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He downed another cup of punch. “Those were fireworks,” he said, color coming back into his face. “Not gunfire.”
She laughed. “Gunfire? In Wedlock Creek? There’s no hunting within town limits because of the tourism and there hasn’t been a murder in over seventy years. Plus, if you crane your neck, you can see a bit of the fireworks past the trees.”
He craned that beautiful neck, his shoulder leaning against hers. “Okay. Let’s go see.”
They walked hand in hand to the chapel, but by the time they got there—a few missed turns on the path due to their tipsiness—the fireworks display was over. The small group setting them off had already left the dock, folks clearing away back to the festival.
The Wedlock Creek chapel was all lit up, the river behind it illuminated by the glow of the almost full moon.
“I always dreamed of getting married here,” she said, gazing up at the beautiful white-clapboard building, which looked a bit like a wedding cake. It had a vintage Victorian look with scallops on the upper tiers and a bell at the top that almost looked like a heart. According to town legend, those who married here would—whether through marriage, adoption, luck, science or happenstance—be blessed with multiples: twins or triplets or even quadruplets. So far, no quintuplets. The town and county was packed with multiples of those who’d gotten married at the chapel, proof the legend was true.
For some people, like Norah, you could have triplets and not have stepped foot in the chapel. Back when she’d first found out she was pregnant, before she’d told the baby’s father, she’d fantasized about getting married at the chapel, that maybe they’d get lucky and have multiples even if it was “after the fact.” One baby would be blessing enough. Two, three, even four—Norah loved babies and had always wanted a houseful. But the guy who’d gotten her pregnant, in town on the rodeo circuit, had said, “Sorry, I didn’t sign up for that,” and left town before his next event. She’d never seen him again.
She stared at the chapel, so pretty in the moonlight, real life jabbing her in the heart again. Where is that punch bowl? she wondered.
“You always wanted to marry here? Then let’s get married,” Fabio said, scooping her up and carrying her into the chapel.
Her laughter floated on the summer evening breeze. “But we’re three sheets to the wind, as my daddy used to say.”
“That’s the only way I’d get hitched,” he said, slurring the words.
“Lead the way, cowboy.” She let her head drop back.
Annie Potterowski, the elderly chapel caretaker, local lore lecturer and wedding officiant, poked her head out of the back room. She stared at Norah for a moment, then her gaze moved up to Fabio’s handsome face. “Ah, Detective Barelli! Nice to see you again.”
“You know Fabio?” Norah asked, confused. Or was his first name really Detective?
“I ran into the chief when he was showing Detective Barelli around town,” Annie said. “The chief’s my second cousin on my mother’s side.”
Say that five times fast, Norah thought, her head beginning to spin.
And Annie knew her fantasy man. Her fantasy groom! Isn’t that something, Norah thought, her mind going in ten directions. Suddenly the faces of her triplets pushed into the forefront of her brain and she frowned. Her babies! She should be getting home. Except she felt so good in his arms, being carried like she was someone’s love, someone’s bride-to-be.
Annie’s husband, Abe, came out, his blue bow tie a bit crooked. He straightened it. “We’ve married sixteen couples tonight. One pair came as far as Texas to get hitched here.”
“We’re here to be the seventeenth,” Fabio said, his arm heavy around Norah’s.
“Aren’t you a saint!” Annie said, beaming at him. “Oh, Norah, I’m so happy for you.”
Saint Fabio, Norah thought and burst into laughter. “Want to know a secret?” Norah whispered into her impending husband’s ear as he set her on the red velvet carpet that created an aisle to the altar.
“Yes,” he said.
“My name isn’t really Angelina. It’s Norah. With an h.”
He smiled. “Mine’s not Fabio. It’s Reed. Two e’s.” He staggered a bit.
The man was as tipsy as she was.
“I never thought I’d marry a secret service agent,” she said as they headed down the aisle to the “Wedding March.”
“And we could use all your frequent flyer miles for our honeymoon,” Reed added, and they burst into laughter.
“Sign here, folks,” Annie said as they stood at the altar. The woman pointed to the marriage license. Norah signed, then Reed, and Annie folded it up and put it in an addressed, stamped envelope.
I’m getting married! Norah thought, gazing into Reed’s dark eyes as he stood across from her, holding her hands. She glanced down at herself, confused by her shorts and blue-and-white T-shirt. Where was her strapless, lace, princess gown with the beading and sweetheart neckline she’d fantasized about from watching Say Yes to the Dress? And should she be getting married in her beat-up slip-on sneakers? They were hardly white anymore.
But there was no time to change. Nope. Annie was already asking Reed to repeat his vows and she wanted to pay attention.
“Do you, Reed Barelli, take this woman, Norah Ingalls, to be your lawfully wedded wife, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?”
“I most certainly do,” he said, then hooted in laughter.
Norah cracked up, too. Reed had the most marvelous laugh.
Annie turned to Norah. She repeated her vows. Yes, God, yes, she took this man to be her lawfully wedded husband.
