“Mornin’,” he said, sliding into the empty chair beside me. His knee brushed mine under the table, and I wondered if the contact was accidental or deliberate.

  “Morning,” I replied, forgetting my coffee, my breakfast, and everyone else in the room.

  “Mommy packed our bag,” Luna announced at large, breaking whatever spell had momentarily entranced me. “We have to go home today.”

  A chorus of disappointed sounds erupted from around the table. Sam was the first to speak.

  “So soon?” she protested.

  “The Goat reopens tonight,” I explained, feeling strangely defensive about our departure. “And we’ve already imposed enough⁠—”

  “You haven’t imposed at all,” Flynn interrupted firmly. “We’ve loved having you both here.”

  I looked out the window at the clear day, knowing we had to leave, but wishing we could stay.

  “Just let me know when you’re ready,” Holt said, his voice casual, though something in his eyes wasn’t. “There are things I need to take care of in town. Then I was thinking maybe we could go to the Secret Stash for lunch; that’s if you’re hungry by then.”

  Luna pushed her plate in my direction. “I’m full, Mommy. Do you want the rest?”

  “You haven’t had five bites.”

  She sighed at me like she had earlier. “You know Stash pizza is my weakness. Plus, I want to show Mr. Holt my room at home.”

  I nearly choked on my coffee. “Luna, I’m sure Mr. Holt did say he had things to take care of⁠—”

  “They can wait,” he interjected, a smile tugging at his lips. “Got nothing but time for my favorite girls.”

  From across the table, Buck snorted into his coffee while TJ elbowed him discreetly. I felt my cheeks warm, aware that everyone was watching our exchange with barely concealed interest.

  After breakfast, Luna went to play with the twins one last time while Flynn prepared several containers for us to take home.

  “Leftovers,” she explained, setting them in front of me. “And I packed the Christmas cookies Luna helped make yesterday. I thought she might want to show them off at home.”

  Tears pricked unexpectedly at my eyes. “That’s so thoughtful. Thank you.”

  “And this,” she added, placing a small wrapped package beside the containers, “is a little something from all of us. A memory of your time here.”

  “I feel terrible that I didn’t bring anything for any of you,” I protested, embarrassed by their generosity.

  TJ smiled from across the table. “Your being here was gift enough. This place needed new energy, and you two brought it.”

  “Tell you what. Name the day and time, and I’ll host all of you for dinner at the Goat.”

  “You don’t have to do that⁠—”

  “Yes, she does,” argued Irish, interrupting her. “Their prime rib is the best in town.”

  Flynn glared at him, and he kissed her cheek.

  “Other than yours of course, sweetheart.”

  Goodbyes were lengthy and emotional. Sam hugged me tightly as we prepared to leave.

  “Don’t forget about our coffee,” she whispered.

  “I won’t,” I promised, surprised by how much I wanted to maintain this newfound connection. “And you don’t forget about dinner at the Goat.”

  I expected tears from Luna as we finally headed out to Holt’s truck, our bags and gifts loaded inside, but she seemed content knowing she’d see everyone again. Perhaps the presence of Holt beside us eased the transition, a piece of the Wheaton family coming with us.

  The drive to town was quick with the cleared roads. Luna chattered excitedly the entire way, recounting Christmas highlights and begging to go sledding again with the twins and Buckaroo. Holt caught my eye when she asked, and I promised we’d see about doing it again when the snow was fresh.

  When we pulled up to my house, Luna was out of her booster seat and climbing out of the truck before I’d even unbuckled my seat belt. Holt grabbed our bags and followed us up the walkway, snow crunching beneath our boots.

  Inside, the house felt cold and still, as if it too had missed us during our absence. I turned up the thermostat while Luna eagerly grabbed Holt’s hand.

  “Come see my room,” she insisted, tugging him toward the hallway. “I need to show you where Sparkles is going to live.”

  Holt glanced at me, eyebrows raised in question.

