“Well, your vineyard pulls in a lot more profit than our cornfield. It’s just different. We shouldn’t compare it.”
Camila frowned. “I don’t like that Harold is taking advantage of you. What are you getting out of that labor?”
I shrugged. “He’s giving me the farm. One day, it will be mine to run and profit from on my own. Until then, I consider it training.”
Her soft smile was like a shot of adrenaline to my veins. She was so beautiful. “You are a good guy, Ridge Cross.”
My cheeks heated.
“Then I guess the extra work in the winter not only gives you a break from the farm but also gives you some savings. It’s working out.”
“Right. And I might pick up some other activities. They always need tour guides around here.”
Camila nodded. “That, they do. I guess you and I are alike in that way. We don’t like to sit still.”
That was true. “It’s the Ute way of life, I suppose. My ancestors moved from place to place as they hunted. They created and traveled through trails that crisscrossed the mountain ranges of Colorado. I think that’s why I have such a thirst for nature and exploring it all.” I raised my chin at her playfully. “What’s your excuse?”
She gave me a beautiful smile. Her perfect white teeth beamed back at me between painted red lips. Her skin was naturally tan and looked even darker compared to the white that powdered the earth. Camila was the type of beautiful that made hearts ache and knees weak—classic, timeless, and all things rare. She was wholesome and innocent, like an undisturbed patch of snow at the end of winter.
“I didn’t know I needed an excuse to enjoy all that nature has to offer,” she said.
“But have you? Have you enjoyed it all?”
She tilted her head and gave me a questioning look.
“There are an endless number of hiking trails around here. You should get out there and see what exists beyond these box canyon walls. Don’t get me wrong. The hilltop is great. I understand why that’s your sanctuary. I’m just saying don’t let that be the end of your journey. Take the bigger hills and harder climbs. I couldn’t even tell you about what exists out there. You wouldn’t believe the magic, unless you saw it with your own eyes.”
“Then take me. Show me.”
She was asking me for more than to take her on a hike, and it took all my willpower not to give in the moment I realized it. “You know I can’t take you hiking. Even this”—I pointed between her and me—“is pushing the boundaries that have been set for us.”
“Screw the boundaries.” She glared at me. “They’re ridiculous. Look at us, Ridge. What damage are we doing by being friends? I can’t see the bad in it. This whole rivalry bullshit doesn’t make any sense.”
Camila got fired up about injustices often, but never once had I heard her cuss. “It might never make sense to us, but that’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?” she shouted into the enclosed cabin, her words bouncing off the walls and pummeling me like little bullets.
“The point is that we don’t make the rules.” I sounded much calmer than I felt. A wildfire that not even I could contain at that moment burned in my chest. “Not now,” I whispered. “Not yet.”
She stood, took one step to cross over onto my bench, and sat, wobbling the car as she moved. Her leg pressed into mine as she leaned in. Her chin tilted up, and her lips parted. “Why not now?”
The challenge in her words only added gasoline to the growing fire inside me. I only had one choice. I had to push her away. “You are fifteen.” I didn’t hide the anger in my voice that time. “You cannot possibly know what you’re asking for or whether the risks you’re willing to take are worth it.”
“You are worth it to me, Ridge." Sadness and fear coated her eyes, tearing up my heart.
“I am nothing.” My voice boomed. It was the only way she would hear me. “I can offer you nothing. And you mean nothing to me.”
She froze, bringing a chill to all the spaces around us. The already-fragile ice crumbled beneath our feet, signaling the explosive end to our friendship.
Before either of us could say another word, we were inside the Oak Street Harbor Plaza, and the gondola car started to slow. The doors slid open, and Camila moved first, hopping out onto the padded mat—where Trip was standing and glaring at me.
10
Camila, Six Months Later
My first wobbly steps were taken in a large barrel of grapes on my first birthday in 1992 during the Bell Family Vineyard Harvest Festival. My parents loved to retell that fact to anyone who would listen, as if they wanted to ensure that everyone knew I was heir to the invisible throne. And every year, I repeated the tradition, which showcased me as their daughter and future vintner who would one day carry on the family dynasty. I accepted the role with pride.
At sixteen years old, I stood on the wooden platform that wrapped the large barrel of red grapes beside my parents. A smile lit my face as Italian music poured through the outdoor speakers, and a crowd quickly formed around us. Our ceremonial grape stomp had clearly become the highlight of the entire harvest festival. I was thankful that my steps were much less wobbly than my first ones.
I scanned the crowd to find that many of my peers and their families were already there, while more continued to pull into the already-crowded parking lot of the winery. Food, drink, and art vendors were situated on the red-dirt clearing, offering prepared meals, produce, and refreshments to consume. From noon to sunset, people could tour the winery, partake in tastings, and fill crates of grapes in the vineyard.
Harvest season meant that over the next couple weeks, the vineyard would be packed with townsfolk who wanted to help handpick every grape from the vine. But my parents didn’t want to make the festival just about the vineyard. They wanted it to be an opportunity for other farm owners in the area to bring their freshly harvested crops to sell and promote. Well—all farmers except for one.
The Cross family was strictly forbidden to enter my parents’ land, even at a public event like that one. Not that Harold or Ridge would try to set foot on my papa’s property. Over the past six months, Harold Cross’s name had officially been removed from the farmer’s market vendor list, and every last business in town that had once purchased corn from him suddenly cut ties.
My papa was behind it. Who else could it be? No one else in Telluride hated the man enough to meddle in his business affairs in such a cruel way. Harold was forced to sell outside of Telluride, and rumor was that Ridge was the one going off to Ouray and Silverton to chase new business.
Papa hadn’t come right out and said it, but a certain event at Mountain Village had a lot to do with what was going on. After Trip saw Ridge and me together, Trip was brimming with fury. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had gone straight to my papa after we got home.
I hadn’t forgotten the agreement Trip and I had made when Ridge first moved to town. Trip promised to be nice to Ridge if I promised to stay away. The timing of it all was too suspicious, and for that, I was riddled with guilt.
For the past six months, Ridge and I had kept our distance. After what he had said to me at Mountain Village, my heart was too broken to see his face. But over time, I started to recognize the power my papa held over his, and my feelings started to change. Ridge was only trying to protect Harold’s farm, and he had every right to do so. Once summer came around, the thought of staying mad at him and staying away from the hilltop felt unbearable.