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

Chapter Twenty-Four

T he wrangler once again known as JP Malone watched the exchange of vows, cheered the kisses, and laughed as the bouquet was tossed straight at Emmet—and what might that mean? Honey hadn’t left his side the whole day. There hadn’t been opportunity to talk, after he’d shown her the letters, but they didn’t need it. He knew, from the look in her eyes, that she believed him now, that the love she’d tried to deny was still alive.

After the toasts were drunk and the cake eaten, Colt approached him.

“I’m going to slip out to feed the animals,” he said. “The light is perfect tonight and I thought I’d get a few more shots of the nativity scene before we begin dismantling it tomorrow.”

There was a certain melancholy about the man and he couldn’t help but notice the number of times his gaze had swept to Emmet during the ceremony. He knew love when he saw it and he just hoped Emmet would recognize it also, before Colt left and whatever was between them was lost.

Em watched Colt leave.

Go after him, child.

But she stayed in her seat.

The O’Sullivan children were running around the room with the wildness that suggested they were long past their bedtimes and would require their parents’ attention. Diana, however, was clearly not ready to leave.

It had been such a magical season and he sensed that no one wanted it to end. In the coming week, as soon as New Year’s Eve was over, the festival would be dismantled. They’d already exceeded their financial goals, thanks to two huge donations, both anonymous, though he suspected one from Brade Oliver and the other from Mel Brezo, who everyone knew was Heather Malone.

Honey. His Honey.

He still couldn’t believe it.

But she would go home to Chinook. She’d return, and frequently, no doubt, but she wouldn’t stay. Her life was elsewhere.

And what else could he expect? His life was here. He was a priest.

Yet he thought of her constantly. The miracle of her coming back here, to this place, where her greatest nightmare had occurred, and having it also be the location of their greatest gift.

When he suggested to Kendall that they all collect their coats and step outside to admire the festival lights, she instantly agreed.

From the expansive back patio, they could see down into the green next to the boardwalk, where the nativity scene stood, the source of such conflict between him and Sue Anne, and in the end, such a lovely and evocative reminder of the season’s true meaning.

Sue Anne Nylund shocked him then by raising her glass. “I’d like to propose a toast to Father Patrick,” she said. “Or Father Joseph Patrick. Or JP Malone. Whoever you are, sir, your contributions to our festival have made it the most successful one we’ve ever run. I’ll be making an official statement later this week, but I can share with you all now that we raised sufficient funds to not only meet our goal of building the addition to the Forsyth women’s shelter, but to sponsor a program for teen mothers as well.”

A cheer went up and the priest bent his head to accept the praise. Sue Anne wasn’t a bad sort, once you got to know her. She had her good points.

Then Sue Anne shocked him. “Would you, Father,” she asked, in an unexpectedly hesitant voice, “give us a Christmas homily? You did miss mass the other day, after all.”

“If you recall, dear lady,” he said with a smile, “I was in the emergency room at the time. But yes, I would be honored.”

Father Joseph Patrick Malone Keane looked around at the people gathered on the patio near the warmth of the huge stone fireplace, huddled in their coats, their breath puffing in the chilly air. Snow draped the shrubs and trees like sheets of silk, broken occasionally by the glow of buried landscape lighting.

He pulled his mind back to the homily he’d prepared, then decided to ad lib.

“At this time of year, we celebrate the birth of our Lord and Savior.” He nodded to Emmet. “He was more likely born in autumn, but the roots of our traditional Christmas celebrations predate his birth and in fact draw on ancient rituals with similar themes of rebirth, regeneration, renewal. In nature, winter is a time of withdrawal, when plants go dormant, animals hibernate, human beings huddle together around the fire and await the coming spring. The cycle of life requires darkness, which is not just an absence of light and the fear that it brings. Our savior’s death is the ultimate symbol of darkness and despair. We all know this feeling. But darkness is also a time of rest. Without rest there can be no regeneration. And…” he glanced around him “…we have living proof of this here in Grand, this year.”

