A Bridge Between Us

by K. K. Allen

  Leaving my bathroom, I focus on the here and now—namely tonight’s festivities. Most of my wardrobe boxes are still sealed, but I still have a closet full of old clothes. Something should still fit me. I head to a back corner of my closet and spy an old yellow sundress that is absolutely wrong for tonight, considering it was my favorite summer dress when I was fourteen. I run my fingers over the worn cotton fabric and shiver, remembering the exact reason it was my favorite.

  “A little girl could get lost in these cornfields, dressed like that.”

  Ridge’s quiet voice is just a memory, but it’s as clear as the day he said the words. My chest squeezes, and my next deep breath fights through my tightened airways. Every thought of him always brings the bad with the good, and there’s no getting around it, going back, or forgetting. I’m alone with my thoughts, which threaten to suffocate me whenever they come. And as I always do, I stuff all thoughts of him to the back of my mind and try to cope with whatever task is at hand.

  Red fabric catches my eye, and I immediately go to it. I purchased the dress on a whim in high school with Ridge in mind, but the moment I brought it home and Mama took one look at it, she ordered me to put it back in the closet. It has stayed here all these years, and though it’s not exactly weather appropriate, I have no plans to escape into the chilly night.

  I slip on the flowy robe-like fabric and pull the long sheer sleeves over my arms. The dress has a slit up the right side that reaches midthigh and a plunging neckline that stops just above my belly button. For a last-minute wardrobe find, it works pretty well.

  After curling my hair and pulling it up into a half ponytail, I choose some simple silver jewelry for my neck and ears then pluck a pair of heeled black boots from my closet. The whole ensemble is a bit too elegant for my taste, but tonight’s affair isn’t meant to be simple. The soiree awaiting me is a celebration of sorts, one where I’m the guest of honor. Everyone is trying desperately to move on after my papa’s death, and they’re looking to me to lead the way.

  As soon as I begin to descend the mahogany staircase, not only does the scent of what’s in the kitchen bring my senses to life, but the hearty laughter of my mom, the vineyard workers, and our close friends reels me into the present.

  This is real. This is happening.

  As heir to the Bell Family Vineyard and Winery, I’ve come to take what’s mine—what used to always feel like mine. And I’ll feel that way again.

  My first order of business: to right the wrongs that have cursed my family for over a century and rewrite the future before it’s too late.

  Chapter 41

  Ridge

  Flickering lights dance on the Mediterranean villa as the party lives on. I never expected to be invited to the homecoming celebration, though I would not have gone if I had been. While a truce exists between farms now, an underlying tension remains.

  Still, my curiosity got the better of me, and I hiked up the snow-covered mountain to reach the hilltop in the dark. Being sheathed in darkness is a benefit when you want to remain invisible to the only person in your life who has ever truly seen you. But that was a long time ago.

  For the past three months, word has spread like wildfire about Camila Bell coming back to town. “Roll out the red carpets. Patrick Bell’s heir is coming home.” Those might not have been the locals’ exact words, but they spoke of her coming home as if she’s royalty. With the Bell Family Vineyard being an agricultural staple for our small town, I guess I can understand why. But emotions are definitely mixed among the townsfolk, since most of them remember the incident that took place before she moved away.

  So many different versions of what happened that night have circulated, but Harold was there, and he told me what he saw—that a hunter trespassed and mistook Camila for an animal. Bruno took off toward the commotion in the woods, putting Harold on alert. Camila ran in the direction of the cornfields, fear on her face, and Harold spotted a man holding a bow and arrow behind her. He pointed his shotgun right at the man’s chest. Camila tripped, and Harold fired, killing the hunter on the spot. Not until he ripped away the man’s hunting mask did he recognize him as Jason Lachey’s brother, Dave.

  I still get chills when I imagine the events as Harold explained them. The other stories floating around, the ones in which Camila thought Dave Lachey was purposely chasing her through the woods, are too disturbing to believe. I took comfort in knowing that Camila was alive and well and ready to live out her dreams.

