Chapter 9 Scarlett
SCARLETT
By morning, Mustang Mountain Elementary looked like nothing had changed.
It was still the place where hallways smelled like crayons and disinfectant wipes, where backpacks thumped against lockers, where kids burst through the doors wearing puffy coats and smiles too big for their faces.
Except everything had changed. Or maybe it was me.
I pushed inside and forced a smile at Madge when I stopped to grab my mail from my cubby. Her eyes softened like she felt sorry for me.
“Cold one today,” she said.
“It’s December in Montana,” I replied with a shrug. “It’s always cold.”
She nodded, but the look lingered. Knowing. A little sympathetic. A little pitying.
I hated it.
I tucked the mail under my arm and walked down the hallway, my boots tapping against the linoleum.
Kids’ artwork lined the walls in a parade of construction paper ornaments and crooked gingerbread people.
The school heater rattled overhead. Somewhere, someone dropped a box of markers.
It was all normal. And none of it felt normal at all.
I hadn’t slept much. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Kingston standing in his cabin watching me leave, pain written in the tight lines of his shoulders, that quiet devastation he thought he was hiding. And the letter. The words still echoed in my chest, too tender and too honest to pretend away.
As I approached the staff lounge to grab a cup of terrible coffee, I heard low voices inside. Two women were talking. I didn’t know who they were, but their words made me stop.
“…the petition’s already got forty signatures.”
“People are nervous. You can’t blame them.”
“I heard Scarlett Monroe has been up at his place. Can you imagine?”
“She probably thinks she can fix him.”
“Well, she won’t.”
“Once a criminal…”
My hand froze on the door handle. Heat slid up my throat, and my pulse hammered. I turned and walked away before they could step out and see me. I wasn’t ready to deal with the looks, the half-smiles, or the quiet judgment disguised as concern.
The day stretched. My students were wound up with holiday excitement. Normally I’d soak it in. Today I was fraying at the edges. During recess, I sat at my desk and opened my drawer, where I’d tucked Kingston’s letter after reading it a dozen times the night before.
I didn’t take it out. Just rested my fingers on the envelope. He’d carried everything alone for years. I hadn’t known, and the town for sure didn’t know. They didn’t know what he took on himself and they didn’t know why. They didn’t know the man underneath the tough outer shell, but I did.
A lump formed in my throat. I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes until the sting faded. No more running. Not from this. Not from him.
School let out in a flurry of snow boots and red and green glitter.
I gathered my things, shrugged into my coat, and drove toward Main Street.
The snow had tapered off, leaving the world crisp and glittering under the sun.
A few families bustled along the sidewalks.
Holiday decorations sparkled in every window.
I parked in front of the Merc where Ruby ruled over the town’s gossip mill. The bell over the door jingled as I stepped inside. She spotted me immediately and swooped in, her scarf trailing behind her like a cape.
“Sit,” she ordered.
“I just walked in—”
“Sit.”
She shoved a mug of hot cider into my hands and steered me toward the back counter. I did what I was told because no one stood up to Ruby and lived to talk about it. Once I’d settled onto a stool, she leaned against the counter. “Alright. Tell me what’s going on.”
I let out a shaky breath. “It’s been… a day.”
“I heard.” She arched a brow. “And by ‘heard,’ I mean three people came in this morning pretending they weren’t talking about the petition.”
I frowned. “So everyone knows?”
“Honey. This is Mustang Mountain. Everyone knows everything about everyone around here.”
I huffed out a small laugh, that faded into a sigh.
Ruby’s voice softened. “You love him.”
It wasn’t a question. My eyes burned. “Yes.”
“And he loves you.” Again, not a question.
My throat tightened. “I’ve worked so hard to get where I am, to put my feelings for him aside and find my own place without him.”
“You sure have, sugar.” Ruby reached across the counter and squeezed my hand. “But is it worth anything without love?”
“I don’t know if I’m strong enough to keep loving someone who won’t let himself be loved.”
