Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
The house was dark when Fiona pulled into her spot. She sat in the driver’s seat for a minute, staring at her apartment.
The event had gone really well once she had her phone. They raised twelve thousand dollars for the Chamber of Commerce, exceeding their goal by three.
Riata hugged her at the end of the night, calling her a miracle worker. The mayor shook her hand and said the town was lucky to have her.
She should feel great about it.
But instead, exhaustion weighed her down. Heavy. Hard to shake off.
She climbed out and locked the car. The cold bit through her coat, finding every gap in the fabric.
Lacey looked up from the sofa. Her coat was half on, a knit hat askew over dark hair. The TV filled the room with a soft glow.
“Hey, Ms. Walker. You’re back.” She stretched and smiled. “We just finished Elf again. He loves the spaghetti scene.”
Fiona dropped her purse on the counter. “Thanks for staying late.”
“No problem.”
“How’d he do?”
“Perfect. Homework, snack, puzzle, movie, bed. He wanted to wait up, but I told him Santa only comes for sleepers.”
Fiona managed a real smile. “You’re the best.”
Lacey shrugged. “Jamie’s a great kid.”
She reached for her wallet, counted the bills slowly. “Here. And Merry almost Christmas.”
“Same to you.” Lacey zipped the money into her pocket. “What time do you need me tomorrow?”
“My shift at the theater starts at eleven, so ten-forty?”
“I’ll be here. Have a good evening.”
“Thanks, Lacey, you too.”
She tossed her purse on the counter. Her coat joined it, puddled over the back of a chair instead of hung up. She kicked off her heels and left them where they fell.
Barefoot, she went to Jamie’s room, pushed open the door, and stepped inside.
He lay sprawled across his blankets in that boneless way kids sleep, one arm flung over his head, the other tucked against his chest. His hair formed a messy halo against the pillow. His mouth hung slightly open, each breath soft and even.
“Goodnight, babe.” She whispered it like a little prayer, brushing his hair back from his forehead and planting a kiss on his cheek. “Sweet dreams.”
He didn’t move.
She pulled his door halfway closed, just how he liked it. Her own room was waiting at the end of the hall. She changed into her nightgown, washed her face, brushed her teeth. The routine was calming, just going through the motions while her mind replayed the evening.
Rhett had shown up with her phone. The way he looked at her, there was something in his eyes. Relief? Disappointment? She thanked him and moved on, already thinking about the next thing.
He saved her skin.
She should’ve said more. Should’ve taken a second to acknowledge what he did, going out of his way to bring her something she’d left behind.
Four days. That’s all it had been. Four days and he left an impression on her furniture, her routine, her life.
She checked her phone one last time. A text from Mom.
We miss you and Jamie so much. Your dad is doing so well. It was a tough decision, but we know it was the right one. Love you.
She was so lucky to have such amazing parents, and she knew it. She had leaned on them so much, but now it was time for her to let them take care of themselves.
“I love you too,” she whispered.
She’d text back tomorrow. It was almost midnight, and she didn’t want to wake them. She closed her eyes and tried to drift off.
Sleep didn’t come.
Her mind raced, going through the to-do list for tomorrow. Chores. Errands. All before she had to be at the theater for an eight-hour shift. When did her life become this nonstop treadmill of obligations?
She rolled onto her side, then her back, and then the other side. The pillow was too flat, then too lumpy. The quilt felt too heavy, then not heavy enough when she kicked it off and instantly regretted it.
The clock glowed 12:47. Then 1:23. Then 2:17.
A line from one of the Casino Night volunteers’ jokes popped into her head, something about fate being a trick dealer who never showed his cards until you’d already lost. She tried to shake it off and get comfortable again.
But it wouldn’t budge.
Her chest felt empty, like something important was missing. She told herself it was just the adrenaline wearing off from the event. The inevitable crash after running on stress and coffee for sixteen hours straight.
She told herself she was fine.
Maybe a cup of hot cocoa would help her sleep. She headed to the living room, partly to check the thermostat, partly to stop overthinking, but mostly to do something other than lie in bed worrying.
The Christmas tree lights filled the room with a soft glow. Shadows danced on the walls, familiar and cozy. Rhett’s old western coat was draped over the end table. He hadn’t taken it with him. But why would he? Wyatt had given him a modern coat to wear.
She picked it up. The fabric was rough under her fingers, worn soft in spots from years of use. She brought the coat to her face, pressing the collar against her nose and inhaling.
The first whiff was wood smoke. Then leather. And then his raw, masculine scent that made her think of wide-open spaces and wind through tall grass.
Her throat tightened.
She slipped the coat on. It was way too big for her, the hem almost brushing the floor, the sleeves hanging well past her fingertips.
This was ridiculous. She was standing in her living room at two in the morning, smelling a guy’s coat like some lovesick teenager. A guy she’d pushed away because she was too scared to need him. Too scared to love someone who could be taken by the past at any moment.
She started to take the coat off when she noticed something on the floor in front of the coffee table.
The Christmas card. Rhett’s portal back to 1878.
It lay face up, the painted image clear even in the dim light. She’d seen it before, of course. That first morning when Rhett showed up in her kitchen. But he had kept it close and she hadn’t seen it since.
Missing him and wishing she hadn’t sent him to stay with Tessa and Cade, she bent down to pick it up.
The painting was more detailed than she remembered. Jeb Ortega’s brushwork captured every shadow and texture. The winter landscape stretched behind Rhett, with purple mountains rising in the distance. Snow covered the ground in soft-looking drifts.
Rhett stood in front of a rough fence, his hand casually resting on his hip. His expression was calm and knowing, as if he could see straight through time to this moment. To her, kneeling on her living room floor, staring at his likeness.
