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

Chapter Seventeen

O n Boxing Day, Colt balanced on the scaffolding, supporting the heavy chandelier with his shoulder, while Brade used the electric drill to secure it to the ceiling. They’d fixed the frayed wiring—Brade’s brother-in-law Sawyer had all sorts of helpful skills—polished the tarnished metal and replaced the bulbs.

“This won’t take long, right?” he said, breathing hard.

He hadn’t slept well the last few nights. The drama of Christmas dinner at the O’Sullivans’ was one thing; watching Hetty relive the worst events of her life the day before had been even worse, especially with Mack’s bombshell at the end. Then he’d spent several hours on his laptop editing the photos and video he’d gotten of them in Kendall’s kitchen.

Lucas was right. It was incredibly personal.

If Hetty agreed to let him assemble the pieces of her puzzle into something coherent, it had the potential to be a powerful piece of film. Especially if Father Patrick was willing to participate. Father Patrick was Hetty’s long-lost mystery cowboy. He could hardly wrap his brain around it.

“Almost done.” Brade zapped the final pieces together, then straightened up. “Let it down.”

Colt carefully released the fixture, then flexed his arms and clambered down to the floor. “You guys are giving me a workout.”

The doorbell rang.

“It’s Father Patrick,” Kendall said, going to answer it. “We have a meeting with him about the ceremony.”

The ceremony. Sure. Colt smoothed his hands against his jeans. “We’re finished here and you guys have a lot to talk about. I should go.”

“No, stay,” Kendall replied.

The couple exchanged a look that Colt couldn’t decipher. She returned with the priest, but today he wore no clerical garb, not even his collar. Just jeans and a white T-shirt with a plaid button-down on top.

“The man of the hour,” Brade said, gesturing between the men. “You know him as Father Patrick. Now you can meet him as my biological father, aka JP Malone, Heather’s missing lover.”

Colt saw the priest wince and wished he’d been able to catch the expression on film.

“Thank you, son,” the priest said, when Brade took his coat.

Brade ignored the word. Did the priest use it deliberately?

“This has been a complete shock,” Father Patrick said. “I know that no words will ever compensate for the damage my ignorance has done. But first, we have to address how this affects your wedding.”

“Yes,” Brade said. “We’ll get to that.”

“Heather will be here momentarily,” Kendall added.

Colt’s surprise matched that of the priest.

“Hetty? Why?” he said.

“I’m about to get married and I have questions I want answered before I do,” Brade said. “Leila and Lucas would want to be in on this, but they’re both busy today and I need to get this over with. Colt, we’d like you to document the conversation so they can watch it later.”

“Does Hetty know about this? What if she’s not ready?”

Brade looked at him evenly. “This isn’t an ambush, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Colt pulled out his camera and went to the edge of the room to take a few shots for light and perspective. At least he’d be here to watch out for Hetty, if things got rough. He wished Em was here, too.

The priest looked toward the door. “She may not want to speak with me.”

“It’s not just about her, though.” As Kendall spoke, the doorbell rang again. “Oh, good. She’s here.”

Colt tightened the focus on Father Patrick. His face was a study in contrast. Deep lines around his eyes suggested a sleepless night, but the angle of his shoulders, how he leaned forward as Hetty entered the room, his stillness, all spoke of yearning and uncertainty. Had he loved her once, as she believed? Or was he documenting the end of a life-long delusion?

*

Heather tried not to be anxious as she entered the wide foyer, but it was hard. Brade and Kendall had something planned and it almost certainly involved JP. She wasn’t ready for this. But Christmas was upon them, with the wedding only days later. She had to be ready.

“Thanks for joining us, Heather,” Brade said. His tone revealed nothing.

“Of course,” she replied. She gave Kendall a hug and nodded her greeting to Colt and JP. She wanted to ask Colt to put down his camera, but she could hardly do that since she’d been the one to ask him to document everything, no matter how difficult.

They sat down at the kitchen table again. Soft instrumental Christmas music broke the awkward silence. Perhaps everyone was feeling as nervous as she was. Once they got settled with coffee and tea and cream and sugar, Brade folded his hands on the table and looked at her.

“Heather,” he said. “I want to apologize if I’ve been a little cold toward you. It’s taken me a minute to adjust to the idea of having a birth mother.”

She swallowed. “I understand. It’s a lot to deal with.”

“It’s not personal,” he said. “But I’m not like Leila. I can’t just accept things at face value, because I want to. I’m a scientist. I need data. I need evidence.”

She said nothing, sensing that there were many, many potential pitfalls ahead of her.

