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

KELTIE

T he rear door swung open, and I spotted Luna with Mrs. Lopez. My stomach dropped. It was a few minutes after seven—right when I’d expect my daughter to be having dinner at home, not at the bar.

“Luna? Is everything okay?” I hurried toward them, concern rising in my chest.

“Mommy!” Luna brightened when she saw me, breaking away from Mrs. Lopez to wrap her arms around my legs. “I met Mr. Wheaton! He’s super tall, and he has long hair like we do!”

I shot a questioning look at Mrs. Lopez, who shrugged apologetically. “She insisted on seeing you tonight. Said she couldn’t sleep without a good-night kiss.”

“Where is Mr. Wheaton now?” I asked, looking past them.

“He left,” Mrs. Lopez said. “Seemed in a hurry after we bumped into him. Almost like he’d seen a ghost.”

I knelt down, bringing myself to Luna’s level. Her flushed cheeks and unusual energy worried me, especially considering how tired she’d been this morning.

“He was nice, Mommy,” Luna continued.

I pulled my daughter close for a hug, pressing my lips to her forehead. The warmth radiating from her skin confirmed my fears—another spike. Not emergency-room hot, but definitely higher than normal.

Mrs. Lopez caught my eye and tilted her head. “She seemed tired earlier, but perked up outside,” she said with concern.

“Thanks for bringing her,” I replied softly, squeezing the older woman’s hand. “I’ve got her now.”

After Mrs. Lopez left, I guided Luna to a corner table with a clear view of the bar. “Do you feel like coloring while Mommy finishes work?” I suggested, pulling out the activity books and colored pencils I kept stashed under the counter for nights exactly like this.

“Can I have apple juice?” Luna asked, already reaching for her favorite purple pencil.

“Of course, baby.” I kissed the top of her head, trying to ignore how my hands shook as I poured her juice into a plastic cup with a lid.

I looked over at the stage, where Holt’s guitar still rested on its stand, abandoned. When he’d rushed out earlier, I assumed he’d be back. Now, customers were asking what had happened to the music. I’d have to put something on the sound system to fill the silence.

I found it strange that Holt had left his prized guitar behind. In the month I’d known him, he treated that guitar like it was made of gold—never letting it out of his sight. Something had clearly rattled him enough to make him forget it entirely.

Miguel approached as I was setting up a playlist on the sound system. “Where’d our entertainment go?” he asked, motioning toward the empty stage.

“No idea,” I said, selecting a mix of country and classic rock that would keep the crowd happy.

“That’s weird. First time I’ve seen Holt Wheaton bail on a gig.” Miguel’s brow furrowed. “And definitely the first time I’ve seen him leave his Gibby behind.”

“I know,” I agreed, glancing over at my little girl, who was contentedly coloring at her table. “Do me a favor and keep an eye on the bar for a minute? I need to check on Luna.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

I made my way across the crowded floor, saying hello to regulars as I passed. The Goat was filling up fast—Sunday nights were always popular, especially at this time of year.

Luna didn’t look up as I approached, absorbed in her artwork. I slid into the chair beside her, watching as she colored an animal purple with green spots.

“That’s a beautiful horse,” I said, gently brushing a curl from her forehead. Still warm.

“It’s not a horse, Mommy,” she corrected with the exaggerated patience four-year-olds reserve for clueless adults. “It’s a unicorn. See the horn?” She pointed to what I’d taken for an ear.

“Of course. My mistake.” I smiled, but my mind was racing, calculating the hours until I could reasonably leave and whether Luna’s fever would climb higher in that time.

“Mr. Wheaton has a very nice face,” she said before returning to her coloring.

“What did he say to you?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

Luna’s tongue poked out of the corner of her mouth as she concentrated on staying in the lines. “Nothing, but he looked sad before he left.” She frowned, picking up a blue pencil. “Do you think he has a tummy ache like I get sometimes?”

“I don’t know, Luna-bug. Maybe.” I kissed the top of her head and stood. “Let me see if Miguel can cover for me tonight, and we’ll go home.”

“Okay,” she said, already absorbed in her art again.

Instead of going straight over to the bar, I walked to the stage, placed Holt’s guitar in its case, then set it near the counter.

“Is that seat taken?” a familiar voice asked.

I turned to find Samantha Marquez—my newfound cousin—sliding onto a stool. She looked different than she had last night—more relaxed, in jeans and a sweater, her dark hair pulled into a loose bun.

“It is now,” I replied, setting a napkin in front of her. “What can I get you?”

“Club soda with lime, please,” she said. “I’m the designated driver tonight. Beau’s over at the Eldo with guys he skied with today. I swear that man has never met a stranger.”

I prepared her drink, aware of the growing headache behind my eyes. Between Luna’s unexpected appearance and Holt’s bizarre disappearance, the evening had veered far from normal.

“Sorry if I seem distracted,” I told Sam, sliding her glass across the bar. “It’s been a crazy day.”

“Hey, I get it. Busy time of year.” She took a sip, then gestured toward Luna, who was now yawning over her coloring book. “She yours?”

A mix of pride and protectiveness washed over me. “That’s Luna. Four going on forty.”