His voice choked up. “The darkness of winter forces us to ask questions. Will we survive on what we’ve stored up against this season? Can we get through the coldness, the emptiness, the fear? Will we be devoured by those hungrier than we are? Many of us here know what it is to suffer a long, long winter. We know how hard it is to survive on the meager stores within.”

He looked into Honey’s eyes, which were shining. Brade and Lucas stood behind her, each with a hand on her shoulder. Leila and Diana stood beside her, holding her tightly. Next to Diana stood Emmet and beside her, with his arm around her, was Colt Boone.

Next to Lucas was Bayleigh, in a wheelchair with a thick blanket over her knees, their infant tucked up against her chest. Next to Leila was Sawyer and little Piper. Somewhere in the crowd was Miranda, Piper’s birth mother. Diana’s husband Rand was wrangling their three children somewhere amongst the crowd but her father, Heather’s ex-husband Weldon Scott, stood near her, stooped and grizzled and scowling, but there. Kendall, her sister Ashley and brother Jason stood beside Coralee, a few feet behind Brade.

JP Malone wished his sister Lizzie could see this. He too knew what it was to go through life flailing, wishing for a family who loved him without question, without condition, without judgment. Who enjoyed his company, who valued him, who respected him enough to challenge him when necessary and who trusted him enough to be vulnerable with him. He’d found something of that in the priesthood. Mostly, though, he’d found acceptance, which had been enough to be able to give back.

But here, here was something more. Something he’d never dreamed of. He had children. He had someone who’d loved him her whole life, even while she’d hated him. Honey Malone, she’d called herself. The nickname only he and her mother had used was the name she loved best. And then, with the blessing of the state, she’d changed her surname to the one she’d hoped to have: his.

Or the one she thought had been his.

Malone had been his own mother’s name. But he’d been a Keane, raised by Keanes with already full houses, too busy and heartsick to provide much more than food and shelter to their grieving niece and nephew.

“This Christmas, I have received something so unexpected, so rare, so precious that I can scarcely put it into words. Me, a rough ex-con cowboy poet, broken and put back together badly, saved by luck and faith, with nothing to offer, has been given the gift of a lifetime. These people in front of me are…” He paused to clear his throat, suddenly tight. “These people are…my family. I didn’t even know they existed. But one woman knew I existed, even though I was as lost to her as she was to me. She survived the darkest of winters and the lives she brought into this world have gone on to bring life back to others. Long after she gave up on it ever being possible, she has reunited us, with help from the very people she’d despaired of ever finding. We are all of us, by birth or marriage, by choice or circumstances, Malones, torn apart against our will, reunited by love. I’ve given many homilies about how the loving shepherd never allows a single lamb to go astray but will seek to bring it back to the flock, no matter what. As the seasons turn, so do the cycles of our lives. I’ve spent much of my life as shepherd, but today, I am that lamb. Today, each of us is both lamb and shepherd, finder and found, rescuer and rescued.

“To Honey Malone,” he said, lifting his fist to the sky. “The love of my life, the miracle of Christmas, and to the lost Malones she’s brought home.”

“To the lost Malones,” echoed the crowd.

Honey Malone stepped out of the crowd and Father Patrick Keane embraced the slumbering part of himself he’d called JP Malone, and the future that had always been waiting for him.

*

Instead of retiring to Belle Vista, Colt finished feeding the animals, brushed the hay off his good clothes and returned to the reception. Father Patrick’s words had touched him deeply. He’d been in a dark winter, too. If Hetty could find her way to the light, perhaps Colt could take a chance at that, too.

He drew Emmet to the side of the room, away from the dancers, and led her to the patio doors. Soon, they’d be closing them against the winter air, but it seemed that Brade Oliver considered the heating bill part of the wedding costs. Having the wall open to the outdoors certainly lent a sense of infinity to the celebration. This event wasn’t just inside this room, this house, this town, but it led into the endless night, the limitless sky. He’d never been one for the so-called romance of marriage, but on this night, even he couldn’t help but believe in love.

