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

Chapter Three

C olt Boone closed the back of his trailer with a bang and waved to the owner of the horses he’d just dropped off. Good, experienced animals who traveled well and tolerated the general chaos on set. He slapped his wool-lined leather gloves against his jeans, tossed them into the passenger seat footwell, and slipped on a pair of lighter, fingerless gloves.

Another commercial, in the can. This one was for a line of winter sportswear and the director wanted it set against the Montana mountain range the company was named after. Seemed to him like a lot of expense for a literal interpretation of the brand, but Colt respected their commitment to authenticity. Plus, they paid well and on time. If slow-motion sunset shots of a gorgeous palomino against white-capped mountains sold ski pants, he was the wrangler to get the horse into the picture.

“Hang on, Festus,” he said to the dog waiting for him in the cab.

The morning sun glowed bright white and freezing against the cloudless sky. He pulled out his phone for a quick pano of the snow-covered field that stretched out seemingly endlessly, bisected perfectly by the empty road between Kalispell and Whitefish. It was a good shot for his files of possible filming locations. Over the years, he’d built up a decent reputation among his network of industry contacts as the guy who could deliver, be it a palomino stallion, a 1969 Oldsmobile Cutlass or a mood-evoking backdrop.

And one day soon, with any luck, he’d be more than a wrangler and location scout. He’d be a filmmaker, himself.

“Good boy.” He slid behind the wheel and gave his faithful sidekick a quick ear scratch.

Six years ago, volunteers at the shelter told him that the pup was a Karelian bear dog. Colt figured this was more sales pitch than fact and canine DNA tests confirmed a mix of German shepherd, Labrador retriever and pit bull terrier, but Colt didn’t care about the dog’s less glamorous ancestry. Festus was the bestest.

He pulled the truck onto the blacktop, pointed it east. He’d cut across the north end of the state, stop first in Chinook for a bit of professionally advised nostalgia, then head south to Grand. He hoped adding himself to Hetty Malone’s first family Christmas wasn’t a mistake, but she’d insisted he was welcome, that she wanted him to meet her rediscovered children, that he was important to her.

That he was family.

He regretted losing touch with Hetty and let’s face it, the closest thing he had to family otherwise was chewing his back foot in the passenger seat. Being so close—relative to Los Angeles, anyway—now seemed as good a chance as any to face his fears and mend a few fences.

Yes, he was getting therapy, not something he admitted easily, but he’d kind of hit rock bottom after the divorce. What was the saying? The definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over, expecting a different result.

So, do something different.

Nothing waited for him in LA. He had no gigs booked until the new year. The small farm where he kept the more frequently booked animals—his small herd of alpacas, a donkey, three miniature horses, four retired rodeo horses, and a potbellied pig —had an on-site manager who loved the small menagerie like they were her children.

For a single guy with no family, the holiday was more of an inconvenience than anything. Oh, he had some good memories. His mom had tried, but the tabletop tree and newsprint-wrapped presents exchanged between the two of them seemed more and more pathetic as time passed and she lost yet another job, another apartment, another relationship. There’d been no grandparents to visit, no siblings, no cousins. Certainly no turkey and stuffing.

Until that first winter he spent with Hetty.

The celebrations had been eye-opening, but everything good only highlighted the stark contrast with his real life.

He’d ended up spending several holidays with Hetty and Em, and gradually a bank of better memories began shifting out the bad stuff. But much as he wanted to keep in touch, she reminded him of some of the worst times in his life. They were a connection to Tammy.

For a brief period, he thought he was a hero, that he could become someone bright and new, a better man, someone who could overcome the past. Be a husband. Maybe even a father.

Then, before it had barely begun, he and Tammy were over, and failure came flooding back, with interest.

He started his playlist, a great selection of classic rock to keep him awake. He wasn’t quite ready for the radio, which currently played nothing but carols and bells and twinkling songs about joy and presents and turkey.

“Don’t worry, Fess,” he said to the dog. “I’ll make sure you get some turkey.”