The colors seemed deeper than they should be. Richer. It felt like the paint held something beyond just pigment and canvas.
Then, the snow in the picture moved.
She blinked, once, twice, thinking her tired eyes were playing tricks on her.
Tiny flakes spiraled across the painted air, drifting down with the same lazy grace as real snow. They landed on Rhett’s shoulders and melted against the warmth of his painted coat.
Her heart raced.
This couldn’t be real. Paint didn’t move. Pictures were supposed to be static, frozen in the moment the artist captured them.
But the snow kept falling, gentle and impossible.
She scanned the scene, looking for other signs of movement. The barn stayed still. The mountains remained fixed. Only the snow danced through the painted world like it was alive.
That’s when she spotted it.
There, beside Rhett.
A figure she hadn’t noticed before. Small. Fair-haired. Bundled up in a coat that looked too big for him.
A child.
Her heart lurched, stealing her breath.
The boy turned in the painting, his face coming into profile. She recognized that nose. That chin. The exact angle of his head when he focused on something.
“No.” The word came out strangled, barely a whisper.
But the image didn’t change. The child stayed there, grinning up at Rhett as if he belonged in this painted world. As if 1878 was home and her apartment was the dream.
Jamie.
Her hands shook. The card trembled between her fingers.
This couldn’t be real. She was overtired, stressed, her mind making impossible things out of shadows and wishful thinking. Kids didn’t just appear in old paintings. Magic Christmas cards didn’t snatch seven-year-old boys from their beds.
They brought cowboys forward through time. They answered desperate prayers and twisted wishes into shapes no one expected. But they didn’t snatch kids.
Did they?
She wished for help that first morning. Begged the card to send her someone when Jamie’s meltdown spiraled out of control.
What if Jamie had wished too?
What if her son had asked the card for something she couldn’t give him? A father figure. A guy who understood him. Someone patient who never raised his voice or looked at him like he was broken.
What if the card listened?
Her stomach dropped.
“No.” She was dreaming, hallucinating. Jamie was sound asleep in his bed.
She dropped that cursed card and spun toward the hallway. “Jamie!”
Silence answered.
She ran to his room, feet pounding the floor, and flicked the light switch. Yellow light flooded the space, harsh and revealing.
The bed was empty.
Sheets rumpled where he’d been. Pillow still dented from his head.
But Jamie was gone.
“Jamie!” She tore through the room, yanking open his closet, checking under the bed, places way too small for a kid to hide but searching anyway because her brain refused to accept what her eyes showed her.
Nothing.
She ran to the bathroom. Empty. The living room. Kitchen. Her own bedroom. Every space in the small apartment cataloged in seconds that felt like hours.
He wasn’t there.
Her son wasn’t in the apartment.
Every cell in her body screamed denial. This wasn’t real. Couldn’t be real. Kids didn’t vanish from locked apartments. They didn’t get sucked into paintings like something from a fairy tale.
But the truth was already tightening around her chest like a fist, squeezing until she couldn’t breathe.
She stumbled back to the living room, legs barely holding her up. The Christmas tree lights blinked their uncaring rhythm. Red. Green. White.
The card lay where she dropped it on the rug, glowing now. Not bright like the overhead lights, but with an inner glow that seemed to pulse. Gold light bleeding up from the painted surface, staining the walls, the furniture, and her hands when she reached for it.
She fell to her knees.
The painted image shifted again. Jamie stood closer to Rhett now, holding out his palm, and in it was the carved wooden top he loved so much. They both seemed to be looking at something beyond the frame. Maybe the mountains. Or the future. Or just nothing at all.
Her baby. Her son. Stuck in a world of paint and magic, impossibly far away and yet right there in her shaking hands. She was losing it.
The world felt like it was closing in on her, like she was being pulled down a long, dark tunnel, her body disconnected from her mind.
The card glowed brighter, pulsing and hot.
“Please,” she whispered, “Bring him back. Bring my baby home.”
The card got warmer. The light brightened, gold spilling across her fingers.
She held her breath. “Yes, yes, come back.”
But the painted scene stayed the same. Jamie was still there in 1878, his small hand tucked into Rhett’s, both of them facing away from her. Walking into that impossible landscape.
Not coming back.
The realization hit her like ice water.
The card never brought anyone back. Not on its own. Cade returned because Tessa called for him. Eliza had to pull Wyatt through, fighting to bring him home.
The magic didn’t work in reverse. It didn’t get back what it had taken.
If Jamie was in 1878, she must go get him.
That thought crystallized in her mind, clear and terrifying. Not a panic, but an understanding. A choice.
She could stay here. Call the cops. Try to explain. Watch them look at her with pity and concern.
She could text Tessa, have her bring Rhett over, and ask him to go after her son.
Or she could go after Jamie herself.
The card was hot in her hands.
“Take me to him,” she said. Not a plea. A declaration. “Take me to my son.”
The card’s light nearly blinded her. She shielded her eyes but didn’t let go. The heat built, intense and almost unbearable.
She leaned in harder, pushing her will. “Take me to Jamie.”
The painted scene began to move. Snow swirled faster. The mountains seemed to pull back, creating depth where there had only been a flat surface. The barn door swung open.
Light streamed through her fingers, super bright and almost too much to handle. The room felt like it was tipping sideways, or maybe she was the one falling; honestly, she couldn’t tell anymore.
The floor seemed to vanish under her knees.
Her last clear thought was of Jamie’s face that first morning when Rhett showed up. The awe in his eyes. The trust.
She hadn’t been able to protect him from the magic she couldn’t wrap her head around. Now, she had to hope that same magic would lead her to her kid.
The light totally consumed her. The world flipped upside down.
And then there was just nothing.