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

Chapter Twelve

T he next day, Colt and Em stood on the porch of Kendall and Brade’s heritage house where the ceremony would be held, but the voices were easily heard from even outside the heavy exterior door.

“We shouldn’t be here,” Em whispered to him.

Colt agreed, but before they could turn around, the door opened.

“Hey, Brade,” Em said, glancing at Colt as if to warn him to stay quiet. “We thought you might need help with the decorating.”

“Unless we’re intruding…?” Colt suggested, angling away from Em’s elbow.

“Decorating, right.” Brade exhaled and glanced over his shoulder. “We’re dealing with a bit of drama, but that’s nothing new in this family. Coralee invited Kendall’s father to the wedding. Come on in.”

They followed him inside and shed their heavy coats and boots.

Brade eyed his camera with a frown, then led them through to a large room where the main event would take place. “Heather told me you’d be getting candid shots of the wedding prep.”

Ah, so that’s how she’d framed it for them.

“I trust you’ll use your discretion,” Brade finished.

“Of course,” Colt replied. “Anything Hetty doesn’t approve of will be deleted.”

Brade was no doubt accustomed to being in charge, but Colt was doing this for Hetty, not him. And the filmmaker in him recognized that whatever was going on in the next room was prime fodder for the story.

Not to mention the location, as a whole. The place where the wedding was to occur, in less than two weeks, was a disaster. The home had been badly neglected when Kendall purchased it, but she had an eye for potential and had spent the past several months restoring it. He could see why she wanted to hold the ceremony in this room. It was basically a ballroom, with a vaulted coffered ceiling, marble flooring and white wainscoted walls. Unfortunately, something appeared to be wrong with the wrought-iron chandelier hanging above them. A heavily paint-stained stepladder stood beneath it, as if someone had been up there adjusting something, and then given up. The black chain was off-kilter, separated from the wiring, and the cord itself appeared frayed, as if chewed by tiny teeth. The before-and-after effect would be stunning, if they could pull it off.

Drywall dust and debris littered the edges of the room. Freshly patched holes required painting and once the repairs had been completed, the whole place would need a deep cleaning.

Decorating help was at least a week away.

In front of the tall arched windows overlooking the garden stood the bride, and someone Colt guessed was her mother, going head-to-head. Surreptitiously, he shot a quick burst of images with his phone.

“I haven’t seen him in years,” Kendall said, fury rippling in her tone. “If he was sending support payments, I never got them. Unless you kept them to fund your journey of self-discovery?”

Colt could hear the virtual quotation marks around the last part of her statement.

“Kenny—” Coralee began.

“No. Don’t ‘Kenny’ me, Mother. He doesn’t get to step in, now that I’m marrying a wealthy man, who has a famous—and also wealthy—birth mother.”

“Excuse us, ladies,” Brade said.

They both turned.

Coralee looked barely forty, though Colt guessed she must be a good ten or fifteen years older. She must have had Kendall at about the same age Hetty had been when the triplets were born.

“Anything we can do to help?” Colt asked.

“Can you go back in time and make my father use a condom?”

Coralee crossed her arms. “Kendall, there’s no need to be crude. Are you trying to say you wish you’d never been born?”

Kendall flapped her arms at her sides. “No. I’m trying to say that I wish you’d chosen a responsible, thoughtful sperm donor for me, that’s all.”

She heaved a great sigh, then squeezed her eyes and reached out to her mother. “I’m sorry, Coralee. I know you’re trying. I never expected to be a bridezilla, but honestly, this has thrown me for a loop.”

Like her mother, Kendall had an expressive face, but with more strength in the lines of her jaw. Colt grabbed a few images, wondering if they recognized how much they resembled each other.

“Your father’s not a bad man,” Coralee said.

“Maybe not, but I should have been consulted before you invited him to share the happiest day of my life. He doesn’t get to ignore me for three decades and then show up for a piece of wedding cake.”

“Cake!” Coralee slapped a hand against her mouth. “I need to contact the bakery.”

And she raced out of the room.

Kendall stood for a moment, her mouth open, then sighed again and walked into Brade’s arms. “I told you we should elope, but no, you wanted to share our day with your newfound family.”

Em touched Colt’s arm, but the images were too powerful for him to resist.

“Hetty is so grateful for that, Kendall,” she said. “And allowing me and Colt to be here too is so kind of you.”

