Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
The card pulsed dim in Rhett’s hand like a dying ember.
Golden light seeped through the cracks of his fingers. For one wild second, he thought about gripping it harder, forcing it to flare and take him wherever it had taken them. The instinct came hot and reckless. Every nerve screamed go now!
But another thought crowded in, slower, colder. What if he did go back? What if he walked through that light and the door sealed behind him? What if all three of them were lost to time, trapped in his century with no medicine for Jamie and no way for the boy and Fiona to come home?
He turned it over, studying the back as if he could read meaning in the paper grain. His name in brown ink.
Rhett Kelsey 1878.
Now he was the one holding the card. Fiona and Jamie were the ones waiting in the past. And the light was already dimming. His chest constricted. Fear wrapped around his ribs and squeezed.
They were in 1878. Montana winter. No shelter unless they’d stumbled onto a ranch or homestead. No way to explain themselves to people who might think them insane or dangerous.
Fiona would be terrified. Trying to protect him. Trying to stay calm. Wondering if anyone would come. Wondering if Rhett even knew they were gone.
He flipped the card back over and his blood ran cold.
Fiona and Jamie’s images wavered beside his own, outlines trembling, color draining from them. The bridge between centuries was breaking apart; he could feel it.
“Don’t close!”
The image rippled again. Fiona brightened for a breath. Jamie pressed against her side. Then both blurred, their edges dissolving into the painted snow.
“Stay with me!” He said it louder this time, as if the sheer force of sound could keep the magic alive.
The card quivered in his hand, faint warmth pulsing against his skin.
“Don’t you fade on me!”
They weren’t gone yet, but the color was washing away fast, the portal collapsing inch by inch.
He needed help. He couldn’t handle this alone. If he went through the portal for them, without someone on this side to pull them back, they’d be trapped in 1878.
He pushed to his feet and paced once across the room. The boards creaked beneath his boots. Every muscle screamed to act.
The glow throbbed weakly through his fingers, slower now, like the card was losing breath. Time was running out—minutes, maybe.
Every second he stood here was another second Fiona and Jamie spent cold and afraid. But if Rhett went through blind, if he surrendered to the magic without ensuring a way back, they’d all be trapped.
He swore softly, the word harsh in the quiet apartment.
There wasn’t time for more doubt. He couldn’t waste the only chance they might have.
Wyatt had faced this before. Wyatt had felt the card’s pull, understood its demands, and survived the passage between centuries. More than that, Wyatt had someone call him back. Eliza stood in 2025 and spoke his name, and the magic listened.
That was the key. The anchor. The tether.
Someone to hold the card here while Rhett went there. Someone had to keep the doorway open, maintain the connection, wait to call them home.
Rhett slid the card inside his coat. Its warmth pressed against his chest through the fabric. The pulse beat once, weak but alive.
“Hold on. I’m coming.”
He headed for the door. Outside, the storm had thinned to a ghost of itself. Snow drifted across the road in long ribbons, pushed by the wind.
He climbed into the idling truck. His hands found the wheel, the gear shift. He eased forward. Tires slipped once before gripping. The dashboard clock glowed 2:54. Wyatt and Eliza would be in the bakery.
The card throbbed once against his ribs, fainter now.
The streets were empty. Everyone asleep in warm houses, unaware that time had cracked open and swallowed two people whole. Unaware that a man born a century and a half ago was driving through their town, gambling everything on magic he didn’t understand.
He couldn’t afford to wreck. Not with the card dimming this fast. Not with Fiona and Jamie depending on him.
The thought of them steadied him. Fiona’s quiet strength. The way she’d looked at him in the parking lot, chin lifted, waiting for a kiss he’d been too afraid to give. Jamie’s solemn concentration as he learned to spin the top, his grin when it finally worked.
They were his, not by blood or paper, but by choice. By mornings shared, by sledding and hanging ornaments, by every quiet hour that had made them a family.
And he’d be damned if he lost them without a fight.
He turned onto Main Street. The town lay dark, storefronts buried behind drifts. Only one window shone, a square of gold spilling through glass.
Foster’s Bakeshop.
