"We're gonna be in so much trouble."
Eleven-year-old Jilly Walker ignored her friend, Kerri,
and pedaled her bicycle that much faster against the cool
February breeze. She had to do this, even if it meant
she'd be grounded for life. In two weeks she'd turn twelve
and her mama had said that she could do something special
for the big day. Special meant one thing to
Jilly...meeting her father's family.
And this was the only day she could sneak away to make it
happen.
The Danielses lived on a large ranch about a mile outside
of Bramble, Texas, population 994 and counting. Everyone
kept track of the births. The city council planned a big
celebration for number one thousand, but Jilly wasn't
thinking about that today. The bike's wheels slid on the
gravel as she stopped outside the Danielses' entrance to
the Lady Luck Ranch.
Patrick Daniels, her father, had died before her parents
could get married. The Danielses shunned her mother,
Camila, saying the baby she'd been carrying wasn't a part
of their family. Jilly didn't understand how they could
have said that, but she respected her mother's wishes and
stayed away from the Danielses'.
Until today.
Over the years, she'd seen Leona and Griffin, her
grandparents, in their chauffeur-driven car. She'd never
had enough nerve to speak to them — she didn't know if she
had enough today, either.
Kerri stopped beside her, gasping for breath. "Are we
going home now?"
Jilly stared at the broken boards on the fence and the
weeds growing wild around them. She didn't expect the
entrance to be so unkempt. The stone pillars with the Lady
Luck brand were impressive, though.
"Jilly?"
"No," she answered and pedaled across the cattle guard to
the big house. Her hands trembled on the handlebars, but
she wouldn't let her nervousness stop her — she was going
to introduce herself to the Danielses. The bike bounced
over potholes, jarring her insides, and finally she rolled
to a stop in the circular drive. A round brick pond with a
broken waterfall stood in the center of the overgrown
yard. Stagnant water caked with mildew stank like Mr.
Wiley's pig farm.
At the odor, she wrinkled her nose and jumped off her
bike. She adjusted the kickstand and scooped Button, her
Chihuahua, out of the basket on the handlebars. Button
shivered and Jilly tucked the dog inside her navy
windbreaker, stroking the dog's ears.
"It's okay. We won't be here long."
Kerri hopped off her bike and joined her. They looked up
at the white stone two-story colonial house with the
weatherworn and peeling brown trim. Shutters hung like
broken arms, dust and spiderwebs coated the windows, and
weeds had taken over the flower beds.
"This place is like totally spooky," Kerri said.
"Yeah," Jilly murmured. She hadn't expected this, either.
The Danielses were supposed to be rich.
"Let's go," Kerri said. "I don't think anyone lives here."
"Yes, they do," Jilly insisted, clutching Button. "The
Temple paper said he came home to the family ranch."
"I don't understand why you have to see Tripp Daniels
anyway."
Sometimes she didn't, either, but from the moment she'd
seen his picture in the paper, a handsome man on a bucking
horse, she'd wondered if her father had really looked like
that. Tripp was a national champion bareback rider and
calf roper, and the paper had mentioned all the awards
he'd won. The town of Bramble was very proud of him. Her
mama had said that the Daniels brothers favored and she
wanted to see the man who so closely resembled her father.
Kerri caught her arm. "C'mon."
She focused on her blond, blue-eyed friend. Jilly had dark
hair and eyes and they both had long ponytails. They were
letting their hair grow, to see whose would grow the
fastest and the longest. So far Jilly was winning.
They'd been friends forever and lived two blocks apart.
Kerri's parents were divorced and Kerri saw her father
every other weekend and two weeks in the summer. Jilly
wanted just a tiny bit of that — a bit of a father. She
marched to the front door before she could change her
mind. The bell didn't work so she tapped the tarnished
brass knocker.
"We're gonna be in so much trouble," Kerri said from
behind her.
"You can go home if you want," Jilly told her.
"Why do you have to do this?"
"I don't know. I just do." She tapped louder.
WEDGED BENEATH the kitchen sink, Tripp Daniels tightened
the new drainpipe he'd just installed. He'd heard the
knock and thought Morris would get it, then the knock came
again.
"Morris!" he shouted.
Nothing.
He'd had a helluva time getting his long frame under the
sink and he didn't want to quit until he'd finished the
job. Another loud knock. Dammit. He uncurled himself and
saw Morris sitting at the kitchen table knitting, the
needles clicking, the yarn in his lap. Tripp shook his
head in aggravation.
"Morris!" he shouted again.
The older man jumped. "Yes, sir." He pushed to his feet,
blinking.
"There's someone at the door."
"Really?" He laid his knitting down and scratched his bald
head. "I didn't hear a thing." He didn't move, just kept
standing there.
"Morris, would you get the door, please? I'm rather busy
at the moment."
"Oh." Morris gazed at him with a blank look. "Did you say
something, sir?"
"The door, Morris."
"Yes, yes." He shuffled away in the direction of the front
door. By the time he reached it, he'd probably forget what
he was there for. Morris had worked as a butler and a
housekeeper for the Daniels family ever since Tripp could
remember. At seventy-two, he was hard of hearing and
forgetful, but he was the only person to care for his
parents.
A stab of guilt pierced him. It had been almost thirteen
years since he'd seen them. After his brother's death, his
father had told him to leave and never come back. They
blamed him for what had happened. Tripp, too, blamed
himself. He'd thrown himself into the rodeo scene, but he
checked on his parents constantly through Morris.
His father had fallen and broken his hip six months ago.
