by Linda Warren
“There’s dust on your nose.”
“Oh. I must have gotten it when I stapled the banner to the ceiling.” She immediately tried to wipe it away.
“Nope. Still there.”
He reached out with his forefinger and brushed it away.
She froze.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, fearing he’d insulted her.
She sank back on her heels. “You…you make me nervous.”
“Why?”
She picked up a piece of ribbon from the floor. “Because you’re Patrick’s brother.”
His gut tightened. “Are you afraid of me?”
Her eyes flew to his. “Oh, no.”
“Then what is it?”
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
“But we have to. We have to talk about Patrick and what he did to you.”
“No. I…”
He could see the torment on her face and knew they both had to face the truth. “Say it, Camila. Say what really happened that night.”
“I can’t. I’d rather…”
“Patrick raped you.” He said the words she didn’t want to hear.
“It wasn’t his fault.”
“Yes. It was his fault.” The truth tightened his gut more, but he had to be honest. “He took the drug and he put something in your drink, too.”
She gazed at the bow on the door. “Patrick kept saying he loved me and asked why couldn’t I love him? My head was fuzzy and I just didn’t have the strength to resist anymore, so I…I…gave in.” Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Did you ask him to stop?”
“I don’t remember. I just remember feeling so dirty afterward.” It was the first time she’d admitted that to anyone and she felt the horror and the revulsion of what had happened to her. Felt it in ways she didn’t want to feel. “But it was my fault, too. I couldn’t love him the way he wanted me to.”
He swallowed. “It wasn’t your fault, Camila. Please believe that.”
She brushed away tears with the back of her hand. “Why are we talking about this? It’s over and we can’t change a thing.”
“You can stop blaming yourself.”
She blinked. “Yes. Maybe I can—for Jilly. I never want her to know about that night. I want her thoughts of Patrick to be good ones.”
“She’s very lucky to have you.”
“And I’m lucky to have her. It doesn’t matter how she was conceived.”
“No,” he agreed, watching her face. “So why do I make you nervous?”
She shrugged. “It’s rather silly.”
“Tell me.”
“When I was a teenager, other girls had fantasies about rock stars. I had fantasies about you and it’s rather disconcerting to have you within touching distance.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “What kind of fantasies?”
“Very mild compared to what goes on today.”
“That’s a pity. I was hoping they were more risqué.”
“They weren’t.”
“Did they include anything like this?” He leaned over and licked her nose.
Her mouth fell open. “You licked dust from my nose.”
“I’d lick a lot of things from your body, Camila Walker.”
“Ooooh.”
He caught the sound with his mouth and her lips softened under his. He cupped her face, kissing her slowly and gently. “Did your fantasy include that?” he whispered.
“Oh, yes.”
He deepened the kiss and her mouth opened and he lost himself in her sweetness.
A balloon popped with the force of a cannon going off in the confines of the room. They jumped apart, then burst out laughing when they realized what it was. Laughter rippled from Camila’s throat like an enchanting chord of music, filling the room, filling him.
Almost in slow motion, he lifted her to her feet and slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her body against his. His mouth covered hers and she moaned softly, trailing her arms up to his neck. The kiss deepened and changed intensity and Tripp knew he’d been waiting for her touch most of his life. His hands tangled in her hair and the kiss went on.
Camila had fantasies and dreams and they were nothing like the real thing. She wanted to absorb herself into him, to feel all those things she’d wanted to feel as a young girl. But as a woman, the emotion was stronger, more intense.
His touch, his kiss, erased all the painful memories and she let herself feel, enjoy this discovery inside her—the discovery of raw human emotions between a man and a woman.
It could have been seconds, minutes or hours when Tripp ended the kiss and rested his forehead against hers. “I’ve been wanting to do that for thirteen years.”
“Me, too,” she whispered.
“We have no reason to feel guilty now.”
“No.” But reality was slowly seeping back into her mind, urging her to take it slowly. She had Jilly to think about. She took a step backward. “I’d better go. I have to get up early to make Jilly’s cake.”
“Do you do everything?”
“Yes. I try to make the day as special as I can for her.”
“You’re wonderful, Camila Walker.” He reached for her hand. “Come on, I’ll walk you to your car.”
She slipped into her coat, grabbed her purse and they made their way outside into the cool night. Camila locked the door and Tripp followed her to her Suburban. She now knew what it was like to walk on a cloud.
“Do you have to light Unie’s heater?”
“No. I did it earlier.”
He touched her lips with his forefinger and her senses exploded with tiny frissons of heat that shot all over her body.
“See you tomorrow,” he said and strolled to his truck.
Camila’s knees quivered like Jell-O; her stomach was warm and fuzzy and her head was floating among the stars. She’d had this feeling before—when she’d had the flu. But this was so much better. And she didn’t need medication.
She got into her car and headed home, trying not to let one, no two, incredible kisses get the best of her. A cool head was required and she was old enough to know a kiss was just a kiss. What happened next would be up to her.
Chapter Fourteen
Camila breezed into her kitchen and stopped short. Benita sat at the table with a towel tied around her head and a green mud pack on her face, painting her fingernails bright red.