  “Go ahead,” I said, smiling at Luna’s enthusiasm. “I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”

  As they disappeared up the stairs, Luna’s excited voice explaining the importance of proper unicorn housing, I busied myself in the kitchen. The familiar routine of measuring coffee grounds and filling the water reservoir calmed my nerves, which had inexplicably tangled at the thought of Holt in my home, seeing my life up close, the small, ordinary details I shared with no one but Luna.

  The coffee had finished brewing when Holt walked into the kitchen, minus Luna.

  “She’s arranging all her new toys,” he explained, leaning against the counter. “Told me she needed to get everything perfect before I could see the final result.”

  I smiled, pouring coffee into two mugs. “She’s very particular about her space. Gets that from me, I’m afraid.”

  “Nothing wrong with knowing how you want things,” he replied, accepting the mug I offered.

  Our fingers brushed during the exchange, and for a moment, I was transported to the previous night—his arms around me, his lips on mine, the heat that had built between us before common sense prevailed.

  “About last night,” I began, then faltered, unsure what I wanted to say.

  Holt took a sip of his coffee, those blue eyes watching me over the rim of his mug. “Last night was nice.”

  “It was,” I agreed, feeling my cheeks warm. “But there are things you should know. Things I should have told you before…”

  He set his mug down and moved closer. “I’m listening.”

  I took a deep breath, steeling myself for a conversation I’d avoided for years. “You figured out I worked for CB Rice as a sound engineer.”

  “Ben mentioned it.”

  “And you probably figured out that Luna’s father is⁠—”

  “Remi Gilbert,” he finished quietly. “Yeah, I put that together.”

  Relief and anxiety tangled in my chest at having it out in the open. “It happened during the European tour five years ago when I was twenty-two. I was young, flattered by his attention, and thought I was in love.”

  Holt remained silent, giving me space to continue.

  “We were together for three months. When I told him I was pregnant, he denied the baby was his and had me replaced on the tour that same day.”

  “Jesus,” Holt muttered, his jaw tightening. “I knew he was an asshole, but that’s beyond⁠—”

  “I flew home to my dad’s place in New Mexico and stayed with him until Luna was born,” I continued, pushing past the old hurt. “I haven’t seen Remi since, and as far as I know, he has no idea Luna exists.”

  “You saw him on your street the other day,” Holt observed softly.

  I closed my eyes briefly, the panic of that moment washing over me again. “I never thought he’d be here, in Crested Butte, of all places. God, what if he sees Luna? Puts two and two together?”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Holt said with unexpected fierceness. “I won’t let it.”

  “You can’t promise that,” I whispered, though his certainty was oddly comforting.

  “I can.” He took my hands in his, our coffee forgotten. “Keltie, I know we haven’t known each other long, but I care about you, and I care about Luna. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

  The intensity in his eyes made my breath catch. “Why? Why would you take this on?”

  “Because from the moment I met Luna, I knew she was special. And from the moment I met you…” He paused, his thumbs tracing circles on my hands. “I’ve never felt for anyone what I feel for you.”

  My heart hammered in my chest, a mix of hope and fear making it difficult to think clearly. “Holt, there’s something else. Luna’s appointment in Denver⁠—”

  “Mommy!” Luna’s voice interrupted as she bounded into the kitchen. “I finished setting up Sparkles’ new home! Mr. Holt, you have to come see!”

  Holt released my hands, though reluctance flashed across his face. “Lead the way, Unicorn Girl.”

  Luna grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the stairs, leaving me standing in the kitchen trying to stop my head from whirling after hearing him say he’d never felt for anyone what he felt for me. If I’d had the chance, I would’ve confessed the same thing.

  When they returned to the kitchen, Luna was practically beaming with pride. “Mr. Holt says Sparkles has the best home he’s ever seen!”

  “High praise, indeed,” I said, forcing a smile despite the seriousness of our interrupted conversation.

  “When will we see you again?” Luna asked Holt, her question direct in the way only children can manage.