Last year, he and Festus were celebrating alone when the dog had pulled their cooling bird off the counter. Before Colt caught him, he’d eaten half of it, bones and all, and their season had been enlivened by a couple of days in the veterinary emergency hospital. He realized, once Festus was on the mend, that it had saved him from a much worse few days. He’d been with people, most of whom weren’t thrilled to be there over the holidays but were still better company than the television. The hospital had been decorated nicely and their music had been soft, instrumental carols rather than the usual elevator pieces that everyone had heard a million times.

Someone had even brought in treats for the staff, which they’d shared with him. Not his worst Christmas, after all—if you ignored the dog with a death wish.

A few hours later, he turned off the music. It wasn’t helping. He sighed. Might as well let his mind wander. Let yourself feel the feels, his counselor had advised.

God, he hated this stuff. Pretending everything was okay was so much easier, during the day, at least. He’d successfully ignored his past this way for a long time. He thought marriage would be a kind of do-over that would make him normal, whatever that meant. But alas, it turned out you probably should have your shit together before you bind yourself to someone else, rather than expect marriage to fix you both.

Tammy was a good woman and now she was with a good man. She was a mother. He was happy for her. He was.

They were never meant to be more than friends and shouldn’t have tried. But he envied the peace she’d found. She was part of a family now. He missed the hope of that, missed it like crazy.

“Time for a snack, buddy?” he asked the dog as he passed the sign indicating the Chinook city limits.

Festus gave him a wide-mouth smile and panted happily. The dog had a bladder like a camel, but Colt was restless and tired of sitting.

After giving the dog a chance to attend to the bushes near the roadside diner, he gave him a drink of water and popped him back in the cab, then went to grab some takeout. He preferred to eat in the cab with the dog, rather than sit alone at the counter and fend off friendly, well-meaning strangers. Nothing wrong with casual human contact, but since he’d started ‘feeling his feels,’ he’d realized that what he craved wasn’t casual or anonymous company, but rather that of someone who knew him and loved him.

He had friends. He was well liked in the industry, he knew. Directors could rely on him. Owners trusted him to look after their animals or their possessions, and he’d never violated that trust. His own animals were healthy, happy, reliable creatures who did what was required of them. Everyone knew he was reliable.

Okay, maybe not quite everyone.

Festus shifted, heaved a big sigh and farted.

Colt opened his window and let in a shot of bracingly cold air. God almighty, that dog could clear a room.

“No more french fries for you,” he said, fanning the air.

There were a few people out there who would laugh and laugh at a sentence with “Colt Boone” and “reliable” in it at the same time.

His mom, for one, though she hadn’t exactly been a poster child for responsible parenting. Hetty Malone, probably.

Face it, man. Don’t run from it. Feel the feels.

Emmet Garcia. She was the woman he was really trying not to think about.

Coming to Montana was dredging up some muck.

Outside, the light was already fading, the sky a soft inky black streaked with thin, cottony clouds. He needed to drive past his old foster home so he could say he’d done it, take a few pictures, and head south to Grand. He’d apologize to Hetty, meet her family…face Em. Then, once Christmas was over, he’d go back to California, away from all this quiet, wide-open space where all you could do was think and remember and regret and get on with the rest of his life.

He sighed. The best Christmases of his life had included both Hetty and Em. And what had he done? He’d messed it all up. He’d tried to do a good thing and he’d ended up hurting the people he cared about most.

But that was then.

He’d changed. He was working on changing. A visit with Hetty was about making amends. Her request for him to document her time in Grand didn’t change anything. It was a favor for an old friend. She’d asked him, not the other way around.

If reconnecting with his former foster mother also gave him an opportunity to capture a once-in-a-lifetime story, well that was just good luck and timing.

Right?

*

Why did it always take three trips to get out of the house? Em climbed the stairs to her apartment one last time, for the spare laptop battery. She’d tacked some personal days onto the front end of her Christmas break to extend it, but she intended to come up with a new research topic while she was away. Her duties were minimal right now anyway, mostly advising students who weren’t sure of which classes might best fit their goals. Her work with students was largely a step up in her own academic goals. Publication in peer-reviewed journals was essential, if she wanted tenure.