“The more the merrier.” Kendall grimaced. “At least, that’s what I thought. I can’t believe she did that.”

“Maybe she thinks he deserves a chance at reconciliation, too,” Brade suggested.

“At my wedding?” Kendall sounded close to tears suddenly. She stepped back and waved her hands in front of her face. “Ignore me. Forget it. I’ll meet with him, let him have his say, but he’s not setting foot in this house.”

*

“Hey,” Em said to Heather over the phone. “I know you and I were going to have lunch together but do you mind if Kendall joins us? She needs to vent.”

Heather agreed, of course. She liked Kendall and was surprised—and delighted—to hear that Em seemed to like her, too. They certainly had a lot in common, with their complicated family backgrounds and absent fathers.

The Wayside Café was quiet, the lunch crowd already having been and gone. Only a couple of people lingered over warm beverages before braving the cold again.

They ordered their sandwiches and chose a table near the window.

“Thanks for letting me horn in on your time together,” Kendall said as they sat. “I really need to debrief or I’m going to lose my mind before all this is over.”

“I doubt it.” Em draped her coat over the back of the chair. “But I’m happy to help any way I can. I appreciate you letting me crash your wedding party. You guys have all been so nice.”

“Families are weird,” Kendall said, shaking out her golden waves. “I know that better than anyone. We’re all family in one way or another now. That means, even if we have to kill each other to do it, we’re going to get along.”

Heather touched Kendall’s arm. “I’m sorry for all the drama, honey. Your wedding should be a time of joy.”

Kendall reached for her glass, overshot and splashed water over the table. “Shoot!” she said, scrambling to sop it up with paper napkins.

Heather took the napkins from her and finished the job. “It’s okay, Kendall. Just breathe. We’ve got this.”

Em smiled. “Want Hetty to take a run at your parents? They won’t know what him them.”

“Em,” Heather protested, laughing. “You make me sound like a battle-axe.”

“No, this is my fight.” Kendall sighed. “I’m not sure who I’m madder at: Coralee for inviting my dad, without asking me, or my dad for accepting. What nerve, to think he can just show up after all these years. I mean, where was he when I was struggling to pay the electricity bill? When I almost didn’t graduate high school because I was working two jobs to keep food on the table for Ash and Jason? Anyway, I’m pissed and I’ll probably get over it, but I need someone to vent to, so thanks for listening.”

“Happy to be of service,” Em said.

The server arrived with their orders just then and they took a moment to sort out their cutlery and condiments.

“Is it too early for wine?” Kendall said, looking forlornly into her cup of tea.

Heather glanced around. “Pretty sure this place isn’t licensed.”

Kendall sighed heavily. “It’s not. We should have gone to Lou’s. He keeps a nice bottle of Napa Valley Chardonnay behind the bar, just for me.”

Em shuddered. “I’m a New Zealand sauvignon blanc person, myself. But he’s got a great beer selection.”

“You going to be okay?” Heather asked.

“Oh, sure.” Kendall blew a chunk of golden hair off her cheek. “I mean, it’s a simple ceremony, with a reception for forty after. How complicated can it be?” She laughed at Heather’s expression. “Don’t answer that. I’m getting intimately acquainted with exactly how complicated it is. Coralee…ugh. We were doing so well.”

Heather didn’t know all the details about Kendall’s relationship with her mother, but she knew that they’d been estranged for several years and that Coralee had returned around the time Kendall and Brade got together, and that the responsibility for her young adult siblings was now off her shoulders.

“She’s probably stoked to be mother of the bride,” Em said.

Kendall nodded. “She is. She’s been married twice, herself. I was flower girl at her second wedding, in fact. He’s Ashley and Jason’s dad and if a father figure was required, he’s the closest to fitting the bill, though he still ducked out too early. She sure knows how to pick them, doesn’t she?”

“Maybe that’s why she’s so excited to see you in a good relationship,” Em suggested.

“I have barely thought about my father in years. It never occurred to me that he might be part of my wedding when he hasn’t been part of anything else, but now he’s renting space in my brain again because my mother had the gall to invite him without asking me. Honestly! Why even tell me if it doesn’t matter what I think?”

“Maybe,” Heather ventured, “he knows just how much he let you down and he wants to ask your forgiveness and give you his blessing before you start this new phase of your life.”

