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

Chapter Eight

T he red jean jacket she’d just bought, Heather thought, looking at the clothes hanging in the small closet. With her paisley skirt and a white T-shirt.

She and Leila had suggested a color scheme that Kendall loved and the three of them had enjoyed the morning’s work. A good start to a day that was about to get more challenging. She and Diana were meeting at the boardwalk. What did one wear to come back from the dead?

She held the skirt up against her legs. It was all wrong for this time of year. Why had she even brought it along? She knew the weather!

Black denim cargo pants and her low-heeled ankle boots. She could still wear the white tee and the cute jacket, with her winter coat on top. She glanced out the window to see if the weather had changed in the last ten minutes but the sky was still bright and clear, the air crisp and cold, perfect for a casual stroll with the daughter you abandoned as a toddler.

She was going to throw up.

She took a deep breath. No. She was going to be fine. They would walk, they would get this first meeting out of the way and after that, they would be better. Eventually, perhaps Diana would be able to hear Heather’s story. She was a mother herself now. Perhaps she would be able to understand, if not forgive, Heather’s disappearance, if she knew the events that had led up to it.

She bumped her forehead gently against the closet door a few times. This was a good thing. A miracle. She needed to have faith that this meeting would be the thing that allowed them all to move forward.

“What’s going on?” called Emmet from her room.

“Nothing.”

“Okay.”

She wished Em could come with her. But no. This was her task and she wouldn’t shrink from it.

She got dressed, then surveyed herself in the full-length mirror. Fine. She looked fine. Considering her age. And fitness level. Maybe she needed an outfit with a higher waist. Darker colors. Something that put definition into her upper arms and smoothed out her turkey neck.

Dreamer.

She went into the bathroom to begin working on her hair. Which she ought to have had colored before she came out. She knew the value of a first impression. She could have put a little more effort into hers, couldn’t she? Oh well, too late now.

“Hey, Hetty?”

“What?” She untangled the cord of her flat iron and searched for a spot to let it heat up. Argh. Em had left all her stuff out on the counter. There was barely any room for her cosmetics bag, let alone the hair implement.

“Can you bring me my water bottle? I think it’s on the table next to the couch.”

Heather braced her arms against the countertop and took a few deep breaths. “I’m a little busy, Em. And would you mind leaving me a few inches of real estate in the bathroom, next time you’ve got a break in your schedule?”

Footsteps sounded behind her. “Geez,” Em said, looking at her in the mirror, annoyance on her pretty face. “You’re the one who insisted we spend Christmas in the lion’s den. If you’re mad about anything, it’s not my fault.”

“Lion’s den? Don’t be so dramatic.” Heather gestured to the area around the sink. “I’m not mad. I just want space to plug my flat iron in. I have to leave in a half hour and I don’t want to be late.”

“I’m dropping you off. If we leave in a half hour, you’ll be twenty-five minutes early.” She frowned and peered closer. “What’s that on your forehead?”

Heather leaned over the sink. Great. A blemish. With menopause in the rear-view mirror, on the brink of one of the most important events of her life, she had a freaking teenage pimple erupting like Mount Vesuvius right between her eyes.

“Seriously,” she muttered. “Can I just catch a break today?”

Em put her hands on her shoulders and turned her away from the mirror. “Hetty.”

The tender tone brought tears to Heather’s eyes. She couldn’t look at Em. The girl was bright and tough and kind and took no guff from her. Em knew what she was feeling. She didn’t like that Hetty had dragged her out here to meet these people, she wasn’t happy at all that Colt was joining them, but she had the wherewithal to be kind at this little moment.

“It’s going to be okay, Hetty,” Em said softly. “It’s going to be hard. But what did you always tell me? What do you still tell me?”

She nodded at Heather and they said the words together. “We can do hard things.”

“There you go.” Em pulled her in for a hug, then stepped back, all business. “Now, among all this mess that’s making you so crazy is enough product to make you look like the Hetty Malone I know and love, not the Heather Scott you used to be. Forget about that little blemish. It’s nothing against my arsenal. Also, I’ll do your hair. You can’t see the back of your head properly and you use old lady hairspray.”