If?

She allowed herself a quick peek at the restlessness she didn’t want to acknowledge. Her work was still as important as ever to her, but she’d been fueled by outrage and injustice in the early days of her career. Now, fighting for workplace equity meant studying the data, writing reports and curricula, and teaching.

Yeah, she was a kick at cocktail parties. She’d long ago learned to nurse her wine and stay off her soapbox. But now…she needed a cause.

When she got back to her vehicle, for the last time, panting slightly from the stairs—she never took elevators if stairs were available; fitness, you know—her phone buzzed.

It was Hetty.

Can you grab my black boots in the hall closet? I forgot them and need them to go with my outfit for the wedding.

That would delay her still more, but there was no real rush. She’d get there after nightfall but as long as the weather held, it was no problem. Em replied in the affirmative, drove to Hetty’s place and left her car idling while she ran inside to get the boots.

When she came out, her vehicle was gone.

“Shit,” she said, in wonder. “I can’t believe this.”

“Believe it,” said a voice she hadn’t heard in years.

Colt Boone? She froze. What the hell was he doing showing up here after all this time? She turned around slowly.

“What were you thinking, leaving it there?” He leaned against his own truck, one booted foot crossed over the other. He had a camera slung over one shoulder. “You might as well have lit up a neon sign saying, ‘Merry Christmas, please, take my car.’”

Colt Boone, all right, in the flesh. All the flesh. Still narrow-hipped and slouching, he’d nevertheless filled out since the last time she’d seen him. But the jeans, boots, and dark hair that could always use a trim were just as she remembered.

“I take it you’ve seen that sign before,” she said, crossing her arms. “How’d you know it was my car, Boone?”

“How could I forget your orange Subaru?” He grinned. “But this public service would benefit anyone. Having it be your car is just a little treat.”

“For you.”

“For me,” he agreed.

“And it’s sun-blazed pearl, not orange.”

“If you say so.” He tossed her the keys. “It’s just around the corner. How are you, Em?”

She let the keys fall at her feet. “I’m great. I’ll give you two minutes to have it back where I left it before I call the cops.”

He took a step toward her and instinctively, she stepped back.

“Hey,” he said, holding his hands up, “sorry. I didn’t expect to see you until Grand.”

“What are you doing here?” She hugged her arms against her sides, annoyed at her reaction. “You casing the joint?”

A shadow crossed his handsome face and guilt pinged inside her. There was no need to be bitchy.

“No. I’m not a thief. Not even in a bad heist movie.” There was that crooked smile again. “Hetty invited me to meet you guys in Grand. I want to reconnect with her. I thought maybe you and I could reconnect, too.”

His smile hadn’t wavered, but he looked away from her, out past Hetty’s backyard, to the wooded area beyond, where they’d once built a fort together. Did he remember? Back when they’d been kids together? Friends?

“And you thought you’d drop by the old place on your way through? Take a few pictures?” She shook her head. “You knew she wasn’t here. Looks suspicious, Boone.”

He shrugged, and something flickered over his rugged features. Guilt? Regret?

“I’m compiling an album for her,” he said, then added, with emphasis, “at her request. This house is part of her story.”

Part of Em’s story, too. And Colt’s.

And Colt worked in Hollywood now, where stories were worth money.

“So, this has nothing to do with you?”

Another one-shoulder shrug. “Maybe I wanted to see the place again for myself, get some photos to help me…remember.”

Their eyes met then and for a moment his expression was serious, unguarded.

A hot shard of electricity shot into her stomach. She swallowed. “Remember what?”

He looked away and the crooked grin returned. “How I used to put plastic spiders in your bed.”

“Once.” She couldn’t stop an answering smile. “One time. And I believe I got my revenge.”

Plastic wrap on his toilet seat. Hetty had made them clean the bathroom together.

