The Bridge to a Better Life Read online

  ~ Dare Valley ~

  Natalie & Blake

  © 2015 Ava Miles

  Sports hero and newly retired NFL quarterback Blake Cunningham wants a second chance at love…with his ex-wife. He's bought the house next door to her in Dare Valley and has built a bridge connecting their properties. It's his bridge to a better life, the one he lost when Natalie Hale left him after a family tragedy destroyed their marriage.

  Natalie has just started a new job as the head caterer at the small town's historic hotel. When she discovers Blake has become the boy next door, literally, she secretly has to admit he still fires up all her engines and tugs at her heart. But the ghosts from their past seem too monumental to conquer.

  Blake vows to help Natalie remember the power of their love and friendship. With the intense sparks of attraction flying between them, Natalie begins to put her heart out there again. How can she resist Blake when he makes her laugh and swoon by even acting out her secret Outlander fantasy? As they both give love a second chance, they are forced to face their most disturbing memories, not only the tragedy that ripped their lives apart, but also the secret parts they were afraid to share…

  I've never seen an author dedicate a book to herself, but after writing this book it seemed appropriate. Once you read it, you will understand why. So, here's to me and all my facets: the beautiful, the wild, the vulnerable, the trusting, the doubting, the scared, the brave, the hidden, the exposed, the funny, the sad, and the spiritual and very human.

  To A-for meeting me on the other side of the bridge.

  And to my divine entourage, who helped me build the bridge to my better life.

  Acknowledgements

  My Fairy Godmother gratitude to Team Ava for all they bring to my better life. To Sienna, for always being there and branching out in new ways to support me; to Angela, for totally getting my stories and messages and being the best editor in the world; to Louisa, for the creative alchemy she brought to this cover; to Em, for breathing life into my characters in audio and conveying my heart; to Hilary, for handling all things audio with incredible ease and efficiency; to Leigh and Beth for their eagle eyes on my manuscripts; and for my Angels, who support me in the best way an author could ever hope for.

  To Tabitha King and Dr. Katie DeFore for giving me insights on the medical challenges for people with intellectual disabilities.

  T.F. You are one of the most magical elements to my better life, and I believe in you.

  And finally, to all my readers: to the ones who simply read; to the ones who contact me; to the ones who connect on social media; to the ones who tell me their own stories and how my books made a difference in their lives. Thank you for reading and may you be blessed by the time you spend in Dare Valley.

  Prologue

  Over Two Years Ago…

  Natalie Hale had never been colder. The blanket of snow she could see through the window seemed to stretch on forever, like the world’s longest wedding train. Given that she’d been at her best friend’s funeral only minutes before, the comparison seemed crazy. A wedding was all about celebration and joy, neither of which could be found in a field of frozen gravestones.

  Her husband continued to speak, a muffled litany of white noise, and she curled deeper into her seat in his SUV. His hand touched her thigh, and she heard him calling her name off in the distance. Then he jostled her.

  “Natalie!” she heard him say louder, this time through the fog.

  The effort to turn her head zapped all her energy. Blake Cunningham’s sandy brown hair was dotted with sweat at the temples, which was strange when everything was so cold.

  “Honey, you’re still freezing,” he said in a strange voice.

  It took her a moment to realize it was hoarse.

  “Hold on. We’re almost home.”

  There was a burning under her bottom, and it took her a moment to remember he’d turned the butt warmers on high. The temperature inside the car read eighty-seven degrees. That must be why Blake was sweating. Why wasn’t she? Then she remembered. Death’s cold fingers had touched her, turning her to solid ice.

  She buried herself deeper inside her wool coat and shut her eyes. Time passed—an unknowable quantity—and then a car door slammed and strong, familiar hands drew her out into the cold air. Her husband’s muscular arms wrapped around her as he led her up the garage steps.

  Touchdown greeted her when they reached the kitchen, winding excitedly around her legs. Her body felt like an ancient glacier as she bent down to pet the beagle. Even the dog’s smiling face couldn’t melt her. She straightened with effort to see Blake filling the red tea kettle and putting it on the Viking stove.

  “How about a grilled cheese?” he asked, his brow knit as he loosened the navy tie around his neck and undid the button to his gray suit jacket. “You didn’t eat anything today.”

  Food? She’d once loved it, but her taste buds had joined the rest of her in this wasteland of winter. She hadn’t been able to taste anything for days, which scared her to bits since she ran her own catering business. But even when she tried to figure out what to do about it, she couldn’t. Her mind couldn’t process anything right now. Even choosing an outfit for the funeral had been hard, which was crazy since all she’d needed to do was wear black.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  Blake helped her out of her coat, gloves, and scarf, and then wrapped his arms around her. “I know you’re not,” he whispered into her ear, “but you’ve lost fifteen pounds, honey. You need to keep up your strength.”

  She laughed hysterically, and he snapped back to look at her, his eyes wrinkling with concern.

  “Fifteen pounds won’t kill me. Now, forty? That’s another story.” Kim had been eighty-four measly pounds when the cancer took her. She had only been thirty, the same age as Natalie.

