by K. K. Allen
“You jerk!” she squealed while taking a swat at my arm. “It’s not funny. Whatever was out there scared the hell out of me.”
I jumped away before she could make contact and laughed again. “Since when are you scared of a few squirrels in the woods?”
She balled her hands into fists and slammed them to her sides. “I didn’t say I heard squirrels. I heard footsteps and an animal, then something went by my head so fast that I couldn’t see it, but I swear to you, Ridge, something—or someone was out there.”
I rolled my eyes. Camila was still a wild one, and her constant flair for the dramatics was nothing new. “And where would they have come from, huh? My dad and I have been out here all day.” It would take a person days to walk through the land surrounding our properties, and she knew it. I pointed behind her toward her house. “Maybe someone from your party went for a walk and got lost.”
Camila’s expression changed as she looked back toward the woods, like she was considering my words. “I suppose that could be it.” When she exhaled next, she was still close to me, and I got a good whiff of her breath.
My gaze narrowed on her. “Are you drunk?”
Guilt flooded her expression, and her mouth opened before she snapped it shut.
“No wonder you were hearing things out there. Does your papa know?”
Her eyes widened, and she threw herself at me, gripping my shirt with both of her small hands. “No, and you can’t tell him.”
Heat flared in my chest. “Why would I tell Patrick Bell anything? And give him more reason to kill the only business we have left? No, thank you.” As much as I didn’t want to blame Camila for her father’s business dealings, it was hard not to.
“Papa said he hasn’t done anything and that he has no reason to cause your family harm. I want to believe him, Ridge. But what’s happening to you and Harold isn’t fair, no matter who is behind it.”
I wanted to believe her, but I also wanted to hate her. She was impossible to argue with or stay mad at for a second. Frustrated, I aimed for a subject change. “What are you doing in the woods, anyway? Don’t you have a party to be at?” Then I took another look at her attire. “Looks like you’re missing out on all the fun.”
Still appearing flushed from the wine, she looked down at her dress and bit down on her lip. When she looked back up, something had changed in her expression. “I hate this feud, Ridge. All I could think about all day was how you and Harold should be there too. Do you think our parents even know why they’re fighting anymore?”
“Probably not. Our fathers are proud men. Protective of their land to the point that they’d do practically anything to keep it safe from outsiders. Even if that means fighting each other.”
“But why?”
“Why” was Camila’s famous question. Why continue to hold onto a grudge that neither of them started? Why continue to fan the flames of hate when everyone had the same goal in mind? I’d resolved that we would never know the depth of our families’ war.
I rubbed my thumb across Camila’s cheek. I hadn’t meant to care for her the way I did. She was only sixteen, yet she still felt like my only real friend in that town. “I don’t know, Wild One.” I pulled my hand away, trying to ignore the look she gave me—like she already missed my touch. “We might never know.”
I shouldn’t have noticed a lot of things about Camila, like how her eyes changed shades of green based on the backdrop around her, the way they sparkled in the sun and lit up when she had something exciting to say, or the way her long, thick lashes fell over her cheeks when she felt relaxed while leaning against the tree. I shouldn’t have noticed the way her bratty, know-it-all tone had changed into something more poignant, thoughtful, and introspective. But Camila loved to talk philosophy and history in a way that held my attention like no one else could.
Also, I shouldn’t have wanted to protect her in a way that she didn’t ever ask for or need. But ever since we’d stumbled upon that mine below the hillside, I hadn’t been able to stop worrying about her. She was still wild and reckless, with no regard for her own safety, and while that made her fascinating to me, it also propelled me to think about her far more than was right.
I shoved all those thoughts aside. “You should be getting back.”
She nodded, though she looked like she had no desire to go back. Then she faced me with the most heartbreaking stare that made me want to hold her and never let her go. “Did you really mean what you said to me?”
Her words came out in a rush, blowing through me like a winter storm. She didn’t have to elaborate on her question. I’d told her that she meant nothing to me when the opposite was true. I didn’t deserve her forgiveness, but she was there, offering it to me on a silver platter.
“No, Camila. I didn’t mean it. Not at all.”
She took a deep breath and smiled. That was all it took to put us back together, but I knew it wouldn’t last. It couldn’t.
“C’mon, I’ll walk you to the bridge.” Then I smiled softly and tucked her under my arm. “So the boogeyman doesn’t get you.”
When she glared up at me, I winked and started forward.
“One day, when the vineyard is mine,” Camila said with so much conviction that she almost sounded angry, “you’ll get an invite to every event, every harvest, and every farmer’s market.”
I chuckled. “You’re still drunk.”
“In fact,” she said, ignoring me, “you won’t even need an invite. You’ll just waltz on over, any time you please. We’ll drink wine from the barrel and stroll through the vineyard. We’ll pick grapes from the vines then cross that damn bridge to snap corn off your stalks too.”
“Whoa, now,” I teased. “Getting a little ahead of yourself. Who says I’ll still be here?”
The look she gave me next made me regret my words. Even if she didn’t know how true they were, the sadness washing over her face twisted me up inside.
“You planning on going somewhere, Ridge?”