  Holt crouched down to her level. “Well, I haven’t forgotten our pizza date. Have you?”

  “No, but…I promised Sparkles and Bunny that we could play a while first.”

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m still full from breakfast, Luna-bug.” While she hadn’t eaten her pancakes, we both ate far more in the last two days than we usually did.

  “Maybe we could have pizza for dinner, instead?” She looked at Holt with wide eyes.

  “I think that could be arranged. I’m playing music at your mom’s bar. And probably a few more times this week.”

  Luna turned to me with pleading eyes. “Mommy, we can have pizza with Mr. Holt tonight, then tomorrow, you could make him dinner.”

  I glanced at Holt, whose expression divulged nothing. “If Mr. Holt wants to come for dinner, he’s welcome anytime.”

  “I’d like that,” he said softly, his gaze holding mine.

  Luna clapped her hands in delight. “Good! Because Sparkles already told me you were going to be our new best friend.”

  Holt chuckled, ruffling her curls. “Smart unicorn you’ve got there.”

  As he prepared to leave, I remembered something. “About tonight—you said you need to play three times a week at local establishments, right? For the trust?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You’re already scheduled to play Thursdays and Saturdays. If there’s another night you want to add, you have your pick,” I offered.

  Surprise and gratitude flashed across his face. He leaned close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on my neck. “Not sure I’ll be able to stay away any night, Keltie.”

  My cheeks flushed. “You’re always welcome.”

  His lips brushed my cheek. “Glad to hear it.”

  Luna insisted on one more hug before he left, wrapping her small arms around his neck tightly enough that it looked like she was strangling him. I walked him to the door, feeling awkward now that our time together was ending.

  “Thank you for everything,” I said. “Christmas, the rides, the medication run…all of it.”

  Holt’s eyes searched mine. “See you later?”

  “Yes,” I promised. “And about the Goat tonight—what time will you be in?”

  “Eight?” he suggested. “Unless that’s too late.”

  “Eight is perfect. Luna will be with Mrs. Lopez tonight.”

  He hesitated at the threshold, clearly debating something. Then, with a quick glance to make sure Luna wasn’t watching, he leaned forward. His kiss felt soft on my lips. “All night?”

  It took me a minute to figure out what he meant. “Oh, Mrs. Lopez? Err, no, not all night, but…”

  He winked. “See you soon, darlin’.”

  I stood at the door long after his truck disappeared down the street, my fingers absently touching the pendant at my throat. Relief at finally sharing my past with him mingled with the apprehension about what was developing between us. Everything was happening so quickly—the connection, the trust, the feelings I couldn’t deny.

  And looming over it all was Luna’s appointment four days from now, in Denver.

  14

  HOLT

  Back at my cabin, I picked up the guitar and began playing a melody that seemed to capture Luna’s bright spirit. The notes flowed, building into a tune that felt both new and somehow familiar, as if I’d known it all along but was only now remembering. I thought of her face when she told me the name she’d chosen for the unicorn Santa gave her—Sparkles. And the absolute conviction in her eyes when she’d explained that the stuffed animal could “keep bad things away.” Children believed in magic because they hadn’t yet learned not to.

  Lyrics began taking shape in my mind. A song about a magical creature with healing powers—one who helped sick children feel better, who carried away their fears on rainbow wings. It was sentimental, maybe even a little cheesy, but I couldn’t stop the words from coming.

  “Sparkles, with a mane of silver light, watches over children through the darkest night…”

  My phone rang, breaking the creative flow. I considered ignoring it, but the caller ID showed Ben Rice’s name.

  “Ben,” I answered, setting the guitar aside. “What’s up?”

  “Holt! Glad I caught you.” His voice boomed through the speaker. “Listen, I meant what I said yesterday, about the recording studio. How about you come by tomorrow? Check out what we’ve got, maybe lay down a few tracks?”

  My interest was piqued, and I sat up straighter. “That’s generous, Ben. I appreciate it.”

