Loving Camilla (The Dillon Creek Series Book 4) Read online

  Copyright © 2022 by J. Lynn Bailey

  All rights reserved.

  Visit my website at www.jlynnbaileybooks.com

  Cover Designer: Hang Le

  Editor and Interior Designer: Jovana Shirley,

  Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-7367492-2-7

  Contents

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  Epilogue

  A Note to the Reader

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Other Books by J. Lynn Bailey

  For my mother, with love.

  Prologue

  “What do you mean, it isn’t there?” Nathan pulls his cigarette from his mouth. “Dig fucking deeper.” He takes one hurried last puff and tosses the cigarette into the moist soil that sits underneath the canopy of redwood trees.

  The kid digs deeper.

  Nathan watches closely, eyeing the eighteen-year-old they hired about a month prior. “Kid’s not going to make it, Mikey,” Nathan says to his business partner and friend.

  “Too soft. But let him dig. Let him finish the job, Nathan,” Mikey says in a slight Italian accent.

  Nathan and Mikey watch as the young kid sweats, digs, and pants.

  “You got a tractor or something? Something that can move the dirt quicker?”

  Nathan and Mikey exchange looks and then laugh at the stupidity of the boy.

  Hard work has somehow missed an entire generation, Nathan thinks to himself as he pulls out his gun and takes aim at the naive stripling.

  The kid looks at Nathan and immediately stumbles back, dropping the shovel and holding his hands up. “Look, I-I just came here for a summer job, trim work—that’s it, man.”

  The quiver in his voice is powerful, and Nathan has always liked that. The fear he creates with a gun. The power.

  “The kid’s seen too much,” Nathan says to Mikey.

  “Let him dig.” Mikey’s tone is firmer with his old friend. Mikey walks to the boy, picks up the shovel, and gently puts it in the boy’s hand. “Dig.”

  Shaking, the boy takes the shovel and begins to dig again until the shovel hits something hard several minutes later.

  “See, nothing to worry about,” Mikey says. “Retrieve the box in the ground, please.”

  Mikey has always been the softer one, the kinder one, Nathan thinks.

  The boy reaches into the hole and takes out the box.

  “He could be good, Nathan. Strong like an ox.” Mikey speaks of the boy.

  “Open the box,” Nathan commands.

  With a few unlocked levers and pulls, it opens.

  But this isn’t going to end well.

  No.

  Not at all.

  Inside the box, Nathan’s money is gone. All two million dollars.

  Fueled with rage, Nathan aims the gun at the boy and shoots. The boy falls backward, holding his middle as his life leaves his body before he hits the ground.

  1

  Camilla

  Perhaps it is the sun’s fault. The summer, the sun, the moon, the stars, and all that. The entire solar system maybe, for throwing me off course into a different life, certainly not the life I expected.

  Through my kitchen window, I watch Calder build the fence. The sun’s morning light makes its way over the mountain of redwood trees, igniting the Eel River in soft rays of orange and yellow hues. I consider how his muscles contract and shift under his white T-shirt, drenched in hard work, and it makes me wonder if Calder will ever settle down with a woman. One that makes his heart beat the way it should when one is in love, like Joe did for me.

  Anyway, my property ends just west of Fortuna.

  I have a ranch.

  I have land.

  I have a roof over my head.

  My son is cared for and loved and fed.

  But I’m still a widow. Nothing will ever change that. There are still pieces of the lost eighteen-year-old that just needed a soft pillow and space to breathe.

  Nothing will ever change the fact that I fell in love and married a man ten years my senior. He rescued me when I needed it most.

  And everyone has their secrets. Everyone. If someone tells you they don’t, they’re lying. Like how I ended up in Humboldt County from Salinas, California. I couldn’t face what I’d done every day. It stared back at me, taunting me, so I left.

  The ground was hard from insufficient rain, and the blood thickened and pooled as it sat and then absorbed into the dirt before we could get the body in the ground.

  My sister dug the hole with the tractor.

  Sam (my friend) and I moved the body.

  And my mother stood there, shocked.

  When I heard from a hired hand, Phillip, one of the men on our farm, that there was fast money up in Humboldt County for trim work, I took it. I left against my mother’s wishes and all of her rosary beads. I knew I had to get the hell out of Salinas as quickly as possible, so I got into my car and drove north to Humboldt County, where, according to Phillip, one could never be found.

  Working in the mountains of Humboldt County for an illegal marijuana grow, I was able to disappear and make money, and I suppose I would’ve stayed if it wasn’t for the handsome cowboy who showed up in his old Ford one day. He sat there on the tailgate of his truck, picked his nails with his pocketknife, and from underneath his cowboy hat, he said hello in a tone that slithered over my way, against the earth so smoothly that it scared me.