  Camila always knew she would run her papa’s vineyard. She was so proud to one day contribute to her family’s legacy, and I knew her well enough not to second-guess her. Once Camila’s mind was set on something, her determination won out every single time. I assume nothing has changed in that regard, even if it did take her papa’s death for her to come back to Telluride.

  I don’t know what I expected to see or feel when I made the late-night trek up the cold hillside, but the heavy weight on my chest tells me I’m not going to figure it out tonight. Too many hearts have been broken. Hatred has won. And while Camila will carry on her father’s legacy, I’m still trying to salvage what I can of mine.

  Camila and I may be neighbors again, but we are right back to where we started—enemies with a bridge between us.

  Pressing my palms into the snow behind me, I make a move to stand, then something in the upper story of the villa catches my eye. I recognize the balcony to Camila’s bedroom and the French doors that open onto it.

  Until this moment, no one from the party has stepped outside. I assume their attire leaves them much too cold to dare catch a chill. But when a puffy white jacket, dark-brown hair, and a face that often haunts my dreams appear on the balcony, my heart stops midbeat.

  I breathe out slowly, releasing a sheer curtain over a sight I can’t quite believe. It’s as if I’ve been punched with the reality I should have been prepared for. But no one can feel prepared when facing the ghost of their past.

  A vision of Camila from the last time I held her in my arms invades my mind. Her long beautiful hair that hung over her shoulders and brushed my naked chest as she rode me. Her anger at what she felt was my betrayal, exhibited in the quick jerk of her hips as she took me deeper. Her long white fingernails that dug into my chest, clinging to me as if I were going to vanish at any moment. Camila’s gorgeous green eyes that were focused on mine, daring me to look away with that same ferocity that had intrigued me from the start. Her long lashes that fell to the tops of her cheeks as her dark-pink lips parted just enough to let a high-pitched moan escape at the first sign of another orgasm.

  She was in command that secret night we found our way back together, taking the reins and pleasuring me in all the ways I had been dreaming about. I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t deserve her after what I had done and where I had been. If Camila Bell had a chance in hell of following her dreams, then it would have to be without the weight of our families’ history.

  So I walked away from her again, hating myself more and more every step I took in the wrong direction, knowing she would never forgive me for it.

  I watch now as she grips the balcony rail while she looks out across the downward slope of the vineyard. Even from here, I can see the longing for what once was on her face. She looks toward the entrance to the woods and the bridge that brought her to me in the beginning. I can tell she’s thinking of the dreams we once shared before they all turned to nightmares.

  Or maybe she isn’t thinking about any of that at all. Maybe I’m the one who feels the longing in my gut, in my soul, and in every single beat of my heart. That would explain the ache in my chest, which intensifies every time I think of my Wild One.

  As if she can hear me saying her name, she looks up in my direction. For a second, I can imagine our eyes meeting again and that same spark in me fighting the same fire we shared when we were younger. I think of the taste of her lips as I gave in to feelings that couldn’t be hidden any longer.

  We were a wildfire, and together, we m
ade a firestorm—a tornado of heat and wind—with our families’ hollow pasts driving a wedge between us.

  But life is so much different now. Our pasts have been cruel. Our time together was over before it ever truly began. And just as our ancestors have taught us, there is no such thing as rewriting the past. If anything, history will repeat itself.

  Chapter 42

  Camila

  “Camila, come help me in the kitchen.”

  Mama’s voice sounds chipper, carrying well over the crowd noise coming mostly from the living room.

  “Coming, Mama.” I take a glance around the grand entrance hall. It seems everyone was invited tonight, from my papa’s old poker buddies, to the vineyard workers, to long-time customers. My old acquaintances from school are here, too, which is strange, since I haven’t spoken to many of them since I moved away. But that’s the thing about small towns. No one ever becomes a stranger.