“You’re home, chick,” she said without looking up.
Camila laid her purse on the table. “You gave me a scare. I thought I had a monster in my kitchen.”
“Very funny. I had this stuff in my purse and I’d been wanting to try it and there was nothing on the tele—” Her voice stopped as she stared at Camila. “Where’s the clip out of your hair?”
Camila touched her long hair, not even realizing it was hanging loose. Tripp’s fingers had loosened the clip, so it was probably on the floor of the coffee shop. She’d retrieve it tomorrow.
“I guess I left it at the shop.”
“Why did you take it out? Or did the cowboy do it for you?”
“I’m tired and I’m going to bed. Besides, with that stuff on your face, I can’t talk seriously. I just want to laugh.”
“Your day is coming, chick,” Benita said. “Now everything is supple, but in a few years those perky breasts and everything else will go south.”
“Well, then, save me some of that stuff.” Camila found herself smiling.
Benita looked down. “Wonder if it will work on my breasts?”
“Why?”
“To lift them up.”
“You’d need a block-and-tackle to lift those babies.”
Benita looked at her. “Are you drinking?”
“Of course not.”
“It’s not like you to be humorous.”
“I’m just feeling—” she thought for a minute “—young. I’m feeling young and a little silly tonight.”
“A certain cowboy have something to do with that?”
Camila turned
toward the hall. “Thanks for sitting with Jilly. Good night.”
“Night, chick,” Benita called.
♦ ♦ ♦
THE NEXT MORNING, Camila and Jilly had their private party and her daughter loved the ballerina cake she’d made. As Jilly opened her gifts, the phone rang.
“Good morning, Camila.” Tripp’s voice was so clear, it felt like he was in the room and her pulse quickened.
“Tripp, good morning.” She sounded breathless, even to her own ears.
“Do you need any help today?”
Yes. No. Yes.
“No. I have everything under control,” came out of her mouth.
“I’ll come early anyway just in case you do.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“Do you have any idea what I can get Jilly for her birthday?”
“I’ll let Jilly tell you.” Jilly and some of the girls on the basketball team were having a fund-raiser to raise money to renovate the gym. Nothing had been done to it in years and there wasn’t any money in the budget for repairs. So when anyone asked Jilly what she wanted for her birthday, she’d say a donation to the fund.
Camila handed Jilly the phone, wishing she could stop the fluttering in her stomach. But she would see Tripp later and she couldn’t believe how much she was looking forward to that.
♦ ♦ ♦
TRIPP HUNG UP AND LEANED against the cabinet. Camila sounded fine this morning. He worried he might have stepped over the line last night, but once he’d gotten past the nervous part, it had been pretty terrific. He’d been thinking about her ever since and he couldn’t wait to see her again.
Morris tugged on his boots. “Why you grinning like a cat in a creamery who ain’t had a morsel of food in days and the watch dog is all tied up in—”
“I’m not grinning,” Tripp interrupted, knowing Morris would go on and on.
“Looks like a grin to me, unless you got a stomachache. When you was little we called it gas.”
Tripp took a big swallow of coffee, trying to be patient with Morris and his weird sense of humor. “Are the folks up?”
“Yeah.” Morris put on an apron. “They’re on round, hell, I’ve lost track, but I’m sure I’ll have to blow a whistle pretty soon.”
“They seem to argue a lot.”
“Besides grieving, that’s all they’ve got to do.”
“I’ll go see what they’re arguing about.” Tripp headed for the door. After he played referee, he called Brodie, then he helped Morris with lunch.
When his parents went to take a nap, Tripp asked, “Morris, do you know what happened to the Corvette after Patrick’s crash?”
Morris paused in the process of opening the refrigerator. “Lordy, why’d you want to know something like that?”
“I’m curious.”
“You notice that tarp over an object by the old barn?”
“Yes. Isn’t that Dad’s boat?”
“Nope. Sold that a long time ago. The Corvette is under it.”
“What!”
“It was impounded by the sheriff for a while, then the tow truck brought it here. I didn’t know what to do with it so I just covered it up. Didn’t want Grif and Leona to have to look at it.”
Tripp hurried out the back door.
“What…”
But Tripp wasn’t listening. He headed straight for the barn and stopped when he saw the tarp. Weeds had grown up around it and it took a while for him to see beneath the tarp. Morris had it tied down and he undid the knots and pulled the tarp away. There it was—the red Corvette.
For a moment he had trouble swallowing as he stared at the twisted and crushed metal and steel. The front end was mangled and pushed into the front seat, like he’d seen in the photo. The windows were broken out and he could see black spots on the leather seats and inside the car, which had to be blood. Patrick’s blood. He swallowed the lump in his throat.
One thing caught his attention—the passenger side was almost completely caved in. But there was room on the driver’s side—room for a person.
♦ ♦ ♦
JILLY’S PARTY WENT OFF without a hitch and the place was packed with kids. The stereo was blasting and the kids were dancing and laughing. The older generation sat in Camila’s shop eating cake and watching the younger ones. People spilled out onto the street and it seemed everyone wanted to wish Jilly a happy birthday.