  I didn’t plan on falling in love. I planned to take the money I’d earned and leave and get on the right track. The track didn’t involve seeds, soil, and seasons. It didn’t involve backbreaking work and long days and the hot sun.

  What Joe was doing in Southern Humboldt that day we met, I had no idea, but I also knew I’d never be the same.

  It was a romance slowly built on hellos, stolen glances in smoke-filled rooms, and quiet feelings that somehow felt bigger than we were.

  But that was when the whole mess got started.

  I saw things I shouldn’t have.

  I did things I shouldn’t have.

  Made choices I’d rather bury away and never remember.

  “Mom, I’m running out to feed the goats,” Malik says from the doorway to the kitchen, bringing me to the present moment.

  He looks like his father in my opinion, though
, many says he looks like me. Amber eyes, long jawline, and dimples. Maybe he has my temper, but he has his father’s deep, methodical ways. Malik has had to grow up quicker than most boys.

  I walk to him and pull his long, skinny twelve-year-old frame into my arms. I take in his scent and quietly pray that God continues to watch over him.

  “Mom, you can let go now.”

  He squirms and smiles, and I laugh and let go.

  “I love you, Mal.”

  “Love you too.” He turns to leave and then stops, turns back around. “Calder said he could work on some pitching with me after my homework and chores are done. Is that all right?”

  Sports are not something I’m fond of. Sports will not get you an education. It will not give you the grades you need to succeed in college. My number one rule is school and academics, and Malik knows this.

  Silently, he mimics praying, just to be funny.

  “That’s fine. But chores must be done first.”

  “I know; I know.” And he runs out the back door.

  “Hello?” I hear Calder’s voice.

  “In the kitchen,” I say and use my hands to smooth over my dark brown hair.

  “Hey.” His cowboy hat is between his fingers. His white T-shirt clings to his torso, and I try not to notice. “I told Malik I’d help him with some pitching stuff. Would that be all right?” Calder asks, his dark blue eyes staring back at me.

  “That’s fine.”

  Calder nods, leaning against the counter, and crosses his arms over his chest.

  “Here.” I motion him to the stove. “Please, make yourself a plate and come sit down.”

  “Thank you, Camilla, but I’d best be getting home.”

  “That’s not the agreement. I said I’d let you help me around here and that I’d pay you in food.”

  Calder laughs a slow, throaty laugh.

  “Please, Calder. Just some bacon and eggs. Lord knows we have too many eggs with Joan and Jett laying all the time. Even after the farmers market last week, I had to give some away.”

  “All right.” Calder sits down at the table, setting his cowboy hat on the back of the chair.

  We eat in silence, and I wrestle with the fact that the only way I can pay Calder is through his stomach.

  “Thank you,” I whisper into the silence, “for your help.”

  Calder sets his fork down, swallows what’s in his mouth, puts his elbows on the table, and says, “It’s no bother, Camilla.”

  I nod, knowing he’d say those words, just as he does every time I bring this up. “But for your help with Malik too. I’m grateful you teach him what men should be teaching their boys. For teaching him how to mend fences and break horses and play baseball.”

  “He’s a great kid, Mil.”

  And when he says Mil, short for Camilla, it makes my stomach twist into a ball of knots, just like it always does.

  Calder reaches for my hand.

  In all the years he’s been with me, after Joe died several years ago, there was one single hug where Calder and I clung on too tightly and too long, and it made for several weeks of silence between us.

  So, when he reaches for my hand, I hold back, not ready for the guilt that will settle in my bones when he leaves. Not ready for the unresolve, the feelings that will dance inside my heart and fill my head with unwanted thoughts.

  That’s when Malik waltzes through the door.

  The moment disappears among the scent of cooked bacon and the sunlight that pours in through the window above the sink.

  “Saw Mabe Muldoon drive by, and she said she has some yard work she’d like done this weekend, if that’s all right, Mom?” Malik drops into the chair next to Calder and grabs a biscuit, bringing it to his lips. His eyes dance between us. “Did I miss something?”

  “Nope,” I say. “Sounds good.”

  Calder stands and takes his plate to the sink, loads it in the dishwasher, and grabs his hat from the back of the chair. “Ready, buddy?”

  “Yep. I’ll grab my bat and glove on the way out.”

  If there’s one thing that Malik loves most in this world, it’s baseball. He’s a pitcher, and if I’m being honest, he’s a great one at that, according to several coaches he’s had in the past. The body, however, will eventually wear out, and it will not be able to operate at the same level forever. He’ll need an education, and no one can take that away from him.

  The front door shuts, and I walk to the sink and start the morning dishes.

  Just when I’m about to turn on the water, the phone rings.

  I wipe my hands off with the towel. “Hello?”

