by K. K. Allen
Ridge pulls back slightly to look at me. “But what?”
I hesitate to tell him what I’m thinking. That night was so long ago, and despite what anyone believes happened, it’s over. “I can’t stop thinking about that mine.”
He blows out a breath. “I told you not to go back to that mine alone. You promised me you wouldn’t. It’s creepy, and you know that area is dangerous.”
“I was so upset about my necklace that I wasn’t thinking. And you weren’t answering your phone.”
Guilt fills his expression. “I’ll never forgive myself for not being there. At the time, I thought I was doing the right thing. I’m so sorry.” He bows his head and touches his forehead to mine.
“Please stop blaming yourself for what happened to me. What Dave did was not your fault. But how did he enter that section of land? There aren’t any roads at the edge of our property line in the woods, and beyond that, he’d have to travel over a massive mountain range to even get near an access road. So, how did he do it? No one even questioned it. And what if I wasn’t the only one he hurt while hunting?”
“He couldn’t have snuck into the woods through the vineyard roads?”
I shake my head. “No way. Not without security cameras picking something up.”
Ridge shrugs. “Then I don’t know, Camila. Dave was a sneaky bastard.”
I search his eyes, hoping he doesn’t think I’m totally crazy. “Do you think there could be an access road at the other end of the mine?”
He considers my words before he gives me a slow nod. “That’s very possible. But does it matter? Dave’s dead. You can feel peace, knowing he can’t hurt anyone ever again.”
I shudder. “That’s the thing. I don’t feel peace. I don’t feel closure. I’d thought seeing him dead that night was all I needed to put that terror behind me, but it’s never left. I still feel like he’s out there, spying on me, waiting in the weeds to take aim and shoot.”
Ridge’s face grows even sadder. “How can I help?”
“You already are,” I whisper, blinking back tears. “Just by believing me. Just by listening.” I don’t want to keep rehashing that dark, lonely period of my life when he wasn’t part of it. I just want to move forward with him now that there’s nothing and no one in the world to try to stop us.
“I should go,” I say softly. “Every second I’m not at that vineyard, Thomas Bradshaw is probably planning his next move to eject me from my livelihood.”
Ridge hugs me tighter. “Don’t go yet. I just got you back.”
Smiling, I touch my nose to his. “You have me. Besides, I’m right next door if you need me.” I wink and wiggle out from beneath him to search for my dress. It’s still at the foot of the bed. I slip it on and glance at where Ridge is still lying, his eyes glued to me.
“I love you, Camila.”
My heart squeezes. I missed those words so much and certainly did not expect to hear them today. Ridge and I had a great night, but we still need time to heal and figure out how to move forward together.
I walk toward him and sit at the edge of the bed as he props himself up with his elbow, then I lean down and dust my lips across his. “I love you too.”
His smile is the last thing I see before our lips meet in a slow kiss and he pulls me back into bed.
By the time I park in my driveway, it’s nearly noon. I don’t bother to change. Instead, I take a long walk around the vineyard, something I haven’t done nearly as much as I thought I would do.
When I was a young girl and dreamed of my grown-up life running the land, the images that passed through my head were much like this one—slow Sundays filled with long walks, deep breaths, and big smiles. And the once-snow-covered aisles between the vines are filled with wildflowers that will be trampled by the time summer comes along.
I giggle at the hummingbird that zooms past my ear toward the feeder I set out last week, knowing that my soul needed this. With my mission to regain majority ownership, I started to lose sight of the reason I’d fallen in love with this place to begin with. This, right here, is it.
Tomorrow, the vineyard will be filled with activity. Now that the first buds have sprouted and foliation has begun, it’s time for the growers to start the process of green pruning. They’ll cut back the plant so that the molecules of the acids and sugars in the leaves and vines are concentrated on prime areas where the grape bunches will grow. Papa was so meticulous about it that I studied him like a hawk. The vintners in Napa where I last worked were impressed with my knowledge, and I always gave credit to the man who taught me everything I knew.
Thinking about my papa makes my heart heavy, but I can't be sad. I’ve grieved for him and celebrated his life, and now all I want more than anything is to honor his memory by continuing with the Bell Family Vineyard traditions he passed down to me.
When I unlock the casita and start my stride down the brightly lit hall to my office, I realize it’s the first day in months that I didn’t arrive before anyone else. Although the office is usually quiet on Sundays, it’s always open. With winery sales coming in and employees from the field stopping by for paychecks and to talk, there’s never a dull moment.
The door to my office is already open. I glare at it, annoyed at what feels like an intrusion into the only space I’ve been able to claim as mine. So far, Thomas hasn’t fought me on that, but I can feel another war brewing as soon as I approach my desk and notice the items on it have shifted from their usual spots. In addition, a small unwrapped white jewelry box sits on my keyboard.
I pick it up, expecting to find a note underneath it or some indication of who it’s from. When I see nothing, I open the delicate box and gasp. Emotion clogs my throat as I peer down at the handmade wire-wrapped arrowhead necklace. A silver plate with the words “Wild One,” still etched into it. My hand automatically moves to that spot on my throat I always touch.