Kendall looked at her. “I don’t even know him. He’s a stranger to me.”

“How old were you when your mother left, Kendall?” Heather asked.

“Which time?” She gave a short, humorless laugh. “She left several times, each time staying away a little longer. But I was eighteen when I filed for guardianship of Ash and Jason. I needed to know that they wouldn’t be taken by child protective services.”

“You did an amazing thing for them,” Heather said. “You must love them very much.”

Kendall swallowed and looked away. “You know, they’re not even my full siblings. I remember their dad better than my own, though he didn’t stick around long, either.”

She looked between the women and her face was so full of sorrow, it made Heather’s throat tighten.

“I’m starting to wonder if this is a mistake.”

“No, Kendall,” Em said, casting an alarmed look at Heather. “Don’t say that.”

“I mean,” Kendall continued, “why are we even getting married in the first place? I love Brade, don’t get me wrong. I want to spend the rest of my life with him, and he feels the same about me. But we don’t need a piece of paper. We’ve both got careers, independence and we’re not going to have children. Why are we even putting ourselves through all this bother?”

Heather looked at Em, knowing that she was bursting to talk about the history of marriage, how it was more about the transfer of land and property down family lines, not romance.

But Em seemed to understand that this was a rhetorical question, that Kendall really wanted to marry Brade, that she needed support now, not more people piling on with criticism.

“There is evidence,” Em said cautiously, “that formalizing a union with a public ceremony makes it more likely to survive. Whether that’s because of the social pressure brought about by the partners’ loved ones witnessing the vows—which would be the avoidance of shame, a negative reinforcer—or by the positive reinforcement of those loved ones providing support in the tough times.”

Kendall raised her eyebrows and Em’s cheeks grew pink.

“Sorry. Colt warned me about lecturing. Apparently I can’t be stopped.”

“No,” Kendall said thoughtfully. “This is a good conversation. You bring an interesting perspective. What do you think, Heather? With the modeling I’ve been given, how is it even possible that marriage is on my radar at all? That Brade and I even found each other?”

Tentatively, Heather put an arm over Kendall’s shoulder. “Isn’t that the miracle that marriage celebrates? That you found love, against all odds. That you believe in each other, when everything around you says you shouldn’t. I’d say that’s pretty amazing.”

She had no reason to believe in love, after her own experiences. JP Malone had been it for her, and he’d let her down. Love hadn’t come to her the way she wanted it to, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t work for others. With all her heart, she wanted Kendall—and Em—to have a soulmate beside them on their walk through life.

“Who cares who witnesses the vows you make to each other,” she continued. “Maybe Coralee tried to do a bad thing and it backfired. She doesn’t matter. Your dad doesn’t matter. I don’t matter. This is about you and Brade.”

Kendall turned to her and rested her head on Heather’s shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispered.

The sensation was foreign, yet so sweet and familiar at the same time. With Em still adjusting to these new people in Heather’s life, Leila hopeful and excited but still essentially a stranger and her sweet Diana only just beginning to accept her, this young woman in her arms felt like a benediction.

She looked at the remains of her lunch, suddenly needing solitude. “You two enjoy some dessert, okay? I’m going to head back to my room for a nap.”

She hugged them both, then escaped to the washroom before they could see her tears.

*

“I love her,” Kendall said. “I wish she was my mom, too. Is she okay?”

Yes, everyone wanted Hetty to be their mom, didn’t they?

But Em nodded. “This is a lot for her to deal with. And for what it’s worth…” She swallowed. “I’m pretty sure she loves you too.”

The bell over the door chimed as someone entered, bringing a rush of cold air in with him. It was the town priest.

Kendall waved. “Hi, Father Patrick. Come meet another new family member.”

Em’s heart warmed at the kind description.

He came over to greet them, removing his gloves to shake hands.

“Emmet’s here in town with Brade’s birth mother,” Kendall explained. “Her foster brother, Colt, is here too.”

“We’re not really—” Em began, then gave up.

“And now, poor thing,” Kendall continued, “she’s getting a front-row seat to the drama of being connected to the weirdest family in Grand.”

“Oh, now,” the priest said, smiling gently, “every family has its share of drama.”

“Not everyone has somebody taking pictures along the way.” Kendall grimaced.