  “Where’s the fucking money?” a deep, dark voice barks across the line.

  “E-excuse me?”

  “Where’s the money?!”

  “Who is this?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me. Where’s the money? 3284 Waddington Road. That’s your address, right?”

  Then, click.

  The hair on my neck rises. I gently place the phone back on the receiver.

  Calder pokes his head in through the back door. “Hey, can I—” But he pauses mid-sentence. “Camilla? Are you all right? What’s wrong?” He steps into the doorway, his height filling the frame of the door.

  “Nothing.” I walk back to the sink and again start the dishes, my body vibrating from the exchange of words with the unknown caller.

  I feel his eyes on my back and pray he’ll just leave it alone.

  “Okay, well, I’m just going to take Malik into town and grab a few more baseballs at the Mercantile.” I hear the uneasiness in his tone.

  “Sounds good.” I smile, staring down at the soap that’s pooling from the fallen bottle.

  The phone rings again.

  I close my eyes and push the fear down.

  “Hello? Crane residence.” Calder answers this time.

  Silence.

  Then, “Yeah, she’s right here.”

  2

  Calder

  I give Camilla one last look before I leave with Malik. Something about the look she gave me when the phone rang wasn’t right at all.

  “Catch!” Malik says as he throws a baseball my way and I catch it. We hop in my truck.

  Williams, one of our black tri Aussies from the ranch—my favorite one—hops in with Malik.

  I’ve always known Malik to have a gentle spirit, but there’s just something extra special about this kid and dogs. Malik seems to fall right into the pack.

  “Have you talked to my mom about it yet?” Malik asks, his arm around Williams.

  “Not yet, bud. I will though; don’t worry. A kid needs a dog. I’ll talk to her.” I ruffle his hair with my hand. “How’d you finish the school year?”

  “Straight As. You know my mom. Won’t let me get anything less.”

  “She expects the best from you, Mal. You’re a smart kid. College is a necessity nowadays.”

  “What college did you go to?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Laurel and Daryl didn’t make you go?”

  I shrug. Tough questions from a twelve-year-old boy. I was offered a few baseball scholarships and then, “I was stupid, threw out my arm. And that was that.”

  “That’s when you stopped pitching?”

  “I did. I guess I just sorta lost the love of the game I couldn’t play anymore.”

  “Did you want to go to college?”

  “I suppose, maybe. But my passion, aside from baseball, was the ranch. I wanted my ranch one day and knew I’d have to put the work in to get there.”

  We pull up to the Borges Atwood Little League Field at the end of town, just past the Fireman’s Pavilion, grab our gear, and head to the dugout.

  Williams’s favorite drill is hitting. He gets to chase all the balls that we hit to the outfield. But he’ll have to wait, and he knows it because he lies down in the grassy patch just off the dugout.

  When Malik takes the mound, I bend to catch for him. I wonder if Camilla knows how talented he i
s at the game of baseball. The knowledge, his form, the movements, the patience, and the strategy to play the game come naturally to him.

  After warming up his arm, Malik says, “Hey, Cal!” He throws his slider, and it pops when the ball hits my glove. “You ever think about coaching Little League?”

  I laugh. “No.” I throw him the ball back.

  “Why not?” He walks back to the pitcher’s mound.

  I sit back down and wait for the ball.

  “I think you’d be a good coach.” He’s quiet for a minute, then says, “I think kids would learn a lot from you.”

  “It’s not the kids I’m worried about. It’s the parents.”

  Malik starts his windup and throws a nasty curve. “Kids need good coaches.” He smiles. “To hell with the parents.”

  I throw the ball back, grinning. “I’ll think about it.”

  I notice Williams has moved to the middle of the outfield, waiting for the ball, so I throw it out there, and he chases after it.

  After a few hours, we grab our gear, and I take Malik home.

  Camilla isn’t in the kitchen when we get to the house, so I walk out back and see her in her garden. I watch her.

  Dark wisps of her hair fall down her back, and her hips move in such a way that suggests she has no idea I’m standing here. Her sundress moves as she sways, as if she’s at peace out here in her garden. As if her husband didn’t die and she wasn’t left to raise their son alone. As if she didn’t have a ranch to worry about, bills to pay, and fences to mend. She’s strong, a lot like my mom, independent, with a take-no-shit attitude. I know she makes ends meet with her farmers market sales through September and does quilting for customers in the wintertime, but she never takes time for herself.

  Malik and her—that’s all it’s been since Joe died several years back.

  And I’ve also never seen the fear on her face that I saw earlier in the kitchen, and that’s why I’m out here.

  Camilla turns and pulls one of her earbuds out. “I didn’t know you were there.”

  “Didn’t want to scare you.”

  She approaches the fence that I rest my forearms on.