Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Snow sifted under the streetlights as Megan and Holden climbed the stairs to Fiona’s apartment.
Inside, laughter burst loud enough to rattle the door. Fiona swung it open, wearing an aggressively ugly Christmas sweater that had to be a dare. “You’re almost too late. Wyatt’s already eaten half the cookies Eliza brought.”
“Wyatt’s doing quality control,” Eliza said from the kitchen.
Megan grinned. “Then the party’s officially underway.”
Hooray. Everyone was already in full fun mode. No one cornering her about the rehearsal. No tight smiles. No quiet pity. Bless every single person in this room.
Holden stepped in behind her. He paused a moment, taking stock of the room before he settled in.
Rhett clapped him on the back hard enough to shift his weight. “Evening, hero. You hungry?”
“Always.” Holden didn’t even twitch, but Megan caught the tiny pause.
Tessa breezed past with a tray of drinks fizzing an unsettling shade of red. Cade followed her with the expression of a man accepting his fate.
“Tessa, what am I looking at?” Megan frowned at the bubbling brew.
“Holiday Joy!” Tessa beamed.
“I hate to ask.” She laughed.
Cade muttered, “We’re all gonna regret this.”
Jamie tugged Holden’s sleeve. “I saved you a seat right by me.”
“Well then, best seat in the house.” He let Jamie take his hand and drag him to the couch, where the kid handed him the toy train remote with solemn pride.
Huh. Imagine that. Jamie, who kept most people at arm’s length, warming right up to Holden like they were best pals. Megan had known the kid since birth, and he kept his reserve around strangers.
Then again, Holden had been there to rescue the boy from the cold when Jamie got transported back to 1878.
Megan hung up her coat and slipped into the kitchen with her friends. Wyatt had parked a cast-iron Dutch oven on Fiona’s stove, the lid rattling every few seconds like it was warning people off. The fragrance of cumin and peppers filled the air.
He lifted the lid and stirred the chili. “Bowls are in that cabinet, Principal. Help yourself. Fritos are on the bar along with grated cheese, cowboy beans, and diced onions.”
“Frito pie? That’s not chuckwagon food.” She tossed him a teasing smile.
Eliza placed an index finger over her lips. “He made a copycat recipe from Zeke’s diner. Shh, don’t tell Zeke, but Wyatt’s is better.”
“My lips are sealed.” Megan pantomimed zipping her lips.
Eliza touched her arm. “You doing all right?”
“For now. This helps. You guys help.”
Eliza’s smile said she believed the answer, but it didn't fool her. “Good. You need this.”
Everyone filled their bowls and carried them to the table. Wyatt took one end, Rhett the other, like they were preparing to negotiate territorial water rights instead of eating Frito pie.
“Holden, would you do us the honor of saying grace? Only if you want to,” Fiona asked.
“It’d be my pleasure, Miss Fiona.”
Holden bowed his head and extended his hands, one toward Megan, the other toward Jamie.
Megan froze for half a beat until her brain caught up. Hold his hand again? Yes, please. She took it.
He wrapped his fingers around hers. The simple contact snapped her right back to the moment in the gym when he stepped close, breath warming her cheek, his mouth hovering near enough to tilt something inside her she had no business tipping.
“Dear Lord, thank you for this food and the hands that put it on the table. Thank you for folks willing to gather and make room. And thank you for keeping people safe as winter sets in.” A small pause.
Something unguarded in it. “And thank you for friends who make a man feel at home, even when he ain’t figured out where home is. Amen.”
Everyone echoed, “Amen.”
He lifted his head. Megan released his hand a heartbeat later than she should have and reached for her bowl, trying to pretend her pulse hadn’t skipped.
Conversations overlapped. Someone tossed a joke across the table; someone else fired back. Megan didn’t try to track it all, just enjoyed the camaraderie.
Cade launched into a tall story from 1878, hands moving as he reenacted the whole thing.
“So we’re camped north of Lickety Split Creek.
Middle of the night, cold enough your breath could shatter.
I’m on remuda watch, minding my own business when the horses start dancing like they heard a sermon they didn’t agree with. ”
Megan felt a prickle up her spine. Just the way he said dancing sounded like trouble.
Wyatt leaned back. “You skipped the part where you dropped your rifle.”
Cade pointed a warning finger. “I was getting to that.”
Tessa laughed into her drink.
“Anyway, I look up, and sure enough, there’s a whole line of coyotes on the ridge. Just sitting there. Staring. Not moving, not blinking, not breathing so far as I could tell.”
Megan pictured it. Dark shapes against a darker sky. Moon. Breath fogging. Horses tense. She never realized how many ways a cowboy could die.
“So I grab my rifle,” Cade said, “go to take aim, and—” He clapped his hands.
Jamie jumped.
Megan startled a little herself. Reflex. Sharp sound, close quarters. Not fear, just her nerves still set to high alert after today.
“It drops right outta my hands. Loud as sin,” Cade said.
“I would have had a heart attack.” Megan laughed.
Wyatt grinned. “Durn near scared the horses worse than the coyotes.”
“Hey, the only reason those coyotes didn’t rush us was because my rifle made more racket than they felt like dealing with,” Cade said. “They skedaddled.”
Yikes. Coyotes in the dark? No thanks. She’d stick to 2025, thank you very much.
Fiona sighed. “And here I thought my nights were stressful.”
The table cracked up. Megan laughed too, feeling lighter than she had in days. Real laughter. The kind that shook loose the blues.
* * *
After the dishes were done, everyone drifted to the living room. Holden took the armchair in the corner, close enough to hear the cowboys and angled so he could see the whole room. A man kept his back protected and his eyes open. Habit carved too deep to lose.
