Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
At four, they walked into the apartment, and Jamie dropped his backpack by the door.
He crouched down to untie his boots, quietly counting each metal eyelet as he pulled the laces free. One, two, three, four, five, six. Same old routine.
“I didn’t spill milk at lunch.” He slipped off the first boot and lined it up against the wall, toe pointing toward the kitchen.
“That’s good, buddy.” She hung up her coat and tossed her Chamber of Commerce binder on the counter. Inside, spreadsheets tracked every volunteer, vendor, and potential crisis with solutions planned out.
Endless lists filled her mind. Volunteers needing assignments.
Banners still hanging crooked at the venue.
The prize wheel that needed tape in three spots or it would jam mid-spin.
It felt like treading water in a pool with no shallow end.
Lots of effort, but no progress. Just movement without a destination.
Rhett was home all afternoon.
The place was spotless, and the Christmas tree lit up. The neatness squeezed her chest. Gratitude mixed with worry, twisting into a tangle of feelings. He cleaned. He organized. He was helpful.
And that helpfulness felt risky because she liked it so much.
“You look tired.” Rhett leaned against the kitchen doorframe, arms relaxed at his sides.
“I’m fine.” She turned on the tap and rinsed Jamie’s lunch containers, scrubbing as if she could wash away her exhaustion along with the dried yogurt.
“Want me to start dinner?”
The offer was nice, thoughtful, exactly what someone who cared would do.
“No. I’ve ordered pizza for Jamie and the sitter.”
“Okay. Just offering.” He stepped back, no protest, no wounded look, no judgment. Just that calm presence she couldn’t match no matter how hard she tried.
But she didn’t know how to stop hearing care as criticism. Didn’t know how to accept help without feeling like it meant she couldn’t handle things on her own.
She stacked the containers in the drying rack, each piece clicking into place with satisfying finality. Small victories. She could control the Tupperware even if she couldn’t control anything else.
Jamie was on the floor, spinning the carved wooden top. The soft whir filled the space between them.
“Remember, Lacey is coming over to watch you.” She dried her hands on the dishtowel, folding it into thirds before hanging it back on the oven handle.
His face lit up, tension melting from his shoulders. “She makes popcorn in the big pot.”
“See? You’ll be fine.”
“Rhett can’t watch me?”
“No, he’s got to go help Tessa and Cade at the ranch.”
Jamie’s head perked up. “Can I go?”
“No, not this time.” She ducked into her bedroom to get ready and closed the door. Inside, her thoughts jerked around like a marionette pulled too hard by an amateur puppeteer.
The black dress hung on the closet door. She’d bought it three years ago for occasions like this. Chamber of Commerce events. Fundraisers. Times when she needed to look put-together even if she didn’t feel that way.
She unpinned her hair, shook it loose, and worked through the tangles. The curling iron heated up on the bathroom counter. She sectioned her hair and wrapped the first piece around the barrel. Her hand slipped, and heat burned her wrist.
“Ouch! Darn it.”
A knock at the door. “You okay?” Rhett asked.
“Fine.” Just go, dude. Leave me alone before I yank open the door and let you help me.
She ran her wrist under cold water, the burn mark blooming red across her skin.
Her reflection showed a woman who looked both capable and fake. Hair half-curled. Makeup waiting. A performance she had to give whether she believed in it or not.
When she came out ten minutes later, fresh coffee brewed in the pot. The smell wafted through the apartment, rich and dark. Too close to comfort. Too close to the memory of her mom making coffee every morning before taking Jamie to school.
“You didn’t have to do that.” She gestured at the pot.
“Didn’t hurt anything.” Rhett poured a cup, added two sugars, and left it on the counter for her.
“I’m perfectly capable of making my own coffee.”
He met her gaze for a beat that felt too long. “Never said you weren’t.”
Kindness again. Gentle. She glanced away first.
Jamie padded into the kitchen in mismatched socks—one striped, one solid blue. His hair stuck up in three directions. “You look fancy, Mom.”
“Thanks, sweetheart.” She crouched down to smooth his cowlick.
“Are you gonna win money?”
“Raise some. For the Chamber. So we can fix up the town square and help local businesses.”
The doorbell rang.
Rhett reached the door first and opened it before she could cross the living room.
Lacey stood on the threshold in a Christmas Vacation sweater, a puzzle box tucked under her arm. She babysat Jamie occasionally when her parents weren’t available.
“Hey, Ms. Walker.” Lacey stamped snow off her boots. “Hi, Jamie. I brought the sled dog puzzle.”
Jamie’s face lit up. “The hard one?”
“Only kind worth doing.”
Fiona handed Lacey the printed list, laminated and hole-punched. Bedtime routine. Emergency contacts. Jamie’s comfort strategies if things went sideways. Lacey took it with a grin that said she knew every word by heart but wouldn’t say so out loud.
“Cade and Tessa are coming to get me soon?” Rhett asked.
“They’ll be here at five. Not too long. You’ve been a big help. Thank you.”
“T’weren’t nothin’.”
“It was to me.”
The pause between them stretched like a held breath. “Everyone set? Pizza’s on the way.”
“Bye, Mom.” Jamie went back to spinning his top, and that eased some of her guilt. He was happy.
“Night.” She gathered her things and headed out the door.
She drove to the center of town, her mind jumping ahead to the event, cataloging everything that could go wrong.
The silent auction tables. The volunteer schedule. The caterer who was known for running late. She accounted for all of it, planned for contingencies, built in buffers.
Everything had to go right. It was the Chamber’s biggest money-making event of the year.
She parked at the far edge near the pine trees and crossed the slick pavement, binder held close to her chest like armor against whatever the night might throw at her.
Inside, the noise of competence. People who knew their roles and executed them. She could breathe here.
