Free The Cowboy's Return by Linda Warren Page A

them do a high five, bump their butts together and do a happy dance. Obviously they liked something in the movie. Jilly was smiling and happy again and that’s what mattered to Camila.
    She headed for the garage. She’d pulled the orders from the computer and printed the labels earlier. If everything went smoothly, she’d have them finished by midnight then she’d have plenty of time to take Jilly to her basketball game on Tuesday.
    A covered walkway connected the house to the detached two-car garage. Camila hurried to the storage shed where she stored the wrapped and labeled soap in plastic containers. In the early days, she’d made the soap at home so she didn’t have to leave Jilly. When Jilly had started school, she’d made it in the back room of the shop, but she still did a lot of the packing and mailing from home. That way, she was close if Jilly needed her.
    She worked on, trying not to think about the Danielses.
    Or Tripp.
    ♦ ♦ ♦

    T HE LAST ORDER PACKAGED , Camila stacked the boxes neatly on the table, then went into the house to check on the girls. She pulled her coat around herself. The temperature had been in the fifties and sixties all week—mild for February. Now it had to be in the forties. She was glad she’d lit Unie’s heater earlier. That way she knew she was warm. Since the gas company had turned off her gas, Unie had a hard time understanding it was now on again.
    Jilly and Kerri were asleep on the floor. Camila turned off the TV and gently woke them. “Time for bed.”
    They staggered to Jilly’s room in their big T-shirts and crawled into bed like zombies. They wouldn’t remember this in the morning. It reminded Camila of when Jilly was smaller and would fall asleep in the car or on the sofa. She’d never remembered anything. She’d been just a baby—and to Camila, she still was.
    She rushed back to the garage to finish up.
    “Camila.”
    She swung toward the voice, knocking over a stack of boxes.
    “I’m sorry,” Tripp said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
    “What are you doing here?” she asked, bending to gather the scattered boxes.
    Tripp didn’t answer. Instead, he squatted and helped. Their hands touched and fire shot up her arm. She jerked back. “Go away and leave us alone.” She stood and placed the boxes on the table.
    “We have to talk,” he said.
    “About what?” she asked, unable to keep her anger under control. “My past? My many affairs? My lurid lifestyle?”
    “You’re angry,” he said, unnecessarily.
    “Yes. I get angry when someone hurts my child.”
    “I’m sorry about that. When she showed up, I wasn’t sure what to do. But things were going really well. They were talking about Button, about school, then…”
    The sincerity in his voice got to her and some of the anger began to dissipate. Standing just inside the garage with the light behind him, he was a silhouette in a lined denim jacket, hat, snug jeans and cowboy boots. She’d seen him like this a million times in her dreams and in her foolish, girlish fantasies. But this wasn’t a dream or a fantasy. He was so real it took her breath away.
    “My parents have deteriorated since Patrick’s death. They don’t have any interests and it’s like they’re marking time. When Jilly showed up that first time, I was impressed with her spirit. She’s like a ray of sunshine. Actually, I think she has a halo around her head. That’s what gave me the nerve to come and see you. If Jilly could affect me that way, I was hoping she could do the same for my parents.”
    “You were nervous about seeing me?” She couldn’t quite believe that.
    “Yes, I mean, you have to have a lot of nerve to ask a woman who’s the father of her child. I apologize again for being so rude.”
    “If you had asked nicely, I would have told you. But you used a tone similar to several people in this town—as if I might not know who the father was.”
    He winced. “Was I that