My heart beats fast as I search the space again for a clue as to who set the jewelry box here. Who found it? Where did they find it? I shake as I notice again that items on my desk have shifted.
I’m meticulous about my work space. Before leaving to visit Ridge, I took the time to tidy up and place everything where I knew I could find them. But the computer monitor is angled in the wrong direction, a blue pen sits alone on my desk rather than in its normal place in the drawer, the notepad I keep next to the mouse pad has a tear, and the scent of cedar and musk lingers in the air. I wrinkle my nose at Thomas’s signature cologne, then I charge back toward the hallway.
Thomas has an office two doors down the hall from mine. I normally avoid it at all costs, letting him come to me if we need to meet. But my patience is wearing thin. Now that he’s invaded my space—not just in my home but in my office too—it’s time we have a little chat.
Perhaps he’s used to being all up in Papa’s business, so I will give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he was at my desk for purely professional reasons. He’ll learn soon enough that I work much differently from how Patrick Bell did. And if he’s the one who found my necklace, then I have a lot of questions.
His door is shut, but light pours through the edges, so I knock. Classical music plays faintly on the other side, but I can’t hear any other sounds. “Thomas, it’s Camila. We need to talk.” I knock again. Still nothing.
After a moment of internal debate, I turn the handle and push open the door to find the room completely empty. Irritation at his lack of care regarding the utility expenses gnaws at me. The least the jerk can do is power everything off before he leaves.
I stomp over to the ancient black stereo system and push the power button to cut the music then go to his desk and flip off his green lamp, a fan, and some electric serenity waterfall that surely serves a man like him absolutely no purpose.
I’m about to turn toward the door when the photos on the wall behind his desk catch my eye. Dread sinks low in my gut as a chill shoots up my spine. My heart races, and my palms start to sweat. I don’t fully real
ize why I’m having such a physical reaction to what I’m seeing. All I know is I need to see more.
I flip back on the light and move around the desk to take a closer look. Dozens of photos with family, friends, and from his hunting days are arranged in a mosaic pattern on the wall. Papa has plenty of hunting photos just like these packed away in boxes at the main house. They’ve never bothered me before.
I find my papa in every photo possible, smiling at how happy he looks in each and every one. One photo in particular makes me think my mind is playing tricks on me. I shake my head and lean in to look again. My papa and Thomas are standing together with a man in the middle. But when the man in the middle’s camo skull mask stares back at me, just like that day near the mine, my blood runs cold. The man who I now know as Dave Lachey is holding the same bow that he aimed at my head, and the same cold, dark eyes meet mine.
A shaky breath slips past my lips as I fall back and have to catch myself on Thomas’s desk. My heart thunders, but I can’t look away from the photo. Each passing second that I study the image makes the fear slithering through me intensify. Terrifying memories from that night flash through my mind until I reach the point that it all went dark.
When I force myself to look away, my gaze lands on a second photo of Thomas Bradshaw and a maskless Dave Lachey shaking hands and grinning while one of their recent kills lies between them at their feet. And I don’t know what’s more disturbing—seeing the man who hunted me displayed proudly on Thomas Bradshaw’s wall, or the fact that they all—my papa included—used to be hunting buddies.
I’m so consumed with my thoughts that I don’t hear the footsteps behind me until it’s too late.
“What the hell are you doing in here?”
Chapter 54
Camila
With my hand flying over my heart, I gasp and flip around to face the deep voice. As soon as I see Trip in the doorway with a giant grin on his face, relief whooshes through me. Tears threaten to surface as my fear starts to slip away, and I realize just how shaken I still am because of that night.
“That’s a first,” he says with a chuckle before stepping forward. “We’ve known each other for twenty-eight years, and I have never seen you react like that.” He scans my face. “You look completely spooked.”
I shake my head, and his amusement eases my nerves a little. “I was just—” I look over my shoulder and gesture to the photos. “Just looking at old photos of my papa. I’ve been missing him, and Mama packed away a lot of his photos.”
Trip adopts a sympathetic expression. “He was a good man with a strong work ethic. I really miss seeing him around here. He taught me so much.”
I can’t help but smile at his kind words. “I believe that. You couldn’t ask him a question without his turning it into an hour-long lesson.”
Trip chuckles. “Sounds about right.”
I frown, unable to stop thinking about the photos of his dad and mine hunting with the man who tried to kill me. “Trip, what do you know about Dave Lachey?”
Something flickers in his eyes before he frowns. “Outside of what I learned after what happened to you, not much. I’d heard his name before that. Everyone knew he was a poacher and a reckless one at that.” He waves a hand over me. “Clearly, since he wound up hurting you that night.” He tilts his head and narrows his eyes. “Why?”
I blow out a breath and shake my head. “Nothing. I just didn’t realize he used to hunt with our dads.” I assess his reaction as I speak, but Trip gives nothing more away than what he’s already expressed. “Anyway, my curiosity was just getting the better of me again.”
Trip smiles. “Careful there. This town doesn’t need Camila Bell to go searching for trouble again. I think we’re all still recovering.”
I laugh. “I promise those days are behind me. You won’t find me galivanting around the woods again.”
An awkward silence follows as our broken friendship, which we’ve been masking, finally rises to the surface.
