Detective Barelli's Legendary Triplets

by Melissa Senate

  “I guess I am.”

  Want more, she shouted telepathically. Insist on more! You did it with the babies, now do it with me. Hot sex every night, fool! But of course she couldn’t say any of that. “Well, I’d better get over to the diner to pick up the triplets.”

  “They’re open for another half hour, right? I could sure go for some beef pot pie.”

  She stared at him. Why was he prolonging the two of them being together? Because he wanted to be with her? Because he really did love the triplets and wanted to see them?

  Because he missed her the way she missed him?

  “I have to warn you,” she said as they headed out. “My family might interrogate you about the state of our marriage. Demand to know when we’re patching things up. If we will, I should say.”

  “Well, we can’t say what we don’t know. That goes for suspects and us.”

  Humph. All he had to do was say he’d be the one. The father and the husband. It was that easy!

  On the way to their cars, she called her mom to let her know she and Reed would be stopping in for beef pot pies so they’d be ready when they arrived. Then she got in her car and Reed got in his. The whole time he trailed her in his SUV to the Pie Diner, she was so aware of him behind her.

  The diner was still pretty busy at eight thirty-five. Norah’s mom waved them over to the counter.

  “Norah, look who’s here!”

  Norah stared at the man sitting at the counter, a vegetable pot pie and lemonade in front of him. She gasped as recognition hit. “Harrison? Omigod, Harrison Atwood?” He stood and smiled and she threw her arms around him. Her high school sweetheart who’d joined the army and ended up on the east coast and they’d lost contact.

  “Harrison is divorced,” Norah’s mom said. “Turns out his wife didn’t want children and he’s hoping for a house full. He told me all about it.”

  Norah turned beet red. “Mom, I’m sure Harrison doesn’t want the entire restaurant knowing his business.”

  Harrison smiled. “I don’t mind at all. The more people know I’m in the market for a wife and children, the better. You have to say what you want if you hope to get it, right?”

  Norah’s mother smiled at Norah and Reed, then looked back at Harrison. “I was just telling Harrison how things didn’t work out between the two of you and that you’re available again. The two of you could catch up. High school sweethearts always have such memories to talk over.”

  Can my face get any redder? Norah wondered, shooting daggers at her busybody mother. What was she trying to do?

  Get her settled down, that was what. First Reed and now a man she hadn’t seen in ten years.

  Norah glanced at Reed, who seemed very stiff. He was stealing glances at Harrison every now and then.

  Harrison had been a cute seventeen-year-old, tall and gangly, but now he was taller and more muscular, attractive, with sandy-brown hair and blue eyes and a dimple in his left cheek. She’d liked him then, but she’d recognized even then that she hadn’t been in love. To the point that she’d kept putting him off about losing their virginity. She’d wanted her first time to be with a man she was madly in love with. Of course, she’d thought she was madly in love with a rodeo champ, but he’d taken her virginity and had not given her anything in return. She’d thought she was done with bull riders and then, wham, she’d fallen for the triplets’ father. Maybe she’d never learn.

  “Harrison is a chef. He studied in Paris,” Aunt Cheyenne said. “He’s going to give us a lesson in French cooking. Isn’t that wonderful? You two must have so much in common,” she added, wagging a finger between Norah and Harrison.

  “Well, I’d better get going,” Reed said, stepping back. “I have cases to go over. Nice to see you all.”

  “But, Reed, your pot pie just came out of the oven,” Norah’s mother said. “I’ll just go grab it.”

  Norah watched him give Harrison the side-eye before he said, “I’ll come with you. I want to say good-night to the triplets.”

  “They are so beautiful,” Harrison said with so much reverence in his voice that Norah couldn’t help the little burst of pride in her chest. Harrison sure was being kind.

  Reed narrowed his gaze on the man, scowled and disappeared into the kitchen behind her mother.

  And then Aunt Cheyenne winked at Norah and smiled. Oh no. Absolutely not. She knew what was going on here. Her mother and aunt realized they had Norah’s old boyfriend captive at the counter and had been waiting for Norah and Reed to come in so they could make Reed jealous! Or, at least, that was how it looked.

