Marrying the Billboard Cowboy (Christmas in Redemption Ridge)

Chapter 1

1

T he crisp November air nipped at Kaitlyn McCallum’s cheeks as she rounded the corner to enter her apartment complex, grocery bags weighing down each arm. It wasn’t much, but it would get them through a few more days, if she skimped on her own portions like usual.

A knot formed in her stomach when she saw a mound of their possessions—Stetson’s tattered teddy bear perched atop a familiar quilt—piled against the snow-dusted sidewalk. Her heart hammered against her ribcage, a silent drum roll to the unfolding disaster.

Kaitlyn set down the bags, her breath forming clouds in the frigid air, and rushed to the door. Her key met the lock, now shiny and new, refusing to turn. She jiggled the handle, desperation seeping into her movements, but the door held firm. Her landlord had followed through on his threat; the eviction was no longer just a piece of paper.

Her heart sank. As hard as she had tried, this was the last straw. The house of cards they’d been living under had finally collapsed. Between the overdue rent, unpaid credit cards, and the shady personal loan she’d taken last spring, they were officially out of options.

“Mommy?” She sucked in a breath, pulling herself from the brink of tears.

“Why is Mr. Fluffles outside?” Stetson’s voice quivered as he hopped off the school bus, his small frame dwarfed by the backpack slung over his shoulders.

“Hey, champ.” Kaitlyn forced a smile, scooping him up in a hug that pulled tight around her heart. How could she find the words to explain what was happening? “We’re... we’re having an adventure.”

“Like camping?” His eyes, so much like hers, searched for reassurance.

“Exactly like camping,” she whispered, brushing a kiss atop his head, willing the tremble from her lips. Her six-year-old son deserved better.

With Stetson’s hand clutched in hers, Kaitlyn reclaimed what belongings she could carry and led them away from the apartment that was no longer theirs. She cranked the heat in her small car, willing away the chill brought on by the weather and the dread that was pooled low in her belly.

Blowing out a heavy breath, she drove to the nearest women’s shelter, the evening lights flickering to life in shop windows, a stark contrast to the darkness settling within her.

“Please,” Kaitlyn pleaded with the shelter volunteer, “just for the night. We have nowhere else to go.”

The woman behind the counter, face etched with lines of sympathy, shook her head. “I’m sorry, our beds filled up hours ago. There’s another storm coming. Everyone’s looking for a place to stay.”

Kaitlyn’s shoulders drooped. “It’s okay. Thanks anyway.”

The volunteer grimaced. “Look… If you’ve got a car, you can park it around back in our lot. The police monitor every hour, so at least you’ll be safe.”

Kaitlyn nodded, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat. The warmth of the shelter taunted her as she turned back to the cold. Stetson’s grip tightened around her fingers, his trust anchoring her even as the weight of their situation threatened to pull her under.

“Okay, buddy,” Kaitlyn said, her voice a soft murmur only for Stetson, “let’s find our campsite for tonight.”

As they stepped out into the snowfall that began to erase their footprints, Kaitlyn promised herself, for Stetson’s sake, she’d find a way out of this. She had to.

A few hours later, the upholstery creaked as Kaitlyn shifted, careful not to wake Stetson. Moonlight filtered through the clouded windows of their aging sedan, casting a quilt of shadows over the boy’s slumbering form. He lay curled in the passenger seat, a small fortress of blankets piled upon him, his breaths steady and unaware of their dismal surroundings. Kaitlyn reached out, her fingers brushing a lock of dark hair from his forehead.

“God, please keep him safe,” she whispered into the chill, her breath fogging the glass beside her in the early November Denver night. “I’ll do anything.”

She leaned back against the seat, arms wrapped tight around herself, the cold seeping through her coat, even with the heater limping along. The dashboard clock blinked a silent march toward dawn, each minute stretching longer than the last. Her eyelids drooped, heavy with the day’s defeats, but sleep wouldn’t come.

The shelter volunteer let them in for breakfast, and she helped Stetson get dressed for school in the bathroom, pursing her lips at the way the soles of his tennis shoes peeled away from the tops. Just another thing on the long list of expenses she couldn’t cover. She dropped him at the door of the school, since the bus wouldn’t know to pick him up here, and headed to work.