He slammed the truck into park and ran for the door. It was locked. He hit it with the flat of his hand. “Wyatt! Eliza!”
No answer.
He pounded harder. The lights inside the storefront came on. A figure moved behind the counter.
The door finally cracked open, warm air rushing out. Wyatt’s face appeared, startled, half in shadow. “Rhett? What in—”
Rhett didn’t wait for the rest. He shoved the card toward him, its glow a faint shimmer against the bakery’s light.
“It took them,” he said, breath harsh. “Fiona and the boy. They’re gone.”
Wyatt wiped his hands and came around the counter, gaze locking on the flickering card. “You saw it happen?”
“No. The apartment was empty. I found this on the floor.” He lifted the card slightly. “They were in the painting. Then they faded. They’re in 1878.”
Eliza set down the pastry box, the paper crackling in the silence. “Oh my gosh.”
He met Wyatt’s eyes. “I’m going in, but I need you to pull us back.”
Understanding moved across Wyatt’s face. “We’ll do it.”
Wyatt studied him for a long moment. This wasn’t a small ask. It was faith that defied reason.
“How will I know when to call you back?”
“I don’t know.” The truth burned. “You’ll have to trust your gut.”
“And if I choose wrong?”
Rhett chuffed out a breath. “Let’s assume you won’t.”
“I don’t like this plan.” Wyatt frowned. “If I wait too late, all three of you could get trapped in 1878 or…if I pull too soon, before you find them…”
“Only I’ll return.”
“Yeah.”
The ovens ticked, settling. Outside, darkness pressed against the glass.
Eliza stepped beside Wyatt, her hand on his shoulder. “We’ll get you back. All of you.”
The solidarity in her voice nearly undid him. These people, who had taken him in, given him work and a place, were now giving him something greater: faith.
“Go get them,” Wyatt said. “Bring them back safe.”
This was the line between reason and belief. The place where logic ended and love began. They were his. They were waiting for him to come after them.
His hands steadied around the card. It grew warmer again, throbbing. His breath evened. The fear twisting inside him changed shape, became focus, resolve.
He met Wyatt’s gaze one last time. Saw certainty there. Eliza’s hand anchored on Wyatt’s shoulder.
“Take me back,” Rhett said to the card, to whatever force carried them all this far. “Take me to Fiona and Jamie.”
Golden light emanated from the card, flooding the bakery. It poured from the card, through his hands, into his chest, where it burned like fire and felt like hope.
The bakery dissolved around him.
* * *
The wind died down, but not the cold. It clung to the cabin walls, seeped through every crack, and refused to let her bones forget where she was.
Jamie slept beside her on the narrow cot, his breathing soft and even under the mound of coats. She kept one hand on his back, counting each rise and fall.
A sound cracked through the night, sharp and close, like a gunshot. Fiona flinched, her heart jerking hard enough to steal her breath.
Holden swore and crossed to the door, gun already in hand.
“Watch over them,” he said to Skeet and Jeffers before pushing outside, cold wind slicing through the gap before the door thudded shut behind him.
Jeffers and Skeet exchanged a glance. Jeffers reached for the spare rifle propped by the wall, while Skeet moved toward the window, trying to peer through the frost. Neither spoke.
The quiet felt brittle, ominous. She froze, every nerve straining.
For a moment, there was only wind again.
Then a man’s voice, raw from shouting, carried through the night.
Her pulse tripped. Rhett?
She stumbled to her feet.
The door burst open, wind and snow swirling in. Holden filled the frame, his weapon lowered, and behind him—
It was Rhett.
He looked carved from the storm itself, his new 2025 coat stiff with ice, face raw and red. He staggered into the doorway, half-laughing, half-choking.
Her knees wobbled. For one suspended second, she couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t process that he was real and standing there, not a dream she built out of exhaustion and longing.
Then the air rushed back into her lungs, and she was moving.
He saw her. Their eyes locked, and whatever strength he possessed went into crossing the room. Snow and mud hit the planks under his boots, melting in streaks behind him.
She met him halfway.
He caught her, and the impact was everything she didn’t dare hope for. She clutched him with both hands, fisted her hands in his coat, holding him to her.
“You came.”