“By the power vested in me by the State of Wyoming, I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss your bride.”
Reed stared at Norah for a moment, then put his hands on either side of her face and kissed her, so tenderly, yet passionately, that for a second, Norah’s mind cleared completely and all she felt was his love. Her new husband of five seconds, whom she’d known for about two hours, truly loved her!
Warmth flooded her, and when rice, which she realized Abe was throwing, rained down on them, she giggled, drunk as a skunk.
* * *
Reed Barelli registered his headache before he opened his eyes, the morning sun shining through the sheer white curtains at the window. Were those embroidered flowers? he wondered as he rubbed his aching temples. Reed had bought a bunch of stuff for his new house yesterday afternoon—everything from down pillows to coffee mugs to a coffee maker itself, but he couldn’t remember those frilly curtains. They weren’t something he’d buy for his place.
He fully opened his eyes, his gaze landing on a stack of books on the bedside table. A mystery. A travel guide to Wyoming. And Your Baby’s First Year.
Your Baby’s First Year? Huh?
Wait a minute. He bolted up. Where the hell was he? This wasn’t the house he’d rented.
He heard a soft sigh come from beside him and turned to the left, eyes widening.
Holy hell. There was a woman sleeping in his bed.
More like he was in her bed, from the looks of the place. He moved her long reddish-brown hair out of her face and closed his eyes. Oh Lord. Oh no. It was her—Angelina slash Norah. Last night he’d given in to her game of fantasy, glad for a night to eradicate his years as a Cheyenne cop.
He blinked twice to clear his head. He wasn’t a Cheyenne cop anymore. His last case had done him in and, after a three-week leave, he’d made up his mind and gotten himself a job as a detective in Wedlock Creek, the idyllic town where he’d spent several summers as a kid with his maternal grandmother. A town where it seemed nothing could go wrong. A town that hadn’t seen a murder in over seventy years. Hadn’t Norah mentioned that last night?
Norah. Last night.
He lifted his hand to scrub over his face and that was when he saw it—the gold ring on his left hand. Ring finger. A ring that hadn’t been there before he’d gone to the carnival.
What the...?
Slowly, bits and pieces of the evening came back to him. The festival. A punch bowl he’d commandeered into the clearing under a big tree so he and Norah could have the rest of it all to themselves. A clearly heavily spiked punch bowl. A hundred-dollar bill in the till, not to mention at least sixty in cash. Norah, taking his hand and leading him to the chapel.
She’d always dreamed of getting married, she’d said.
And he’d said, “Then let’s get married.”
He’d said that! Reed Barelli had uttered those words!
He held his breath and gently peeled the blue-and-white quilt from her shoulder to look at her left hand—which she used to yank the quilt back up, wrinkling her cute nose and turning over.
There was a gold band on her finger, too.
Holy moly. They’d really done it. They’d gotten married?
No. Couldn’t be. The officiant of the chapel had called him by name. Yes, the elderly woman had known him, said she’d seen the chief showing him around town yesterday when he’d arrived. And she’d seemed familiar with Norah, too. She knew both of them. She wouldn’t let them drunk-marry! That was the height of irresponsible. And as a man of the law, he would demand she explain herself and simply undo whatever it was they’d signed. Dimly, he recalled the marriage license, scrawling his name with a blue pen.
Norah stirred. She was still asleep. For a second he couldn’t help but stare at her pretty face. She had a pale complexion, delicate features and hazel eyes, if he remembered correctly.
If they’d made love, that he couldn’t remember. And he would remember, drunk to high heaven or not. What had been in that punch?
Maybe they’d come back to her place and passed out in bed?
He closed his eyes again and slowly opened them. Deep breaths, Barelli. He looked around the bedroom to orient himself, ground himself.
And that was when he saw the framed photograph on the end table on Norah’s side. Norah in a hospital bed, in one of those thin blue gowns, holding three newborns against her chest.
Ooh boy.
Chapter Two (#u4acbeb57-77c7-5874-b1c9-a90e87e0256b)
“I’m sure we’re not really married!” Norah said on a high-pitched squeak, the top sheet wrapped around her as she stood—completely freaked out—against the wall of her bedroom, staring at the strange man in her bed.
A man who, according to the wedding ring on her left hand—and the one on his—was her husband.
She’d pretended to be asleep when he’d first started stirring. He’d bolted upright and she could feel him staring at her. She couldn’t just lie there and pretend to be asleep any longer, even if she was afraid to open her eyes and face the music.
But a thought burst into her brain and she’d sat up, too: she’d forgotten to pick up the triplets. As her aunt’s words had come back to her, that Cheyenne didn’t expect her to pick up the babies last night, that she’d take them to the diner this morning, Norah had calmed down. And slowly had opened her eyes. The sight of the stranger awake and staring at her had her leaping out of bed, taking the sheet with her. She was in a camisole and underwear.
Oh God, had they...?
She stared at Reed. In her bed. “Did we?” she croaked out.