  His throat moved like he was searching for a response, but had none. He smoothed the hair back from her face with exquisite gentleness. “I’m calling Coach to tell him I won’t be able to play Monday night.”

  A jolt of something other than cold spurted through her system. “But you’ve never missed a game. Not once in your whole career.”

  His thumbs caressed her face. “You need me more than my team right now. Everyone will understand.”

  But weren’t the Denver Raiders playing the New England Loyalists, their rival for the division? How was Denver supposed to win without their star quarterback? “But it’s Monday Night Football.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Come on. I’ll pour you your favorite tea, and we can cuddle on the couch.”

  He wanted to cuddle? She couldn’t bear it. There was a white-out blizzard swirling inside her. Cuddling wouldn’t keep it away. She knew only one sure way to battle its frigid temperatures.

  Keep busy. Don’t touch anyone. Block everything out.

  “Go to the game, Blake. I’ll be fine.”

  “You’re not fine, honey. Your best friend and sister-in-law just died. No one would be fine after that.”

  He’d only started calling her honey since Kim had been diagnosed. She hated it. Before, she’d always been babe, carefree babe.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  He was going to press her to talk about how she felt like he was some sports psychiatrist, and the energy it took to fight him off was draining. Why wouldn’t he just leave her alone? Stepping away, she turned to leave the kitchen. The bathroom seemed the best choice. He wouldn’t follow her in there.

  “Natalie,” he called. “Honey, where are you going?”

  Away from you, she wanted to answer, but her mouth was too dry from the cold to muster the response. She heard his footsteps behind her, and another jolt went through her. He wasn’t go
ing to leave her alone this time.

  “Natalie, you can’t keep running from how you feel. Honey, I know it hurts, but you need to talk about it and have a good cry. Please just let me hold you.”

  A good cry? What in the hell was he talking about? There was nothing good about crying. She never cried.

  “Leave me alone, Blake,” she ground out, biting her tongue. The pain barely computed.

  “I can’t. You keep asking me not to hold you or touch you, but the more I do as you ask, the more you slip away from me. Natalie, honey, please let me help you.”

  She turned around as an arctic blast of cold shot through her internal landscape, punctuated by thunder. Thunder snow was the worst kind of storm. “I don’t want your help. I’m handling it. Just leave me alone.”

  He ran his hands through his sandy blond hair, that hair she loved raking her own hands through, and planted them on his hips. “I can’t do that. Honey, you’re hurting. I love you. Let me help you. We’ll get through this together.”

  “There’s nothing to get through. Kim is dead, and nothing will bring her back.” Some remote part of herself started screaming at the injustice, but she retreated from the sound, running through the cold drifts of snow in her mind to a sanctuary of numbness. She couldn’t let the emotion come back. It would destroy her.

  “Natalie,” Blake called out, and this time he increased his pace.

  He was going to catch her, she realized. The rest of her flight to the bathroom was more of a mad dash, and out of instinct, she locked the door behind her.

  The knob rattled. “Natalie! Dammit, don’t lock me out.”

  She’d never done anything like this before, and her eyes were glued to the doorknob. Off in the distance she could hear him pounding on it, pleading with her to let him in. Touchdown was barking like background music to Blake’s pleas.

  The freedom of doing something so bold rolled through her. She could lock him out. She could lock everything out.

  Opening up the cabinet under the sink, she dug out the tile cleaner and a sponge. The etched panels of their Italian marble shower suite sparkled from the cleaning she’d given them yesterday, but she shook the tile powder on them anyway and scrubbed until her hands burned. Her body warmed from the brutal cleaning, and it felt good. Cleaning was the only thing that made her feel warm and numb—a combination she loved. It was her new favorite home.

  The powder from the can sprinkled over her black dress as she shook it wildly over the mosaic tiles that had been inset in the center of the shower to showcase the cozy shower bench Blake had designed with his architect. Her mind flashed to all the times she and her husband had made love on that bench, and some of the numbness started to fade away, replaced by a sense of loss so poignant, she sank to her knees in the shower, indifferent to the fate of her black designer dress, shoes, and hose.

  No, she could not remember those times.

  She was not allowed happiness. Not now that Kim was dead.

  Blake’s voice had finally disappeared in the background. All around her was a blissful quiet.

  Her hands burned from the abrasive cleaning product, and her knuckles leaked blood, but she continued to scrub. Harder. Faster. Panting, she felt her black hose tear as she inched across the tile floor. She looked down to see the run had wrapped around her right knee and darted to her ankle. Even her black shoes were spotted with white, but she didn’t care. She would throw this whole outfit away when she was finished cleaning. It was a horrible reminder of all she had lost.

  An unusual rattling interrupted her reverie. She turned her head to see what the metallic jingle was and watched as the doorknob dropped to the floor. Blake entered the bathroom, Touchdown barking in distress by his side.

  His face rippled with shock and horror as he looked at her. “Oh, honey.”

  She wanted to cower in shame like a leper who was caught bathing by a stranger. She had to hide her sores. She had to make him go away. Sinking back onto her knees, she pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes.

  “I told you to leave me alone. I’m cleaning.”