Sam smiled. “She’s beautiful. Has your eyes.”

“And her father’s stubbornness,” I added without thinking, then immediately regretted it when Sam’s expression turned curious.

“Is her dad in the picture?” she asked, then quickly added, “Sorry, none of my business.”

“No, it’s okay.” I busied myself wiping down the prep area. “He’s not involved. His choice.”

Sam didn’t press the issue, which I appreciated. Most people couldn’t resist digging for more details, as if single motherhood was an invitation for personal questions.

“Will you be going to New Mexico for Christmas?” she asked, changing the subject.

I shook my head. “Can’t. The Goat’s only closed on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Not enough time to make the trip worthwhile.”

“That’s too bad. But since you’ll be here, I was hoping we might be able to connect more about the family stuff.” She ran her finger around the rim of her glass. “We’ll head to New York right after the holidays.”

“Maybe we can grab coffee before you go,” I offered, though we both knew it was one of those vague suggestions people make without real commitment. Between running the Goat and caring for Luna, my free time was nonexistent.

“Sure, that would be great.” Sam finished her drink and stood, leaving a generous tip. “I should check on Beau. Good to see you again.”

As she turned to leave, I found myself calling after her. “Sam, wait. I really would like to get coffee, if you have time.”

“I’d love it.” She pulled out her phone. “Text me, and we’ll make a plan.”

I remembered she’d given me her number, but I hadn’t put it in my cell yet. “Sorry, I must’ve lost that napkin you gave me.”

“No worries. Give me your number, and I’ll put it in my phone.”

After I recited it, she sent a message right away.

“I’ll be in touch,” she promised, sliding her phone into her pocket. “Take care of that little girl. She’s precious.”

After she left, I found myself drawn to the photo of my father and Aunt Ursula outside the original Goat, which had started this whole chain of events. They looked young and hopeful, arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders, proud of their new venture.

Luna’s small voice interrupted my thoughts. “Mommy, I’m tired.”

I turned to find her standing beside me, coloring book clutched to her chest, her eyes heavy with fatigue. The burst of energy from earlier had clearly worn off.

“Let’s get you home, sweetheart,” I said, brushing her flushed cheek with my fingertips. Definitely still warm.

I signaled to Miguel across the bar. “Luna’s not feeling great. Can you handle closing up tonight?”

“No problem, boss.” He gave Luna a gentle smile. “Feel better, pequena .”

I gathered her things and my own, making sure to remind Miguel to lock Holt’s guitar before he left.

The temperature had dropped steadily since sunset, and the night air was biting cold when we stepped outside. Luna shivered against me despite her wool coat, and I picked her up and carried her to my truck.

While I waited for it to warm up after I started the engine, I wondered again what had happened with Holt. The way Mrs. Lopez described it—like he’d seen a ghost—made me uneasy in ways I couldn’t explain.

While the drive to our house took less than five minutes, Luna fell asleep in her booster seat, her breathing soft and even.

I carried her inside, straight upstairs, and gently laid her on the bed.

The digital thermometer confirmed what I already knew: 100.

4°F. Not high enough for the emergency room, but another in the pattern of unexplained fevers that had plagued her for months.

I measured out the children’s Tylenol, coaxing her to swallow it before changing her into pajamas. Her favorite stuffed rabbit—aptly named Bunny—was clutched tightly in her arms as she drifted to sleep.

Instead of going to my own room, I crawled into bed beside her, one hand resting lightly on her chest to feel the reassuring rise and fall of her breathing. Tomorrow, I’d call her doctor and see if I could bring her in.

As I watched Luna sleep, my mind wandered to how we’d ended up here. Five years ago, my world had been soundboards and cables, working as a sound engineer for touring bands. I’d been good at my job—damn good.

CB Rice’s European tour was the highlight of my career. That’s where I’d met Remi Gilbert, the band’s manager—tall, charming, with an affected accent that made everything sound important. Our romance had been intense and fast. Then I missed my period. Twice.

When I told him I was pregnant, his expression had shifted from shock to cold dismissal in seconds. “It isn’t mine,” he’d said flatly. Just like that, I was off the tour, my replacement arriving before I’d even packed my equipment.

After returning to my father’s place in New Mexico, I’d built a new life, saving every penny for Luna’s arrival.

Eventually, I moved to Albuquerque, where there were more jobs and better childcare.

Then, eight months ago, Dad called about buying the Goat.

I’d been skeptical—I had no interest in a small Colorado ski town I’d never visited.

But the profit potential could help with Luna’s mounting medical bills.

Since the move, Luna’s health had deteriorated further. The costs without Colorado’s health insurance had been staggering, and instead of getting better, she’d gotten worse.

My baby girl stirred beside me, her breathing changing rhythm. I stroked her hair, humming softly until she settled again.

Tomorrow, I’d call my father and tell him about Sam, his niece. Then, I’d contact Luna’s doctor’s office to make an urgent appointment. And I’d reach out to Holt, if only to tell him his guitar was safe.

But tonight, I listened to the winter wind whistling outside our window and tried not to think about the blue eyes watching me from across the bar or the strange certainty that, somehow, everything in my life was about to change.