Camila was busy serving cake and punch, but she was disappointed. Tripp still wasn’t here and she’d begun to think he wasn’t going to come at all. So much for fantasies. Her feet were now planted firmly in reality. But it had been nice while it had lasted—less than twenty-four hours.
She worried about Jilly, though. If Tripp didn’t come, she was going to be so disappointed. She knew the Danielses wouldn’t be able to make it, but Jilly definitely expected Tripp to be here.
So did Camila.
♦ ♦ ♦
TRIPP HAD SPENT too much time going over the Corvette, looking for he knew not what, and now he was running late. Patrick’s death was an accident. He had to accept that. Something good was happening between him and Camila and he didn’t want to do anything to mess that up.
When he arrived at the party, he couldn’t believe his eyes. People were everywhere and he couldn’t find a parking spot. He finally parked in back and walked to the front.
He spoke to several people on the sidewalk, wondering if he was going to be able to get in. Boys stood around the door. He recognized Vance’s son Dillon, Wallis’s son Cameron and a couple of more boys, but Tripp didn’t know their names.
Unie pushed her cart full of plastic bags, topped with her cat, down the sidewalk. People stepped back to let her pass. When she reached the boys, Cameron shoved her cart, saying, “Get out of here, you old bat.”
Unie held on to her cart mumbling under her nose, but she steadily made her way to the door.
Dillon got in her way. “Didn’t you hear him, you old witch? Get out of here.”
“Yeah. Beat it before I call the cops,” Cameron added, shoving her cart again.
Unie had a stick in her hand and she poked it into Cameron’s chest. “Back off, you little weasel.”
Cameron jerked the stick from her and drew it back. The cat gave a menacing hiss. Tripp took off at a run, grabbing the stick before it hit Unie.
“Like she said. Back off, boys.”
“You’re not my daddy,” Dillon snapped. “You can’t tell me what to do.”
“You either back off or I’m going to mop this street with you. Your choice.”
“You can’t threaten us,” Cameron said. “My daddy’ll give you another black eye.”
Tripp handed Unie her stick. “Really? Well now, Cameron, you see I was ambushed in the dark by four guys I couldn’t identify. Are you saying your daddy did it?” Tripp was trying to make him nervous and it worked.
“Huh, huh…I didn’t say anything.”
A coward, just like his father.
Cameron’s face darkened. “Why you picking on me? My daddy says she’s—” he jabbed a finger at Unie “—a nuisance and should be put in a mental institution.”
Camila opened the door. “What’s going on?” She glanced from Tripp to Unie to the boys.
“The boys and I are having a little disagreement.”
Unie fished for something in her pocket and handed it to Camila. “For Jilly,” she muttered.
Camila looked at the crumpled five-dollar bill in her hand. “You don’t have to give Jilly anything.”
Jilly came outside. “Hi, Miss Unie. Hi, Tripp.”
“Hi, Jilly,” Tripp replied.
“I brought you something,” Unie told Jilly, and Camila gave her the money.
“Oh, no, Miss Unie,” Jilly protested.
“It’s for the gym. I want to do my part.”
The boys snickered.
“Thank you, Miss Unie,” Jilly said, glaring at the boys.
Unie turned to push her cart away when Camila said, “Wai
t. I’ll get you some cake.”
Benita came up behind her with a plate of cake. “Thanks,” Camila said and gave it to Unie.
“Bless you child.” Unie placed the cake in her cart. The cat immediately tried to lick through the plastic wrap as Unie pushed the cart on down the street.
Jilly’s glare intensified as she stared at the boys. “You were cruel.”
“Come on, Jilly,” Dillon said. “We didn’t mean anything.”
Jilly didn’t say a word, just went back into the shop. This upset the boys and Tripp was stunned.
“See what you did,” one of the other boys said. “Now she’s mad at us.”
“Who cares?” Cameron said. “I didn’t want to come to her old party anyway. Let’s find something else to do.”
Cameron and Dillon disappeared around the cars. The other boys went into the party.
Before Tripp could move, Bert came charging up the street. “What the hell is going on here? All these cars are blocking the highway and people are double-parked. This is against city ordinances, not to mention the noise. Where’s Horace? He needs to do something about this.”
Horace, the police chief, came out munching on a piece of cake. “You looking for me, Bert?” Slim, Joe Bob, Bubba and Billy Clyde followed him.
“Yeah, goddammit. Why aren’t you doing something about all this congestion? People can’t get through Bramble.”
Horace took a glance at the street. “Looks like they can get through to me.”
“You idiot. I’m calling the sheriff.”
“I’m right here,” Wyatt said, walking up with his five-year-old daughter.
The little girl ran around the men to Camila with a twenty-dollar bill in her hand. “Where’s Jilly?” she asked. “I got her present.”
“She’s inside, sweetie.” Camila opened the door and the child went in.
“What’s the problem, Bert?” Wyatt asked.
“Look at the damn street. Can’t you figure out the problem?”
Wyatt also took in the street. “Looks like a busy day in Bramble.”
“What the hell is she doing for y’all that you’re so hot for her?” He gestured toward Camila.
Before Tripp knew what he was doing, his fist connected with Bert’s jaw. Bert went flying backward on the pavement.