The women settled near the fireplace. Megan and Tessa sat cross-legged on the rug beside Jamie, helping him connect train cars. Eliza curled into the end of the couch. Fiona folded herself into the chair nearest the tree.
Wyatt dropped onto the couch beside Holden’s chair, Cade leaned his shoulders against the coffee table, and Rhett claimed the ottoman. Close quarters. Holden’s shoulders eased a fraction.
Wyatt tipped his head back against the cushions. “Nice seeing us all in one place again.”
Holden caught the shift in his tone. The last time had been outside, hunched around a campfire, throwing more smoke than heat, snow cutting sideways, voices soft so the horses wouldn’t spook.
Cade stretched his legs out. “Better than sitting in the cold.”
Rhett rested his elbows on his knees. “Better than wondering where everyone ended up.”
Wyatt nodded. “Feels comforting knowing where you all are.”
Something inside Holden loosened. The room pressed in close, not tight, just… held. A rough laugh escaped him before he could clamp it down. It sounded too much like the ones that slipped out around a campfire when the night got long and someone needed to break the dark.
Wyatt raised his mug. “Here’s to the future. Strange beast.”
Holden clinked his mug against Wyatt’s. “Strange don’t scratch it.”
The coffee was tasty. Better than trail coffee, smoother, nothing to choke down. Everything here tasted better. He studied the three men beside him. They wore modern shirts, but no amount of new cloth could hide what they were. Cowboys, all the way down.
“You ever miss home?” Holden asked.
Wyatt’s mouth flattened. “First few nights I sat with that card till my fingers went numb. Wanted nothin’ more than to go back.”
“You regret stayin’?”
Wyatt shook his head. “Not after Eliza.”
Cade propped his boots on the coffee table edge. “I miss the land. Don’t miss the rough work. Tessa makes up for what I left behind.”
Rhett tapped his fingers against his mug. “Back there, I was alone.” His gaze flicked to Fiona and Jamie. “Here, I’m not.”
Holden stared into his coffee. Heat soaked through the mug into the calluses on his palms. 2025 didn't scare these men. But what scared him was aching for things he had no business wanting.
Across the room, Megan laughed.
Holden looked up.
She nudged Jamie’s shoulder, teasing him about the crooked caboose he attached to the wrong car. Her hair slipped forward, and she brushed it back without looking away from the trains. Jamie fired back something that made her grin, the genuine grin, the one that caught the corners of her eyes.
Everything in this century felt like ice under his boots, solid until it wasn’t. Megan was the only ground he trusted.
“You reckon it’s right?” He kept his voice down. “Stayin’ when you weren’t born here?”
Wyatt followed his glance toward the women. “We’re here now. No going back. You’re the only one left with a choice.”
Holden shook his head and touched his shirt pocket where the Christmas card rested. The truth lodged deep and ached.
Jamie abandoned the trains and made a beeline for the coffee table, digging into the bin for a fistful of crayons and getting out a sheet of paper from the drawer. He dropped to the rug and attacked the page with fast, wild strokes.
“Hey, I know a stall tactic when I see it. Time for bed.” Fiona bent to scoop him up, but Jamie wriggled free and barreled straight toward Holden, waving the paper like a victory flag.
“For you!”
“For me?” Holden pointed at his chest.
“Uh-huh.” Jamie bobbed his head.
Holden took the piece of paper. Crayon scribbles everywhere. Wild purple sky. A horse that might’ve been a cow. Lines going nowhere. But the letters at the bottom—
The Real Hero.
Holden swallowed hard.
Jamie bounced on his toes. “It’s a picture of you!”
Holden cleared his throat. “Best likeness I ever seen.”
“You can keep it.”
“I will. Thank you kindly.”
Jamie rocked on his heels again, his fast energy fading out all at once. Holden didn’t know what to make of the shift, only noticed the boy go quiet, shoulders dipping as if the day finally caught him.
Fiona saw it. “Time for bed, sweetheart.”
Jamie didn’t argue. He stepped into her space, leaning against her side with a soft bump.
Fiona wrapped an arm around her son and guided him toward the hallway. “Say goodnight.”
Jamie lifted his hand in a loose wave. “’Night.”
Holden touched the brim of an imaginary hat. “’Night.”
They disappeared down the hall, leaving the room smaller and quieter than before.
Holden folded the drawing with care and slid it into his shirt pocket next to the Christmas card.
Conversation shifted softer once Jamie’s door closed. The room drew in tight around the people left in it. Wyatt stretched his arm along the back of the couch. Cade hooked a foot under the coffee table. Rhett rubbed the bridge of his nose, exhaustion hiding in the motion.
Megan pushed up from the rug and eased onto the arm of Holden’s chair, her knee brushing his shoulder as natural as breathing. She didn’t pull away. He didn’t either.
Someone murmured something that made Eliza laugh. Fiona murmured a reply. The sound wasn’t loud, wasn’t lively, just the kind of warmth that settled into the bones of a house and stayed there.
Megan leaned forward for a moment, setting her empty mug on the side table, her lovely scent surrounding him.
“Roads’ll ice if we wait much longer,” Cade said, pushing to his feet.
They found coats and scarves. Quiet goodbyes circled the room. Holden rose with them, not stepping back, just letting the movement gather around him. It felt right. Easy. Like he was fitting in.
Eliza wrapped Megan in a hug. “Tomorrow’s big. We’ve got you.”
Megan nodded against her shoulder. “I know. Thank you.”
Holden watched her straighten when Eliza let go, watched her pull that strength she carried around her like a coat. Tired in the eyes, braced in the shoulders, still showing up for the pieces of her life that mattered.
She didn’t notice him looking.
But he felt her pull. Quiet. Certain.
He’d crossed time and landed in a century that made no damn sense, and somehow ended up in a room that did. And people who cared about him.
Especially the woman who slipped her arm through his and rested her head on his shoulder.