Page 37 of Roaring Fork Rockstar (Roaring Fork Ranch #3)

HOLT

T he sight of Keltie rushing through the crowd toward us stopped me. Her face was pale, her movements jerky and uncoordinated—something was wrong.

“Keltie?” I stepped forward, placing my hands on her shoulders. Luna looked up from her cone, oblivious to the tension radiating from her mother.

“I’m fine,” Keltie said, her voice tight. Her gaze darted over her shoulder toward the amphitheater. “Really.”

Victor’s eyes narrowed as he studied his daughter. Like me, he knew something was off.

“What happened?” I asked, keeping my voice low, so Luna wouldn’t hear.

Keltie shook her head almost imperceptibly. “I’ll tell you later.”

I wanted to press her, to demand answers now, but the way her fingers shook as she brushed the hair from her face told me this wasn’t the moment.

“Mommy, get this kind,” Luna suggested, chocolate ice cream smeared across her mouth. “It’s the best.”

Keltie’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Can I have a taste of yours?”

Luna pushed her cone toward Keltie, who pretended to take a bite. The action seemed to ground her, and color returned to her cheeks.

“Ben’s set is about to start,” I said, checking my watch.

“I can’t wait!” Luna exclaimed, hopping with the boundless energy only a child could muster during an illness remission.

Victor took her sticky hand in his. “Let’s go find our seats, pequena .”

As we walked toward the amphitheater, I placed my hand on Keltie’s back, leaning close to her ear. “You sure you’re okay?”

Her body was tense under my touch. “Just stay close?”

“Always,” I promised, weaving our fingers together.

The crowd roared as CB Rice took the stage. Ben stepped up to the microphone, his trademark charisma filling the venue. “How’s everybody doing, Crested Butte?” The response was deafening.

He grinned and launched into one of the band’s biggest hits.

The music swept through the amphitheater, guitars and drums creating a rhythm that pulsed through the air like a living thing.

Three songs in, even Luna was on her feet, clapping and swaying beneath the bright afternoon sun.

Keltie remained subdued, though her shoulders gradually relaxed as the music continued.

By the fifth song, Luna’s energy began to fade. Her eyes grew heavy, and she crawled into Victor’s lap, her unicorn cape tangled around her legs.

“She’s tired,” Keltie whispered, a mother’s concern replacing whatever had troubled her earlier.

Victor stroked Luna’s hair. “I’ll take her home,” he said. “She’s had an exciting day.”

“I should come too,” Keltie began, already reaching for her purse.

“Stay,” Victor insisted. “The show’s almost over. You deserve this night, mija . Come home when it’s finished.”

Keltie hesitated, torn between her daughter and the first real break she’d had in months.

“I’ve got this,” Victor assured her, gathering Luna into his arms. She didn’t stir, her exhaustion complete after the emotional day. “You two enjoy the rest of the show.”

After they left, Keltie moved closer to me as Ben introduced the next song, one of their newer releases that had been climbing the charts. The crowd sang along, voices rising into the clear blue sky.

“Thank you all for being here tonight,” Ben said after the song ended. “We’ve got a special guest I’d like to invite up on stage with us.” His eyes found mine in the throng of people. “Holt Wheaton, get your ass up here!”

The crowd erupted, and Keltie’s face broke into a genuine smile for the first time since whatever had happened earlier.

She rose to her tiptoe and kissed me quickly.

“Go. Show them what else you’ve got.” My eyes met Beau’s and Sam’s, who were seated with us.

When they both nodded, I kissed Keltie, then hurried toward the stage.

When I walked over to Ben, he clasped my hand and pulled me into a quick embrace before steering me toward a guitar tech, who handed me my Gibson.

“We’re going to play a little something different,” Ben announced. “This is a song written by our friend Holt here, a song that’ll be featured on our next album. It’s called ‘Breaking Circles.’”

I stepped up to the microphone beside him, adjusting the strap across my shoulder. The weight of the guitar steadied me as I played the opening riff. When Ben came in with the vocals, the crowd fell silent, absorbed in the new song. By the chorus, they were swaying, caught up in the melody.

For those few minutes, everything else disappeared—the trust, Luna’s illness, Keltie’s fear—all of it faded as the music took over. The final chord rang out, vibrating through my fingers, and for a brief moment, everything was silent before the audience erupted.

Ben clapped me on the shoulder. “Ladies and gentlemen, Holt Wheaton!”

I gave a small bow, searching the crowd for Keltie. She stood near the front, clapping and smiling.

“Before we play our last couple of songs,” Ben continued, “I’d like to invite Echo West from Miracles of Hope to the stage.”