Which was good, given that he seemed unable to stop thinking about Emmet Garcia. Was this love? How the hell had that happened? Should he trust it? Should she? She certainly seemed ready to trust in him, which scared the bejesus out of him. Em should know, better than most, how few people were truly trustworthy. He’d already failed at a long-term commitment once.

Then again, he was a different person now, wasn’t he?

“Where are we going?” she asked, looking up at him. Her cheeks were pink from dancing and her eyes were crinkled with smiling. She’d embraced the romance, too.

Would that help?

He pointed to where Hetty was dancing with her mystery cowboy, the town priest. “Look at them.”

Em made a little sound and put a hand to her throat. “Oh, Colt! She looks so happy.”

“I know.” He wasn’t sure how much to say. “What do you think’s going to happen now? For them? They seem to love each other as much as ever.”

“I don’t know. I don’t care. He’s a priest, so maybe nothing can happen. But she’s got grandchildren here. She’ll be back. Maybe she’ll move here.”

“Would you be okay with that?”

She was quiet a moment. “It was always going to happen, Colt. One way or another, she and I were going to separate. I think I’ve been looking after her for a long time, without even realizing it. I was so worried when I moved out of her house, but I knew I had to do it, for myself. But I still kept in touch. It hurts her so much to lose people. I couldn’t let her feel that way about me. Yet…”

“Yet, you grew up,” he finished.

She nodded. “I did. I think that having lost her children as babies made her cling tighter to the children who came through her life. Her babies were taken. She never got to see them grow up and leave in the natural order of things. But now, she’s got them back.”

“Does that scare you?”

This time there was no hesitation. “It did, at first. But now, I see that she’s somehow…I don’t know…more whole. Healed. I know she loves me, Colt. She loves you, too. That’s never going to change. But now it’s a healthier kind of love, I think. She’s got her babies back and they’re adults now. They don’t need her; they want her. Just like I don’t need to live with her anymore, but I want to stay connected to her, always. Friends, as adults.”

Perhaps she hadn’t intended it, but he felt a subtle reminder of his own absence from Hetty’s life.

“I’m going to stay in closer touch with her now, too,” he said.

“Good. She’ll be happy for it.”

He nodded. “And you?”

She looked at him, eyebrows raised. “I just said I’ll always stay connected to her.”

“I meant, will you be happy if I say in closer touch?”

“With Hetty?” She pulled back and crossed her arms. “Absolutely. It will make her so happy.”

She wasn’t giving an inch.

“I meant,” he said, “will you be happy if I stay in closer touch with you?”

She looked at him with eyes dark and questioning. “Colt, from the time you first kissed me, I’ve had a place in my heart for you. I understand now why you had to stay away. We both had growing up to do. But things are different now. And yes, I’d like us to be…close. Again.”

The vise that had been holding his chest suddenly loosened. “Em.” Words failed him. He pulled her into his arms and stroked her hair.

The music was playing, that awful song that was so popular. Drivel mostly and badly composed but that refrain, oh it hit all the feels.

Em must have felt the same way for she began to sway, holding him close in an intimate dance.

“We are young, Colt,” she murmured against his chest. “We have our whole lives in front of us.”

It was scary and he didn’t know what it would look like, but perhaps, together, Pony-Boy and Sparrow could set their world on fire. He wanted to shine, and with Em, he felt brighter than the sun.

*

Em was packing her car. She’d already said her goodbyes to Hetty’s lost-and-found family, the Malones that never were. Hetty would be staying another week with Diana and Rand and the kids, before she came back to Chinook to finish preparing for Malcolm’s spring art show. But she’d be back for the birth of Leila and Sawyer’s baby. It was obvious she didn’t want to leave Father Patrick. She’d be spending plenty of time in Grand.