  Sneaky devils.

  But they knew Reed wasn’t in love with her and didn’t want a future with her. So what was the point? Reed would probably push her with Harrison, tell her to see if there was anything to rekindle.

  But as cute and nice as Harrison was, he wasn’t Reed Barelli. No one else could be.

  * * *

  Every forkful of the pot pie felt as if it weighed ten pounds in his hand. Reed sat on his couch, his lonely dinner tray on the coffee table, a rerun of the baseball game on the TV as a distraction from his thoughts.

  Which were centered on where Norah was right now. Probably on a walking date with Harrison, he said in his mind in a singsong voice. High school sweethearts would have a lot to catch up on. A lot to say. Memories. Good ones. There were probably a lot of firsts between them.

  Reed wanted to throw up. Or punch something.

  Just like that, this high school sweetheart, this French chef, would waltz in and take Reed’s almost life. His wife, his triplets. His former ranch, which was now Norah’s. A woman who wanted love and romance and a father for her babies might be drawn to the known—and the high school sweetheart fit that bill. Plus, they had that cooking thing in common. They might even be at the ranch now, Harrison standing behind Norah at the stove, his arms around her as he showed her how to Frenchify a pot pie. You couldn’t and shouldn’t! Pot pies were perfect as they were, dammit.

  Grr. He took a swig of his soda and clunked it down on the coffee table. What the hell was going on here? He was jealous? Was this what this was?

  Yes. He was jealous. He didn’t want Norah kissing this guy. Sleeping with this guy. Frenchifying pot pies with this guy.

  He flung down his fork and headed out, huffing into his SUV. He drove out to the ranch, just to check. And there was an unfamiliar car! With New York plates!

  Hadn’t Norah’s mother said Harrison had lived on the east coast?

  He was losing her right now. And he had let it happen.

  This is what you want, dolt. You want her to find everything in one man. A father for her triplets. A husband for herself. Love. Romance. Happiness. Forever. You don’t want that. So let her go. Let her have what she always dreamed of.

  His heart now weighing a thousand pounds, he turned the SUV around and headed back to his rental house, where nothing awaited him but a cold pot pie and a big, empty bed.

  * * *

  “Upsie-what?” Harrison said, wrinkling his nose in the living room of the Barelli ranch. Correction. The Ingalls ranch. The Norah Ingalls ranch.

  Norah frowned. “Upsie-downsie,” she repeated. “You lift her up, say ‘Upsie’ in your best baby-talk voice, then lower her with a ‘downsie’!”

  They were sitting on the rug, the triplets in their Exersaucers, Bella raising her hands for a round of upsie-downsie. But Harrison just stared at Bella, shot her a fake smile and then turned away. Guess not everyone liked to play upsie-downsie.

  Bella’s face started to scrunch up. And turn red. Which meant any second she was about to let loose with a wail. “Waaaah!” she cried, lifting her arms up again.

  “Now, Bea, be a good girl for Uncle Harrison,” he said. “Get it, Bea should be a good girl. LOL,” he added to no one in particular.

  First of all, that was Bella.
And did he just LOL at his own unfunny “joke”? Norah sighed. No wonder she hadn’t fallen in love with Harrison Atwood in high school. Back then, cute had a lot to do with why she’d liked him. But as a grown-up, cute meant absolutely nothing. Even if a man looked like Reed Barelli.

  “I’d love to take you out to a French place I know over in Brewer,” he said. “It’s not exactly Michelin-starred, but come on, in Wyoming, what is? I’m surprised you stuck around this little town. I always thought you’d move to LA, open a restaurant.”

  “What would give you that idea?” she asked.

  “You used to talk a lot about your big dreams. Wanting to open Pie Diners all across the country. You wanted your family to have your own cooking show on the Food Network. Pot pie cookbooks on the New York Times bestseller list.”

  Huh. She’d forgotten all that. She did used to talk about opening Pie Diners across Wyoming, maybe even in bordering states. But life had always been busy enough. And full enough. Especially when she’d gotten pregnant and then when the triplets came.