“I was thinking about it.”
She paused a moment before shaking it off. “You still have the rest of the year left before you graduate to think about it.”
We’d talked about the future, but lately, my thoughts had been changing. I could graduate high school from anywhere, and college wasn’t something I wanted to pursue. A fancy degree wasn’t necessary for farming or going on the adventures I’d been dreaming about. “I was thinking about getting away for a bit after the season’s up,” I said, waving my arms around me at the field I’d only just made a dent in harvesting. “Harold doesn’t really need me here during the off-season, and I’m almost done with school. I can finish anywhere.”
“But you will come back, right? Harold will need you in the spring, and—”
“I didn’t ask for all this.” Though I didn’t mean to interrupt her, I never knew when she was finished talking. “I’m not like you. I grew up spending my days hiking through the mountain lands, wrangling horses, and catching my dinners in the lake. Part of me will always crave that adventure. Riding a tractor can only fulfill me so much.”
“So, then go on an adventure, then come right back home. Or take up more jobs at Mountain Village, like you mentioned. Harold needs you. I need you.”
Something caught in my chest with her words, but I ignored it with a quick shake of my head. “You don’t need me, Camila.” I smiled. “You don’t need anyone with that hard head of yours.”
She glared, and I sighed. We couldn’t start that same conversation again.
“It’s not just about me going on an adventure, Camila. This is about me needing to find my own way. I’m eighteen now. I’m free to figure out what’s next without being tied to this land just yet.”
“Where will you go?” she asked. “Back to the reservation?”
I let out a laugh. “The rez may still hold my roots, but it’s not where I belong. I guess I’m still trying to figure out where I do.”
Her chin quivered. “After all this ti
me, you still don’t know? This is your home. Right here. You’re acting like someone’s got you tied up in chains, telling you how to live your life. Your problem isn’t where you belong. It’s why you don’t believe that you deserve it.”
I blew out a breath and looked off in the distance. “You’re too young to understand.”
My words pissed her off, which was why I had chosen them. I didn’t say things by accident, and she knew it.
She righted her shoulder, and the determination I’d come to know so well took over her expression. Then she started to walk away, but she swiveled around just as fast. “Why does everyone think I’m too young to understand? I’m not too young. You’re just too scared.”
She slammed her hand into my chest, and I caught it, pressing it against me while glaring down at her with just as much intensity as she was aiming at me. Then she growled in frustration before stomping away down the center of the field, back toward the woods.
I wanted to fire back at her. Though I was the calm one between us, that didn’t mean I couldn’t have a temper when she pushed me, and boy, did Camila Bell push the hell out of me at times. But before I could even open my mouth to call after her, a pair of headlights flashed, causing me to turn in their direction.
The engine of Harold’s tractor roared as it drew closer, and the large machine picked up speed until I realized he was headed straight down the corner of the cornfield, right for Camila. Until that moment, she hadn’t even turned around to acknowledge the lights coming for her. I always worried that Camila believed she was invincible. She wasn’t, and the proof was in the tractor barreling toward her.
16
Camila
I shook as I walked away from Ridge.
You’re too young to understand.
Repeating his words like a broken record, I grew angrier by the second. Since Ridge and I had become friends two years ago, he had never made me feel “too young to understand.” He wasn’t the condescending type. Instead, he listened and chose his words carefully, and we always had an unmistakable comfort between us.
Maybe I’d grown too comfortable with Ridge, because his words cut me the deepest. The fact that he’d been thinking about leaving Telluride and possibly never coming back, without bothering to tell me, hurt. Harvest season would be over in six weeks, give or take. That wasn’t long enough to get used to the idea of Ridge leaving.
I’d always thought the two of us would be sitting on the hilltop when we got old and wrinkly, admiring the land that belonged to us. We would work as one, because whatever feud had lasted over a century would be over. I was looking forward to that day almost as much as all the days in between. He was about to ruin everything.
I couldn’t walk away from him fast enough. When the headlights blasted me from behind, I assumed Ridge had gotten back on his tractor. It wasn’t until the machine’s engine sounded like it was getting closer to me did I whip around to confront him again. Does he want a fight? I definitely had one in me. But the moment I faced the other direction, I had to throw my arms across my face to shield my eyes from the blinding light.
My heart pounded as I realized too late that the tractor was coming at me, like Ridge wanted to run me over with it. Before I could think what to do next, a hard body slammed into me, arms wrapped around me, then we sailed through the air as I screamed at the top of my lungs. We landed hard, and I realized that Ridge was beneath me. From the way his eyes were squeezed shut and the sound of his moans, I knew he’d taken the brunt of the impact.
“What the—?” If Ridge is the one who grabbed me, then who was driving toward me in the tractor?
A door slammed, and I rolled off Ridge to sit up. It was too dark to make out much, but a pair of dirty-jean-covered legs walked toward me. Harold Cross leaned down, a furious scowl twisting his sunburned face, then he grabbed me under the arm and yanked me to my feet.
My heart was in my throat. I’d never been so scared in my life. Harold wore his natural scowl, but his gaze held something darker that frightened me to the core.