Everyone had urged Em to come back soon, too, and she would. But she had a life in Chinook to sort out first. She had students who needed her, a career she loved, more goals on the horizon. She’d identified the restlessness she’d been feeling, too. She needed something to fight for, and through Hetty and Colt, she’d found a cause that lit her up, something she could throw herself into wholeheartedly.

She had Hetty’s support already. Hetty, in fact, had been thinking about something similar, herself. But they needed Colt, and his buy-in wasn’t guaranteed. It would mean working together, each of them bringing their unique skill set to a project that would carry high stakes for them both.

She and Colt had barely begun tiptoeing toward a new relationship. Would this be too much, too soon? The power dynamics of working together were too complicated for many couples.

She shoved the last bag into the hatchback and stood up, brushing snow off her coat. She was going to meet Colt at Belle Vista on her way out of town. Should she tell him her idea now? Maybe she should write a funding proposal, first. Or maybe she should just trust him. She had to start doing that, after all.

He had to check in with his business in LA. But he’d already told her about a farm near Chinook he needed to visit that specialized in almost-extinct heritage breeds of cattle, sheep and chickens. Someone, somewhere, would be making a film that needed animals like this. He was always happy to make new contacts.

Or was it an excuse to see her?

They hadn’t agreed on where this was going, but they both knew it was going somewhere. The magic of Brade and Kendall’s wedding was over, but the cold light of morning hadn’t dampened the reality of what they were finally letting themselves feel. They would take their time, but this was it, for both of them. No need to rush anything.

To her surprise, he pulled his truck up beside hers in the Yellowstone parking lot. He got out, walked up to her and planted a firm kiss on her cold lips.

She smiled into his eyes. “Hey, stranger. I was just thinking about you.”

“Should I be scared?”

“Always. I didn’t think you were coming back to town this morning.”

He lifted his brows in a curious, teasing manner. “I wasn’t. But I thought of something, and realized I had to come back. I’m glad I caught you.”

He opened the back passenger door of his truck, told his dog to stay, and reached inside.

“I want you to meet someone,” he said.

He stepped back holding a small pet carrier.

“Colt! Did you get Festus a little brother or sister?”

“You could say that.”

Against her will, she bent down to see the tiny face peering up at her through the metal bars. It was a kitten. With a creamy coat and dark brown nose, toes and tail.

“Oh…” she breathed. Then she looked up, terrified and hopeful at the same time.

“I know you’re not ready,” Colt said quickly.

“Right.” That’s what she’d told him. She’d insisted. She’d been insisting for years.

“Losing Jasper broke your heart,” Colt continued. “And I know you would make your own choice, if you were ready. You’re in charge of your own life, after all.”

“Right,” she said again. The kitten poked a tiny paw out between the wires and she stroked it. So soft.

“I just thought you’d like to meet her.”

There was an infuriating smugness to his smile.

“I probably shouldn’t have even shown you,” he continued, “as I can only imagine how hard and awful this is for you right now. To see her. And then watch me drive off with her.”

She put her face close to the little creature and let the sweet scent of kitten breath wash over her. “I could punch you.”

“But you won’t.”

Her heart was pounding. She’d kept all Jasper’s things, of course. She knew exactly where they were. Plus, she could visit the pet store as soon as she got home.

She straightened up and put her hands on her hips. “This seems pretty irresponsible, Boone. Cats don’t enjoy travel the way dogs do. I’d think a guy so well versed in animal rights would know better.”

“Yeah,” he said, making a face. “I’m pretty clueless sometimes. You’re right. I should probably take her back to the shelter. This was a bad idea. Impulsive.”

Em opened the crate. The kitten leaped into her hands, curled under her chin and sent a tiny purr radiating through her body. Instantly, she was in love.

More in love.

“Say it.” She looked up at Colt. “You got me a kitten. For Christmas.”

“Wrong.” His eyes were shining. “It’s after Christmas and I got her for myself. But I see now, thanks to your wisdom and experience, that I’m not the best person for her. Not right now, at least.”

They hadn’t talked at all about what them being together would look like. He had a life in Los Angeles. She was in Montana. But if Hetty and her cowboy could find their way back to each other, she and Colt certainly could.

