Jingle Bell Buckaroo (Christmas Card Cowboys #4)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

The elementary school gym smelled of fruit punch, sweaty kids, and disinfectant.

Megan Collins stood at mid-court with a clipboard pressed to her chest and the creeping certainty that she was losing the war for Christmas.

In theory, the annual Evergreen Springs Christmas Pageant honored local history. In practice, it was pandemonium. Twenty-four fourth graders, one exhausted principal, and a script her late mother perfected over thirty years.

“Ahem. Okay, pioneers on stage left, townspeople on the right, Captain Murray center. Get into position.”

Nobody obeyed.

Timothy Jenkins, a starving townsfolk in the script, swung his rolled-up script at Caleb Barstow’s head.

Caleb yanked back, and within seconds, the two of them were sword-fighting like pirates instead of pioneer settlers trapped in a blizzard.

Megan locked her back molars, unclench, don’t bark. “Timothy. Caleb. Your scripts are not to be used as weapons.”

Timothy grinned and landed another hit. Paper crinkled. Caleb yelped.

Across the gym, six pioneer girls collapsed into bonnet warfare. Ribbons flew. Bobby pins skittered across the varnished floor.

“Miss Collins. She stole my bonnet.”

Megan pivoted. “Hands to yourselves. Now.”

Crash.

In the tussle, the painted backdrop toppled forward. Log cabins, pine trees, and two weeks of the art teacher’s effort pitched toward the stage. Megan lunged and caught the set piece just before it flattened three kids rehearsing their dramatic dying scene.

The canvas split down the center. Darn it. She lowered the ruined scenery and straightened. Her mother never would have let it get this out of control.

The glitter-painted banner across the back wall was a reminder of her mother’s perfection and everything Megan was getting wrong.

Evergreen Springs: A Christmas Miracle, December 1870.

Ethan Porter, the stand-in Captain William Murray (Megan’s three-times-great-grandfather), sat cross-legged against the bleachers, phone glowing in his hands.

“Ethan. No phones during rehearsal.”

“My mom just texted.”

Heat climbed Megan’s scalp. “Put it away, please.”

He stared a second too long before lowering the phone with an eye roll meant to test boundaries.

The gym doors opened, and Tessa Mitchell, Megan’s good friend, breezed in wearing a bright pink coat and the scent of candy canes. Cade Sullivan loped along with her, shearling jacket, cowboy hat, and leading Einstein, one of Tessa’s miniature horses.

The kids swarmed the gelding. Einstein soaked it in like he waited all day for the limelight.

“Einstein’s here!”

Tessa spread her arms around the gelding. “Everyone give him space.”

Cade moved to Einstein’s other side, hand on the halter. The mini stilled. So did the kids. That quiet authority. Her mother had it. Cade did too.

Megan did not.

“Tessa, Cade, perfect timing.” Megan offered a worn smile. “All right. From the top. Narrator?”

Jenna Daltry, pigtails bouncing, leaped up to the microphone with her script. “In December 1870, a terrible blizzard trapped the town of Evergreen Springs. The townsfolk had run out of food, and they were starving.”

Timothy clutched his fake beard. “We need help, or we’ll die!”

Zahara Paige flung her arms wide. “Alas, the storm is too fierce. No one can get through.”

“But venturing out in the storm is a death sentence,” Caleb read directly from his script.

“Then brave Captain William Murray stepped forward when no one else would,” Jenna said.

That was Ethan’s cue to take Einstein’s rope. “I’ll ride out for supplies. I’ll save everyone.”

He crossed the stage. The mini horse trotted after him, then froze, ears pricked at Timothy’s dropped script.

Ethan tugged. “Come on, horse.”

Einstein snatched up the script and chewed like it was part of the pageant.

“Whoa.” Cade took the halter and tugged Einstein back.

Tessa held the soggy remains between two fingers. “Sorry. He loves paper.”

The kids burst out laughing.

Megan added “print new script for Timothy” to her mental to-do list. “Let’s take it again from Ethan’s entrance.”

When they wrapped the scene, Tessa came over, brushing horse hair from her coat. “Can you make girls’ night on Monday?”

“Can’t. Busy week.” Megan held her smile in place.

Tessa’s eyes softened, as if she sensed Megan reaching for anything to avoid their weekly gathering. “We’ve missed you, Megs. You’ve been so busy trying to be the perfect principal you’ve forgotten about your friends.”

Ouch, okay. That stung, but she had to admit there was truth to it. She was trying so hard to live up to Mom’s legacy. “I miss you all too, but this pageant has my back against the wall until after Christmas. Can we catch up then?”

“Sure, sure.” Tessa hugged her and left with Cade and Einstein.

