A Bridge Between Us

by K. K. Allen

  “You think the Ute boy can read?” Trip sneered.

  Every nerve jolted to attention when I heard the name of Ridge’s tribe. But why does he, like my papa, use the word in such a demeaning way? It felt wrong and dirty, and I boiled inside because of it.

  “It’s so strange,” Raven said with a contorted expression. “I would never have guessed that Ridge was Native American.” She did a double-take then squinted when she looked at him again. “He doesn’t look it.”

  Josie placed a hand on my knee and squeezed, telling me to bite my tongue. Unlike Trip, Raven didn’t mean any harm by her words. She just didn’t understand.

  “His dad is Farmer Cross,” Josie said, far more gently than I would have. “It makes sense that he’s mixed. But we probably shouldn’t worry about someone else’s business.”

  “He’s our business now that he moved to town,” Trip said with an uptick of his head.

  I lifted and eyebrow in a challenge. “You should get to know him, then. Maybe you two will become friends.”

  Trip’s laughter rocked his entire body. He even tossed his head back a little for dramatic effect. I didn’t think I could hate my friend any more than I already did. Trip had always been a little bit of a jerk, but I had never seen him react so harshly to someone he didn’t even know. Surely, Thomas Bradshaw and my papa had rubbed off on him.

  “Me?” he asked, pointing at his chest. “Friends with Ute Boy over there? No, thanks. I know you’re friendly to everyone, Camila, but you really shouldn’t be so naive all the time.”

  I gripped my glass of water with all my might. “If by naive you mean that I don’t judge someone because of their appearance or where they come from, then I guess you chose the right word.”

  “Oh, come on. You know how the town feels about the Cross family. You of all people should be on my side.”

  I shook my head. “I’ve never understood the stupid rivalry. Even if I did, Ridge had nothing to do with it. Just like I had nothing to do with it.”

  Josie squeezed my knee again. “Okay, time for a subject change. I want to talk about Camila’s epic crash on the mountain. Anyone else?”

  Emilio, Brody, and Raven joined Josie in a hearty laugh as they recalled me taking off past them only to find me fighting for my breath on the ground. Trip was still glaring at me.

  “It’s a good thing Ridge was there to save you, right, Camila?”

  I didn’t even blink before sassing back. “That’s right, Trip.”

  Trip’s lips curled up into a smile. “Maybe your papa will give him a reward when he finds out. What do you think?”

  “You wouldn’t,” I said through clenched teeth.

  “I would, and I will, if you even think about becoming friends with that boy. I saw the way you were looking at him.”

  Trip’s threat was clear, detonating the anger that had been building in my head and chest. I lifted my glass and threw the contents at his face. Water and ice smacked him, causing his jaw to fall open in surprise. His shirt and hair were soaked, and everyone in the restaurant stared back at us.

  I had just imploded, and it felt amazing—until Trip’s eyelids snapped open and his gaze landed on me. Fury was all I could see, sending red flags to every nerve ending in my body.

  I jolted from my seat and tore out of the establishment, leaving my pizza behind. After yanking my bike off the rack, I hopped on and pedaled away as fast as my legs would take me. My friends didn’t have a chance of catching me, but I still rode quickly through town and took the dirt-and-gravel off-road that led to my home.

  The last thing I wanted was to make any more trouble for Ridge than he was already dealing with, not that he’d told me much. After his mother’s disappearance, moving to a new town, and getting wrapped up in a ridiculous rivalry by default, he hadn’t had a welcoming start in Telluride.

  Later that night, I called Trip and made him a deal. I wouldn’t befriend Ridge if he promised to leave him alone.

  I lied. But so did he.

  5

  Ridge

  I liked to rise before the roosters crowed, when the sun had yet to dawn, and when I still had enough moonlight to guide my way. After dressing for my day on the farm, I pulled my orange notebook from beneath my mattress and quietly closed the door to the ranch house to avoid waking my father.

