The Deputy's Holiday Family

So here he sat in the cab of his Jeep, staring at the two-story cream-and-blue brick building that was the Wright Opera House, praying he wouldn’t let her down.

Drawing in a deep breath, he grabbed the stack of scripts from the passenger seat and stepped out into the chilly late-afternoon air. The cast would be arriving soon, so he’d better get inside and at least pretend he knew what he was doing. He refused to let other people see him as the screwup his father believed him to be. Because regardless of the what the old man thought, Matt was not responsible for his mother’s death.

He flipped on the lights inside the circa 1888 building that smelled of lemon oil and popcorn. Moving past the box office with its intricately carved moldings, he continued up the curved staircase to the second floor. The view at the top never ceased to stop him in his tracks.

Beyond the expanse of arched windows, the gray volcanic peaks of the Amphitheater enveloped the town’s eastern edge. Cloaked in white and skirted with conifers, they were a sight to behold. God’s majesty on full display.

A few steps closer and his gaze fell to a nearly empty Main Street. He could only imagine how things must have looked back when Ouray was a thriving mining town. Carriages lining Main Street as people turned out in their finest for some cultural enrichment.

With an about-face, he moved into the theater opposite the windows and brought up the house lights. Unexpected emotion clogged his throat as he took in the large space with its brick walls, wooden floor and the original stage curtain that now served as a mural. Mama used to think of the Wright as her second home. He could still see her, taking the stage in an array of roles—everything from a soldier to a nun. She may have been a country girl, but she loved the theater. And this play was her legacy. Meaning as long as Matt lived and breathed, the show would go on.

“Oh, good. I’m not the first one here.”

The voice had him whirling to find Lacie standing behind him. Her caramel-colored hair, which had been pulled back into a ponytail yesterday, now spilled over her shoulders and down her back. Much longer than the no-nonsense, chin-length style she’d worn throughout high school. And with her pale pink peacoat cinched around her waist, she was quite the contrast to the tomboy who had once run circles around him and just about every other guy on the basketball court at Ouray High. She’d always steered clear of anything remotely feminine. That is, until she took the stage their senior year. Watching her transform from the Cockney Eliza Doolittle into a refined lady in their school play had had everyone’s jaw dropping.

Her smile wavered as he approached, her expression suddenly curious. “What are you doing here?”

He cleared his throat. “I’m directing the Christmas play. Why are you here?”

“I’m in the play.” Hands stuffed inside the pockets of her coat, she shifted from one stylishly booted foot to the other. “I thought Mrs. Nichols was directing. That’s what she said when she called and invited me to be a part of it.”

“You’re only in town for Thanksgiving. Why would she ask you to be in the play?”

Lacie hesitated a moment before jutting her chin out. “Actually... I’m here throughout WinterFest.”

But that ran from Thanksgiving all the way to the ice festival in January, so—“Why would you do that?”

A hint of annoyance pinched her brow. “Not that it’s any of your business, but my mom needed some holiday help at the boutique.” Removing her hands from her pockets, she brushed something from her coat sleeve. “And since I no longer have a job...”

She’d lost her job? Now he was really glad he’d given her only a warning. After all, she had a child to care for. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s only temporary.” She looked everywhere but at him, seemingly studying everything from ceiling to floor. “So where’s Mrs. Nichols?”

“Rehab.”

Eyes wide, she finally met his gaze.

“She broke her hip.”

“Ooh, that’s rough. She’s such a sweet woman.”

“Yes, she is.”

Lacie meandered toward the windows. “Great theater teacher, too. I hope she recovers soon.”

“We all do.”

After a silent moment, she faced him. “So you’re directing the play in her stead?”

“Yes, I am.”

“I...didn’t realize you were into theater.”

“I’m not. But my mother was. The Christmas play was her baby.” He lifted a shoulder. “And since there was no one else willing to direct...”

A hint of a smile played across her pink lips. “That’s actually very sweet. I know how close you were to your mother.”

Sentiment prevented him from responding with anything but a nod.

“That reminds me, though,” she continued. “I wanted to thank you.”

“For what?”

“For giving me a warning instead of a ticket.” Hands back in her pockets, she shrugged. “In case you couldn’t tell, I was kind of freaked out about what had happened. That warning made my day a little bit better.”

Something about that last statement warmed him. “Glad I could help.”

“So where is everyone else?” She looked to the street as an echo of voices drifted from downstairs.

“Sounds like they just arrived.”

A short time later, after moving a few rows of chairs out of the way, he gathered in front of the stage with the dozen or so cast members comprised of townsfolk ranging in age from eighteen to seventy.

“I want to thank you all for coming and for being a part of this play.” He filled them in on Mrs. Nichols’s condition. “Now, I know many of you have been involved in this event for many years. However, I’m new to this directing thing, so if any of you would like to bow out, this would be your chance.”

“Don’t be silly, Matt.” Valerie Dawson waved off his comment. She’d been a good friend of his mother’s and a part of this event since its inception. “We’re just happy you were willing to step in on such short notice. Besides, it’ll be nice to have a Stephens leading us again.”

A round of nods and “that’s rights” followed, bolstering his confidence. Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard, after all.

“All right, then. Since this is supposed to be a read-through, I guess I’ll just pass out these scripts—” he picked up the stack from the edge of the stage “—and we’ll get started.”

“Excuse me.” Lacie held up her hand. “Are we not going to go over show expectations?”

Show expectations? What were those?

“Do you have our call times?” asked someone else.

Call times? Okay, that was rehearsals. At least he thought that’s what they were.

“Oh, and what about costumes?” asked another. “When will we be fitted?”

Matt wasn’t used to having his authority questioned. Then again, he wasn’t wearing a uniform, either. He was completely out of his element.

He scanned the expectant faces before him, not wanting to let them down. Yet there was one glaring factor he couldn’t ignore.

He was in way over his head. Having Lacie here only amplified his incompetence. And he got the feeling she didn’t like him much, either. Two things he was determined to change.

Chapter Two (#u569dc7f9-d58c-5906-a6e7-23d9910f450a)