Should he let her change the subject? If he were half the person she thought he was, he wouldn’t. They’d talk this out. But he had no idea how he felt about this. Their father? Was he anyone’s father? Could he be? Did he want to be?
“Norah, all I know for sure is that I want to take care of the four of you. I’m responsible for you all.”
Her lips were tightly pressed. “Because you drunk-married me.”
“I’m legally wed to you. It might have been because of spiked punch, but being married serves us both.”
“You got your ranch,” she said, staring at him. “And I got some security. I just have to keep reminding myself of that. Why we’re here. Why we did this. Crazy as it really is.”
Was it all that crazy? No. They both got what they needed.
He wasn’t anyone’s father. Reed Barelli? A father? With his craptastic model of paternity?
“It’s good to know, to remember, what we are,” she said, her voice higher pitched.
Higher pitched because she was upset? Or because she was stating a fact? They’d almost had sex, but she’d called a halt and wisely so. She knew messing around with their partnership could have terrible consequences. Anything that could put conflict between them could ruin a good thing. And this marriage was a good thing. For both of them.
He was no one’s father. He was Norah’s husband and caretaker of her children. Guardian of them all.
None of this sounded right. Or felt right. His shoulders slumped and he slugged down the rest of the beer.
“Maybe I should go pick up the babies,” she said. “My mom wants to keep them overnight, but I’m sure she’d rather have a solid night’s sleep.”
She wanted—needed—a buffer, he realized. And so did he.
“I’ll go with you,” he said. “Tell you the truth, I miss their little faces.”
She bit her lip and lifted her chin, and he also realized he’d better stop saying things like that, despite the fact that it was the truth. His affection for the triplets was also a good thing—the fact that they had his heart meant he’d be a good provider, a good protector.
And that was what he’d vowed to be.
Chapter Ten
The next morning, Norah woke very early and made twelve pot pies to deliver to the Pie Diner, the need to keep her eyes and mind on the various pots and timers a help in keeping her mind off Reed. But as she slid the last three pies from the oven, the smell of vegetable pot pie so comforting and tantalizing that she took out a frozen one to heat up for her breakfast, she couldn’t stop hearing him say he wasn’t the triplets’ father.
She knew that. And of course, he didn’t say it outright because he was Reed Barelli. But she’d been under the impression that fatherhood was part of the deal. Until she’d heard what had come stumbling out of her own mouth last night. He’d said again that being married, spiked punch or not, served them both. And she’d said something like, “Right, you got your ranch, I got some security.”
Security. That was very different than “a father for my children.”
Her shoulders slumped. Maybe she hadn’t thought this through quite far enough. A father for her kids should have been first on her list, no?
Except you weren’t looking for a father for your kids, dummy, she reminded herself. You weren’t looking for anyone. You got yourself in a situation and you didn’t undo it so that you and your babies could have that security: a safe house, another caring adult, the financial burden lifted a bit, one more pair of hands. All that in a kind, supportive—and yes, sexy as all get-out—husband.
No one, certainly not Reed Barelli, had used the word father.
Okay. She just had to let it sink in and accept it. Her marriage was platonic. Her husband was not her children’s father. She had a good setup. It was good for the both of them.
“Do people eat pot pie for breakfast?” Reed asked as he walked into the kitchen in a T-shirt and navy sweats. Even his bare feet were sexy. His hair was adorably rumpled and as the sunlight illuminated half his face, he looked so beautiful she just stood there and stared at him until he tilted his head.
“Pot pie is appropriate for all meals,” she said. “Seven a.m. Three p.m. Six p.m.”
“Good, because this kitchen smells so good I’m now craving it.”
“You’re in luck because I have six frozen in the freezer. Just pop one in the oven for a half hour. It’ll be ready when you’re out of the shower.” She glanced at her watch. “I’m going to drop these off at the Pie Diner and pick up the babies, bring them home and then go to Sara Dirk’s with some frozen pot pies. I think she could use a freezer full of easily reheatable meals.”
“That’s thoughtful of you. Tell you what. Why don’t you go to Sara’s and I’ll deliver the pies and pick up the rug rats and bring them home. I’m not on duty till noon.”
“I can pick up the triplets,” she said, her stomach twisting. “They’re my children and I—”
“Norah,” he said, stepping closer. He took both her hands and held them. “That’s why I’m here. That’s why you’re here. I’m now equally responsible for them. So go.”
He sure did use the word responsible a lot. She had to keep that in mind. Responsible was how he’d gotten himself married to her in the first place. He’d heard the plaintive, wistful note in her voice—I’ve always dreamed of getting married here—and instead of running for the hills, he’d felt responsible for her lost dreams and picked her up in his arms and carried her inside the chapel and vowed to love, honor and cherish her for the rest of his days.
She glanced down at their entwined hands. Why did it have to feel so good? Why did she have to yearn for more than the deal they’d struck? “Thank you, then,” she managed to say, moving to the freezer to pull out six pot pies for Sara. The icy blast felt good on her hot, Reed-held hands and brought her back to herself a bit. “I’ll pop one in the oven for you. Thirty minutes, okay?”