  My father. Such an informal word to use for a man I’d been estranged from for my entire life. I was more surprised than anyone else when Harold Cross requested to take me in following my mother’s disappearance six months ago. After I’d moved into the spare bedroom in his ranch house, it immediately made sense. He needed help on his farm. Who better to help than his fifteen-year-old illegitimate son who he doesn’t have to pay?

  And I wasn’t exactly sneaking around. Harold didn’t mind that I crept out before sunrise. Perhaps the fact that he hadn’t been the one to raise me provided me the luxury of loose rules, almost like I was a guest staying in his home for the short term. Or maybe he was afraid of my reactions if he were to be strict after being nonexistent for my entire life.

  Either way, I didn’t mind, especially since I got to watch the sun rise from the old twisted tree at the top of the hilltop cliff—the one Camila had revealed to me two months ago.

  I’d strategically managed to avoid the strange girl until our run-in on the mountain trail the day before. By the time she started her sneaky journey through the cornfields in the late afternoon, I made sure to be long gone. Sometimes I would be tending to my various duties on the farm when I spotted her darting through the field, then when she was out of sight, I would conveniently move to a section of land where she wouldn’t be able to spot me from the cliff if she dared to look down.

  Avoiding Camila just felt like the right thing to do. While she seemed nice enough, Harold had made it clear numerous times to beware of the Bell family across the creek. He hadn’t given too many details, but from what he did say, I got the picture.

  I first moved to the farm in springtime, and Harold sowed the seed of fear that quickly grew to my reaction when I’d spotted the young Bell girl crossing the bridge.

  “You keep your eye out for any mischief coming from the woods over there, y’hear, son? I don’t need any more trouble than I’ve already got.”

  At the time, I’d had no clue what Harold was telling me. I just knew I wasn’t safe, and I didn’t like that feeling one bit.

  “You take this just in case.” Harold shoved a worn brown hunting shotgun with a scope at me. “Someone comes onto our property, they’ll run right back to where they came from.”

  My hands had started to shake the moment the weapon touched my skin. I was no stranger to guns. As descendants of hunters and gatherers, plenty of men on the reservation carried them, but I’d never held one myself. My mom had never allowed me to go on cattle-hunting trips with my friends and their dads. She said I wasn’t old enough, but she was trying to protect me from the shame that came with being the “white-skinned boy” on the reservation. I was forced to navigate that same criticism while growing up on the rez.

  Someone from the Ute Mountain Tribe conceiving a baby with an outsider didn’t happen every day. Some people considered it a treacherous act. My father owned the land my ancestors were violently driven from in the 1800s. A Telluride settler was the worst kind of an outlander to the Utes and vice versa. Two centuries and two decades later, the wounds were still fresh. And to my peers, I was a reminder of that pain.

  I didn’t belong on that reservation. And when I held Harold’s shotgun, I knew I didn’t belong on his farm either.

  “No, thank you.” My reply was soft, but I tried to give my eyes the conviction buried down deep inside me. My mother wasn’t physically there, but her strong values for nature and human life had been ingrained in me.

  Harold accepted my response—or so I thought. The next day was a different story.

  He took me into the woods, slammed the gun against my chest, and pointed at a thick tree in the distanc
e. “We ain’t leavin’ ’til you hit that tree.”

  I definitely couldn’t argue with Harold. He saw life one way, with the heart and mind of someone who had to work hard to protect what was his. The instinct to fight to survive was built into his bones. I could see it and feel it in his way of life. He bent for those around him, working hard and following the rules, as unfair as they were. I’d only been on Cross Farm for a short time, but I could see it all so clearly.

  In the end, I accepted the shooting lessons to appease my old man. For all I knew, shooting lessons were his way of bonding. And since we’d had a lifetime without it, everything felt awkward, forced, and wrong. But they could never feel right when the one person who had always protected me was gone.