“Hey!” Heather protested.

“Also, heels. You want heels.”

“I can’t walk in heels.”

“You can’t walk in your heels,” Em corrected. “I brought a pair that will make you look two inches taller and you’ll feel like you’re walking on clouds.”

Heather doubted that, but having her exterior details taken out of her hands was infinitely comforting. Em always looked fantastic. Heather might not look like herself, exactly, but if Em liked the look, whatever.

And when Em was done, Heather did like the look. She looked like herself…only better.

“And now for the final touch,” Em said, lifting the plain gold chain off Heather’s neck. “I wasn’t sure when to give this to you. Merry Christmas, Hetty.”

She held out a long chunky necklace, a double chain with a magnetic clasp at the back that allowed the wearer to adjust for length. On one chain was a silver pendant with a lotus image on it. On the longer chain hung a purple howlite stone.

It was perfect.

“Look on the other side of the lotus,” Em said.

Heather turned it over. Embossed on the back in a beautiful script were the words: Remember who the fuck you are.

Her breath caught. “Oh, Em,” she whispered.

“Don’t cry!” Em said, giving her a shake. “You’ll wreck all my good work.”

Heather sucked back the tears and gave Em a hug. “You’re exactly what I needed right now. Thank you, my girl. Thank you. What a perfect Christmas gift.”

“Call me if you need me, okay?” Em looked at her hard. “I mean it.”

Heather nodded.

“Let’s go.”

*

Heather asked Em to drop her off ten minutes early, so she’d be able to collect herself before Diana showed up. If she’d been worried about meeting Brade—and, by God, she had—it was nothing to the trepidation she felt before this meeting.

But when she was within a hundred yards of her destination—a rustic gazebo overlooking the river—her feet stopped moving. A woman stood under the cantilevered timbers, one hand against a heavy post, facing away. Medium height, curvaceous build, with dark hair spilling out from beneath a red hat.

Diana.

Her breath caught. She couldn’t face her. Weldon hated her and surely he’d taught Diana to hate her, too. This was a bad idea.

She put one gloved hand against her cold cheek. She’d spent a long time forgetting about this part of her life. Her marriage had been what many at the time would have called successful, but this was mostly by what wasn’t there. Weldon didn’t beat her or shout at her. He didn’t gamble or drink to excess. He didn’t mismanage the ranch or their income. According to her father Ernst Hudson, this was the best she could hope for and more than she deserved.

But after loving JP Malone, she couldn’t give her heart to Weldon Scott. She’d known passion. She’d been cherished, adored, treasured. Even if it hadn’t been real or lasting, she’d experienced it and left her unable to tolerate anything less, no matter what her father or Weldon believed. But she’d tried. God, how she’d tried.

It just wasn’t enough.

*

Em watched from the car, shaking her head. The woman waiting at the gazebo had to be the daughter who so terrified Hetty. Her dark hair had a soft wave to it, unlike Em’s thick mane. Her creamy skin probably had pure European DNA behind it, as opposed to Em’s mongrel heritage. Was there a resemblance to Hetty? From this distance, Em couldn’t tell, but the body language screamed tension in every line of her body. If Diana Scott O’Sullivan had even a fraction of the anger Hetty expected, this was going to be awful.

Suddenly, she couldn’t stand it.

As aware of being an outsider as she’d ever been, she got out of the car and strode over to where Hetty stood, paralyzed.

She looked up, her eyes huge in her pale face. “Em? What are you doing?”

“Helping you do hard things.” She took her under the elbow and propelled her toward the gazebo, their boots crunching through the snow.

“Hey,” she called to Snow White. “Are you Diana?”

The woman turned, looked past Em at Hetty. “I’m Diana. Are you…?”

“Oh, Diana.” Hetty held out both hands, which trembled as much as her voice did. “It’s me. Your mother.”