“Got it. See you back at home in a bit.”
Back at home. Back at home. As she carried her bag to the door, she looked around and realized this ranch didn’t feel like home, that she wasn’t quite letting herself feel that it was hers, too. It wasn’t. Not really. Just like Reed wasn’t the triplets’ father.
Because he was holding back just as she was. For self-preservation.
Stop thinking, she ordered herself as she got into her car and turned on the radio, switching the station until she found a catchy song she couldn’t resist singing along to. A love song that ended up reminding her of the hot guy taking a shower right now. Grr, why did everything always come back to Reed Barelli?
* * *
“So how’s married life?” Norah’s mother, Arlena, asked as she set a slice of apple pie in front of Reed at the counter of the Pie Diner.
“Things are working out great,” Reed said quite honestly.
“It’s nice having someone to come home to, isn’t it?” Cheyenne said, sidling up with a coffeepot in each hand. She refilled two tables behind them, then poured Reed a fresh cup.
“You two,” Shelby chided. “Leave the poor detective alone. We all know theirs isn’t a real marriage.”
Reed stiffened, glancing at Shelby. Norah’s sister was sharp and cautious, a successful business owner, and had held her own against one of the wealthiest and most powerful businessmen in Wedlock Creek, Liam Mercer, whom she’d eventually married. He felt like Shelby was trying to tell him something. Or trying to get across a message. But what?
Their marriage was real. They might not be loving and cherishing, but they were honoring each other’s deepest wishes and needs.
But still, he couldn’t shake what she’d said. Not a real marriage. Not a real marriage. Not a real marriage.
If their union wasn’t real, then why would he feel such responsibility for her children? And he did. He had from day one when
he’d woken up with the wedding ring and seen that photo of Norah and her triplets on the day they were born.
“Well, everyone’s happy, including my beloved little grandbabies, so that’s what matters,” Arlena said, taking away Reed’s empty plate.
Cheyenne nodded.
Shelby nodded extra sagely.
Arlena returned with the stroller, parking it beside Reed. “Look who’s here to take you home,” she cooed to the triplets. She frowned, then looked at him. “What do they call you?”
“Call me?” he repeated.
“Call you,” Norah’s mother repeated. “Da-da? Papa? Reed? Mama’s husband?”
He felt his cheeks sting. Had Norah talked to her mom about their conversation? He doubted there’d been time. “They don’t talk yet, so, of course, they don’t call me anything.”
“They’ll be taking any day,” she said, clearly uninterested in letting this line of questioning go. He should suggest detective work on the side for Arlena Ingalls.
He swallowed and got up from the bar stool, refusing to take the twenty Cheyenne tried to foist back at him. He put the bill under his empty coffee mug and got out of there fast with the giant stroller. Or as fast as anyone could make their way around tables in a diner while pushing a three-seat stroller with a yellow-and-silver polka-dotted baby bag hanging off the handle.
Anyway, what he’d said in regard to “how married life was” was true: things were great. He and Norah had to get used to each other—that was all. Yes, he’d made a mistake in not being clear about the father title, but the subject hadn’t come up even though it was really the root and heart of staying married in the first place.
What the hell was wrong with him? How could he be so damned dense sometimes?
And what were the triplets going to call him?
He didn’t like the idea of them calling him Reed.
Humph.
Frowning again, he settled the babies in their car seats, got the stroller in the trunk of his SUV and drove to the ranch, grateful, as always, that he was making this drive, that he was going home to the ranch. The summer sun lit the pastures through the trees and, as expected, the sight of the homestead relaxed Reed in a way nothing could. He remembered running out to the crazy weeping willow, which always looked haunted, with David Dirk when they were nine, David talking about his uncle who’d just won a quarter million dollars in Vegas and “was so lucky” that their lives were changing. He remembered David saying that if only his mother could win that kind of money, they’d have everything and wouldn’t need anything else. As if money alone—
Wait a minute. Reed pulled the car over and stared hard at that weeping willow.
Could David have gone to Las Vegas? To try to win a pot of money to make having multiples more palatable? Or just easier? Or maybe he’d gone there to hide out for a few days before the wedding, to think through what he wanted?
He pulled out his phone and called David’s bank. In seconds he was switched over to the manager and reintroduced himself as the detective working on the Dirk disappearance. Reed’s predecessor had noted that David hadn’t taken out a large sum of cash before he’d gone missing. But David had never been a gambler. He wouldn’t risk more than five hundred bucks on slots and tables, even for the chance of a big payday. “Can you tell me if David withdrew around five hundred dollars the week of the tenth?”
“He withdrew two hundred and fifty dollars on the eleventh. Then another hundred on the twelfth.”
Well, hardly enough cash for even a cheap flight, a cheap motel and quarters for a few slot machines. But he might have had cash socked away, too.
It was just a hunch. But Reed would bet his ranch that David Dirk was in Vegas, sitting at a slot machine and freaking out about what he was doing—and had done.
* * *
Before Norah even got out of her car, she could hear the loud, piercing wails from inside Sara Dirk’s house. Screeching babies.
