Page 27 of Roaring Fork Rockstar

I shook my head. “Think I’ll crash in my old room tonight.”

My brothers nodded, and I watched them go, their quiet conversation fading as they walked out the front door.

Buck and TJ had rehabbed the original homestead that sat closer to the ranch’s main gate. Cord and Juni were building a place at the highest point of our property. When it was finished, the views from there would be unbelievable. For now, though, they were still living in a cabin near mine.

I remained by the fire a while longer, letting the embers burn down as I contemplated everything that had happened, including Six-pack delivering the news of my stipulation. The missed opportunity with CB Rice. The night at the Goat, when I’d met Luna. The hospital visit. And now, Christmas Eve withKeltie and her daughter, as if they’d always been part of our family celebrations.

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. Ibarely 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.

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