Ruby studied me for a long moment, sympathy and steel mixing in her expression. Then the bell above the door jingled. We both looked up.
Slade Kincaid stepped inside, snow dusting his dark jacket, his cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes. He was tall, quiet, and gave off the kind of steady calm that made the whole store pause and take notice.
“Afternoon,” he said, voice gravel-deep.
“Slade.” Ruby nodded. “Your delivery’s in the back.”
He tipped his chin at her, then glanced at me. “Hey, Scarlett.”
“Hi, Slade.” I tried to smile but I couldn’t quite force my lips into a curve.
He looked between me and Ruby. “Is everything alright?”
Ruby didn’t miss a beat. “No. The whole damn town is losing its mind.”
Slade’s jaw ticked. “About Kingston.”
My breath caught. “You heard?”
“Everyone’s heard.” He paused. “For what it’s worth, I know him. I’ve known him since he was a kid.” He shifted his weight, his voice quiet but firm. “He’s a good man. Better than some folks deserve.”
My pulse tripped all over itself. Ruby nodded enthusiastically like she couldn’t agree more.
Slade tugged off his gloves. “Most people talk big when they’re scared, but it doesn’t mean they’re right.” He hesitated, then added, “Don’t let a bunch of folks who thrive on gossip decide something that matters.”
Then he disappeared into the back room without another word.
Ruby exhaled. “If Orville ever retires, I’m going to suggest that Slade run for mayor. He’ll win from that speech alone.”
I stared at the mug cradled in my hands.
Ruby leaned in. “Scarlett?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you going to the tree lighting tonight?”
I swallowed. “Yes.”
Ruby’s smile widened. “Good.”
“I’m not going for the town,” I said quietly. “I’m going for him.”
“Even better.” She reached behind her and grabbed a hand-knit beanie with a sprig of mistletoe sticking up from the top of the display. Then she tugged the price tag off with her teeth and jammed it onto my head.
“There,” she said, hands on her hips. “Now you look ready to fight for your man.”
I laughed, truly laughed, for the first time all day. “If this doesn’t get me a Christmas kiss, then I suppose he’s beyond hope.”
“No one’s ever beyond hope, honey. Remember that.”
I finished my cider and headed home to get ready.
I went through the motions on auto-pilot.
First a shower, then I fixed my hair. The red sweater my mom gave me last year for Christmas made me feel braver than I was.
Then I tugged on boots that wouldn’t slip on the ice, my warmest winter coat, and the hat Ruby had given me.
No more hiding. No more letting the town’s opinions drown out what I knew to be true. No more letting Kingston bear burdens that never belonged to him alone.
“Tonight,” I whispered to myself, “we fix this.” I grabbed my keys before doubt could whisper otherwise.
The walk to the square didn’t take any time at all. Warm light spilled from shop windows as I turned onto Main Street. Families were already gathering in the square, bundled against the cold. The giant evergreen towered over everything, its limbs dark, waiting for the lighting ceremony.
Holiday music floated through speakers. Kids darted between adults, laughing. Orville adjusted the microphone on the stage, and the crowd parted enough that I could see the tree. My entire body went still. This was the moment, the turning point, the place where everything would change.
I took a slow, deep breath and moved toward the tree. The whole square was decked out in the kind of cozy postcard scene that usually made me smile. Tonight, it felt like a test I wasn’t sure I could pass.
As I moved deeper into the crowd, people turned. I felt their eyes on me, the quick glances over their shoulders, and the whispers swapped behind gloved hands. I straightened my spine and kept moving.
At the cocoa stand, Madge paused mid-pour, her smile faltering. “Oh—Scarlett.” Her voice dipped to something careful and cautious, like she didn’t want to set me off by offering a cup of cocoa. “It’s a beautiful night.”
“It is,” I agreed, forcing warmth into my voice.
She hesitated. “Such a… big turnout this year. Everyone’s here.”
