The Wrangler’s Christmas Gift (The Malones of Grand, Montana #4)

Chapter One

“A bsolutely not!”

Emmet Garcia stood in the doorway of the art studio, her fists on her hips. Hetty, engrossed in touching canvas, barely looked up. Her current work-in-progress contained the brilliant colors and wild swirling eroticism that had propelled her to fame as the reclusive artist known as Mel Brezo. The only time real-life Hetty Malone wore those colors was when she accidentally swiped them onto her beige work shirts.

“Good morning to you, sweetheart. How are you this fine wintry day?”

Emmet, who wished she’d been named Emma and was mostly called Em, plucked the brush out of Hetty’s hand, dropped it in the mason jar of water waiting on the wooden countertop and set it out of reach.

“Hey!” Hetty gave her a glare.

“Nice vagina imagery,” Em said. “Very Georgia O’Keeffe.”

At first glance, the picture appeared to be a rugged Montana landscape of hoodoos, windswept galleries and caves, splashed with sunset against a purple sky. Only when you studied it for a bit, as her paintings always invited the viewer to do, did one recognize the anatomical representations.

“Thank you,” Hetty said, “but it’s vulva, not vagina.”

Em had long thought of Hetty as her second mother, though in fact, she’d only ever been her legal guardian. Now that Em was an adult, none of that mattered anymore and only when someone asked about their relationship did it grate, just a bit. She was the closest thing Hetty had to a daughter, and Em had never doubted their bond.

Never.

Until the discovery of Hetty’s biological children. Triplets—two sons and a daughter—followed later by a second daughter turned closest thing to distant third .

But Em would not ruin Hetty’s happiness with her own small insecurities, especially in light of an even bigger glitch in the matrix. She crossed her arms. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. Colt Boone is going to visit you while you’re in Grand? How on earth is that a good idea?”

Colt Boone, with his crooked smile and kind eyes and strong, sheltering arms…who’d stolen her best friend and then discarded Em like an out-of-style haircut he was embarrassed to remember.

“Em.” Hetty wiped her hands on a paint-stained cloth and turned to her. “I’m happy to discuss my Christmas plans with you, but you’re going to have to take it down a notch first.”

Em dropped her book bag onto the floor and flopped onto the comfy couch Hetty kept for those times when artistic inspiration required her to examine the inside of her eyelids. “I hate that you’re leaving me all alone over the holidays.”

“A few weeks. I’ll be back. I have a lot of work to do to be ready for the show in spring.” Hetty lifted her brows. “You sound more like a homesick freshman than a professor.”

But she smiled to soften her words.

“Assistant professor,” Em corrected glumly.

TA, most days, if she was being honest. She was working on her doctorate in women’s studies, which came with the price tag of taking on the classes the tenured profs didn’t want. Em loved her work, had always been a good student, and was a popular teaching assistant, but lately…she didn’t know. Something was missing. Maybe it was time to get another cat of her own, to dig out Jasper’s bed and litter box and… Her heart clenched. Nope. Not ready yet.

“You know you’re welcome to join me. I’ve booked a double room.” Hetty glanced at the antique cuckoo clock on the wall. “Can I have my brush back? I promised Malcolm I’d get this one to him before I left so he can finalize the catalog. Plus, I still have a few things to pick up for the little ones.”

AKA her grandchildren. Yes, Hetty had a whole ready-made Norman Rockwell Christmas waiting for her in Grand this year.

“Someone needs to stay at your place and look after the cats.”

“Malcolm’s granddaughter has stayed with Brutus and Petunia before. She’s thoroughly schooled in elder cat care.” Hetty looked down. “I understand you being uncomfortable around my…my children. I know, it’s been just you and me for a long time but this is happening. We have family out there, Em. They are our people.”

There was yearning in her voice. When Em got her own apartment nearer the college a few years ago, she’d worried that Hetty would be lonely with just the cats for company. But Hetty assured her she was fine. She was happy for Em. They still had dinner together once a week and spoke and texted frequently.

Now, it seemed, that wasn’t enough.

