Page 6 of Roaring Fork Rockstar

“Of course. My mistake.” I smiled, but my mind was racing, calculating the hours until I could reasonably leave and whether Luna’s fever would climb higher in that time.

“Mr. Wheaton has a very nice face,” she said before returning to her coloring.

“What did he say to you?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

Luna’s tongue poked out of the corner of her mouth as she concentrated on staying in the lines. “Nothing, but he looked sad before he left.” She frowned, picking up a blue pencil. “Do you think he has a tummy ache like I get sometimes?”

“I don’t know, Luna-bug. Maybe.” I kissed the top of her head and stood. “Let me see if Miguel can cover for me tonight, and we’ll go home.”

“Okay,” she said, already absorbed in her art again.

Instead of going straight over to the bar, I walked to the stage, placed Holt’s guitar in its case, then set it near the counter.

“Is that seat taken?” a familiar voice asked.

I turned to find Samantha Marquez—my newfound cousin—sliding onto a stool. She looked different than she had last night—more relaxed, in jeans and a sweater, her dark hair pulled into a loose bun.

“It is now,” I replied, setting a napkin in front of her. “What can I get you?”

“Club soda with lime, please,” she said. “I’m the designated driver tonight. Beau’s over at the Eldo with guys he skied with today. I swear that man has never met a stranger.”

I prepared her drink, aware of the growing headache behind my eyes. Between Luna’s unexpected appearance and Holt’s bizarre disappearance, the evening had veered far from normal.

“Sorry if I seem distracted,” I told Sam, sliding her glass across the bar. “It’s been a crazy day.”

“Hey, I get it. Busy time of year.” She took a sip, then gestured toward Luna, who was now yawning over her coloring book. “She yours?”

A mix of pride and protectiveness washed over me. “That’s Luna. Four going on forty.”

Sam smiled. “She’s beautiful. Has your eyes.”

“And her father’s stubbornness,” I added without thinking, then immediately regretted it when Sam’s expression turned curious.

“Is her dad in the picture?” she asked, then quickly added, “Sorry, none of my business.”

“No, it’s okay.” I busied myself wiping down the prep area. “He’s not involved. His choice.”

Sam didn’t press the issue, which I appreciated. Most people couldn’t resist digging for more details, as if single motherhood was an invitation for personal questions.

“Will you be going to New Mexico for Christmas?” she asked, changing the subject.

I shook my head. “Can’t. The Goat’s only closed on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Not enough time to make the trip worthwhile.”

“That’s too bad. But since you’ll be here, I was hoping we might be able to connect more about the family stuff.” She ran her finger around the rim of her glass. “We’ll head to New York right after the holidays.”

“Maybe we can grab coffee before you go,” I offered, though we both knew it was one of those vague suggestions people make without real commitment. Between running the Goat and caring for Luna, my free time was nonexistent.

“Sure, that would be great.” Sam finished her drink and stood, leaving a generous tip. “I should check on Beau. Good to see you again.”

As she turned to leave, I found myself calling after her. “Sam, wait. I really would like to get coffee, if you have time.”

“I’d love it.” She pulled out her phone. “Text me, and we’ll make a plan.”

I remembered she’d given me her number, but I hadn’t put it in my cell yet. “Sorry, I must’ve lost that napkin you gave me.”

“No worries. Give me your number, and I’ll put it in my phone.”

After I recited it, she sent a message right away.

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