She cleared her throat. “You know about her…what’s happening in her life?”

“You mean about her being the famous Mel Brezo? Yeah, I read about that. I heard about her having kids, too. Wow, our Hetty. I guess everyone’s got secrets, don’t they?”

“You’d know better than anyone.” She sighed. “I’m freezing. Does your nostalgia require a look inside the house?”

His brows lifted. “Would you mind?”

“I’ll give you as long as it takes me to drink a cup of coffee.”

He opened the passenger door and a large wolfish creature jumped down into the snow. The dog looked neither ferocious nor tame and kept its distance, but Em stood still. Caution seemed the smartest move. Since fleeing would send a message of weakness she couldn’t afford. She wasn’t afraid of dogs, per se, but she was more of a cat person. Or dogs that were more cat-sized.

“Don’t worry, he’s friendly.”

Was he smiling just to irritate her?

“Does he know that?” She took another step back. Her breath was puffing too fast in the chilly air. She needed to slow it down.

“Em, meet Festus. Festus, this is…an old friend.”

An old friend? She softened slightly at the tone.

The dog padded over, sat in front of her and lifted a paw. Okay, not ferocious at all, then.

She looked up at Colt, who nodded for her to greet him. Then she bent down and shook the proffered limb.

“Festus, aren’t you a good boy. I’m very pleased to meet you.” She straightened. “How does Festus feel about cats?”

“He’ll be a perfect gentleman. She still has Bruiser and Rosie, huh?”

Em’s jaw tightened. “No, Colt. These are new ones.”

Em didn’t add anything about Jasper, the beloved Siamese she still missed. He didn’t deserve to know.

Inside the house, Festus proved indeed to be a perfect gentleman, though the cats were nowhere to be found and probably wouldn’t show up to greet the strangers. There was no indoor tree, but Hetty had put up exterior lights and hung giant red balls on the snow-draped mugo pine in front of the picture window.

While she busied herself fixing coffee, Colt walked through the living and dining rooms, fingering the ancient Hudson’s Bay blanket on the couch, smiling at the framed pictures of Jolene and Em, Jolene and Hetty, Em and Colt, a few other kids they’d known. When he came to the photo of her and Tammy laughing among the autumn leaves, he stopped, then moved on. He didn’t ask questions but she felt his presence like a breath on the back of her neck.

“No milk or cream in the house,” she said.

“No problem,” he replied. “I take it black. How’s she doing with all this reunion stuff?”

Em heaved a sigh. “Why do you care, Boone? You’ve basically ignored her for the past five years.”

Ignored her, too.

“Also,” she added, unable to help herself, “where’s your wife?”

Now they came to the crux of the matter, didn’t they? Colt Boone had gone and gotten married. To Tammy, no less. With nary a word to them about it.

“Tammy and I celebrated our first anniversary by getting a divorce.” Colt’s voice was quiet. “She’s remarried, to a much better guy, and they have a kid.”

He said it all so matter-of-factly, but she couldn’t help but read a subtext of pain in the words.

Also, he wasn’t married anymore. As in…single.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” she said.

“She’s better off by far. She’s a good person.” He fingered the handle of the coffee mug she set in front of him. “I’m happy for her.”

The hair and clothes were the same, but the thin lines around his eyes were new, as if since their last contact, he’d been forced to look at something he didn’t want to see.

“It’s been an eventful few years since we’ve talked, I guess,” she said.

He looked up but didn’t bite. “How about you? You married?”

“Haha. No. I’m a perpetual student, now caught in the college machine. I haven’t had time to date and when you’re in women’s studies, men tend to shy away.”

His expression brightened. “You’re a teacher?”

“Associate prof.” Heat rose to her cheeks, her personal symptom of imposter syndrome. “Hoping for more, one day. But there’s lots of time. As for a relationship…”

“Too smart for your age?”

“Too bitchy.”

He laughed. “It has its place. You were always smart, Em. Good for you. I’m happy for you.”

It was the same thing he’d said about his ex-wife. Her ex-friend. Was he really happy?