  I sneak the rest of the way down the staircase and into the kitchen. When I spot Mama hard at work, I laugh. She doesn’t need my help at all. The paella is already done, warming in a big pot on the stove, while a few men and women are bustling around her, preparing the bread, dessert, and appetizers.

  “Looks like you have it covered, Mama.”

  She smiles at me over her shoulder, the skin around her eyes crinkling around the edges. At first glance, it appears that she has barely aged. Her caramel skin is still smooth, save for the deep frown lines around her mouth and the gray streaks through her dark-brown hair. She might be fifty-five, but she’s just as beautiful as she ever was.

  Mama reaches out a hand, and when I take it, she pulls me to her. “It doesn’t feel that way. I haven’t cooked a feast for this many people in years.”

  Joy lights up her eyes, causing a pang to hit my heart.

  “You miss it, don’t you?”

  She nods, her smile slipping. “I miss him too, mija. He was a hard worker, your papa. Despite our differences, I loved how much he loved this place. His passion kept us together for so long.”

  “And his passion broke you both too. I know, Mama.” I frown, and my heart feels heavy. I hate the reminder of how my parents fell apart. Sometimes I blame myself for what became of them. If I had never fallen in love with Ridge, I wouldn’t have betrayed my papa’s wishes. I wouldn’t have left Trip on the night of the dance, my papa wouldn’t have become so infuriated with me, I wouldn’t have taken off that night in search of a necklace I never found, and I wouldn’t have ended up alone in the woods with a masked man who still haunts my dreams. Maybe then my parents wouldn’t have had a constant reason to argue after I moved out of the house. When Papa buried himself in his work more than ever before, my mama felt left behind and alone.

  My hand moves to the spot on my neck where my necklace once hung. I know better than to wish for a different fate than I was handed. As badly as I want to, there’s no use dwelling in the past. I will never regret loving Ridge Cross. I hope my mama doesn’t have regrets either.

  “He loved you so much,” I offer softly.

  Her expression changes again, to a hardened one she adopted from having to stand up to her stubborn husband. “All that man had to do while I prepared for events like this was drink his bourbon and light up cigars with his boys in the casita.”

  I laugh and wrap an arm around Mama while letting my cheek rest on her shoulder. “You were always so good to us. Thank you for helping out tonight. I know it’s hard for you.”

  She slips a cautious look my way. “For you, too, mija. Don’t think you can fool me with that painted-on smile and this big, fancy party. It’s been ten years since you’ve lived here. In a lifetime, that’s not that long.”

  “I’m fine.” I repeat the words in my mind, like I might eventually believe them.

  Mama’s eyes search mine before she lets out a sigh and squeezes the arm I have wrapped around her shoulders. “Well, for what it’s worth, your papa would have been so proud to know you’ve chosen to carry out the family legacy. He was already thrilled about your schooling and all your travel. In a way, I think he always lived vicariously through you.”

  Her expression grows wistful. She’s spoken to me about her many wishes, and convincing Papa to take her away on vacations was one of them. He dedicated his life to the vineyard, and Mama was along for the ride, whether she was unhappy or not. She’s unquestionably loyal, patient, and the kindest person I’ll ever know, which is why she never felt the need to divorce him. She always held out hope that he would see what he’d lost.

  “You think?”

  “Oh, yes. Patrick always wanted to travel, but he never made time for it. He always said he wanted something different for you—something more than he would have ever allowed for himself. Hence the reason he pushed you so hard to leave.”

  A dark cloud passes through my thoughts. “Sometimes I got the sense that he wanted me out of the way.”

  Mama purses her lips, and she shakes her head. “No, mija. How could you ever think that? He loved you very much. He always lit up at the thought of giving you this place, and he always believed you would do great things with it.” She frowns. “I will say this, though. I think there were things he didn’t want you to see over the past ten years. Bad business deals he made, the financial hardship he underwent, and the quality he sacrificed to bottle more wine more often. It just all started to go downhill. He barely spoke of it, but it was impossible to ignore that he’d lost sight of why he loved this place.”