“Well, well, well, look who we have here. I should stick a stake in the ground of your daddy’s vineyard and tie you to it by your neck, after all your family has done to mine.”
His breath reeked like an ashtray, and his tone was nearly too gravelly to make sense of. Harold’s eyes were dark brown, almost black, not nearly as beautiful as the chocolate brown and golden hues in his son’s eyes. But his violent threat scared me most of all.
I tried to shake him off me, but he held on too tight. “Let me go,” I demanded.
He let out a coughing laugh. “Your daddy know you’re here? Did he send you to spy on me? To poison my harvest?” He jerked my arm, bringing me closer to him. “Tell me.”
“I—” My vocal cords wouldn’t act normal, with my nerves getting in the way. “I mean no harm. Truly. I came by to ask if you wanted any table grapes from our harvest.” My lie rolled like butter off my tongue, but my voice pitched an octave higher. “And no, sir, my papa doesn’t know I’m here.” I gulped. “I was hoping we could keep that between us.” A silent prayer whispered through my thoughts as I let out another breath.
“And why on God’s earth should we do that?”
Ridge stepped forward and pressed his hand to his father’s chest. “Let her go. Like she said, she means no harm.”
Harold’s head snapped toward Ridge. “And you know this how?”
Ridge bowed his head. “Look at her. She looks innocent enough to me.”
My heart, still beating a mile a minute, sank. It seemed like he wanted to make no claim to the fact that we’d become friends. Right then was the perfect time to admit that he knew me and my intentions were good.
“That right, Miss Bell?” Harold asked, narrowing his accusing eyes at me. “Are you as innocent as my son here claims? You mean no harm?”
I whipped my head from left to right. “No, sir. No harm at all.”
The grip on my arm tightened like he was planning to rip it right off. “That why you sneak through my fields when you think no one’s lookin’?”
My eyes shot open wide.
“I’ve seen you galivanting through my corn like it’s your personal playground. Guess I was hopin’ my son here would shoot you before I ever had to.” He let out a low chuckle as he shrugged his free shoulder. Then I saw the shotgun in his grip.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Why don’t you ask Ridge what happened the one and only time he was stupid enough to point a gun at me. It didn’t go his way. I’ll tell you that much.”
Harold tossed Ridge a questioning glance, but I could feel Ridge’s eyes on me while mine remained on Harold’s.
“You should know the laws if you’re going to be threatening me, sir. You’ll go straight to jail, and my papa will have every right to buy your land the moment the state condemns it. That your plan?”
“Not if you just threatened my son’s life and I shot you to defend him.”
“Did I threaten your life, Ridge?”
Ridge took a step forward. “No, you did not. Let her go, Harold.”
Harold tilted his head at me, surprise written clearly on his face. “Maybe it’s not your daddy I need to be cautious of after all. Maybe it’s you, darlin’. Seems you’ve got more balls than a pit at Chuck-e-Cheese.”
“That, I do. Now, I suggest you let me go before you leave a bruise that I can tell my papa about. Trust me—he’d love to hear all about it.”
Ridge stepped closer to Harold, his hand still pressed against his chest. “C’mon, Harold. Leave the girl alone.”
Harold tightened his mouth and looked between Ridge and me. Then he released me and took a step back with a growl. “Your daddy would love that, wouldn’t he?” he roared. “It’s not enough that your old man ripped my family apart years ago or killed off my business. He’d gladly do all of it again. But this time, he won’t stop there, will he? He’ll take my land and bury us all in it before he ever makes things right.”
; I rubbed my arm where he’d grabbed me and shook my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. My papa says he never did a thing to your family.”
Harold scoffed. “Your papa is a liar, Miss Bell. Now go on. Get out of here before I change my mind and it’s you who gets buried in the cornfields you love so much.”
I didn’t wait to see who could win the staring contest, and I didn’t give Ridge another glance. Instead, I let my bare feet carry me as fast as they could.
“And don’t come back!” Harold shouted.
I darted through the darkened woods, over the bridge, and back into my vineyard without stopping to catch my breath.
17
Ridge
“Are you fucking crazy? You could have killed her!” I roared. As soon as Camila was out of earshot, I stomped off after Harold, ready to let him have it.
Harold whipped around, pointing the butt of his shotgun at me. “I was just scaring her a little,” he grumbled. “You should be wishing I had killed that little brat. She’s a nuisance. And soon to be the heir to the Bell throne. She’ll be your problem one day, not mine. Good to set her straight now.”
“You’re not helping the problem, you know. This goddamn feud between you and Patrick Bell only hurts you both.”
“No, son.” Harold faced me and pointed between us. “It only hurts us. The Bells have the upper hand in this town, always keeping us on the defensive—what business they let us have and what land we get approved to purchase. If it were up to that greedy asshole, he would own the entire city. What I did back there—” He gestured to the spot where Camila had almost been mowed over. “That was for you. For your future on this farm.”
“Well, then I don’t want it. Not like this. We’re not the Wild West.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Our guns may have changed shape. Our strategies may have changed. But there’s no escaping where you came from. Not here.”