  “Guess your life didn’t pan out the way you wanted,” Harrison said. “Sorry about that.”

  Would it be wrong to pick up one of the big foam alphabet blocks and conk him over the head with it?

  “My life turned out pretty great,” she said. I might not have the man I love, but I have the whole world in my children, my family, my job and my little town.

  “No need to get defensive,” he said. “Jeez.”

  God, she didn’t like this man.

  Luckily, just then, Brody let loose with a diaper explosion, and Harrison pinched his nostrils closed. “Oh boy. Something stinks. I guess this is my cue to leave. LOL, right?”

  “It was good to see you again, Harrison. Have a great rest of your life.”

  He frowned and nodded. “Bye.” He made the mistake of removing his hand from his nose, got a whiff of the air de Brody and immediately pinched his nostrils closed again.

  She couldn’t help laughing. “Buh-bye,” she said as he got into his car.

  She closed the door, her smile fading fast. She had a diaper to change. And a detective to fantasize about.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Reed kept the door of his office closed the next morning at the police station. He was in no mood for chitchat and Sergeant Howerton always dropped in on his way from the tiny kitchen to talk about his golf game and Officer Debowski always wanted to replay any collars from the day before. Reed didn’t want to hear any of it.

  He chugged his dark-brew coffee, needing the caffeine boost to help him concentrate on the case he was reading through. A set of burglaries in the condo development. Weird thing was, the thief, or thieves, was taking unusual items besides the usual money, jewelry and small electronics. Blankets and pillows, including throw pillows, had been taken from all the hit-up units.

  Instead of making a list of what kind of thief would go for down comforters, he kept seeing Norah and the high school sweetheart with their hands all over each other. Were they in bed right now? He had to keep blinking and squeezing his eyes shut.

  He wondered how long the guy had stayed last night. Reed should have made some excuse to barge in and interrupt them a bunch of times. Checking on the boiler or something. Instead, he’d reminded himself that the reason the French chef was there was because of Reed’s own stupidity and stubbornness and inability to play well with others. Except babies.

  He slammed a palm over his face. Were they having breakfast right now? Was Norah in his button-down shirt and nothing else? Having pancakes on the Barelli family table?

  Idiot! he yelled at himself. This is all your fault. He’d stepped away. He’d said he couldn’t. He’d said he wouldn’t. And now he’d lost Norah to the high school sweetheart who wanted a wife and kids. They were probably talking about the glory days right now. And kissing.

  Dammit to hell! He got up and paced his office, trying to force his mind off Norah and onto a down-feather-appreciating burglar. A Robin Hood on their hands? Or maybe someone who ran a flea market?

  He’s going to give us lessons in French cooking, Norah’s mother had said. Suddenly, Reed was chopped liver to the Ingalls women, having been replaced by the beef bourguignon pot pie.

  So what are you going to do about this? he asked himself. Just let her go? Let the triplets go? You’re their father!

  And he was Norah’s husband. Husband, husband, husband. He tried to make the word have meaning, but the more it echoed in his head, the less meaning it had. Husband meant suffering in his memories. His mother had had two louses and his grandfather had been a real doozy. He thought of his grandmother trying to answer Reed’s questions about why she’d chosen such a grouch who didn’t like anyone or anything. She’d said that sometimes people changed, but even so, she knew who he was and, despite his ways, he’d seemed to truly love her and that had made her feel special. She’d always said she should have known if you’re the only one, the exception, there might be a problem.

  So what now? Could he force himself to give this a real try? Romance a woman he had so much feeling for that it shook him to the core? Because he was shaken. That much he knew.

  His head spinning, he was grateful when his desk phone rang.

  “Detective Barelli speaking.”

  “Reed! I’m so glad I caught you. It’s Annie. Annie Potterowski from the chapel. Oh dear, I’m afraid there’s a bit of a kerfuffle concerning your marriage license. Could you come to the chapel at ten? I’ve already called Norah and she’s coming.”