But Diana stood still, her arms clasped tightly against her body. “My mother died when I was a baby.”

Hetty’s hands dropped. “I know that’s what you were told. I’m so sorry.” She looked sideways at Em, her voice soft. “You can go, honey. I’m okay.”

Em kept her eyes on Diana. “I’m not leaving you.”

“Who are you?” Diana asked.

“Her daughter,” Em said, taking a step closer to Hetty.

She wanted this Diana person to know that Hetty had someone on her side, someone who wasn’t about to watch her get hurt.

“Daughter?” Incredulity bloomed over Diana’s features. “Hold on, let me get this straight. You abandoned four children and then you had another one? After letting me believe you were dead for all these years, you went and had yet another family? What’s so special about this one—” she gave a dismissive nod to Em “—that you kept her while ditching the rest of us?”

“Diana,” Hetty said again and her voice sounded perilously close to tears. “It’s…complicated.”

“Actually,” Diana said, backing away from them. “It sounds simple to me.”

“I’m Em’s legal guardian,” Hetty said, with a pleading glance at Em.

Em’s face burned.

Never before, not once in the time since Hetty Malone had given little Emmet Garcia and her terrified mother sanctuary had Em ever felt anything but wholehearted acceptance from her. All throughout Jolene’s rabbit-like flight to evade Mako Fedorenko, ultimately pointless, as it had turned out, Hetty had been there for Em, had claimed her, had claimed them both, stood by them, championed them through the court system, bullied her way through to getting them the protection they’d needed.

Hell, Jolene wanted Hetty to adopt her but they’d discovered that guardianship made certain government resources more available for Em. Em had never cared.

Until now.

“But you raised her, as your own?” Diana asked, her face flinty.

“More or less,” Em said, looking coolly at Hetty. “I always felt like a daughter.”

She let the words hang in the air, saw when they struck Hetty. Part of her wanted to take them back but the other part, the small, scared part of her, wanted to remind Hetty of what they had, what they’d been through. Maybe they weren’t related by blood, but they were still family. Weren’t they?

“Well,” Diana said. “I never felt like a daughter because as far as I knew, Heather Scott died when I was little. Only what do you know, she’s here, resurrected. It’s a Christmas miracle.”

She didn’t look like the kind of person who routinely used sarcasm and Em sensed that there was much more going on here than she knew.

She looked at Hetty. “Wait. Did you know they all thought you were dead?”

Hetty’s eyes were pained. “Not…right away. It was…Weldon’s choice.”

Diana shook her head impatiently. “My father didn’t know anything about the triplets. Only one person knew about all of us,” she said with a laden glance at Hetty, “and she chose to keep everything a deep, dark secret.”

“I didn’t—” Hetty began.

Diana put up a hand. “I don’t really care about semantics at the moment, Heather.” She blinked, then dropped her head into her palms. “Does my father know you’re here? Does he know you’re alive? Oh my God, he’ll never survive this.”

“No, Diana—” Hetty began.

“Stop!” Diana shouted, her voice sounding near tears.

“Hey!”

They turned at the shout to see a tall, wind-blown man striding up to them, his icy eyes giving lie to his genial smile.

Colt. Em’s knees nearly buckled.

“Do I need to break things up here, ladies? Emmet, how’s it going? Hetty, want to introduce me to your…friend?”

He leaned forward and planted a light kiss on Hetty’s cheek. She gripped the railing, accepted it, then straightened her shoulders and addressed the three of them.

“Colt, Em, this is my daughter, Diana O’Sullivan. Diana, meet Colt Boone and Emmet Garcia. I’m so sorry. I wanted a chance to talk to you, to explain everything privately.” She threw a glare at Em and Colt.

Em put up her hands. “I was just trying to help.”

Suddenly, she’d had enough. Hetty had gotten her through the death of her mother, had helped her grow up to be a functional, happy adult, but now, she had other priorities. Em was a bystander. Her legal ward. Not a real daughter.

“Let me know when you’re ready to go, Hetty,” she said. “I’ll be waiting across the street.”