Page 19 of Roaring Fork Rockstar (Roaring Fork Ranch #3)

HOLT

B ack 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.”

I chuckled, picturing Luna’s enthusiasm.

“Thank you again, Holt. For everything.”

I moved closer, lowering my voice. “No need to thank me. It was the best Christmas I’ve had in years.”

“Same here.”

The bar was empty enough for me to speak freely. “Ben Rice called. Invited me to check out his recording studio tomorrow.”

Keltie’s head shot up; surprise and pleasure crossed her face. “Holt, that’s great!”

“I mean, it’s nothing more than a tour,” I cautioned, not wanting to oversell it. “Although he did mention recording an EP while I’m stuck here.”

“Stuck here,” she repeated.

“Poor choice of words,” I said quickly. “Trust me, there are worse places to be required to stay.”

Her smile warmed her eyes. “I’m glad you think so.”

I motioned toward the small stage. “Mind if I play something new? Something I’ve been working on today?”

“The stage is all yours,” she said, gesturing with a sweeping hand.

I retrieved my guitar and settled onto the stool, adjusting the microphone, though I didn’t plan to sing the lyrics yet. They weren’t quite finished, and this song felt different—meant for Luna’s ears first, or at least for Keltie’s, before anyone else heard it.

My fingers found the notes of the gentle tune without conscious thought. The melody was hopeful and sweet, with a chorus that lilted upward like a child’s laughter. I kept my eyes on my hands, but I could feel Keltie watching me.

When I finished, I looked up to find her standing motionless, clutching a towel to her chest, her eyes suspiciously bright.

“That was beautiful,” she said quietly.

“It’s for Luna,” I admitted, setting the guitar aside and approaching the bar. “A healing song about Sparkles.”

Keltie’s breath caught. “Healing?”

I shrugged, trying to sound casual. “Kids believe in magic. Sometimes, it helps.”

She blinked rapidly as if fighting tears. “My mother used to sing old Scottish lullabies about rivers and stars.”

“I didn’t know you had Scottish heritage.”

“On my mother’s side, obviously,” she confirmed. “Hence the name Keltie. She died when I was very young. About the same age you were when you lost your mother.”

I reached across the bar, covering her hand with mine. “She’d be proud of you, you know. The way you’re raising Luna.”

“I hope so,” she whispered, turning her hand to lace her fingers with mine. “There are days when I feel like I’m failing her completely.”

“Not possible,” I said firmly. “That little girl adores you. Anyone can see it.”

She squeezed my hand before releasing it, taking a deep breath to compose herself. “Speaking of Luna, did you know she asked if you could teach her guitar?”

I grinned. “She might have mentioned it a time or twenty. I’d be happy to, if you’re okay with it.”

“More than okay,” Keltie assured me. “She needs good influences in her life. Male ones, especially.”

The implications of her words—that she saw me as potentially filling that role—weren’t lost on me. A weight of responsibility settled alongside the pleasure her trust brought.

“About Ben’s studio,” I said, changing the subject. “He suggested I ask you to come with me when I start recording. Not that it’s happening right away, but…” I trailed off, watching her reaction. “Maybe someday you’d like to get behind a mixing board again?”

A flicker of uncertainty crossed her face before she admitted, “I’d love that. Someday.” Her emphasis on the last word made it clear that “someday” wasn’t today or tomorrow. “It’s been a long time, but I miss it. The technical challenge, the creativity of it.”

“You were good at it,” I said. “Ben made that clear.”

She looked away. “That feels like another lifetime.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” I offered gently.

Before she could respond, the door opened and a group of people who’d obviously spent the day on the slopes entered, laughing and stomping snow from their boots. Keltie’s professional smile slid into place as she turned to greet them.

I walked over to the stage, using the interruption to get ready for my first set.

Over the next couple of hours, more customers filtered in, though the crowd remained thin compared to a typical night. I played my usual mix of covers and originals, watching Keltie work the bar the same way she always did.

Closing time came early, given the place emptied out quickly once nine o’clock rolled around. I packed my stuff and found Miguel wiping down tables while Keltie counted out the register.

“I can finish up if you want to head out,” Miguel offered, glancing from her to me. “Not much left to do anyway.”

Keltie hesitated. “If you’re sure. It has been a long couple of days.”

“Go,” he insisted with a smile. “I got this.”

I packed up my guitar, trying not to appear too eager at this development. “Walk you to your vehicle?” I asked casually.

“Actually, I didn’t drive,” she explained, pulling on her coat. “It was such a nice afternoon. But I wouldn’t turn down a lift home.”

The cold air hit us as we stepped outside, stars blazing overhead in the clear mountain sky. I opened the passenger door of my truck for her, then rounded to the driver’s side, my heart beating faster than the short walk warranted.

“Luna’s with Mrs. Lopez?” I asked as we drove the short distance to her house.

“Actually, the other way around. Mrs. Lopez puts her to sleep in her own bed, then walks next door once I’m home.”

I pulled up in front of her house, unsure of the protocol here. Were we saying good night? Was I invited in? The uncertainty must have shown on my face because Keltie smiled.

“I need to settle things with Mrs. Lopez,” she said. “Wait here?”

“You got it.” I watched as she disappeared into the house. Shortly after that, I spotted the woman I saw the first night I met Luna walk out of this house and into her own. Taking that as my cue, I approached Keltie’s front door, which opened before I could knock.

She stood in the soft light of the entryway, her hair, freed from its ponytail, cascaded over her shoulders in wild curls. The sight of her stole my breath.

“Hi,” she said simply.

The moment the door closed behind me, something snapped between us. I pushed her against the wall of the entryway, one hand cupping her face as I bent to kiss her. She met me halfway, rising on her toes, her arms wrapping around my neck as our lips connected.

The kiss was different from the tender ones we’d shared before—this was heat and hunger and release after days of building tension. When I tried to break away, needing to catch my breath, her fingers wove in my hair, holding me close as she deepened our connection.

With a groan, I lifted her in my arms. Her legs wrapped around my waist as I carried her to the living room. I sat on the sofa, with her straddling my lap, our mouths never breaking contact. The weight of her against me, the softness of her body pressed to mine, was intoxicating.

My hands moved to her hips, then slid under her sweater to find the warm skin beneath. I paused, leaning away enough to see her eyes.

“Is this okay?” I asked, my voice heavy with desire.

In answer, Keltie took my hand and guided it upward to her breast. “More than okay,” she whispered.

I groaned at the feel of her, soft and perfect in my palm.

“Holt.” She gasped as I tweaked her nipple.

We moved together in the warm quiet of her living room, learning each other’s bodies with increasingly urgent touches. The rest of the world fell away—the trust, the band, even my worries about Luna—until there was nothing but Keltie and me and the heat building between us.

“I want you so much, darlin’…”

Her eyes met mine. “But…”

I raised a brow, waiting for her to say what we both knew.

“It’s too soon, and…”

“Luna,” I finished for her.

When she tried to scoot off my lap, I tightened my arm around her waist. “Let me hold you a little while longer? Please? ”

She smiled when the last word came out sounding a lot like her daughter. “Gladly,” she said, kissing me again.