He half shrugged. “I don’t know. Sorry. I don’t think so, though.”
“The punch was spiked?”
“Someone’s idea of a joke, maybe.”
“And now we’re married,” she said. “Ha ha.”
His gaze went to the band of gold on his finger, then back at her. “I’m sure we can undo that. The couple who married us—they seemed to know both of us. Why would they have let us get married when we were so drunk?”
Now it was her turn to shrug. She’d known Annie since she was born. The woman had waitressed on and off at her family’s pie diner for years to make extra cash. How could she have let Norah do such a thing? Why hadn’t Annie called her mother or aunt or sister and said, Come get Norah, she’s drunk off her butt and trying to marry a total stranger? It made no sense that Annie hadn’t done just that!
“She seemed to know you, too,” Norah said, wishing she had a cup of coffee. And two Tylenol.
“I spent summers in Wedlock Creek with my grandmother when I was a kid,” he said. “Annie may have known my grandmother. Do the Potterowskis live near the chapel? Maybe we can head over now and get this straightened out. I’m sure Annie hasn’t sent in the marriage license yet.”
“Right!” Norah said, brightening, tightening the sheet around her. “We can undo this! Let’s go!”
He glanced at his pile of clothes on the floor beside the bed. “I’ll go into the bathroom and get dressed.” He stood, wearing nothing but incredibly sexy black boxer briefs. He picked up the pile and booked into the bathroom, shutting the door.
She heard the water run, then shut off. A few minutes later the door opened and there he was, dressed like Fabio from last night.
She rushed over to her dresser, grabbed jeans and a T-shirt and fresh underwear, then sped past him into the bathroom, her heart beating like a bullet train. She quickly washed her face and brushed her teeth, got dressed and stepped back outside.
Reed was sitting in the chair in the corner, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. How could he look so handsome when he was so rumpled, his hair all mussed? He was slowly shaking his head as if trying to make sense of this.
“So you always wanted to be a secret service agent?” she asked to break the awkward silence.
He sat up and offered something of a smile. “I have no idea why I said that. I’ve always wanted to be a cop. I start at the Wedlock Creek PD on Monday. Guess you’re not a flight attendant,” he added.
“I’ve never been out of Wyoming,” she said. “I bake for my family’s pie diner.” That was all she’d ever wanted to do. Work for the family business and perfect her savory pies, her specialty.
The diner had her thinking of real life again, Bella’s, Bea’s and Brody’s beautiful little faces coming to mind. She missed them and needed to see them, needed to hold them. And she had to get to the diner and let her family know she was all right. She hadn’t called once to check in on the triplets last night. Her mom and aunt had probably mentioned that every hour on the hour. No call from Norah? Huh. Must be having a good time. Then looking at each other and saying Not in unison, bursting into laughter and sobering up fast, wondering what could have happened to her to prevent her from calling every other minute to make sure all was well with the babies.
Her phone hadn’t rung last night, so maybe they’d just thought she’d met up with old friends and was having fun. She glanced at her alarm clock on the bedside table. It was barely six o’clock. She wouldn’t be expected at the diner until seven.
Reed was looking at the photo next to the clock. The one of her and her triplets taken moments after they were born. He didn’t say a word, but she knew what he was thinking. Anyone would. Help me. Get me out of this. What the hell have I done? Triplets? Ahhhhh! She was surprised he didn’t have his hands on his screaming face like the kid from the movie Home Alone.
Well, one thing Norah Ingalls was good at? Taking care of business. “Let’s go see Annie and Abe,” she said. “They wake up at the crack of dawn, so I’m sure they’ll be up.”
His gaze snapped back to hers. “Good idea. We can catch them before they send the marriage license into the state bureau for processing.”
“Right. It’s not like we’re really married. I mean, it’s not legal.”
He nodded. “We could undo this before 7:00 a.m. and get back to our lives,” he said.
This was definitely not her life.
* * *
Norah poked her head out the front door of her house, which, thank heavens, was blocked on both sides by big leafy trees. The last thing she needed was for all of Wedlock Creek to know a man had been spotted leaving her house at six in the morning. Norah lived around the corner from Main Street and just a few minutes’ walk to the diner, but the chapel was a good half mile in the other direction.
“Let’s take the parallel road so no one sees us,” she said. “I’m sure you don’t want to be the center of gossip before you even start your first day at the police station.”
“I definitely don’t,” he said.
They ducked down a side street with backyards to the left and the woods and river to the right. At this early hour, no one was out yet. The Potterowskis lived in the caretaker’s cottage to the right of the chapel. Norah dashed up the steps to the side door and could see eighty-one-year-old Annie in a long, pink chenille bathrobe, sitting down with tea and toast. She rang the bell.
Annie came to the door and beamed at the newlyweds. “Norah! Didn’t expect to see you out and about so early. Shouldn’t you be on your honeymoon?” Annie peered behind Norah and spied Reed. “Ah, there you are, handsome devil. Come on in, you two. I just made a pot of coffee.”