The greasy diner wasn’t even close to high class, but they’d been the only place she could find willing to let her work only the hours while Stetson was in school. She’d spent the entire summer without work, unable to find someone to watch Stetson that didn’t take her entire paycheck. And that was after she’d missed two weeks when they’d both succumbed to a nasty bout of the flu during the spring.

Hence the eviction notice. School had been in session for three months, and she hadn’t even made a dent in the stack of bills that had piled up in the last year. They’d been barely scraping by before that as it was.

The clang of dishes and the sizzle of frying eggs filled the diner as Kaitlyn wove between tables, the soles of her worn shoes sticking slightly to the tiled floor. She balanced a tray laden with steaming cups of coffee, her movements automatic as she served breakfast to the customers. Each smile she mustered for her tables did little to mask the shadows beneath her eyes—a telltale sign of a night spent trying to guard her son from the world’s harshness.

“More cream, hon?” she offered, her voice carrying the practiced lilt of hospitality.

“Thank you, dear,” replied the elderly man she saw regularly.

She moved on, refilling mugs and scribbling orders onto her notepad. Her mind wandered, despite her best efforts, to the uncertainty awaiting her at the end of her shift. But she pushed those thoughts away, focusing instead on the next table, the next order—the next moment that would keep her afloat. Praying for a miracle, perhaps an extra generous tip that would reassure her that everything would be okay.

A brief respite found Kaitlyn in the corner of the kitchen, her fingers massaging the fatigue from her temples. The hum of the refrigerator and the distant din of conversation from the diner filtered through the air, mingling with the aroma of a freshly brewed pot of coffee.

“Kaitlyn!” Lisa burst into the room, breathless, her eyes alight with excitement. She brandished her phone like a trophy, thrusting the glowing screen toward Kaitlyn. “You have got to see this.”

The image on the phone was striking—a man with broad shoulders and dark hair, his face earnest beneath the bristle of stubble. Above him, bold letters proclaimed an unusual proposal: “Grumpy Cowboy Seeks Bride.” It was as though the billboard had captured a slice of a bygone era and presented it for the modern world’s bewildered amusement.

A laugh snuck out, and she covered her mouth. “Oh my goodness.”

“Isn’t it wild? Some cowboy looking for a bride right there on a billboard in Denver,” Lisa chattered on, oblivious to the weight that seemed to anchor Kaitlyn’s soul just a bit further into the depths. “You should apply,” her co-worker insisted.

“Lisa, please,” Kaitlyn murmured, shaking her head gently. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy—for the hope that must fuel such a quest. But her reality was far removed from the whimsy of strangers seeking love on billboards. Hope? What was that?

“Come on, just think about it. What if...” Lisa trailed off, the words dangling between them like a tantalizing offer.

But Kaitlyn had already turned away, the absurdity of it all pressing down on her. “That’s crazy, Lisa. I can’t just apply to be some stranger’s wife.” Her voice held a tinge of bitterness.

“Okay, okay,” Lisa conceded, though her eyes still danced with the thought of what could be. “But if you change your mind...”

The suggestion hung in the air, an echo of a chance that Kaitlyn wasn’t sure she had the luxury to entertain. She offered Lisa a wan smile before returning to the monotony of scrubbing tables and pouring coffee, where the only expectations were a clean plate and a refill. And the highest hope she had was a generous tip that could buy Stetson a new pair of shoes.

Kaitlyn’s gaze drifted across the diner, landing on the forgotten newspaper crumpled beside the napkin dispenser. Her fingers twitched, betraying her, as she reached out and smoothed the paper against the countertop.

The cowboy’s face stared back at her, rugged and strangely comforting in the grainy print. Every local news station had covered the story. She hadn’t meant to look again, yet there she was, tracing the outline of his stubble beard with her eyes, imagining the texture beneath her fingertips.

“Order up!”

The shout from the kitchen snapped Kaitlyn’s attention away from the paper, back to the reality of clinking dishes and murmuring patrons. She tucked a stray strand of brown hair behind her ear and whisked the plates to table seven, all while trying to shake the image of the unnamed cowboy from her mind.

But it lingered as she refilled coffee mugs and took orders, his broad shoulders and sun-kissed hair weaving through her thoughts like the Christmas lights already strung haphazardly above the diner windows. Absurd, she chided herself. He was just a man on a billboard, foolish enough to look for marriage like it was a job posting.