  I hate to think about my papa losing his grip on this vineyard. How could this place possibly come up against financial hardship? It doesn’t make sense, but I’m sure I’ll find out more than I ever wanted to know soon enough.

  My throat becomes thick with emotion. “Well. He made his choices.”

  She nods. “He did. And he was very happy once. I think he was always fighting to get back to that happy place. But in the process, he missed out on so much.” A beat of heavy silence falls over us, then she squeezes my hand again. “Promise me, mija. Promise me that you will never stop doing whatever it is that makes you happy. Whether it be travel or taking more classes.” She looks out the long window above the sink toward the fields. “These vines have a tricky way of digging deep into your soul and entangling you with their roots. And let me tell you, Camila. Feeling trapped is a curse I would never dream for you to bear.”

  For a second, I think of the haunting truth of her words. Papa’s behavior and his need for revenge based on an ancient family feud was out of control. The rage that overcame him when he found out about Ridge and me is still a haunting memory. Being torn from the person you love feels very much the same as being trapped. But he never tried to see my side of things.

  After we finish preparing the rest of dinner and stick some side dishes into the oven, I help Mama out to the party to find her a seat. She has been in the kitchen all day, and I insist that she take it easy. We have staff to do the serving.

  “Welcome home, Camila. I think a congratulations is in order.”

  I look up to find Thomas Bradshaw, whose smile is failing to meet his eyes. My stomach churns at the phony congratulations, and I know this encounter is only the first of many to come.

  “Thank you, Thomas. It’s nice to be back.”

  He nods, assessing me with his eyes. “No one is more excited to have you back than your mother, of course, but I know my son is eager to get reacquainted as well. You and Trip were quite chummy back in the day. Perhaps you will be again.”

  I push out a laugh, trying to hide my discomfort. Even after ten years, Thomas is still hinting for us to become more. “Surely Trip has found a wife by now.” I know he hasn’t, but I hope my comment is enough to keep Thomas at bay.

  “You know my son. He’s a picky one, that boy. Trust me. I’ve been putting the pressure on for years. I’m ready for grandbabies by now.”

  Though I’ve always thrown up caution flags around Thomas Bradshaw, he’s certainly throwing me off tonight. His hearty t
one almost gives me the belief that he wants to work around any animosity we’ve shared in the past, and maybe that’s not such a bad thing, seeing as we’ll be working together.

  “Trip was going to come tonight, but a client dinner pulled him away.”

  I don’t care enough to question what Thomas means by “client dinner,” so I allow the rush of relief to wash over me, knowing that an awkward reunion has been avoided. During my short visits, Trip and his sister, Raven, were two people I tried to avoid at all costs.

  “Well,” I say, pushing out a smile, “I’ll be happy to see him when we run into each other again. I hope he’s doing well.”

  The confused look Thomas gives me next and the questionable glance at mama cause a stirring in my gut.

  “What is it?” I look between Mama and Thomas with a laugh. “What am I missing here?”

  My mama pats my leg while shooting Thomas a warning glare. “Nothing that needs to be discussed tonight, Camila. Drink wine. Be merry. Tomorrow will be a day for business.”

  For the next hour, while I mingle with old friends and family, my mama’s words continue to shake me. Josie finally snaps me out of it with a pointed look before grabbing my hand and pulling me around the foyer and down the back hallway.

  When we reach the arched wooden door that leads down to the wine cellar, she throws me a grin over her shoulder, and I laugh. She and I, sneaking downstairs into the cave to sip from the barrels of all the blended wines my parents have recently been sampling, feels all too familiar. We always giggled too much and shared all our secrets.

  Plenty of barrels are ready, but we’re older now, so sneaking wine is no longer necessary. She quickly scans the section of vintage wine on the far wall, grabs one, and sets it on an old wooden table that has tree stumps for legs. “Sit,” she says, her tone warning me that a lecture is to come.

  I sit slowly as a sense of warning swirls through me. “What is this about, Josie? You realize we have practically an entire vineyard of wine upstairs at the party.”