Tripp had gotten a call from Morris, who'd said Tripp
needed to come home. He'd spent thirteen years avoiding
the past, avoiding thoughts of Patrick, but he couldn't
avoid the fact that his parents now needed him. He wasn't
sure if he'd be welcome but he'd come anyway.
The moment they'd seen him, they'd begun to cry and he'd
hugged them. The arguments and the pain over Patrick's
death faded away. He'd realized then he should have
returned long ago.
Nothing had prepared him for the dilapidated sight of the
ranch and the house. Everything was in disrepair and run-
down and his parents had gotten old. His mother's sight
was so bad that she couldn't see the dust and cobwebs. His
father had sunk so far into depression that he didn't care
about anything.
How could he let this happen to his family? Guilt hammered
away at Tripp, but all he could do was be here for them
now and restore the place to its original splendor. That
would take money, and he'd soon found there wasn't any.
The oil wells had dried up and his father now leased the
land for ranching. With that small income, along with
their social security, they were barely getting by. Tripp
had a little money and he'd spend every dime to make his
parents comfortable.
Morris ambled back to his chair. "There's two young
fillies to see you, sir."
He raised an eyebrow. He wasn't expecting anyone. "How
young are we talking here, Morris?" He spoke loudly so
Morris could hear.
"Schoolgirls," Morris replied with a twinkle in his eye.
Tripp frowned. "Do they have the right house?"
"No. They're not riding a horse." Morris picked up his
knitting.
Tripp didn't respond. There was no need. He and Morris
were seldom on the same page. Shoving to his feet, he laid
his wrench on the counter. He grabbed a rag, wiped his
hands and hurried to the door.
Two young girls stood there, one dark, the other blond.
The dark-haired girl held a small dog inside her jacket.
Neither spoke. "May I help you? I'm Tripp Daniels." He ran
a hand through his tousled hair.
They stared at him, mouths open. "Are you selling
something?"
The dark-haired girl shook her head.
The dog grunted and shivered. "Did you find a lost dog?"
She shook her head again and held the dog tighter against
her chest.
"Well, I'm running out of questions so you'd better tell
me what you want."
There was no response — just wide-eyed silence. "I have to
get back to work," he said and stepped back to close the
door.
"I'm Jilly Walker," the dark-haired girl blurted out.
Tripp paused. Was this Camila Walker's kid? Yeah, she had
the same gorgeous hair, skin and eyes. That would mean...
"I make straight A's and I'm going to be a doctor."
"Very impressive."
"I'm a good kid, everyone says so, and your family missed
a lot by not knowing me. You missed even more by not
knowing my mama. That's all I have to say." She took a
step backward and ran into her friend, who seemed to have
turned to stone. The two of them locked hands and ran
toward their bikes, then quickly rode away.
TRIPP GAZED AFTER THEM. Camila's daughter. The rumor mill
in Bramble said Camila didn't know who the father was.
There were some who named Patrick as the father, but the
Danielses didn't believe that for a minute. Camila, a
tramp like her mother, had slept around — that's what his
father had said and his mother had agreed. Tripp had had
reason to believe them. But now...
"Tripp, where are you?"
"I'm here, Mom," he called. He closed the door and found
his mother in the den. Leona Daniels had once been tall,
regal and sophisticated. Now Tripp hardly recognized the
stooped lady wearing thick wire-rimmed glasses. Her white
hair was cut in a short style and she looked much older
than her sixty-five years. Patrick's untimely death had
devastated his parents, and him, too. It had been years
since that awful car crash and still the family hadn't
recovered.
"What do you need, Mom?" he asked and gently clutched her
elbow.
"Oh, Tripp, there you are." She stroked the hand on her
arm. "I was looking for Morris and I can't find him. I
think he's hiding from me."
Tripp smiled slightly. Morris probably was hiding. Tripp
sometimes wondered about the man's hearing problems. He
could hear certain things, like the TV, just fine, but his
parents' constant orders, he could shut out completely.
"Why do you need Morris?" He guided her toward the sofa.
"I was wanting a cup of tea."
"You have a seat and I'll fix it."
"Okay, dear.You're such a sweet boy." She slowly sat down.
A sweet boy. He was thirty-eight years old and he didn't
think his mother realized it. His parents'frailty tore at
his heart.
"Where's Dad?"
"In the bedroom watching sports. Sports, sports, sports,
that's all he watches. It gets on my nerves."
"There's a TV in here. Why don't you watch a movie?"
"It's all sex and violence and not fit to watch. I can't
see it anyway. No. I'll just sit for a while."
Leona had once been an energetic woman involved in all
sorts of activities with the town, but now she barely went
out and Tripp knew she was bored to death. Death. An eerie
feeling came over him. His parents were marking time,
waiting to die.
Filling the kettle, he thought how wonderful it would be
if Camila's daughter was Patrick's. Life would return to
this house again.
What did she say her name was? Jilly. Yes, Jilly with the
flashing brown eyes, just like Camila's. Camila. Her dark
Latin beauty flashed through his mind. Something about her
sensuous, sad eyes always got to him even though he knew
she was his brother's girlfriend. He set the kettle on the
stove with more force than necessary. Maybe he should have
a heart-to-heart with Camila.
The mere thought caused his pulse to accelerate.
He could break a wild horse. Rope a calf in a split
second. But speaking with Camila about her child's
paternity could prove a bit harder for a man whose main
goal in life was never to see, speak or think about Camila
again.
"Tripp," Leona called.
"Coming, Mom." He poured water into a cup. This might be
one of those times he'd have to bite the bullet for the
sake of his parents.
And that meant talking with Camila Walker.