Roaring Fork Rockstar (Roaring Fork Ranch Book 3), page 7
When the fire had dimmed to glowing coals, I finally made my way down the hall. My old bedroom looked different now—Flynn had redecorated, replacing the old furniture with pieces that somehow managed to erase the memories of our father while preserving the character of the house.
A framed photo on the dresser caught my eye—the five of us Wheaton siblings, taken the last Christmas our mother was still alive. We’d been through so much in the years since.
And yet, here we were. Survivors. A family, despite everything.
I stripped down to my boxers and crawled under the covers, my mind still churning with thoughts of the trust, CB Rice, and most persistently, Keltie. Her warm eyes. Her resilient spirit. The fierce love she had for her daughter.
The house settled around me, creaking in the cold as it had since I was a child. I’d always found the sound comforting—a reminder that some things remained constant, even as life changed around them.
Just as sleep began to pull me under, a sound from the other room caught my attention. Soft, muffled sobbing.
I sat up, instantly alert—someone was crying. Not someone, Keltie.
For a long moment, I remained frozen on the edge of the bed, torn between respecting her privacy and the overwhelming urge to comfort her. Before I could talk myself out of it, I pulled on my jeans and T-shirt and moved to the door. The soft weeping continued, breaking something inside me with each gasping breath I heard.
I stood there, hand raised, heart hammering in my chest, trying to decide whether or not to knock.
9
KELTIE
Luna called for me, her voice growing fainter as I ran through sterile corridors. Each turn revealed her briefly—small in a hospital bed that seemed to move farther away no matter how fast I ran.
“Mommy!” Her voice echoed. “Where are you?”
“I’m coming!” I tried to call, but my words died in my throat.
The corridor stretched before me as her cries faded to silence. For a moment, disorientation gripped me as I stared at the unfamiliar surroundings—the high wooden beams of the ceiling, the heavy curtains framing windows that looked out onto snow-covered mountains. Then reality hit me. The Wheatons’ ranch. Christmas Eve.
My hand instinctively reached beside me for Luna, panic rising until my fingers brushed against her warm skin. She slept peacefully, her stuffed bunny clutched tightly to her. I touched her forehead. No fever, thank God.
My chest was still tight with lingering fear as I slumped against the pillows. Sleep wouldn’t come easily, not with my mind racing and the remnants of the dream clinging to me like cobwebs.
I slipped from beneath the covers, trying not to disturb Luna. In the adjoining bathroom, I found a plush robe hanging on a hook and wrapped it around myself, grateful for its warmth. I tiptoed across the room, casting one more glance at my sleeping daughter before quietly closing the bedroom door behind me.
The sitting room where Holt and I had talked earlier still held the dying embers of our fire, and moonlight streamed through the windows. I added a small log from the neatly stacked pile beside the hearth and watched as the flames grew.
Curling up on the sofa, I hugged my knees to my chest and tried to quiet my mind. Luna’s appointment in Denver looked over me like a shadow, the weight of the potential diagnoses and mounting medical bills crushing against my chest.
The tears started without warning—silent at first, then building to quiet sobs that shook my shoulders. I pressed my face against my knees, trying to muffle the sound. The days leading up to Christmas had always been Luna’s and my time together. The two of us would decorate our small Albuquerque apartment with paper snowflakes we’d cut together and the tiny artificial tree that sat on our coffee table. Simple but happy.
This year should have been special too—our first Christmas in our new home. Instead, here we were, at the Wheaton ranch, surrounded by a family that wasn’t ours while I tried to hold myself together for Luna’s sake.
And yet, watching her with the other children earlier—that infectious joy as she played with Buckaroo and the twins—I couldn’t deny she was happier here than she would’ve been in our quiet house. The Wheaton family had welcomed us with open arms, treating Luna like she’d always been part of their holiday tradition.
My thoughts drifted to Holt—his gentle patience with my daughter, the way he’d held me in the hospital parking lot, asking nothing but giving everything I needed at that moment. I barely knew him, yet I found myself wishing he were here now, his strong arms around me, telling me everything would be okay.
A movement in the doorway caught my eye, and I looked up through tear-blurred eyes. Holt stood there, hesitant, concern etched on his face. For a moment, I wondered if I’d conjured him from my thoughts—a figment of my imagination. I wiped my eyes and blinked hard, but he remained. He wore a T-shirt and jeans, his dark hair mussed from sleep.
“I heard…” he said, taking a tentative step forward.
“I’m sorry,” I said, quickly wiping away my tears. “Did I wake you?”
“No, I was still up.” He paused, uncertain. “I knocked, but you didn’t answer. I wanted to make sure everything was okay.”
I should have sent him away, maintained the distance I’d built around Luna and myself for years. Instead, I found myself telling him I was glad he was here.
The relief in his eyes as he crossed the room sent a fresh wave of emotion through me. He sat beside me on the sofa, close enough for me to feel his warmth but not touching me.
“Nightmare?” he asked quietly.
“About Luna. In a hospital. I couldn’t reach her.”
Holt’s arm slipped around my shoulders, the gesture so natural that I easily leaned into him. “She’s safe,” he murmured. “You both are.”