  As I sat up on the hilltop, watching the morning sun lift over the horizon, I thought about my mama and the reality of her disappearance. She wasn’t the first indigenous woman to go missing without a trace, and the odds of her turning up alive were smaller than any shred of hope I had left. Mama was young, with so much life yet to live, and what a courageous one she lived.

  I scribbled some of my thoughts into my journal, wanting to commit her memory to paper in every way I possibly could, from lessons she’d taught me to wisdoms she’d passed on. Her view on life and the challenges we all faced had always breathed so much inspiration into me. She made me feel like I could do anything.

  “Living in the moment is not about perfection, my son. Life is meant to be messy and challenging. It is our privilege to free our thoughts, sort through the chaos, and take what survives to bring us closer to our destiny. Our path is never-ending. Imperfections will challenge us, break us, and in the end, make us whole.”

  I could hear her words like a soft whisper in the wind as I covered the page with inked thoughts and sacred memories.

  Moments later, the sound of footsteps approaching jerked me from the depths of my thoughts. I slammed my notebook closed and shoved it into the back pocket of my jeans. With a whip of my head, I turned to find the one person I’d made it my goal to stay away from. She was walking up the path with her eyes pointed down.

  Camila was clearly young, yet she was a fierce little thing that knew too much. I pinched my eyebrows together in a glare to warn her to stay away from both me and Harold’s farm. She had no business trespassing time and time again. I’d done her a favor by looking the other way, but I wouldn’t do it again.

  “Go away, Wild One.”

  My voice must have surprised her, because she stopped in her tracks, and her little eyes widened on me. Wild One was a nickname I’d given her after her mountain-biking incident the day before. The way she didn’t even flinch at the gun I’d aimed at her combined with the way she’d hopped back on that bike after falling showed that the girl clearly had no regard for her own life.

  Staring back at her, I couldn’t help but get caught up in her eyes. They were the color of springtime in the cornfields when the stalks were green and lively, and glimpses of golden kernels peaked through the leaves, just like the golden swirls in her eyes. The caramel tone of her skin only heightened the contrast of them, and after just one meeting with her, I knew better than to fall for the innocence of her expression.

  A moment later, a fierce stare transformed her face. “This is public land,” she said. “You can’t tell me to go away. Besides, I showed you this hilltop. And—” Her expression changed again but to confusion. “I thought we were friends.”

  I chuckled at her absurd comment. Not only was she bold, but she was also clueless in her assumption. “Friends? Why would you think that?”

  “We ran through the fields together, you were laughing, and—” She searched my gaze as if something were missing and she was determined to find it. “You helped me after my fall yesterday.”

  “What was I going to do? Leave you gasping for air?”

  She looked lost, and something in my chest twitched at being the cause of her disappointment. I wasn’t a bully, but I sure felt like one.

  “You’re a Bell,” I said finally, as if that would explain it all. I kind of thought it might.

  She folded her arms across her chest and glared. “And what about it?”

  “Our parents aren’t friends.”

  “Doesn’t mean we can’t be.”

  I laughed again, adjusting my position on the tree to get a full view of her. She looked taller than I remembered from just the day before as she stood there in her green sundress and worn, dirty white sneakers.

  “Why do you want to be my friend so badly, anyway, huh? You don’t even know me.”

  Her jaw hardened, and she jerked her chin up before she spoke. “I dunno. Maybe I don’t like keeping enemies. And even if I did, it’s better to keep your enemies close. Isn’t that what they say?”

  I nodded. Her intentions were pure. Just one look at her showed her innocence and curiosity. She might not have been a direct threat to me, but if either of our parents caught us together, that could change really fast. Her friends didn’t seem to care for me much either.

  “We don’t have to be enemies, Camila. But I think you know why friendship is out of the question. Besides, you’re just a little girl. You should be watching cartoons at home with your parents.”

  She stepped closer, releasing her hands as she walked. “I’ll be fourteen in two weeks. And I’m not leavin’. If anyone is going anywhere, it’s you, Farm Boy.”

