by Linda Warren
The riders didn’t come to confront them—they began to herd the cattle south, toward Boggs land.
“I can’t believe this,” Tripp said.
“Me, neither,” Wyatt added. “This seems too easy.”
Earl cantered toward them, pulling up short beside Wyatt. “I’m moving the cattle like you asked me to.”
“Thanks, Earl. I appreciate the cooperation.”
Earl’s eyes swung to Tripp, and he spit chewing tobacco on the ground. “Just stay out of my way.”
Tripp nodded. “No problem.”
Earl jerked the reins and galloped back to the herd.
Tripp and Wyatt turned toward the ranch.
“This doesn’t feel right,” Tripp said.
“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Earl knows he’s in the wrong. It’s just hard for him to admit that.”
“Yeah, Wyatt.” Tripp laughed. “That’s why you’re the sheriff—you can straddle the fence with a straight face. Me, I’m going to wait and see.”
“Just be careful.”
♦ ♦ ♦
CAMILA DROVE INTO the circular drive with a knot in her stomach. Lady Luck was just as Jilly had said—run-down. Years ago, it had been a showplace, a two-story colonial with white pillars, and Camila had felt privileged that Patrick wanted her to visit his home. She’d been too young to realize, or maybe she hadn’t wanted to, why Patrick had brought her here when his parents had been out. Patrick had been her friend, though; she’d trusted him.
That was then, this was now and she had to concentrate on her daughter. It had taken a while to get to the ranch because they’d had to go home and get Button, Jilly had insisted the Danielses would want to see her. Camila was at the end of her patience.
She turned to Jilly. “Go inside and see how Tripp is. Ten minutes and I want you out of there. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jilly hung her head.
“And understand we’re invading these people’s privacy so be polite and—” she touched Jilly’s cheek, unable to withstand that sad expression “—just be you.”
“Okay, Mama.” Jilly opened the door. “Button and me will be right back.”
Jilly went inside and in a second she came running out, screaming, “Mama, Mama, Mama!”
Camila jumped out, her heart beating like a rhythm of a bongo drum, loud and hard. She met Jilly on the other side of the car.
“Come quick,” Jilly shouted and charged back in the house.
Camila ran after her and followed her into the den area. She stopped for a moment to take in the scene. Mr. Daniels held a shotgun and Morris and Mrs. Daniels were trying to take it away from him. They struggled back and forth to no avail.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
They paused in the struggle and looked at her.
Mr. Daniels frowned. “Who the hell are you?”
“Camila Walker.”
His frown deepened. “Get out of my house.”
She walked forward, trying not to let his tone get to her. “Not until you give me the gun.”
“You can’t tell me what to do, missy. My boy needs help and I’m gonna help him.”
Camila glanced at Morris for an explanation. “Tripp and Wyatt went to see if the Boggses were moving their cattle off our land. Wyatt left a while ago, but Tripp hasn’t come to the house.”
“Something’s wrong. I know it. Now get out of my way.” Mr. Daniels tried to move, but Leona and Morris wouldn’t let go of his arms.
“Let me go,” Mr. Daniels shouted.
“Stubborn old fool,” Leona shouted back. “What can you do? You can barely walk.”
“I can fire this damn gun.”
“Everyone calm down,” Camila said. “I’ll go to the barn and see if I can find Tripp.”
“Not without me, missy.”
Morris groaned and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.
She didn’t know how to handle this, but she was sure Mr. Daniels was serious. “You can go with me and I’ll carry the gun.”
“Now you’re talking, missy.”
“For heaven’s sakes, Grif.” Leona threw up her hands and sank onto the sofa. Jilly went to her.
Camila took the gun from Grif without a problem. “Ready?” she asked.
“You might have to give me your arm,” Grif said, and he appeared shaky.
“See.” Leona pointed a finger at him. “Let Camila go find Tripp, you pigheaded mule.”
“Shut up, Leona.” Grif clutched Camila’s elbow and they made their way to the kitchen.
“Jilly, stay with Mrs. Daniels.” She wasn’t sure what was going on, but she wanted Jilly where she was safe.
