadn’t been the sheriff then, but he might be able to answer some questions, to alleviate Tripp’s mind.

That night in bed, as tired as he was, he could still see Camila’s dark eyes. He wanted some sort of victory for her so she wouldn’t blame herself for anything that’d happened.

Would he ever stop blaming himself?

♦ ♦ ♦

T
IME PASSED QUICKLY
for Camila. Unie had her cart again and was pushing it all over town, picking up cans. Camila was expecting a visit from Bert, but so far he’d stayed away.

At the next city council meeting, she found out why. Bert had put Eunice Gimble on the agenda for discussion. He considered Unie a nuisance to the town and said she should be committed to a mental institution where she could get medical treatment. Since Unie had no relatives, he proposed the city hire an attorney to have the necessary paperwork drawn up.

While she agreed the town should do something, Camila disagreed on a mental institution and luckily the other members agreed with her.

She heaved a sigh of relief. For now, the city would not have Unie committed. Camila had more time to do something because she knew Bert was not going to let this drop.

♦ ♦ ♦

C
AMILA KEPT BUSY
making soap and quilting, but Tripp was never far from her mind. Benita came by and helped with the packages to mail, but she was very quiet, very subdued, which wasn’t like her at all. Camila didn’t know if she liked her mother this way. Benita wasn’t herself.

Her hands stilled over the fabric in her lap as she pondered that thought. She wanted Benita to be someone she wasn’t. Looking back, Camila saw that she was like
Madre
—structured and molded in her behavior. Maybe if she’d been able to shrug off some of the rude remarks and laugh and joke, then maybe she wouldn’t have felt things so deeply. That reality was hard to digest.

She couldn’t go back and change the way she’d felt, but now she had an opportunity to get to know her mother. Talk as equals, be friends, and most of all, learn how to be mother and daughter.

That would make her happy.

♦ ♦ ♦

T
HURSDAY
, T
RIPP TOOK
his mother to the doctor in Temple and surgery was scheduled for Monday. Leona was still nervous, but Tripp knew she now had a purpose—seeing her granddaughter.

After he took his mother home, he drove over to the county seat to speak with Wyatt, who showed him the old file on Patrick’s accident.

There wasn’t much in the file. Notes said beer had been found in the car, and there were photos of the crashed Corvette and tire marks along Harper’s Road, as if someone had been burning rubber. Then there was another note—Corvette hit the tree head-on and the front end of the car was pushed almost completely into the front seat. Patrick’s body was on the passenger’s side.

The passenger side.

That didn’t make sense, so he showed Wyatt.

Wyatt shook his head. “Why are you dredging this up now?”

“I have a lot of unresolved issues about my brother’s death.”

“Let it go, Tripp,” Wyatt said in a sympathetic voice. “It was an accident.”

On the way back to Lady Luck, Tripp’s mind was in a whirl. Patrick’s body had been on the passenger’s side. He couldn’t get that out of his head. Yet there wasn’t any evidence to support another person being at the scene of the accident. But his instincts told him there had been. Someone else had been driving Patrick’s Corvette.