Page 35 of Ghosted Cowboy
"My own personal ghost cowboy."
"Always."
Ten minutes later, I stood in the wings as Vivian addressed the crowd again. My hands were steady now, my makeup repaired, my hair pinned back in place.
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience. Without further ado, I present Rainey Bell performing Evangeline Vale's lament from'Murder at Midnight Saloon.'"
I walked onto the stage to generous applause. The lights were warm on my face, the audience a blur of shadows beyond the footlights. I found my mark, center stage, and let Evangeline's grief settle over me like a familiar cloak.
"They tell me you're gone," I began, my voice carrying to the back of the theater. "That I should stop looking for your face in every shadow, stop listening for your boots on the stairs. They say the dead don't come back, that ghosts are just memories we can't let go."
I moved through the monologue, letting the words pour out—all of Evangeline's longing, her refusal to accept loss, her anguished hope that love could transcend death. But underneath, it was my story too. The years of wondering, of waiting, of refusing to fully let go even when logic said I should.
"But I know you're out there," I continued, tears I didn't have to fake rolling down my cheeks. "Somewhere between this world and the next, trying to find your way back to me. And I'll be here,my love. Waiting. Always waiting. Because some loves are too strong for even death to break."
The monologue ended with Evangeline reaching toward an empty spotlight—where Silas's ghost would appear in the full production. I held the pose, arm extended, fingers grasping at nothing.
The silence stretched for a heartbeat. Two.
Then the theater erupted in applause. A standing ovation, people wiping at their eyes, genuine appreciation for art born from real pain and real triumph.
I took my bow, scanning the crowd. There in the wings stood Ransom, that proud smile lighting up his face. In the third row, Gran and Josiah stood side-by-side, clapping like children determined to show they believed in fairies.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Vivian joined me on stage, taking my hand. "The show will indeed go on. Opening night is tomorrow, October 29th, and I hope you'll all join us for'Murder at Midnight Saloon.'"
More applause. More bows. And as I stood there on the stage where I'd been threatened, where I'd refused to be driven away, I felt something shift inside me. The fear that had been coiling tighter for days finally loosened its grip.
Brooke was gone. Darcy was gone. The cloud that had hung over us for days had finally lifted.
Tomorrow, opening night would go on as planned. And Ransom would be there, haunting me in all the best ways.
The sabotage was finished.
But for us? We were just getting started.
Epilogue
Rainey
Thursday, December 20
The porcelain angel's face caught the afternoon light as I positioned her at the top of the display. Two months since Halloween, and Midnight Curiosities had transformed completely. Gone were the vintage masks and mourning jewelry. In their place, mercury glass ornaments glowed like scattered diamonds, and hand-carved German nutcrackers stood guard among the antique toys.
"That's perfect, honey." Gran admired the window from where she stood, her arm linked through Josiah's. "Though I still say that angel looks like she's judging everyone who walks by."