Trip kicks the floor before meeting my gaze again. “I know we haven’t talked all that much since you’ve been home. And this shared ownership has been a big pill to swallow for everyone, but I really hope we can be friends again, Camila. It just feels wrong, walking around this place with this giant wall between us. That’s not how I imagined all of this going down.”
Trip is being completely genuine, but I also grapple with how he can be so naive. “What did you think, Trip?” I ask, genuinely wanting to know. “That I would be happy to share ownership of my family vineyard? That I would be fine seeing another family move into my home? I feel like I got the rug pulled from beneath my feet and I’m still trying to get back up.”
He bows his head. “I’m sorry about all that. I really am. I never wanted you to feel that way. You were gone for a long time, and I don’t know, things just kept changing. We all love this vineyard, but I see now why you could feel the way you do. No one even gave you a choice.”
Just hearing him say the words makes me feel like I’ve won some small battle. I walk toward him and meet him at the halfway point in the room. “Yes, exactly. I was just an afterthought to everyone.”
Trip shakes his head. “Trust me, Camila. You’re nobody’s afterthought. That’s not it at all.” He lets out a laugh, and his eyes softening. “You know our parents always talked about our future like we would end up together. I guess part of me believed that would be true too. In the back of my mind, I always pictured us running this place together one day.”
My eyes widen slightly. “Really? We’ve never even dated. I mean, I know you asked me to prom, but—”
One side of his mouth curls up. “But you were already seeing someone else in secret.”
My face heats. “Well, yeah, I suppose you were at a disadvantage there.”
A dark cloud crosses his eyes before guilt takes over his expression. “Speaking of prom, I never did tell you how sorry I was about ratting you out the way I did. I don’t know what came over me.”
I purse my lips in amusement. “C’mon. You were always getting me into trouble. Like when you promised that you would be nice to Ridge if I stayed away from him, then you saw us get out of the gondola together. You totally told my papa, didn’t you? That’s why Harold started losing all his clients.”
Trip cringes. “To be fair, my dad was the one I talked to about that. I never ratted you out to Patrick. Not ever. If Patrick knew anything, it was because my papa told him, not me.”
“But my papa used to pay you to hang out with me.”
“Yeah, to buy your lunches and to contribute toward gas since I was driving you girls all over town, but it wasn’t like a job or anything. I liked hanging out with you, and I was happy to do it.”
I made a face. “To think I’ve had it wrong all this time.”
He chuckles. “Well, not all wrong. I was an asshole back then, but it was only because I liked you.”
A laugh bursts from my throat. “You had a funny way of showing it most of the time.”
“Maybe that was because I hated seeing how wide your eyes got for that farm boy.” He rolls his eyes. “Between you and Raven, man, I had my hands full.”
I tilt my head and purse my lips, trying hard to ignore the fact that he admitted to getting jealous of Ridge. “You still can’t use his name, can you?”
Trip shrugs. “He’ll always be Farm Boy to me. That’s just the way it is.” He nods at the photos above his dad’s desk. “That all you came in here for?”
Discomfort snakes through me as I remember the reason I stepped foot in this office—because someone had been rummaging through mine. “Actually, I was looking for your dad. Someone left something in my office, and I think it was him. Do you know where he went?”
“He took off to meet some clients for lunch. That’s where I’m headed too. Just swung by to grab some bottles to leave them with. Do you want to come?”
Trip seems genuine in his pursuit for us to coexist better than we have been. Surely
by now, the tension between families has become obvious to our staff. Unfortunately, our problems are too complex for a friendly meal to fix. “I have a lot to take care of here, but thank you for the offer. I hope you two have a good lunch.”
He hesitates, searching my eyes, like he has more to say but wants to assess me first. “Do you think you could ever be okay with us all working together like this? Maybe after some time?”
I take in a slow, deep breath and truly consider his words. It’s already been months, and I’m more worked up now than ever. With a shake of my head, I give him an apologetic look. “Not with split ownership and not with your family living in my home. I’m sorry, Trip. It’s truly nothing personal, but I will find a way to take back control. If you all want to stick around after that, the jobs are still yours.”
Trip cringes. “Don’t say it like that, Camila. Let me talk to my dad. Maybe he’s willing to come to some sort of arrangement so you can hold majority share.”
So much doubt clouds any sense of hope. “C’mon, Trip. He’s not going to just hand back control after he worked so hard to get it. He doesn’t strike me as the type.”
“Just let me talk to him, okay?”
“Really? You would do that for me?”
He puts his hands on my shoulders and looks me straight in the eye. “I don’t want you to be unhappy. There has to be a way for us all to work here without one person feeling like their livelihood is being threatened. This is your family home, and if I were you, I would feel the same. So I’ll talk to him. I’ll figure out where his mind is at and if I can sway him to give back a percent.”
My heart races at the nugget of hope. “Okay.” I nod emphatically. “Yes, of course. Thank you.”
Trip takes a step back and smiles. “Just give me time with this. This isn’t the type of negotiation I can have over one lunch, and we all need to try to get rid of this tension in the meantime. It could take weeks, but I’ll wear him down.”