The day wore on, each tick of the clock stretching longer than the last. A part of Kaitlyn scolded her for even entertaining the notion. Yet another, quieter voice whispered of possibilities, of a life where she and Stetson weren’t always one step away from disaster.

Would the cowboy be kind? She scoffed. He’d described himself as grumpy. That was either a striking self-awareness, or a big red flag. But would he understand the weight of past sorrows that etched themselves into the corners of her eyes? The thought of leaning on someone felt foreign, dangerous even, after years of counting solely on herself. And what about Stetson?

A flicker of warmth bloomed within her at the thought of her son—he deserved so much more than the dim backseat of an aging sedan, jumping from shelter to shelter.

He deserved a strong man who could teach him all the things she felt like she was failing to do.

As Kaitlyn cleared her last table, her hands moved mechanically, wiping away crumbs and spills, the detritus of other people’s lives. It was so easy for them, wasn’t it? To leave their messes behind for someone else to clean up. Maybe this cowboy wanted the same—someone to sweep into his life and make it neat and tidy.

Yet, wasn’t that what she needed too? Someone to help shoulder the burden, to offer a steadying hand when the ground beneath her feet felt like quicksand?

It wasn’t romance she sought—not really. It was safety, stability, a chance for Stetson to grow up without the cold gnaw of hunger or the sting of pity in strangers’ eyes. As much as she tried to dismiss the cowboy, to paint him as another uncertainty in a life already brimming with them, the possibility of hope was a siren call she couldn’t entirely ignore.

When her shift finally ended, Kaitlyn slipped into her coat, the fabric worn thin at the elbows. Every step toward the door felt heavy. She let out a sigh, a silent prayer really, for the strength to keep moving forward, no matter how difficult the path might seem.

Kaitlyn’s steps quickened as the diner’s warmth gave way to the chill of the November afternoon. With each breath, a cloud formed before her, dissipating as swiftly as the resolve that had brought her this far.

She had less than two hours before she had to pick up Stetson. Maybe she could find some part-time work to do in the evenings from her phone. Until that bill went unpaid as well.

The library doors whispered open, and she slipped inside, the scent of old books and the hush of sacred quiet greeting her. Her gaze skipped over the rows of computers, all occupied but one. A silent prayer of thanks left her lips as she claimed it.

She settled into the chair, the plastic cool and unforgiving beneath her. The screen blinked to life at the touch of her fingers, its sterile light washing over her. Kaitlyn’s hands hovered over the keys for a moment, uncertainty clawing at her. She’d just look at the website. Curiosity, nothing more.

The more she read, the more her heart pounded. Ezekiel Reynolds. The website gave a lot more information than the billboard. He claimed to be a believer, looking for someone to move to a place called Redemption Ridge.

Redemption?

She could use some of that.

Oh Lord, she must be crazy to contemplate this.

With a steadying breath, she clicked the big red button and began, the clack of the keyboard punctuating the silence around her.

“Ezekiel,” she typed, the name foreign yet oddly comforting on her tongue. Every letter was a step toward the unknown, a dance with destiny she never imagined she’d entertain.

“Life is a series of choices,” she wrote, her heart threading through each word, “and today I’m making one that could change everything.” Her fingertips paused, trembling with the weight of her confession. “I’m a Christian first, a dreamer second, and mostly, a woman who has known more struggles than triumphs. And made more mistakes than I can count.”

Her thoughts spilled onto the screen, candid and raw. She told of sleepless nights and ceaseless worries. She spoke of faith that wavered but never broke, of strength carved from trials and knowing a love that eclipsed all fear.

She didn’t mention Stetson. Maybe it was wrong to hide that part of her story, but she needed to protect her son. And what kind of man would voluntarily choose a woman with that kind of baggage?

“Maybe you’re seeking someone who can weather storms beside you, someone who understands that life isn’t always sunshine and smooth sailing. I don’t know much about ranch life, but I know about hard work and holding onto hope when it’s all you have left.”

As she concluded the letter, her fingers stilled, her spirit caught between the safety of the present and the leap into tomorrow. “If by some miracle you find my words resonate with you, then maybe we can offer each other something rare: a fresh start.”

With a final click, she sent the message to the printer, then asked the librarian for a stamp and a piece of tape. She signed the letter and dropped in the outgoing mail with a prayer, carrying with it the fragile beginnings of possibility. A ghost of a smile touched her lips.