  “Nothing generous about it. Your songs are good—really good. Like I said, just because you can’t tour, it doesn’t mean we can’t get some recording done. I’ve been thinking about what you said about staying local. What if we recorded an EP? Four or five songs, something to keep your name out there while you’re stuck in CB.”

  The offer was tempting—more than tempting.

  “I’d like that,” I said, surprising myself with how much I meant it.

  “Great! Come by around noon tomorrow. I’ll show you around, introduce you to our sound engineer. Manny’s good—not Keltie Marquez good—but solid.”

  “Thanks again, Ben.”

  “See you tomorrow, then. Noon sharp.”

  After hanging up, I grabbed my guitar again, but my mind kept circling to the night at the hospital.

  As I continued playing, it happened again.

  Another vision hit me—this one more intense than before. Luna was in a hospital bed surrounded by machines. Doctors were discussing treatment options while Keltie wept silently.

  I gasped, the guitar sliding from my lap and hitting the floor with a discordant clang.

  Before I could talk myself out of it, I grabbed my phone and dialed Gunnison Valley Hospital. When the operator answered, I asked to speak with Dr. Patel.

  He came on the line seconds later. “How can I help you?”

  “Doctor, it’s Holt Wheaton,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “We met yesterday when I picked up medication for Luna Marquez.”

  “Yes, of course. Is everything all right? Has Luna’s fever worsened?”

  “No, nothing like that,” I assured him quickly. “Actually, I have questions about children with similar symptoms. Purely hypothetical.”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line. “I see,” he said, his tone suggesting he understood my true purpose. “Well, hypothetically speaking, recurring fevers in children can have many causes. Most are benign—viral infections, growth phases, even stress.”

  “And the more serious causes?” I prompted when he didn’t continue.

  Dr. Patel sighed. “Without specifics, it’s difficult to say. But persistent, unexplained fevers, especially when accompanied by other symptoms, like fatigue or unusual bruising, can sometimes indicate more concerning conditions.”

  “Like leukemia?” I asked bluntly, the word sitting like a stone in my stomach.

  “That would be one possibility, yes. But I’d caution against jumping to conclusions without proper testing.”

  “Again, hypothetically speaking, what would the treatment look like for something like that? For a child?”

  “Protocols vary depending on the specific diagnosis,” he explained. “But many childhood cancers respond well these days. We’ve made significant advances in finding cures.”

  “And the costs?” I asked, thinking of Keltie working late nights at the Goat.

  “Substantial,” he admitted. “But there are resources. Insurance, of course, and organizations like the Miracles of Hope Children’s Charity here in Crested Butte that specifically helps local families with medical expenses.”

  The mention of the charity—the very one named in my codicil—sent a chill down my spine. I thanked Dr. Patel for his time and hung up, my mind racing.

  Was it possible? Could there be a connection between the trust’s requirement that I donate to this specific charity and Luna’s condition? It seemed far-fetched, yet the coincidence felt too specific to ignore.

  By the time I needed to head to the Goat for my required performance, my head was pounding with worry and information overload from spending hours researching childhood illnesses.

  I arrived early, needing to see Keltie, to reassure myself that everything was all right despite what my premonition had shown me.

  The bar was quiet when I walked in, typical for the day after Christmas. A few regulars occupied tables near the windows, nursing beers and watching the last of the daylight fade behind the mountains. Keltie stood behind the bar, arranging glasses.

  “You’re early,” she said, turning at the sound of the bell. Her smile when she saw me eased the tightness in my chest. She wore her usual flannel shirt and jeans, hair pulled into a messy ponytail, the pendant I’d given her visible at her throat.

  “Couldn’t stay away,” I admitted, setting my guitar case on a nearby stool. “How’s Luna?”

  “Still over the moon about Christmas,” Keltie replied, her eyes softening. “By now, I’m sure she’s shown Mrs. Lopez all her gifts twenty times.”

 

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