“Your people, maybe.” Em shook off Hetty’s touch but her voice softened. “I’ll buy the whole ‘you’re my biological mother, it’s a miracle,’ yada-yada, but Hetty, they’re nothing to me.”

“That’s your choice. They invited you for the holiday. The wedding, too. I think you should come.”

Wasn’t much of a choice. The optics of these biological children finding Hetty—not to mention Colt coming out of the woodwork—just as her wealth and fame was revealed, bothered Em. They’d bother anyone. Well, anyone except Hetty.

“I think I have to,” she said. “Someone needs to look out for you.”

“You might have noticed,” Hetty said, narrowing her eyes at a portion of crevasse—or was it something else?—she wasn’t satisfied with, “that I’m what they call a grown-ass woman. I can take care of myself.”

“Oh, sure,” Em said. “You’ll drop-kick an intruder without breaking a sweat. But against your own children? Nah, you’ve got no armor against them.”

Hetty’s face took on the stillness that told Em she was annoyed. “I have no need of armor against them, Em. We’re on the same side. Brade hired a detective, for heaven’s sake. He wouldn’t have hired someone to find out what happened to us all back then if he had something to hide, himself, would he? We all want answers. Maybe I’ll finally find out what happened to JP.”

Us all. We all.

Em had yet to meet Brade, though she was acquainted with the other two triplets. The invitation to Brade and Kendall’s wedding was probably a sign of good will…but it could be a pity invite, too. Or maybe a bit of both.

As for JP Malone, the mystery cowboy who left Hetty pregnant with triplets, Em didn’t see a happy ending coming there.

“Fine,” Em said. “I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt. But come on. You don’t think it’s odd that Colt suddenly calls you, after ghosting us for so long?”

“I initiated the contact.”

“What?”

Hetty nodded serenely. “I send him a note every year around this time. Make sure he knows he’s welcome.”

“Well, sure,” Em started, then stopped.

Hetty tried to keep in touch with all of the foster kids who’d crossed her path over the years, inviting them for Christmas, if they happened to be in Chinook, making herself available for support or advice or just a friendly conversation. Few responded, maybe lost to circumstances they were unable to overcome, maybe not wanting a reminder of a difficult time in their life. But a few had stayed close. After her, Colt had been the closest.

Until he hadn’t.

“This year,” Hetty continued, irritatingly unflappable, “he replied. He lives in LA now, works in the film industry. He’s in Montana finishing up a job and said he’d be in the area. I thought—I hoped—you’d be happy to hear from him, too.”

Em ignored the bait. Hetty’d never said anything, but Em suspected she’d always hoped something might develop between her and Colt. Once, Em hoped for the same thing. Then she grew up.

“He knows you’ll be in Grand, not here?”

“Yes, Em, I explained that. I told him about the wedding, the kids, everything.” A soft smile touched her lips. “He’s going to come and get some photos and video of us all.”

There it was again: us all . How could it be us all , if Em wasn’t there?

“You hired him as their wedding photographer?” Em’s voice squeaked and she cleared her throat. “How very meddling mother-in-law of you.”

“Don’t be silly.” Hetty waved that away. “They’ve got their own photographer. This will be a family album, just for me. It’s a very picturesque town, especially during their Christmas festival. Colt said they’ve even had a few movies shot there. I figured giving Colt a job, something for us to do together, might help break the ice. In case he feels out of place.”

“What’s the etiquette for a birth mother inviting an estranged foster son to join her for a Christmas wedding with her newly discovered biological family?”

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, dear.”

Hetty seemed to have a bottomless well of forgiveness inside her, something that was generally considered a good thing. But boundaries were good, too.

“He used you when he needed you, and then dropped out of your life like a stone.” Dropped out of Em’s life, too, and took Tammy with him. “Now suddenly he’s ready to pick up where you left off? I don’t like it.”

Hetty shrugged. “Then come with me. Or don’t. But Em?”

“What?”

“I have a lot of shopping to do and like I said, Malcolm’s waiting, so can I have my brush back? That vulva won’t paint itself.