Norah rang the bell and it was a good minute before Sara opened the door, a screaming baby against her chest and frazzled stress etched on her tired face. Behind Sara, Norah could see the other twin crying in the baby swing.
“I thought you could use some easy meals to heat up,” Norah said, holding up the bag of pies. “I brought you every kind of pot pie we make at the Pie Diner.”
Sara looked on the verge of tears. “That’s really nice of you,” she managed to say before the baby in her arms let out an ear-splitting wail.
“Could you use a break?” Norah asked, reaching out her arms.
“Oh God, yes,” Sara said, handing over the baby girl. “This is Charlotte. And that’s Gabrielle,” she added, rushing over to the crying one in the swing. She scooped her out and rocked her, and the baby quieted.
Norah held Charlotte against her chest, rubbing the baby’s back and murmuring to her.
“A few minutes’ reprieve,” Sara said. “They like the change, but then they’ll start up again.”
“Is your husband at work?” Norah asked, giving Charlotte’s back little taps to burp her.
Sara nodded. “He works at the county hospital and starts at 5:00 a.m. But the poor guy was up for a couple hours before then. He’s such a great dad. He calls and texts as often as he can to check to see if I’m okay, if they’re okay.”
Norah smiled. “Support is everything.”
Sara nodded. “It really is. David’s fiancée said she’d come over this morning to help out. I feel so bad for her. Is there still no word on David?”
“Not that I know of.”
The doorbell rang and there was Eden, her blond hair in a ponytail. Norah knew Eden from the Pie Diner, like just about everyone in town, so no introductions were necessary. And since David had done his share of dating among the single women in town, Norah’s two weeks as David’s girlfriend hardly merited a second thought. There wouldn’t be any awkwardness in that department with Eden, thank heavens.
Eden burst into tears. “You know what I think?” she asked, taking Gabrielle from Sara and rocking the baby in her arms while sniffling. “I think David up and left. I think he changed his mind about me and didn’t want to break my heart. But—” She let out a wail. “He broke it anyway.” She cried, holding the baby close against her, her head gentle against Gabrielle’s head.
“That man loves you to death,” Sara said. “Everyone knows that.”
“Well, he’s either dead in a ditch somewhere or he left on his own because he doesn’t want to marry me,” Eden said, sniffling.
Norah handed her a tissue. It wasn’t her place to mention Reed’s theory. But maybe she could work in the subject of the chapel to see if Eden brought up whether or not David wanted multiples the way she did.
Before Norah could even think about how to pose a question about marrying at the chapel, Eden’s phone rang. Sara took Gabrielle as Eden lunged for her phone in her bag, clearly hoping it was her fiancé.
“It’s him!” Eden shrieked. “It’s David!”
Norah stared at Eden as she screamed, “Hello, Davy Doo?” into her phone and then realized she should at least pretend to give the woman some privacy.
Eden was listening, her blue eyes narrowing with every passing second, her expression turning murderous. “What? I was kidding when I got to your cousin’s house today and said I was sure you left on your own because of me! I just said that so everyone would say ‘Of course that’s not true.’ But it is!” she screamed so loudly that both babies startled and stopped fussing entirely.
Whoa boy. So Reed’s theory was right.
“Yes, I hear the twins crying again, David. I’m in the same house with them. It’s what babies do!” Silence. Eyes narrowing some more. Death expression. And then she said through gritted teeth, “I don’t want just one baby. I want triplets! Or even quadruplets! Twins at the least!” More listening. More eyes narrowing. “W
ell, fine! Then I guess we’re through!” She stabbed at the End Call button with her finger, threw the phone in her bag, then stormed out. A second later she was back. “I’m sorry you had to hear that. Apparently I was engaged to a weenie twerp! No offense to your husband or his family, Sara,” she added, then stormed out again.
Norah stared at Sara, who looked as amazed as Norah felt.
“Omigod,” Sara said. “What was that?”
Norah shifted little Charlotte in her arms. “A little miscommunication in expectations before the wedding.”
“A little?” Sara shook her head. “And I don’t know if I’d classify that as miscommunication. Eden has been talking about getting married at the chapel and having triplets from the first family dinner she was invited to. David knew what she wanted. He probably didn’t think too much about it until his cousin had twins—colicky twins—and he realized what he’d be in for. David has witnessed some whopper arguments between me and my husband. He probably just ran scared with the wedding coming so close.”
“Well, I’m glad he’s okay—that he wasn’t hurt or anything like that,” Norah said, realizing something had changed. She gasped—Charlotte had fallen asleep in her arms. She glanced at Sara, who was beaming. Sara pointed to the nursery and Norah tiptoed into the room and laid the baby in her crib. The little creature didn’t even stir.
“I owe you,” Sara said. “Thank you!”
They glanced at Gabrielle, who was rubbing her eyes and yawning. Easily transferred to the vibrating swing, she, too, was asleep a few seconds later.
“I get to have coffee!” Sara said. “Thank you so much for staying to help.”
“Anytime,” Norah said. “See you at the next class. Oh, and if your husband hears from David, will you let Reed know?”
“Will do,” Sara said.
Detective Barelli's Legendary Triplets Page 11