“I just thought,” he continued, his voice rough now, “that since the past few weeks have been all about mending the past, that perhaps this could be a symbol of how I’ve changed. Of…commitment.”

“Commitment,” she whispered, not trusting her voice.

“She’s not full Siamese and she’s a little fluffy, so she might have Himalayan in her, not sure. Her name is Pearl.”

“Pearl,” Em said, kissing the tiny head. Then she met his eyes. “Colt, this is the best gift ever. You got me a kitten.”

“I’m glad you like her,” Colt said, grinning. “But she’s mine.”

Em stroked the tiny creature under her chin and she rubbed her silky cheek against her knuckles. “You got me a kitten,” she repeated.

This was the time to tell him. Or to ask him. Her heart began pounding.

“Colt,” she said. “I have something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

She put the kitten back in the crate and returned it to the warm truck.

“This sounds serious.” His eyes were wary. “I was hoping Pearl was a good thing.”

“Oh, she is.” She raised herself onto her tiptoes and kissed him. “I accept your symbol. And raise you another.”

“Oh?” He took her in his arms, but she held herself out, so as to meet his gaze.

“Colt, I’m sorry for not giving you the benefit of the doubt, earlier. You took all those images for Hetty, and you didn’t use them for yourself. I know you could have. I should have trusted you.”

He took a step back and looked away. “Thanks, but you were right not to. I thought about it.” He looked at her briefly. “I really did.”

“But you didn’t act on it.”

“There will be other opportunities.” His voice was gruff. “Ones that don’t come at a cost to people I…love.”

There was the word neither of them would speak of directly. Yet.

“Perhaps,” she said, “this is still an opportunity.”

He returned her gaze. “What do you mean?”

She thought of how Hetty was incorporating Colt’s images and footage in her upcoming show, as counterpoint to the paintings, but also as part of the storytelling she was embracing.

“You’re going to get some good exposure at Hetty’s retrospective.”

His smile was small, but genuine. “I’m glad she’s putting them to good use.”

“You helped her find her voice, Colt.”

He looked up, surprised. “I just took pictures.”

“Yes, thousands of them. And what’s the saying? A picture is worth a thousand words. She’s an artist. Pictures are her language. Your pictures are helping her tell her story, adding to and enriching the way she’s been telling it all along. You gave her that. That’s an incredible gift.”

She took a deep breath, seeking the right words to explain her idea. It was still so new. But if anyone might understand, it was Colt.

“I’d like to partner with you.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Partner.”

She heard the emphasis, the question inside it. She didn’t know how to answer it, not yet. But she knew she wasn’t ready to lose him again.

“In making a movie. Your movie.”

He stared at her.

“Hetty’s story is something you and I are both passionate about,” she went on, quickly. “But it’s bigger than her.” She hesitated. “Hetty’s ready to tell her story, thanks to you. But I want you to partner with me, help me find more women, get more stories, take what you began and shape it into something bigger, broader, more expansive…for a larger audience. I want us to create a documentary film, together. There are so many people who need this story told, Colt. And I think you and I are the ones to tell it. For Hetty, for my mom, for your mom. For Tammy.”

His mouth opened, then closed. He blinked.

“How…how long have you been thinking about this?”

“It took a while,” she admitted, shrugging. “I had to get over my resistance to the cheesy made-for-TV tearjerker movie idea. It wasn’t until I realized how powerful Hetty’s show is going to be that I saw the potential. Then, Hetty came to me with a similar idea. She wants this, Colt, and I can’t do it alone. This was your idea in the first place.”

“Making history and social justice personal and intimate.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “It’s a solid idea. But it will mean us working together, closely. You sure you’re ready for that?”

She glanced through the truck window. “You gave me a symbol of your commitment. This is mine.”

He took her hands. “Emmet Garcia, you never fail to surprise me.”

“Is that a yes?” she asked.

“When it comes to you,” he replied, “my answer is always yes.”