I rested my head against his shoulder, allowing myself to accept the comfort he offered. We sat in silence for several minutes. The only sounds were the crackling of the fire and my quiet sobs filling the room.
“I’m scared.” I finally whispered the words I hadn’t allowed myself to say to anyone else.
His arm tightened around me.
“What if she has…?” I couldn’t bring myself to utter the word.
“Hey,” he interrupted gently. “One step at a time, okay?”
I drew a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be leaning on you like this.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m supposed to be strong. Independent. That’s who I’ve always been.”
Holt was quiet for a moment. “Being strong doesn’t mean carrying everything alone.”
“Doesn’t it?” I laughed bitterly. “That’s exactly what it’s meant since Luna was born. Her father walked away before she took her first breath.”
“I won’t walk away, Keltie,” he said simply. “I’ll be with you as much as you want me to be.”
“Why would you do this for people who just came into your life?”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t feel that way to me. It seems like, I don’t know, more.”
The words settled over me, resonating in ways I couldn’t explain. “I know what you mean.”
I told him how my father had helped after Luna was born, but moving to Crested Butte meant leaving that support system behind. How I’d struggled to balance single parenthood with running the Goat, even before Luna’s health took a turn for the worse.
“When I first met her,” Holt said quietly, “I felt something I can’t explain. A closeness. Like I was supposed to be in her life. Like she’d need me.”
I studied him. “What do you mean?”
“Like I said, I can’t explain it. All I know is that I’ve had feelings like this since I was a kid. The first was when I knew my mother was sick before anyone admitted it.”
“Is that what happened with Luna? You sensed something was wrong?”
His somber expression reminded me of the way Mrs. Lopez had described his reaction—how odd it had been.
“That’s why you came to the hospital,” I whispered.
“Partly,” he said. “But also because I knew you needed me.” Holt’s hand found mine, our fingers intertwining.
My eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but I didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to break whatever spell had formed between us in the quiet darkness.
“Stay with me?” I murmured, the words barely audible.
Holt shifted, adjusting his position so I could rest my head more comfortably on his shoulder. The last thing I remembered before sleep claimed me was the gentle stroke of his hand through my hair and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my ear.
“Mommy! Mr. Wheaton! It’s Christmas and Santa came! I know he did!”
Luna’s excited voice pulled me from a deep sleep. Disorientation hit me as I blinked awake to find myself still on the sofa, Holt’s arm around me, both of us covered with a blanket I didn’t remember retrieving. Sunlight streamed through the windows, and Luna stood before us, bouncing with excitement, not at all confused by the sight of her mother curled up with a man she barely knew.
Heat rushed to my face as I extracted myself from Holt’s embrace, realizing how this must look. But Holt transitioned smoothly, stretching as if waking up on the sofa with me was the most natural thing in the world.
“Merry Christmas, Luna.” His voice was raspy. “Did you say something about presents?”
Luna shifted on her feet, her curls bouncing. “I’m sorry, Mommy, but I peeked. There’s a HUGE pile under the tree.”
“It’s okay, Luna-bug. I’m sorry I wasn’t next to you when you woke up.”
“There’s even stockings for both of us!”
“Somebody told me he also left you a big, fluffy robe and a pair of slippers in your bathroom. Why don’t you go check?” Holt suggested with a wink.
Luna needed no further encouragement, racing from the room with Bunny trailing from her hand.
I pushed my hair from my face, mortification setting in. “Holt, I—”
“Don’t overthink this,” he said gently. “Neither of us planned to fall asleep here. It just happened.”
“But Luna—”
“Doesn’t think anything of it,” he finished. “Kids that age don’t overthink things the way adults do.”
He was right, of course. Luna had been entirely focused on the Christmas morning, oblivious to any potential awkwardness.
“I should get dressed,” I said, gesturing vaguely toward the bedroom. “Make myself presentable.”
His eyes traveled over me. “You look perfect to me.” Despite my disheveled state, I felt beautiful under his gaze. “But I know what you mean. I should probably change too. Meet you out there in fifteen? I doubt you can keep Luna waiting much longer than that.”
I watched as he stood and stretched, his T-shirt riding up to reveal a strip of tanned skin above his jeans. I quickly averted my eyes, but not before he caught me looking. His knowing smile followed me as I hurried toward the bedroom.
In the bathroom mirror, I confronted my reflection—flushed cheeks, wild curls, eyes still puffy from last night’s tears. I splashed cold water on my face and attempted to do something with my hair before changing into the outfit I’d packed—jeans and a green sweater that Luna insisted was my “Christmas color.”
By the time I emerged, the bedroom door was wide open. I walked out to the room where the family was gathered and saw Luna was already on the floor with the other kids, gazing at all the gifts but not touching any. Like Holt had said were waiting for her, she was wearing a fuzzy robe and slippers, both covered with mystical creatures. Self-doubt washed over me as I prepared to face Holt again.
I saw Flynn first when she approached from the kitchen, coffee mug in hand. “Merry Christmas,” she said warmly, offering the steaming cup. “Thought you might need this.”