“Mama…” The plaintive cry shook her and she wondered how she’d gotten herself into this situation.
“I’ll be fine. Just stay here with Mrs. Daniels.”
As they passed Morris, she whispered, “Call Wyatt and get him back here.”
“Gotcha. I’ll be right behind you.”
They slowly made their way out the back door and moved toward the barn and corrals. The gun felt heavy and awkward in her hand. She’d never fired a gun in her life and she was hoping she wouldn’t have to today.
“This doesn’t change a thing, missy.” Grif let out a long, ragged breath.
She knew exactly what he was talking about—the fact that he didn’t believe Jilly was Patrick’s.
“I don’t expect it to.”
Stubborn old mule. Ornery cuss. Ungrateful bastard. The phrases burned her throat and she swallowed them back, concentrating on her task.
Where was Tripp?
♦ ♦ ♦
TRIPP TURNED FROM PLACING his saddle on the rack and came to a complete stop. Otis, Lewis and Wallis stood in the opening to the barn.
“You didn’t think it was over, now did you, rodeo man?” Otis snickered.
“No, Otis, but I didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to try something today.”
Lewis took a couple of steps into the barn. “This time we’re gonna teach you a lesson you won’t forget.”
“You haven’t got enough brain power to teach me anything.” His rifle lay on a bale of hay and Tripp inched toward it.
Wallis laughed. “Don’t worry about the brains, cowboy. You better worry about the muscle.”
“Three against one. Is that supposed to be a fair fight?”
“Who cares about fair?” Otis said. “We’re Boggses and our grandma pretty much owns this town. We do what we want.”
“Well you’d better kill me this time because I will be filing charges.”
“You heard him, boys.” Otis made a dive for him with Lewis and Wallis right behind. Tripp drove a fist into Otis’s beer belly and he went down moaning. Lewis and Wallis hammered away at Tripp and he struggled to reach his rifle.
That was his only chance.
♦ ♦ ♦
THE COOL AND BREEZY afternoon wind rattled the limbs of an old cottonwood tree by the barn. Wispy white clouds with dark underbellies rolled across a dull blue sky. Clear signs a thunderstorm was brewing. But an eerie silence echoed through the oaks and mesquite, interrupted only by the wind and the caw of a crow. It was a typical winter afternoon in Texas, but there was nothing typical about this day.
As they neared the barn door, grunting shuffling noises shattered the silence. Camila paused at the sight in front of her and fear zigzagged up her spine. A fight—the Boggses against Tripp. They had him down on the ground. Lewis locked an arm around his neck and Wallis was trying to drive a fist into Tripp’s stomach, but Tripp kept kicking out with his feet. Otis sat a few feet away with a dazed look.
Mr. Daniels trembled on her arm. “Use the gun, missy,” he said in a low voice. “They’ll kill him.”
Use the gun.
Her insides quivered but her hands were steady as she raised the shotgun and aimed it above their heads. It was up to her to stop this—to save Tripp. Her nerves buzzed, but she wouldn’t give in to the fear. Wit
hout a second thought, she pulled the trigger and the butt of gun slammed against her shoulder and knocked her backward, but she stayed on her feet, keeping the shotgun pointed at the men. Her shoulder stung and it was going to hurt like hell tomorrow. She couldn’t think about that now, as all four men stared at her.
Wallis and Lewis still held Tripp down.
“Let him go,” she yelled, the feel of the gun giving her an awesome sense of power.
“C’mon, Camila, you’re not gonna use that thing.” Wallis smirked at her, not loosening his grip on Tripp.
She stared him straight in the eye, something she hadn’t done in thirteen years. “Try me, Wallis. Just try me.” She stepped closer, the gun pointed at Wallis’s chest. “Move away from him.” The thought of pulling the trigger again and feeling the kick of the gun wasn’t something she really wanted to do. But she wasn’t backing down. The fear that flashed in Wallis’s eyes was worth a sore shoulder any day.
Wallis and Lewis slowly let go of Tripp and he rolled to his feet.