  “What kind of kerfuffle?” he asked. What could be more of a kerfuffle than their entire wedding?

  “I’ll explain everything when you get here. ’Bye now,” she said and hung up.

  If there was one good thing to come from this kerfuffle, it was that he knew Norah would be apart from the high school sweetheart, even for just a little while.

  * * *

  “Annie, what on earth is going on?” Norah asked the elderly woman as she walked into the chapel, pushing the enormous stroller.

  “Look at those li’l dumplings!” Abe said, hurrying over to say hello to the triplets. He made peekaboo faces and Bea started to cry. “Don’t like peekaboo, huh?” Abe said. “Okay, then, how about silly faces?” He scrunched up his face and stuck out his tongue, tilting his head to the left. Bea seemed to like that. She stopped crying.

  “I’m just waiting for Detective Barelli to arrive,” Annie said without looking at Norah.

  Uh-oh. What was this about?

  “Ah, there he is,” Annie said as Reed came down the aisle to the front of the chapel.

  Reed crossed his arms over his chest. “About this kerfuffle—”

  “Kerfuffle?” Norah said. “Anne used the words major problem when she called me.”

  Annie bit her lip. “Well, it’s both really. A whole bunch of nothing, but a lot of something.”

  Reed raised an eyebrow.

  “I’ll just say it plain,” Abe said, straightening the blue bow-tie that he wore almost every day. “You two aren’t married. You spelled your names wrong on the marriage license.”

  “What?” Norah said, her head spinning.

  “The county clerk’s temporary replacement checked her first week’s work, just in case she made rookie errors, and discovered only one. On your marriage license. She sent back the license to you and Reed and to the chapel, since we officiated the ceremony. You didn’t receive your mail yet?”

  Had Norah even checked the mail yesterday? Maybe not.

  “I was on a case all day yesterday and barely had time to eat,” Reed said. “But what’s this about spelling our names wrong?”

  Anne held up the marriage license. “Norah, you left off the h. And, Reed, you spelled your name R-e-a-d. I know there are lots of ways to spell your name, but that ain’t one of them.”

  “Well,
it’s not like you didn’t know we were drunk out of our minds, Annie and Abe!” Norah said, wagging a finger at them.

  “I didn’t think to proofread your names, for heaven’s sake!” Annie said, snorting. “Now we’re supposed to be proofreaders, too?” she said to Abe. “Each wedding would take hours. I’d have to switch to my reading glasses, and I can never find them and—”

  “Annie, what does this mean?” Reed asked. “You said we’re not married. Is that true? We’re not married because our names were spelled wrong?”

  “Your legal names are not on that document or on the official documents at the clerk’s office,” Abe said.

  “So we’re not married?” Norah repeated, looking at Reed. “We were never actually married?”

  “Well, double accidentally, you were,” Annie said. “The spiked punch and the misspelling. You were married until the error was noted by the most efficient county clerk replacement in Brewer’s history.”

  I’m not married. Reed is not my husband.

  It’s over.

  Her stomach hurt. Her heart hurt. Everything hurt.

  Reed walked over to Norah and seemed about to say something. But instead he knelt down in front of the stroller. “Hey, little guys. I miss you three.”

  Brody gave Reed his killer gummy smile, three tiny teeth poking up.

  She glanced at his hand. He still wore his wedding ring even though she’d taken hers off. Guess he’d take it off now.

  “We’ll leave you to talk,” Annie said, ushering Abe into the back room.

  Norah sat in a pew, a hand on the stroller for support. She wasn’t married to Reed. How could she feel so bereft when she never really had a marriage to begin with?

  “We can go back to our lives now,” she said, her voice catching. She cleared her throat, trying to hide what an emotional mess she was inside. “I’ll move out of the ranch. Since we were never legally married, I’m sure that affects possession of the ranch. You can’t deed me something you didn’t rightfully inherit.”

  She was babbling, talking so she wouldn’t burst into tears.

  He stood, giving Bea’s hair a caress. “I guess Harrison will be glad to hear the news.”