  “You cleaned the shower yesterday, honey.”

  Damn that word again.

  He approached her slowly and crouched down on the floor of the shower beside her. His body was so large and bulky, she felt caged in.

  “Come on, honey. Let me help you clean up and change clothes. Then you can have your tea. Oh, Natalie. Your hands….”

  Another destructive wave of icy snow was approaching again, like Blake’s very appearance had shifted the wind. No, he’d brought the wind. It was his fault.

  “I don’t want tea. I don’t want anything.”

  “Honey, your hands are bleeding.” He covered them with his own and pressed them to his chest in a tender caress. “Natalie, you can’t keep doing this. Promise me you’ll never lock me out again. You scared the hell out of me. I was afraid…”

  It took her a moment to understand what he meant. He’d thought she was going to hurt herself? No, she couldn’t do something like that even though she could now understand why people did. This cold, this pain…you had to do whatever it took to escape it.

  “Blake, let me deal with this my own way.”

  “Not like this,” he said, lifting her up bodily and carrying her out of the shower. “Not anymore.”

  Her muscles wouldn’t work to fight him, almost as if they were paralyzed by frostbite. Touchdown barked his distress as Blake removed the tile cleaner and sponge she was still clutching from her claw-like grip. He was gentle as he washed the caked white powder and blood off her hands, applied salve, and bandaged them.

  She caught sight of herself in the mirror and stumbled back. White powder was streaked in her wild, curly hair, and it made a violent slash across her dress. Dear God. She looked like a crazy woman, someone left out in the woods for weeks, all civilization stripped from her.

  How could he love her like this?

  She hated herself like this.

  But he didn’t leave her alone. He undressed her slowly, his hands gentle as he bathed her in their Jacuzzi tub like she was a child. She endured it because she wasn’t really present—inside, she was running from the love and worry in his eyes, running from his touch. Then he toweled her off and brushed her hair out, making her bite her lip to fight the pain his tenderness caused her. After dressing her, he kissed her forehead.

  “There. That’s better. Now come have some tea.”

  When his strong, determined arms led her to the bathroom door, she eyed the doorknob lying on the ground.

  She couldn’t lock him out. Blake would always find a way to get to her. But would that change the longer the ice stayed inside her? She wasn’t his sassy, sexy wife right now. She was cracking, splintering, going crazy. She could see it now. The media paid attention to Blake, and she would probably end up losing it in the public eye, which would embarrass them both and probably harm her catering business. He would stop remembering her as the woman she’d been, and then he would stop loving her too.

  Who could love this weak, pathetic, wild woman ravaged by the wilderness of grief? She didn’t want to become this…thing.

  His arms were wrapped tight around her, but she still stumbled as he led her back to the blazing fire he’d made in the den. The blaze hurt, her whole body burning and tingling to adjust to the heat. She didn’t want to hurt like this. She refused to hurt like this. She had to remain numb somehow, living somewhere between the cold wasteland inside her and the welcoming bonfire of her family, her husband, her life. If she stayed numb, she wouldn’t go crazy. But Blake would never let her shut down on him. No, he’d press her and love her until she succumbed to the pain. She was going to go crazy. Mad-dog crazy.

  She was going to have to leave him.

  Chapter 1

  The incessant pounding of hammers woke Natalie. She rolled onto her back and tucked the pillow around her ears to muffle the sound, but the racket didn’t subside. She let the pillow flop back into place a
nd glanced over at the clock. Nine thirteen. And on a Saturday to boot. Darn it all to heck.

  Sleeping in on the weekend was a luxury she’d started allowing herself to make up for all the sweets she’d given up eating, treats like salted caramels and dark chocolate gelato. Her intake hadn’t been healthy, and she’d finally succumbed to better nutrition.

  Her ex-husband, Blake Cunningham, would be delighted if he knew. He’d always tried to entice her to drink some of his green grass, mineral-loaded, mumbo-jumbo smoothies. Cripes, he’d made her feel like a slob on movie night when she ate buttered popcorn while he savored kale chips. Kale chips!

  If he hadn’t been one of the NFL’s top quarterbacks, she might have teased him about eating like a hippie to get his goat. But Blake was no hippie.

  He’d been on her mind way too much lately, and no wonder. Over a month ago, she’d told him she was leaving Denver to take a fantastic job as the head of catering at Dare Valley’s famous The Grand Mountain Hotel, part of a chain of upscale boutique hotels stretching across the west. Blake had freaked out and promptly retired from the NFL. Moments after his press conference, he’d texted her to say they weren’t finished. Even if they were legally divorced.

  No word had come from him since that monumental day, but the press had dug deep for a reason for his retirement and found it. His brother had died shortly before Blake’s announcement. Adam had been ill for the better part of a year, afflicted with the cardiac issues so common in people with intellectual disabilities. And she hadn’t even known he was sick.

  She’d reached out to Blake—his last text message be damned—but he hadn’t called back or even texted. Worried, she’d called his parents to give her condolences and had learned Blake was taking some time off to deal with his grief. They hadn’t mentioned what he had planned for her, and she hadn’t asked.