“Always.” His voice was rough, the sound of a promise kept at any cost.
She felt his heart hammering against her cheek, proof that he was here in flesh and breath. Her mind struggled to catch up, to believe what her body already knew.
When she pulled back, his face came into focus, eyes rimmed red from cold, stubble crusted with frost, mouth trembling between a laugh and a sob.
Behind them, Holden cleared his throat and turned toward the stove, pretending not to notice. “Didn’t figure I’d see a ghost today.”
Jeffers stood frozen near the table, rifle still in his hands. Skeet’s mouth hung open as he stared at Rhett like a man seeing an apparition.
Rhett’s arms stayed around her as he glanced over her shoulder. “Guess we both get miracles.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Holden said. “You owe me one hell of a story when this is settled.”
“Long one.” Rhett shook his head. “Might take years.”
“Got time.” Holden poked the fire. “Coffee’s hot if you want it.”
Jeffers exhaled, setting the rifle against the wall. Skeet busied himself refilling the kettle, though his hands still shook.
Fiona barely heard them. Relief crashed through her so hard she shook with it. The smell of him undid her. Tears slid down her cheeks.
Jamie stirred. “Mom?”
She eased away from Rhett, reluctant, and bent over her son. Her hand found his hair, still soft under the layers of coats. “Everything’s fine, sweetheart. Rhett’s here now. Everything is going to be okay.”
Jamie blinked up at him, groggy. “You found us.”
Rhett crouched beside them. “Always.”
Her throat tightened. He crossed time for them.
Something shifted in the air. A subtle pressure first, like the beat before a storm. Her ears popped. The fireplace flame flickered. Jeffers’s coffee cup rattled on the table.
Rhett’s head snapped up. “It’s Wyatt. He’s got the card. He’s trying to bring us home.”
Holden frowned. “What card?”
“Long story. No time.” Rhett held out both hands, one to Fiona, one to Jamie. “Hold on.”
Fear slashed through her, cold and immediate. But she didn’t hesitate. She nodded and gathered Jamie closer, wrapping one arm around him, the other around Rhett.
“We’re okay,” she said the words for herself as much as for them. “We’re all okay.”
Jamie didn’t answer. His gaze fixed, and for a heartbeat, she thought he was fine until she noticed his fingers twitching against empty air, rubbing at an invisible seam. The realization chilled her blood.
Was he feeling the divide? The magic pulling. Would this work? Could they die?
Holden backed toward the door. “You’re about to vanish again, aren’t you?”
“Seems that way.” Rhett nodded.
Holden’s throat worked. “You’re not coming back, are you?”
Rhett’s jaw tightened. “Don’t think so.”
A muscle jumped in Holden’s cheek. “Heck of a thing.” Then, after a beat, “You were a good man to ride with, Kelsey.”
Rhett managed a rough smile. “You weren’t half bad yourself.”
Holden stuck out his hand. Rhett took it. Their grip was solid and brief, saying everything words couldn’t.
“Wherever you’re headed.” Holden grinned. “Give ‘em hell.”
Rhett’s smile wavered. “You know I will.”
Holden stepped back, clearing space between them.
The stove rattled against the wall. The windowpanes quivered, frost cracking and sliding off in glittering shards. Jamie whimpered.
Jeffers grabbed the table to steady it while Skeet backed toward the door, muttering a prayer under his breath.
She whispered to Jamie, words meant to soothe, while Rhett’s arm came around them both. He pulled them close, tucking Jamie between them.
Heat rose from nowhere, dry and electric. Dust lifted from the floor and spun around their feet, forming slow circles that defied the wind. The lantern flame stretched tall and thin, white at its core.
The sound warped midair, pulled apart by pressure that made her ears ring. She clutched Rhett harder, her face pressed to his shoulder. Jamie’s small fists bunched in Rhett’s coat. Gravity failed.
Hot, then cold. Her stomach lurched. The floor dropped…or maybe rose.
Rhett bent his head to her ear, voice fierce and close enough to feel. “Don’t let go.”
She wouldn’t not for a second. She clung to them. Rhett and Jamie. Her son and the man she was ready to love.
Then light swallowed everything.