Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Dress rehearsal. Two days until the pageant.
The gym doors kept swinging open, pioneer girls rushing in with long skirts bunched in their fists, boys adjusting suspenders, parents depositing children and escaping before Megan could recruit them.
“Miss Collins, my beard won’t stay on.” Timothy stood center court, fake whiskers dangling from one cheek.
Without her asking for his help, Holden crossed to Timothy. He crouched in front of the boy, examined the whiskers, and retrieved the spirit gum from the costume box. “Hold still and I’ll get you fixed right up.”
Timothy froze. Holden dabbed adhesive along the boy’s jaw and pressed the beard into place.
“Give it a minute to set before you start tugging on it.”
“Thanks.” Timothy touched the whiskers, then bolted toward Caleb.
More children strolled in. Jenna, the narrator, stood alone by the backdrop, mouthing her lines.
Ethan emerged from the bathroom wearing the Captain Murray military jacket.
A hero’s costume. But for the wrong hero.
The shoulders bagged on Ethan, and the sleeves were too long. She made a mental note to tailor the coat.
“All right, everyone.” Megan smacked her palms together. “Costumes on, props ready. Full run-through, start to finish.”
Conversations continued. Kids adjusted bonnets, chased each other with scripts. Paper crinkled. Laughter bounced off the rafters.
“Places!”
Caleb paused mid-run. A few girls stopped talking. Timothy kept spinning in circles, making his pioneer coat flare. Half the kids playing the townspeople clustered by the bleachers, ignoring her completely.
Holden stepped to center court. No shout. No clap. Just stood there, weight on one hip, thumbs hooked in his belt loops.
The noise died.
Every kid turned.
“Y’all ready to show Miss Collins what you can do?” he asked.
Nods all around.
“Then let’s see it.” He pointed.
They scattered. Townspeople stage left, pioneers stage right, Ethan taking center position. Jenna climbed the steps to the microphone, script clutched to her chest.
Three months. Megan spent three months trying to command this room. He’d done it in ten seconds.
“From the top,” she said.
Jenna began. “In December 1870, a terrible blizzard trapped the town of Evergreen Springs.”
The play unfolded. Kids hit marks, remembered lines. Timothy’s beard stayed put. Madison didn’t drop her script. Even Ethan delivered his Captain Murray entrance with conviction.
“I’ll ride out for supplies.” Ethan’s chest puffed. “I’ll save everyone.”
The townspeople gasped on cue. Jenna continued the lie Megan’s family had perpetuated for over a hundred and fifty years.
Holden stood near the bleachers. The children celebrated a story that erased him. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t interrupt. Didn’t correct.
Just let her keep her family’s falsehood.
The rehearsal rolled forward, scene by scene, beat by beat. When they reached the finale with Captain Murray returning triumphant, the town saved, the kids cheered.
“Excellent.” Megan forced a smile for the parents watching in the bleachers. “Ten-minute break, and then we’ll run it one more time.”
The kids scattered, some toward the water fountain, others clustering to fix costumes or practice lines.
Timothy approached Holden, beard askew again. “Are you Miss Collins’s boyfriend?”
Heat rushed up Megan’s neck. “Timothy, that’s not appropriate.”
“Nope.” Holden shook his head. “Just helping out.”
“Do you know about cowboys?” Caleb joined them.
“Some.”
“Real cowboys? Like from the olden days?”
He glanced at Megan as if asking for permission to talk to the kids. She nodded.
“I work cattle.” He shrugged. “Know a lot of old timers. Heard stories about what it was like back then.”
Jenna drifted closer. “Stories about Montana?”
“Yep.”
“And the Great Blizzard?”
“That too.”
It wasn’t lost on Megan how easily he spellbound the kids. She wished she could transplant a bit of Holden’s magic onto herself.
“Yep,” he said. “Back then it was the Montana Territory. The eighteen seventies.”
“That’s when our play happens.” Zahara inched forward.
Would he reveal too much? Megan held her breath. If things got sticky, she could jump in and smooth it over.
The gym quieted. Kids abandoned the water fountain and the costume box. They circled Holden like he was a campfire offering warmth. Parents joined in too.
She couldn’t blame them. She wanted to cozy right up to him herself.
“What kind of stories?” Jenna asked.
Holden settled onto the gym floor, cross-legged. The kids dropped around him, pioneer costumes, beards, and bonnets and all.