Old news, Em. Let it go.

“And what do you do, Colt? Hetty said you’re in the movie business.”

“Yeah. I’m a wrangler.”

“A wrangler? Like, a cowboy?”

“Nothing so romantic. I’m a guy who knows people who have stuff that people who make movies need. Stuff can be animals, domestic or exotic, it could be cars, houses, land, jewelry, odd things. I know a lot of junk collectors. I know a lot of farmers. I know a lot of breeders. And I have a few myself. Besides Festus, that is.”

“People keep animals just for use in films?”

“Some of them are animal actors, as in, they have a role to play in the action,” he said. “Many of them are highly trained. Others aren’t required to do anything but be themselves, to bring authenticity to the set.”

“Is it your job to train them?”

“Sometimes. I’ve learned from some excellent animal handlers. If someone needs a lion to jump from a tree to a truck, I’m the guy who makes it happen. But mostly I make sure that we’re compliant with animal protection regulations, get them from place to place and keep them well cared for while they’re working for us.”

“Interesting,” she said. “When did animal care become a passion for you?”

She saw his eyes shutter and go dark as the strike hit its mark harder than she’d intended.

His jaw twitched and he changed the subject. “What do you know about these people who have found her, these kids of hers?”

“She had triplets. Two boys, one girl. The father disappeared before they were born and the babies were taken from her, adopted out, separately. None of them knew of each other. Then later, she married and had another daughter who she also left. It’s quite a story.”

“Yeah.” He frowned. “Hard to reconcile that with the Hetty we knew.”

The tone of his voice made her hackles rise mostly because, yes, it was. But he didn’t get to say it.

“Maybe for you. She was a victim of…” She stopped. “Hell, it’s her story. If you want to know more, ask her yourself.”

“I intend to.” He gave his head a little shake. “The timing is suspicious to me. These so-called children of hers, are you sure they aren’t fraudsters suddenly looking to cash in on a wealthy woman? What’s been done to make sure they’re legit? You have no idea how many people are out there looking to take advantage.”

She leaned against the counter and crossed her arms. “Oh, gosh, thank you so much for the tip. I’d never have thought that.” She breathed in and out and lowered her voice. There was bitchy and then there was shrill. “Sorry. I’m a little nervous, okay?”

His brows lifted slightly. “Nervous, Em? Why? It’s me.”

And there it was, the same old connection they’d always had. Colt and Em, the two of them against the world. Only they weren’t kids anymore. She’d become a third wheel and learned to fight her battles on her own.

“I had the same concerns,” she said, more calmly. “Still do, actually. But they are her genetic children. They have the tests results to prove it.”

“I want to see them.”

Of course he did, because he was a white knight, or more accurately, a cowboy in a white hat, riding in to solve all her problems.

“Newsflash. Neither Hetty nor I is a damsel in distress. She and I both have done our due diligence here.”

She turned away, not wanting him to see how ambivalent she still was about it all.

“Why might you be a damsel in distress?”

“I just said I wasn’t.”

“And we were talking about Hetty, not you.” He grinned. “What’s with the face?”

“I’m imagining wiping that smug smile off. With my boot. Wait. That’s mean. My hand.”

My mouth.

As if he read her mind, his gaze drifted to her lips. “You’re worried about her, Em.”

Damn it. He was still as perceptive as ever.

“I’m convinced that they are who they say they are,” she admitted. “Whether Hetty is safe with them is another issue.”

“You’re looking out for her,” Colt said. “I’ll help you.”

“I don’t need your help!”

“I don’t need your permission.” He grinned and got to his feet. “See you there, kiddo.”

Kiddo?

But then, before she knew what he was doing, he moved in as if to kiss her cheek.

To kiss her? Was this really happening?

“Colt?” she said, lifting a hand to his chest. “I—”

I’m not ready… I’m not sure… I’ve missed you… I can’t believe this…

His eyes widened. “Whoa, Em, just greeting my little foster sister. Don’t worry about it, it won’t happen again.”

And he was gone.