“You all right, son?” Grif asked.
“Yeah.” Tripp reached for his rifle.
“You boys better leave and never come back,” Grif warned. “It’s easy to push around an old man and it takes a coward to ambush a man you know you can’t beat in a fair fight.”
“Old man—”
“Careful what you say, Otis,” Tripp advised. “Unless you want to die here today. I’m not feeling too hospitable right now.” He laid his rifle down. “On second thought we’re going to do this the fair way—the way a man would do it.” He stepped away from the gun. “One man at a time. Who’s first?”
Wallis grinned, moving forward.
“What the hell…” Earl stood in the entrance. “I’ve been looking for you boys. What the hell are you doing here?”
“Taking care of business,” Otis answered.
“Yeah, Earl. Your boys figured if they punched my lights out one more time, I might learn my lesson.”
Earl stomped over to Otis and slapped him across the face. He staggered backward into Lewis. “You stupid idiot,” Earl yelled. “I told you to leave the rodeo man alone.”
Otis rubbed his face. “But you didn’t mean that. He can’t tell us what to do.”
“No, but your grandma sure can,” Earl told him. “She’s threatening to cut off all our expenses if we’re involved in another ruckus. Is that what you want, to be without money?”
Otis hung his head. “No, sir.”
“Then get your asses back home before I really lose my temper. And stay away from the Danielses.”
They picked up their hats from the dirt floor and slowly made their way to their horses.
Grif trembled beside Camila—or was it her? She wasn’t sure. Her hands were numb from holding the gun, but for the life of her she couldn’t let it go.
Tripp took it out of her hands, his fingers brushing against hers. A warm electric current shot up her arm and their eyes met. They both felt it—the attraction that was always there between them. Forbidden, cursed attraction. “Take Dad to the house, please. I need to talk to Earl.”
That soothing drawl relaxed her and she nodded, unable to speak.
“We’d showed ’em, son, didn’t we?”
“Yeah, Dad. Now go to the house with Camila.”
The walk back was slower and Camila didn’t mind. It gave her a chance to calm down.
Morris ran toward them, panting. “Wyatt’s on his way. I had to wait for him to call back.”
“Everything’s under control,” Grif said.
“Good. Where’s Tripp?”
“Talking to Earl. I need a damn cup of coffee with a shot of whiskey in it.”
“I’ll put on a pot.” Morris ambled into the house.
“This doesn’t change a thing, missy,” Grif said when they were almost at the door.
“I know.”
She knew that better than anyone. People like Mr. Daniels had to form their own opinion of her. Once he got to know her, he might change his mind, but she wasn’t counting on it, nor did she need it. For Jilly, though, she would be nice and patient.
♦ ♦ ♦
TRIPP PICKED UP HIS HAT and suppressed a groan. His jaw ached and his stomach wasn’t feeling all that well either, but he wasn’t taking his eyes off Earl. He didn’t trust him for a minute.
Staring at Earl’s set expression, Tripp tried to gauge what he was up to.
As if reading his mind, Earl said, “If I’d had my way, my boys would’ve hurt you bad.”
Now the picture was clearer—Mama Boggs had applied some pressure and Earl wasn’t happy. “What happened to you, Earl?” Tripp brushed off his hat and placed it on his head. “When I was kid, my dad used to take me to the rodeos on Harper’s Road. I loved to watch you ride and I wanted to ride like that one day. You had heart and soul and knew how to have fun without hurting other people. What happened to all that heart?”
“It got ripped out, cowboy, and it’s none of your damn business.”
“It is when you take your anger out on me and my dad.”
Earl reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He shoved it at Tripp and Tripp took the paper. It was a check for a year’s lease signed by Thelma Boggs.
“Ma seems to think that we need to pay our bills, so you got lucky, cowboy.”
“Or maybe you got lucky.”
Earl’s face darkened but he didn’t say anything. At that moment, Tripp could identify with Earl’s pain—a pain that had to do with his son’s death.
On a gut instinct, Tripp decided to finish this with Earl here and now. “I know what it’s like to lose someone you love.”