“Fiona!” Riata waved her over, clipboard in one hand, walkie-talkie in the other. “Need your sign-off on the raffle tables before we open the doors.”
“On my way.”
Coat off. Smile on. She adjusted red bows on table centerpieces, straightened welcome signs. Each fix smoothed her pulse. Each small correction proved she could still control something.
“Did you get my text about the ticket sheets?” Brenda called from across the room.
Text. Phone. She patted her pockets. Empty.
Her stomach dropped.
She reached into her purse. Lipstick. Keys. Three blue pens. Throat lozenges. Gum. No phone. She checked again, digging into the lining. Nothing.
Oh no, not tonight.
Her phone wasn’t just a convenience. It was proof she kept her life under control. Her connection to Jamie. Her lifeline if Lacey needed her. Without it, she felt exposed, like the world could seep in and rearrange her without permission.
She’d forgotten her phone. Left it sitting on her kitchen counter like some careless teenager.
And she didn’t have time to go back and get it.
* * *
The apartment felt off without Fiona.
He caught a hint of her perfume in the air, light and floral, like wildflowers on a spring hillside.
Rhett paced around, waiting for Tessa and Cade.
The sitter, Lacey, was in the kitchen whipping up some hot cocoa.
Jamie had abandoned the top to open the puzzle box Lacey brought.
Not wanting anyone to accidentally step on the top and hurt themselves, Rhett scooped it up and tucked it into the pocket of his old coat along side the Christmas Card.
He stood by the window, hands shoved deep in his pockets, watching the snow drift under the streetlight outside.
He’d been let go before. Cattle hands got sent packing all the time when the season changed or the work dried up. You rolled up your bedroll, grabbed your wages, and moved on to the next place.
But this felt different.
It wasn’t just losing a job. It was being asked to leave a life he hadn’t meant to build.
Tessa and Cade pulled up. He turned to grab his new coat from the hook by the door.
That’s when he spotted it.
Fiona’s phone on the counter, facedown, small and silent against the surface.
For a moment, he froze. The phone lit up once like it sensed him, glowing in his palm when he picked it up. The screen showed a message from someone named Riata:
Caterer is late.
He had no idea what that meant, but it sounded like trouble.
Fiona never went anywhere without her phone. She called it her lifeline. Her connection to Jamie, to work, to everything that mattered.
He turned it over in his hand, his thumb brushing the smooth screen. She must’ve set it down while giving Lacey instructions, too focused on making sure everything was perfect to remember the one thing she needed most.
He could just leave it. She’d manage. She always did. She wanted space. Independence. Distance from the cowboy she pulled out of time because she thought she was too weak to stand alone.
But she also needed this.
Jamie laughed as the top wobbled and tipped over, rolling in a crooked line across the floor. The kid scooped it up and wound the string again. Lacey moved around the kitchen with easy confidence, pulling mugs from the cabinet and measuring cocoa powder.
He could almost hear Fiona’s voice: You’ve already done enough.
Rhett slipped the phone into his coat pocket, grabbed his hat from the hook, and stepped outside.
Cade leaned out the passenger window. “You ready?”
Rhett hesitated at the bottom step, a hand on the truck’s door handle. “Fiona forgot her phone.”
Tessa’s mouth dropped open. “She’ll panic. Hop in. We’ll drop it off on our way to the ranch.”
He climbed into the back seat. The cab smelled of horse and leather and a hint of peppermint lip balm.
Tessa pulled out of the lot. She smiled at him through the mirror. “Good catch, cowboy. You just saved her night.”
The drive into town was quick. Rhett leaned forward, paying attention to the route. He noticed how Tessa stopped when the lights were red and drove moved when they turned green.
Cade talked about a busted gate at the ranch that needed fixing before the next storm, something about rotted posts. That was talk he understood, but the laws of driving fascinated him and he didn’t pay much attention to his friend.
The community center glowed ahead, warm light spilling through tall windows into the snow-covered parking lot. White bulbs traced the roofline. Wreaths hung on every door. Inside, silhouettes moved past the windows, busy and purposeful.
“We’ll wait here.” Tessa pulled up to the curb near the entrance.
Rhett climbed out, the phone clutched in his hand. Inside, the place bustled with energy.
He spotted Fiona near the stage at the far end of the room. Clipboard in hand. Hair pinned up perfectly. In her black dress, she looked regal and beautiful.
His heart skipped. She was way too elegant for a cowhand like him. Why did he think he could ever be anything to her?
She turned and saw him. Froze. Frowned.
His heart jumped right into his throat.
“Rhett? What are you doing here?”
A few people glanced over, curious. A woman in a green dress whispered something to her friend.
He walked over to her, phone in hand. “You left this.”
Color rose in her cheeks, embarrassment first, then relief washed over her features.
She reached for it, fingers closing around the device. Her eyes lit up. “Thank God. I didn’t even realize until fifteen minutes ago.” She smiled now. “Thank you. Seriously. You have no idea how much this means to me.”
He nodded, words stuck somewhere between his chest and throat.
For a heartbeat, the noise of the room faded. She smiled again, warm and grateful, and the pull inside him felt dangerous.
Her attention shifted back to her clipboard, already moving to the next task.
A woman in a red apron approached. “Fiona, the caterer needs you to sign off on the setup.”
“Be right there.” Fiona glanced back at him, already distracted. “Thanks again, Rhett. Really.”
Then she was gone, swept into the flow of the event.
Outside, Tessa’s truck idled, puffing a white cloud into the freezing air.
Cade pushed the door open from inside. “Mission accomplished?”
“Yeah.” Rhett climbed into the back seat and shut the door.
“Was she glad to see you?” Tessa asked, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror as she put the truck in gear.
Rhett looked straight ahead at the windshield, watching snow pile up on the wipers. “She was glad to see her phone.”