“Thank you,” I replied, searching her face for any hint of judgment but finding only genuine welcome. “And thank you for yesterday. For everything.”
“We’re so glad you’re here,” she said simply, linking her arm through mine and guiding me toward the center of activity.
Across the room, Holt caught my gaze, a small reassuring smile playing on his lips. He’d changed into a fresh button-down shirt and jeans, his damp hair suggesting a hasty shower. His expression made my breath catch—a quiet intimacy, as if we shared a secret.
Flynn motioned to the dining room, where an elaborate breakfast spread awaited. “TJ and I might have gone a bit overboard,” she admitted. “Buck always insists presents come after breakfast,” Flynn explained. “Family tradition. Though, with the kids this excited, we’ll probably rush through it.”
The scene was a warm chaos as everyone piled into the room—the children’s excited chatter, adults laughing, the rich aromas of coffee and cinnamon filling the air. Luna took a seat between Buckaroo and an empty chair she was clearly saving for me.
Her visible happiness brought a lump to my throat. This was the kind of Christmas I’d always wanted to give her—warmth, tradition, multiple generations gathered around a table.
As we ate, I became aware of a growing anxiety. In the excitement of being invited and the rush to pack, I’d only brought what I’d gotten for Luna. I had nothing to give the Wheatons, who had opened their home to us.
Before I could dwell on it further, Buck stood, clapping his hands. “All right, who’s ready for presents?”
The children erupted in cheers, Luna’s voice among the loudest. We moved en masse to the great room, where stockings hung from the mantle—including ones marked with Luna’s name and mine like she’d said.
Buck and Cord both played Santa, distributing gifts with theatrical flair. Luna’s eyes grew impossibly wider as a pile began to form in front of her—packages wrapped in colorful paper that she tore into with unbridled joy.
To my surprise, several appeared in front of me as well. “You shouldn’t have,” I protested softly to Flynn and Sam, who sat nearby.
“It’s nothing,” Flynn assured me. “Just a few things to make you feel welcome.”
Tears threatened again, but these were different from last night’s—born of gratitude rather than fear. I’d expected this Christmas to be difficult, spent in a strange town without the traditions Luna and I had built together with my dad and his friends who made up our hodgepodge family. Instead, we’d been welcomed with open arms, treated not as outsiders but as honored guests.
“Mommy! This one’s for you!” Luna exclaimed, bringing a small box wrapped in silver paper over to me. “It says ‘From Santa’ on it!”
I glanced questioningly at Flynn, who shrugged, equally puzzled. Luna climbed into my lap, eager to help me unwrap it. I pulled off the paper, revealing a velvet jewelry box nestled inside.
“Open it!” Luna urged, bouncing against my knees.
When I lifted the lid, my gasp echoed through the room. Resting against the dark velvet lay a stunning pendant on a delicate gold chain. The setting was deep blue, like the night sky, with a gold and diamond river winding across it beneath a crescent moon of tiny diamonds.
My breath caught as I instinctively looked up, finding Holt watching me from across the room. His expression confirmed without words that this was from him.
“It’s you and me, Mommy,” Luna said, touching the pendant with reverent fingers. “The river and the moon.”
The entire family fell silent, watching the moment unfold. I sat frozen, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness and significance of the gift.
“Mr. Wheaton,” Luna called out. “Can you help put it on my mommy?”
Holt crossed the room and took the necklace from the box. I turned, lifting my hair as he fastened the clasp. His touch was warm against my neck, lingering a moment longer than necessary.
“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice catching.
I’d never seen a pair of eyes as warm as his were right now. “You’re welcome.”
If there weren’t so many people focused on us, my daughter included, I’d hug him after easing her off my lap.
He smiled as if he could read my mind, then rejoined his brothers as conversations resumed around us. Luna returned to her gifts, exclaiming over a stuffed unicorn identical to those on her robe.
I touched the pendant at my throat, feeling the weight of it—both literal and symbolic. No man had ever given me jewelry before, let alone something so clearly meaningful.
After our conversation last night, when he said he’d had a premonition about Luna and me needing him, I couldn’t help but wonder.
As the gift-opening continued, I watched Holt with his family—the easy way he teased his brothers, his gentle patience with the children. When he laughed, the sound rolled through me like music.
The festivities gradually shifted as the children began exploring their gifts and the adults gathered in smaller groups. I found myself momentarily alone, touching the pendant at my throat, still processing its significance.
“It suits you,” Sam said, appearing beside me with two mugs of hot chocolate. She offered one to me. “I thought you might like the adult version again today,” she added with a wink.
“Thanks,” I said, accepting it gratefully. “So, are you actually related to the Wheatons?”
Sam tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. “Through my grandmother Pilar—your aunt. It’s complicated, but yes, I’m a distant cousin to them on their mother’s side. My great-grandmother Cena was from the Rooker family, who were related to the Wheatons.”
“Family trees make my head spin,” I admitted.
“Mine too.” She smiled. “It’s still strange to me. It was just my mom and me when I was growing up. I never knew my dad. Then I find out I have this whole extended family I never knew about.”