“Leila and Lucas always knew they were adopted,” Brade continued. “I found out by accident, as an adult, and had to deal with the fact that my parents chose to withhold this information from me. So that was one big adjustment. I was angry with everyone for a while. Finding out that Diana was my half sister—that my birth mother had abandoned a second child—did not predispose me to think kindly of you.”

Heather looked out the window as the words sliced through her chest. She wished JP wasn’t hearing this. “I can understand that, too,” she said quietly.

“But you haven’t pushed yourself on us,” Brade went on. “You haven’t made excuses for what happened and you haven’t played the victim. Everything my detective has found supports what you’ve told us. You haven’t played the victim…but I believe you have been a victim in all this. I don’t believe Father Patrick—JP—is as bad as you fear, either.”

Her throat tightened. She allowed herself a quick look at JP and then immediately regretted it. She couldn’t afford to feel sorry for him, not yet, at least.

Brade blew out a breath. “Something shady occurred around the time we were born.” He spoke calmly, but something had shifted in his voice. A kind of cautious tenderness had entered into the equation. He was trying.

“Documents don’t agree perfectly. Records are missing. We can’t locate key people who were involved in the delivery or the care of us as infants. We may never know exactly what happened. And I’m beginning to think that might be for the best. My parents, my adoptive parents,” he clarified with a quick glance at Colt, “had a lot of money. I have to accept that they may have pulled strings to get the son they wanted to round out their life. The Olivers needed an heir, after all.”

There was pain in his voice now, but also acceptance.

“Whatever happened, Brade,” Heather said, “it hardly matters now.”

“It matters to me.” He clenched his fists. “How can I live with myself, with everything I had growing up, hell, with everything I have now, thanks to their fortune, knowing that you suffered for years because of it?”

This man was her son. This protective, brave, ethical, moral man was her son, the child she’d searched for, the infant she’d cried over, the one she’d known had been born alive, despite the claims of those around her.

“But you don’t know it,” she said. Her voice was hoarse.

“Aw, hell,” Brade said, reaching over to take her hand. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“These aren’t bad tears,” she assured him. “I’m just so…I’m so proud of who you are. Your parents may have done some things they shouldn’t have, but they raised you well. You are a good person, Brade Oliver. I’m so proud that you’re my…my son.”

She looked across at JP and then wished she hadn’t. He was pale, his features drawn, but his eyes were burning.

She cleared her throat. “I mean…our son.”

Across the table, JP made a hiccupping sound, then looked down and folded his arms tightly across his chest.

When Brade glanced at her this time, he gave her a small, satisfied smile. “Which brings us to our next point.”

“Father Patrick,” Kendall said in a drawling accent, “you’re fired.”

JP’s head whipped up. “What?”

Brade laughed. “Don’t worry. We’re not canceling the wedding. But we do need a new officiant. It was fine for you to do Leila’s wedding; none of us knew who you were. It’s different now.”

“I don’t understand—” JP began.

“Listen,” Kendall said.

Brade inhaled deeply. “Here’s the thing I really wanted to ask you, Heather.”

Her stomach dropped. “Okay.”

“Everyone wants you at our wedding. Everyone wanted you to come to Grand, to get to know us. I wasn’t sure. But now I am, and I have a favor to ask you.”

Heather was shaking so hard she nearly stabbed herself in the eye wiping her face. “Brade, just say it, please.”

He turned in his seat to be able to look her in the eye. “It’s a little unorthodox, but I guess that’s to be expected in our situation. Nothing about either my or Kendall’s families is ordinary. Nothing about your life is ordinary. We’re getting married our way, all the way. Kendall has sorted things out with her parents. Doug will be in the audience, but Coralee will walk Kendall down the aisle.” He blew out another breath. “It’s taken them a lot of work to get to this place and I’m happy for them.”

Heather’s shaking took on new power. He wasn’t going to ask her to go home…he wasn’t going to ask…oh, please God, don’t let him ask her to leave…

“No one’s giving her away,” he added, “because she’s her own person, not property.”

“Em would be cheering your words,” Heather managed to say.

“But I feel a little differently.” He blinked and looked out the window, then returned his gaze to hers. “Heather, you gave me away once, or so the story goes. So, my question is, on the day that I give myself to the woman of my dreams, would you, the mother I never knew I had, walk me down the aisle? Would you give me away…again? By choice, this time? And you,” he said, turning to JP. “Will you walk with us? Not as Father Patrick, but as JP, the father I never knew I had?”

Brade reached one hand toward her and one to JP. Tentatively, JP held his other hand out to her and after a moment, she took it. It was rough and cool and shaking slightly, but his grip was strong. The three of them sat there, looking at each other, while Kendall hugged herself and Colt bore witness, everyone with tears in their eyes. Here she was with the son she’d loved all her life, the baby stolen from her, her little lost Malone, not sending her away, but asking her to share him with a stranger.