Megan tamped down her guilt. She knew Tessa hadn’t meant to put her on the spot, but it sure felt like an indictment.

No sooner had they gone than Hilary Paige, Zahara’s mother and head of the PTA, stepped into the gym. Cashmere coat. High heels. Perfect blowout.

The opposite of Megan’s blue jeans, oversized sweater, Crocs, and messy bun.

The chatter died. Kids stared.

Uh-oh. What now?

“Miss Collins,” Hilary said in the overly sweet tone she wielded like a weapon. “A word?”

“Mrs. Paige, we’re still rehearsing.”

“This will only take a moment.” Her gaze swept the gym. “Zahara’s text has me a teeny bit concerned.”

Teeny bit. Right. “Concerned about what?”

“She said things were rather lively.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, children not doing as they’re told.” A pause. Polished smile. “Your dear, sweet mother always had such a deft hand with the students. Discipline and joy in perfect balance. God rest her soul.”

There it was. The comparison Megan never won. Heat pulsed in her neck. “My mother and I have different styles.”

“Of course.” Hilary’s tone said anything but. “Understandable, but we don’t want the pageant to lose its sparkle, now do we?”

“It won’t,” Megan said.

It already had.

“Are you finished for the day?” Hilary asked. “Because I wanted to take Zahara to high tea at Santa’s workshop this afternoon.”

Megan opened her mouth to say no, they weren’t finished, but it was a Saturday, and she was lucky to have gotten the kids here at all.

She smiled and dismissed them.

The kids exploded off the gym floor, shrieks and laughter ricocheting through the space. Parents appeared in the doorway. More texted that they were on their way.

One by one, the crowd drained out until the gym settled back into stillness. Blessed quiet.

Megan picked up the pageant binder from the bleacher.

The Miracle of Evergreen Springs

Her mother’s handwriting filled the margins. Blocking cues. Stars beside the scenes that always “brought tears.” Purple for pioneers, green for townspeople, red for Captain Murray.

She traced one note.

Remember, Murray isn’t the hero because he succeeded. He’s the hero because he tried when no one else would.

Megan exhaled. Everyone else believed in the story. But she knew the truth.

There was no such thing as miracles.

* * *

An hour later, after shelving scripts, corralling props, and sweeping up the mess left by twenty-four fourth graders, Megan locked the gym doors.

She should head home.

But the idea of walking into that quiet house pressed against her like a knife.

One year ago today, she and her mother were in this same building together. Mom at center court, steering the production with calm hands and unshakable certainty. Megan, her vice principal, circling the perimeter, straightening bonnets, taping cords, whispering line reminders.

Because of budgetary cuts, the district hadn’t hired a new vice principal in the wake of her mother passing. After a year of leaving the job unfilled, the board decided the school “managed just fine” and quietly voted to phase it out.

Now it was all on her.

She unlocked her office, dropped her tote onto the chair, and sat behind her mother’s desk. The familiar checklist spun through her mind: blocking, scripts, backdrop repair. If she worked another hour or two, she could fix everything.

Work harder. Work longer. Work better.

That was Mom’s gospel.

Hers too, if she was honest. Work was her mantra. She rolled up her sleeves and went at it.

By five p.m., she finished all of it. But nothing eased the dread gathering in her chest. She still wasn’t her mother. Parents didn’t have to say it. Their tight smiles did the talking. Their gentle “Your mother always…” carried the same translation: You’re not her.

Had taking her mother’s job been a mistake? Because as long as she stayed the principal of Evergreen Springs Elementary, she lived in Tina’s shadow.

She ordered pot stickers and Moo Goo Gai Pan from Peking Wok and ate by the window with bamboo chopsticks.

Outside, the playground glowed blue under the security lights. She could almost see Mom, lifting a crying kid off the slide, straightening a crooked scarf, helping find a lost mitten, all with the quiet confidence Megan never managed to imitate.

When she finished, she tossed the containers in the bin and crossed to the corner Christmas tree. Mom loved Christmas. This year, the first without her, Megan forced herself to put up the tree, string lights, and make the office look festive.

I’m trying, Mom. I swear I’m trying.

The Pigeon Forge ornament hung near the top, pale blue, handblown glass, Christmas 2024 in silver script. Their last trip. Shows. Food. Shopping. Everything lovely. Neither of them knowing time was running out.

Then Christmas morning arrived, and Mom didn’t survive it.

Coffee. Cinnamon rolls. Music.

Then Tina Collins collapsed.

Megan on the kitchen floor, holding her mother’s body and begging her to fight.

The memory lived inside her like a scar.

She reached for the ornament. The branch dipped, and the ornament slipped.

She lunged. Missed.

It rolled under the desk but didn’t break. Relief pricked through the heaviness.