Echo emerged from the wings, and the crowd quieted as she approached the microphone.

“Thank you all for coming today,” she began, her voice warm.

“The Miracles of Hope Children’s Charity began with a vision to support families facing the devastating diagnosis of childhood cancer.

Our founder envisioned a world where no family would face that journey alone, where financial burdens would never stand in the way of a child’s care.

” She paused, her gaze sweeping the crowd.

“Today, you’re making that vision a reality for Luna Marquez and for every child who will be diagnosed in the future. ”

Echo spoke of the charity’s work, of children who’d won their battles, of brave families who’d faced unimaginable challenges.

Throughout it all, her passion for the cause shone through.

I found myself wondering again about the organization’s mysterious founder, about the connection to my family and the trust that continued to guide our lives.

Ben put one arm around Echo’s shoulders. “Ladies and gentlemen, thanks to all of you, I’m thrilled and honored to announce that today’s show has raised over three hundred thousand dollars!”

A roar swept through the crowd. Echo’s hand flew to her mouth in surprise.

“The first portion of these funds will ensure Luna’s medical expenses are fully covered,” Ben continued. “The remainder will support Miracles of Hope in their mission to help other children and their families.”

After Echo left the stage, the band played their final songs, closing with their biggest hit. The crowd sang every word, hands swaying in unison under the bright February sun. As the last notes faded, there was a sense of community, a shared experience none of us would soon forget.

Backstage, Keltie flew into my arms. “That was incredible,” she said against my neck.

I held her in my arms, dancing to the encore the crowd refused to leave without. Her tears dampened my shirt, but I understood them. I felt like crying myself with both joy and sadness.

When Ben finally said farewell, I turned to tell Keltie I wanted to help them pack up and was almost floored by the dark shadows under her eyes.

“You should head home, darlin’,” I told her. “Give Luna a giant hug from me and tell her I’ll be there soon.”

“You sure?”

“Positive. Go be with our girl.”

She smiled at the phrase “our girl,” her eyes softening. “Don’t be long.” With a quick kiss, she disappeared into the thinning crowd. I watched until she met up with Beau and Sam.

I helped the crew break down their gear, working with the band’s techs. As I was coiling the cable, Bridger appeared beside me.

“You sounded good up there,” he said, his usual economy of words intact.

“Thanks, man.”

He shifted his weight, a sign of discomfort I’d rarely seen from him. “I need you to come out to the Roaring Fork with me. While it’s still daylight.”

I glanced at my watch. It was midafternoon, with plenty of daylight remaining. “Can it wait? I promised Keltie?—”

“It can’t.” The urgency in his voice caught me off guard.

“What’s this about, Bridger?”

He shook his head. “It’s better if you see for yourself.”

In the months I’d known him, Bridger had never been anything but straightforward. His request was unusual, which told me how serious this was.

“All right,” I agreed, setting down the cables. “Let me tell Ben I’m heading out.”

Twenty minutes later, we drove through the gates of the Roaring Fork Ranch. Bridger directed me past the main house, beyond the stables and corrals, past all the cabins, to a part of the property I rarely, if ever, set foot on.

“Over there,” he said, pointing to a grove of pine trees sheltering a small meadow.

As I pulled to a stop, I saw more vehicles arriving—Buck’s truck, then Cord’s, followed by Porter’s and finally Flynn’s SUV with Irish in the passenger seat. My siblings climbed out, their faces reflecting the same confusion I felt.

“What’s going on?” Buck asked, approaching my truck as I stepped out.

“I’m not sure yet,” I admitted.

Bridger gestured for us to follow him. “This way. Stay on the path.”

We moved in silence through the trees, the tall pines filtering the late-afternoon sunlight that dappled the ground.

The clearing opened before us, and in its center was a small tombstone, weathered by time yet clearly maintained. We gathered around it, speechless as we read the inscription carved into the granite.

Scarlett Blanche Wheaton

Born March 15, 1993

Died December 18, 1993

Forever Our Angel

Buck was the first to break the silence, his voice rough with emotion. “She was our sister,” he said, kneeling down to run his fingers over the words carved into the stone.

He was right. This was our sister—born between Buck and Porter, who lived less than a year. I knew without it being said aloud that she’d died of leukemia.

As I touched the cold stone with trembling fingers like Buck had, tears ran down my cheeks.

This discovery explained so much—the connection between our family, the mysterious trust, and the charity with its scarlet blanket logo.

Everything connected to this tiny grave and the sister none of us ever knew about.

As I stood to leave, the haunting melody I’d played at the Goat? to one both Keltie and I seemed to know but not where from, echoed in my mind.

Had it been something my mother sang to all of us?