“Well, I heard winters back then didn’t forgive mistakes. No furnaces to warm up in, no phones to call for help. Cold that burned your lungs felt worse when you couldn’t get away from it. Wind that knocked you flat, snow that buried everything, and nowhere safe to wait it out.”
The kids didn’t react this way when she taught this unit in social studies. No facts to memorize. Holden made it real.
Because for him, they were. What must it be like for him? Being so far away from everything he knew?
“How did people survive?” Jenna gnawed on a fingernail.
Good question. Megan wanted to hear the answer.
“Careful planning. Trusting your horse. Knowing when to push through and when to hunker down.”
Her throat tightened. He was describing himself. The ride he’d made. His choices that saved a town.
“What else did the old cowboys say?” Timothy scooted forward.
Every child tuned in. He had them in the palm of his hand. Okay, so she was jealous.
“Horses were everything. You didn’t just ride ‘em; you trusted ‘em with your life. A good horse knew when a storm was coming before you did. Knew where solid ground was under the snow.”
“Like Einstein?” Zahara asked.
Megan grinned. The kids did love that horse.
“Not miniature horses like Einstein, but full-sized horses. The kind that could carry a man through a blizzard. We just use Einstein for the play because he’s easier to handle.”
Speaking of Einstein, Tessa and Cade would be here soon for the second round of dress rehearsal. Megan checked her watch. Holden had just a few minutes to wrap this up, but she hated to interrupt.
Caleb bounced. “What did cowboys eat?” Trust Caleb to ask about food. The kid was a bottomless pit.
“Hardtack, mostly,” Holden said. “Beans if they were lucky. Coffee strong enough to strip paint.”
“What’s hardtack?” Madison asked.
“Dry biscuits baked so hard they could last for months without spoiling. You had to soak ‘em in coffee or stew to chew ‘em without breaking a tooth.” Holden pantomimed chewing on something tough.
The kids guffawed.
Eww, Holden had to eat that daily? No wonder he seemed so grateful for her cooking. Points for 2025.
Timothy made a face. “That sounds awful.”
“It was. But it kept you alive.” He flashed a grin. “The chuckwagon cook was the most important man in camp. You didn’t cross him unless you wanted burnt beans for a week.”
Wyatt had been the chuckwagon cook. Would he really burn beans out of malice? Megan didn’t think so. Holden was just doing that for comic effect.
“Did they ever lose their way when driving cattle?” Madison asked. “I mean, they didn’t have GPS, right?”
“Nope, no GPS. And yes, they got lost all the time. Trail herding meant following cattle through country nobody mapped yet. Rivers changed course. Landmarks disappeared. They had to read the stars, track the sun, and trust their instincts.”
The kids were asking great questions; she was proud of them.
“Were there outlaws?” Caleb’s eyes gleamed.
“Some.” Holden shifted his weight. “Mostly just men trying to survive, same as everyone else. But yeah, you kept your wits sharp and your supplies guarded.”
“And guns, did they all have guns?” Timothy stuck out his thumb and forefinger. “Pow. Pow!”
Eek, okay, no tiptoeing through the Second Amendment minefield.
Holden must have picked up on her nervousness because he deftly changed the subject.
Questions kept coming. He answered each one with detail that made the past feel real enough to touch. But of course, the man was history itself.
He never mentioned the blizzard. Never hinted at the ride that saved Evergreen Springs. Just painted a world the children could almost see.
Her phone dinged. Tessa.
We’re in the parking lot. Headed your way.
“Einstein’s here for our second run-through. Places, everyone.”
They groaned but took positions as Tessa, Cade, and Einstein came through the door.
Forty minutes later, they were done for the day. It went off more smoothly than any rehearsal to date. Maybe the pageant wouldn’t be a disaster after all.
“Great job, everyone. See you tomorrow for our final dress rehearsal before the big day. Don’t forget your costumes.”
Parents collected their kids. Tessa and Cade loaded up the mini and waved goodbye. The space emptied. Voices faded down the hallway. Car doors slammed outside.
Megan knelt, gathering abandoned props: a script, three fake beards, and someone’s forgotten bonnet.
Holden stood staring at the banner.
Evergreen Springs: A Christmas Miracle, December 1870.
“You enthralled them with your stories,” she said.
“They’re good kids.”
“Better than they’ve been all month.” She gave a rueful laugh.
“They care now. It makes a difference.” He rubbed his nape. “Everyone responds to truth.”
His words caused a ripple through her body. He was right. The truth did matter.