“Colt is documenting Hetty’s time in Grand,” Em explained. “She asked him.”

“Colt Boone? Strapping lad who talks to animals? We’ve met,” Father Patrick said. “And who’s Hetty?”

“Short for Heather,” Kendall said.

“Heather Malone?”

Em saw an odd expression flicker over the priest’s face, but it was gone so quickly, she couldn’t identify it. “Have you met her, Father?”

He shook his head. “Haven’t had the pleasure, yet.”

“Oh, too bad, you just missed her. Hetty is Brade’s birth mother,” Kendall continued. “Leila and Lucas’s also, of course. Also, Diana’s mother, from when Heather was married to Weldon Scott. Lucas thinks this should be a made-for-TV movie. I think it could be a reality show.”

This was Colt’s argument. Maybe Em had been too hard on him. Maybe he really was protecting Hetty from an eventuality that could be a whole lot worse.

“I think he’s right,” Kendall said. “Some network out there is missing out on a gold mine. The script practically writes itself. Only no one would believe it’s real.”

“Look who you’re talking to,” Father Patrick said. “Confession isn’t what it used to be, but there are plenty of folks with drama, as you call it, in their back pockets. It’s all in the eye of the beholder, isn’t it?”

“I behold craziness,” Kendall said. “Listen, Father, since you’re here, maybe I can pick your brain. What constitutes grounds for justifiable homicide? Or under what circumstances will I not go to hell for matricide—or patricide, I haven’t decided yet.” Her eyes lit up. “Ooh maybe I’ll commit both!”

“Good thing I’m a priest.” Mild alarm widened his handsome eyes. “Just don’t tell me something I’ll be obligated to report.”

Emmet liked him. He was easy to be around. “Doesn’t that fall under attorney-client privilege or whatever they call it for priests? Sanctity of the confessional or something?”

Father Patrick sat down. “I trust this is hyperbole, Kendall?”

“Oh, probably. Coralee invited my sperm donor to the wedding.”

“Ah.” Father Patrick leaned back. “That seems…presumptuous. These are the purported victims, I take it?”

“I wouldn’t even recognize the man if I passed him in the street,” Kendall said darkly, “but yes. Oh, don’t worry. I’ll get over it.”

Yes, so she’d said, several times. Em hoped this was the case. Right here, right in front of her, was another mark against marriage. A wedding was supposed to be a celebration of the love between two people, yet so often, the day was ruined by the agendas of those around the couple. Would Kendall and Brade be able to overcome this?

“I’m sure you will,” Father Patrick said, a twinkle in his eye. “But if I believe you’re at risk of harming yourself or others, you bet your ass I’ll report you. How do you like Grand, Emmet?”

“Please, call me Em. Or Emma. I thought priests weren’t allowed to swear.”

“Well.” He ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “I suppose we’re not. I have a bit of a donkey problem at the moment, so my excuse is that I have ass on the brain. My apologies.”

Em smiled. No wonder they’d asked him to officiate.

“Please,” Kendall begged. “Distract me with a donkey problem.”

“Let me put in my order,” Father Patrick said, “and if our lovely Emma here doesn’t mind, I’ll join you and give you a fine distraction indeed.”

When he returned with his sandwich, he regaled them with his experience co-chairing the Grand Christmas festival with Sue Anne Nylund.

“My job—my one job, according to Sue Anne—was to create the nativity scene in the town square,” he said morosely. “Unfortunately, I underestimated her commitment to narrative precision. Here we are, in prime ranching territory, with cattle and horses and sheep galore. Your brother has kindly located an ox, some sheep and as of this morning, a donkey.”

“Colt’s not my brother,” Em said.

Father Patrick’s brows lifted. “Well, I don’t want to bother the young man any further but according to Sue Anne Nylund, the nativity scene is not complete without the three wise men. And how did they arrive to honor the birth of our savior? On the backs of camels. Montana, it seems, is not awash in camels.”

Kendall laughed. “You look just like Brade when I told him the chandelier needed replacing. I’ll tell you what I told him: it’ll work out. And if it doesn’t, who cares?”

“Sue Anne Nylund,” said the priest darkly. “I swear, that woman will be the death of me.”

“I can’t help with the chandelier,” Em said, grinning at Kendall, “but if anyone can find camels, it’s Colt. He’s supposed to be helpful. Let him help.”