I knew what she meant. Everyone was here, and everyone was watching.
“I’m glad,” I said. “It’s an important night.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, like she didn’t know how to react. She handed me a cup of cocoa without charging me. “It’s on the house.”
“Thank you.”
A few feet away, a small group huddled near the gazebo. I recognized most of them as old neighbors, parents of my students, people I’d grown up knowing by name and by the shape of their porch lights.
“…he should’ve stayed away…”
“…money doesn’t erase prison…”
“…it’s a shame she’s involved…”
“…the poor girl’s confused…”
My jaw tightened until my teeth throbbed.
Ruby’s advice from earlier rang through my head. She was right. I didn’t owe anyone an explanation. I didn’t owe them anything. But Kingston…he deserved someone in his corner.
I kept walking, weaving through clusters of families. The smell of candied pecans and kettle corn drifted from the vendor stalls. I reached the edge of the square and stopped. The giant evergreen stood proudly in the center, towering over the crowd.
Years ago, Kingston had kissed me under this same tree. The decorations were different. So were the lights. And we we’d grown into different versions of ourselves. But underneath it all, we were still the same.
He’d told me he wanted forever, then he left.
Now I knew why. Now I understood the fear behind the abandonment. The sacrifice behind the silence. The twisted, misguided loyalty that had shaped his choices.
Knowing didn’t erase the hurt, but the hurt didn’t erase the love.
And there was no way love would erase the fight ahead of us.
But I was here anyway. I tucked my hands deeper into my coat pockets and scanned the crowd.
A few faces softened when they saw me. Others looked away.
A few looked irritated, but maybe they were just afraid of change.
Slade Kincaid stood off to the side near a lamppost, his coat collar turned up, arms crossed as he surveyed the crowd. He saw me looking, tipped his chin in acknowledgment, then turned back toward the people murmuring near the cocoa stand.
For some reason, his presence grounded me. He’d stand behind Kingston. So would Kacen. Ruby too. I wouldn’t be the only one in his corner.
Across the square, Mayor Nelson fiddled with the microphone, tapping it twice before it screeched. The sound made half the kids cover their ears and a baby start crying. “Test, test. Good evening, Mustang Mountain!”
The crowd responded with scattered cheers.
“It’s time for our annual tree lighting ceremony, a tradition we’ve held since this town was founded—”
A teenager groaned. Someone shushed him.
I smiled despite myself. I used to stand here with my parents during this speech every year.
My mom would wrap an arm around my shoulder, and my dad would grumble about the cold while secretly loving every second.
They’d retired to Arizona a few years ago and hadn’t been back to Mustang Mountain since.
A light snow began to fall. Gentle flakes drifted sideways in the breeze, catching the glow of string lights like tiny, suspended stars.
I closed my eyes for a moment and inhaled the cold.
The truth settled inside me, steady and solid.
Whatever Kingston was facing, whatever the town believed or whispered or feared, I wasn’t going anywhere.
I blinked, took a breath, and stepped closer to the tree, weaving through bodies until I reached the front edge of the crowd.
The mayor kept talking, something about donations and community spirit, but I barely heard him.
My pulse thundered in my ears. I could almost feel Kingston somewhere in the dark edges of the square, watching, hesitant, afraid to cross the invisible line separating him from the people who hadn’t decided whether to forgive him, but he wasn’t the only one who could step forward.
I wrapped my arms around myself and stared up at the half-lit tree.
Let the town watch. Let them whisper. Let them wonder.
Tonight wasn’t about them. It was about showing up.
For him… for us… for the truth of what we were building again.
And if Kingston Raines needed someone to meet him halfway between the shadows and light, then I would be the one to stand here waiting.
As Mayor Nelson lowered his clipboard and prepared for the countdown, the square went quiet, holding its breath. I whispered, so softly the snow might have carried the sound away, “Come find me.”
I wasn’t running. Not tonight. Not ever again.