And she was promoting a lie.
* * *
Holden’s chest hadn’t loosened since the kids cheered Captain Murray’s triumphant return. Their genuine enthusiasm for the wrong hero sat heavy in his heart.
Not Megan’s fault. She only learned the truth Saturday. But Lordie, it stung.
He busied his hands with cleanup, folding the last pioneer apron while his mind circled a question that rattled like stones in a can: If he could leave, how did any of this work? The Christmas card brought him here. When would it take him back? Could he stay if he wanted?
And he was starting to want.
Just three days and Megan burrowed beneath his skin in a way that rattled him.
The part of him that rode through a killing storm wanted his name spoken. Wanted those children to know the truth. But wanting didn’t make it her responsibility. Whatever she decided, he’d live with it.
Even if it meant watching his story get erased.
Footsteps echoed from the hallway. Sharp. Purposeful. Not the soft shuffle of kids’ sneakers.
Holden straightened. His instincts prickled the way they did when cattle got restless before a storm.
The gym doors swung open.
A man strode in wearing starched khakis and a Christmas sweater with an embroidered reindeer. Tall. Clean-shaven. Hair styled with more oil than Holden had ever seen outside a saloon. His grin stretched too far, showing teeth as white as fresh snow.
“Megan.” Arms spread like they were old friends. “Thought I’d stop by and see how rehearsal went.”
Megan went rigid. Every line of her body pulled taut.
Holden clenched his teeth.
“Braxton. You’re too late. The kids have gone home.”
The man’s gaze swept past her and hit on Holden. The smile didn’t waver, but something sharp moved behind his eyes. Assessment. Calculation. Territorial. Dismissing Holden with a look, Braxton crossed the gym floor like he owned it and focused his full attention on Megan.
“I was hoping we could grab dinner tonight. That new Italian place on Mulberry Street.”
Megan’s fingers tightened on the bonnet she clutched. “I can’t.”
“Come on, Megs.” Braxton stepped closer. “Say yes.”
The nickname grated. So did the familiarity. So did the way he moved into her space like he had a right to be there. Holden’s hands curled into fists. He forced them open.
“I don’t have time.” Color climbed her neck. “I’m busy.”
“With what? It’s Christmas break.” Braxton gestured around the empty gym. “All you’ve got on your plate is the pageant. Come on. One dinner.”
Megan hugged herself.
Holden took a step forward before he could stop himself. “The lady said no.”
Braxton turned. The smile stayed fixed, but his eyes went cold. “Who are you?”
“Name’s Holden Reed.” He stepped closer.
“I don’t think we were speaking to you, Mr. Reed. This is none of your concern.”
“Didn’t ask if you were.” Holden stared a hole through the man. “Just pointing out what you missed.”
He held his ground. Braxton’s cologne reached him—fancy, expensive, the kind that probably cost more than a month’s wages. Everything about the man screamed polish and position. Money. Power.
Holden had neither in this world.
Megan stepped between them, facing the other man. “Braxton, you should go. We’re cleaning up.”
“We?” Braxton’s gaze ping-ponged between them. “So you’re too busy for dinner with me, but not too busy for—“ He gestured at Holden.
She opened her mouth. Closed it.
Holden’s chest tightened. Whatever history existed between Megan and this peacock ran deeper than colleagues. Personal enough that Braxton felt entitled to push.
Which meant what? That they’d been together? Were together?
“I’m helping Miss Collins with the pageant,” Holden said. “That’s all.”
“That’s all?” Braxton repeated the words like they tasted sour. “Right. Well.” He turned back to Megan. “When you’re done playing pioneer days, give me a call. We need to talk.”
He strode toward the doors, paused, and glanced back. “I’ll be at the fire station toy drive tomorrow morning. Seven to ten. Community service.” The words carried self-satisfaction, like he expected applause for showing up. “Pleasure meeting you, buddy. Safe trip back to wherever you came from.”
The doors swung shut behind him.
Holden stood awkward, hands still loose at his sides, chest tight enough to crack ribs. Megan stared at the doors like they might open again. Her face pale except for two spots of color high on her cheeks.
She picked up the costume box, hefted it, and headed toward the storage room without a word.
The banner hung above the stage. The lie her family built. The woman he was starting to care about, who apparently had some kind of history with a man who walked in like he owned her.
Holden had ridden through blizzards, faced down rustlers, and survived being ripped out of his own time.
But this? This felt like quicksand.