  Camila and I shared the same birthday week. I would be sixteen in two weeks, but if I told her, she would have yet another excuse to want to befriend me. Apparently, my avoidance didn’t matter, because a moment later, she plopped onto the root of the tree inches from me.

  I let it go for the sake of the peace I’d come up there for. Maybe two people who didn’t get along could sit next to each other. Soon enough, it was like she wasn’t even there. Each of us was lost in our own thoughts as we stared out at the rising sun.

  “How do you know so much about our parents not liking each other?”

  Her question came out of nowhere, throwing me off. I thought about what to say, because it wouldn’t be much. Ever since I’d gone shooting with Harold, I couldn’t get the story of our feuding families off my mind. After an entire century, they should have been able to find peace. Maybe Camila knew more than her innocent eyes revealed.

  “Do you know the history of our families?”

  She was the one who had grown up here. If anyone should be dealing information, it should be her.

  Camila scoffed and folded her arms across her chest. “Key word, history.”

  I shook my head, frustrated, which wasn’t part of my makeup. I’d been taught to “go with the flow.” Nothing would get solved in anger or frustration. Those emotions only distorted the true problems that lay underneath.

  “History doesn’t mean it no longer exists, Wild One. The opposite is true. History is more than a time period or an event. It’s born into our DNA and embedded in our bones. Without history, there’s no future. And the more you know and understand, the more power you have to right the wrongs of our ancestors.”

  She stretched out her legs and sighed. “My papa doesn’t go into detail about what happened, but I know the Cross-Bell feud started over a century ago when your family started buying farmland across the creek from mine. Land disputes weren’t uncommon back then. But that was nearly one hundred years ago, Ridge. What is the point of dwelling on something that could easily be righted with a simple handshake?”

  Camila’s attitude toward the subject intrigued me. “Is that really what you believe? That our parents should shake hands and begin to live in peace?”

  “I don’t understand why it can’t be done.”

  My chest warmed, and I smiled, enamored with her and her goodness. It could so easily be destroyed with some simple truths. I didn’t want to be the one to destroy a young girl’s optimistic mind, but I felt like I had to.

  “For starters, someone would have to apologize. Do you think that should be your fat
her or mine?”

  Camila seemed to be at a loss for words until she frowned. “I don’t know.” Then she turned to me, her eyes still wild, but they held a hint of sadness too. “Did my papa do something to hurt yours?”

  “I don’t know about that. I don’t even know how the feud initially got started, but I do know that while your grandparents were planting their first bare root vines to begin their vineyard venture, my grandparents’ farm was filled with livestock. On one side of the land, the Bell family was struggling to keep the animals from the Cross farm off their property. On the other side of the land, the Cross ranch animals were disappearing, one by one. This went on for years until, one day, a horse that had gone missing from the Cross farm showed back up on their property with a gunshot wound in the head, infuriating my ancestors. So the rivalry continued, and a month later, on the first day of the first Bell family harvest, a fire lit a row of vines, nearly destroying the brand-new vineyard.”

  “You sure know a lot for someone who doesn’t talk much.”

  I turned to her, frowning. “And you’re pretty mouthy for someone who speaks more than they listen. You sure you want to be my friend?”

  She glared, her small green eyes shooting lasers. “I’m starting to change my mind about that.”

  “Why don’t you, then? We don’t belong as friends. Go find some kids your own age.”

  “What is your problem?” she shrieked, and for the first time since I’d met her, I could see her age written all over her. Camila acted tough, wild, and uncaring, but deep down was more than she presented, and that frightened me the most.

  I sighed, figuring it was time to end the conversation for good and put it all out there. I’d meant what I told Camila the first time I met her about not wanting to waste my words. And I’d already said too much. In fact, I had never spoken so much to anyone besides my mother in one sitting.

  I stood, extending a hand to Camila to help her up, but she ignored it and got up on her own.