“You don’t know a damn thing.”
“Not about your situation, but I know what it’s like to live with guilt. That’s what you’re feeling, isn’t it?”
Earl removed his hat and sank onto a bale of hay. Awkward silence filled the barn and Tripp waited for he knew not what.
Then Earl’s voice came, “Roger said the jack wasn’t working right and he needed a new one. I told him he wasn’t buying a goddamn new jack. He had to fix the old one. Two days later it crushed him like a sack of potatoes.”
“Earl, I’m sorry….”
Earl jumped to his feet and jammed his hat on his head. “I don’t need your goddamn sympathy.”
“But you do, Earl and—”
“Stay the hell out of my way, cowboy.”
Wyatt hurried into the barn and stopped short when he saw Earl and Tripp. “What are you doing here, Earl?”
“Came to pay the back lease money. Got a problem with that?”
Wyatt’s eyes narrowed. “No. But why didn’t you do that earlier?”
“I wasn’t in a giving mood then.”
“Everything’s fine,” Tripp said.
Earl nodded and strolled from the barn.
Wyatt stared at Tripp. “If everything’s fine, why is your face bleeding?”
Tripp dug out his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped away the trail of blood. “Earl’s boys came back for another round, but we got it sorted out.”
“Mmm. Guess I’ll have to take your word for that, but if you want to file charges, you know where to find me.”
“Yeah. Thanks, Wyatt.”
Wyatt left and Tripp took a moment to gather himself, unable to get Earl’s tortured words out of his mind. How many secrets were there in this small town? Earl was living with a mighty big one. He was eaten up with guilt, but he wasn’t letting anyone help him. He was too proud and stubborn. No one would ever know Earl’s pain and Tripp wondered why he’d shared it with him.
Tripp made his way to the house, trying to ignore the aches and pains in his body. Each step he took, he wondered what Camila was doing here. He didn’t care. He just wanted to see her. Looking at her calmed him and excited him more than anything in his life—even the rodeo.
Today he was hoping for the calm.
♦ ♦ ♦
I
N THE HOUSE, JILLY RAN to Camila. “Everything’s okay,” Camila assured her. “Pull Mr. Daniels’s chair forward. He needs to sit down.”
Jilly turned the chair and Grif sank down, breathing heavily.
“Where’s Tripp?” Leona wanted to know.
“He’s fine,” Camila said. “He’ll be here in a minute.”
“Where’s my damn drink?” Grif yelled.
Morris rushed in with the coffee. “You’re ’bout as jumpy as a long-tail cat in a room full of rockin’ chairs with the door closed and—”
“Shut up, Morris,” Grif growled, “and give me my drink.”
“Yes, sir.”
Morris set the cup on the end table.
“You put a shot of whiskey in it?”
“You bet.”
Grif’s hand shook as he drank the coffee.
“Are you okay?” Morris asked.
“Better than I’ve been in a long time. We showed those Boggses a thing or two.”
Jilly moved closer to Camila. “Is Tripp okay, Mama?”
“Don’t worry about Tripp,” Grif answered before she could. “He’s a Daniels and can take a bruising.”
“Bruising?” Leona asked with a touch of fright. “What happened?”
“We took care of business,” Grif spouted.
“You’re being cocky.” Leona stroked Button, her eyes on her husband.
“And ungrateful, self-willed and cantankerous.” The words slipped out of Camila’s mouth before she could stop them.
“How dare you!” Grif appeared shocked at her words.
“We better go,” Camila said to Jilly, thinking she’d just ended the visit. And she’d rather not be here when Tripp returned.
“I want to hold the dog,” Grif said, shifting his attention to Button.
Leona handed Button to Jilly. “Take her to the old fool.”
Jilly obliged, settling Button in Grif’s lap. “She’s a little nervous,” Jilly explained Button’s trembling.
“That makes two of us.” Grif rubbed the dog.
“Jilly, come sit by me,” Leona invited.
Jilly walked over and sat by her. “Would you like me to hold your hand?” Jilly asked.
“Oh, yes, please.”
