Wyoming Christmas Surprise. Melissa Senate

her.

      And this wedding was what it was, so Allie hadn’t booked the famed and beautiful Wedlock Creek Wedding Chapel, which attracted couples from all over the country. According to legend, those who married in the century-old chapel would have multiples in some way, shape or form, à la twins or triplets or quadruplets or more, through luck, science or pure happenstance. Allie’s late parents had married at the chapel thirty-two years ago and had triplet daughters. Allie had married at the chapel and had quadruplets—three boys and a girl.

      The town hall, with its fluorescent lighting and drab interior, was a far cry from the chapel, with its heart-shaped bell atop the steeple, gorgeous stained glass windows and gingerbread tiers that resembled a Victorian wedding cake. One hundred sixty-two guests had gathered to watch her and Theo say their vows in the famed chapel. Today, it would be just her and Elliot, and two witnesses—the town clerk and the receptionist. Her sisters had popped in to wish her luck—and to give her the gift, apparently. Then they were going back to Allie’s house to babysit the quads, who were being treated to lunch by Allie’s neighbor, a wonderful grandmother of fourteen who’d raised quintuplets and had lived to tell the tale. She, too, had married at the chapel.

      “Okay, we’re gonna head back,” Merry said. “We’ll see you at home around two.”

      Allie nodded. The plan was for her and Elliot to treat themselves to a decadent lunch at Marcello’s, a great Italian restaurant here in town, and then go back to Allie’s house to jump right into life as the married parents of eleven-month-old quadruplets. No honeymoon this time around. Seven years ago, she and Theo had flown to Paris, staying only for a weekend, since they couldn’t afford much back then, and it was all the honeymoon she needed for a lifetime.

      Her sisters gave her one final hug each, then headed for the door.

      Allie stared at her reflection in the mirror and smoothed her special-occasion suit, thinking back to the stunning white strapless gown with intricate beading and just enough bling to make her feel like a princess. Whatevs, she thought. This suit makes me feel like an adult.

      “Oh, one more thing, Allie,” Lila said at the door, with her trademark devilish grin. “Just promise me one thing.”

      “What’s that?” Allie asked, eyebrow raised.

      Lila put a hand over her heart. “Promise me. Us. Yourself—that you’re not going to change your name. You can’t be Allie Talley. You can’t rhyme.”

      Merry let out a snort, then gave Lila a jab in the ribs.

      Allie laughed. “Well, if I do change my name and become Allie Talley, at least it’ll make me laugh.”

      Merry grabbed a giggling Lila out the door. Leaving Allie to stare at herself in the mirror, wondering what it was going to feel like to be Allie Talley, who that woman was. She had been Allie Stark for the past seven years—five as his wife, two as his widow. But life had a way of throwing monkey wrenches and curveballs and all sorts of shocks and surprises at people. You had to adapt, change the plan to fit the new now.

      You’re the new you, a grief counselor had said at the bereavement group she’d attended for a few months. She hadn’t mentioned that to her sisters, that she herself was the “something new” for today; her reason for keeping it to herself had stolen her breath.

      Because she’d give anything for her old imperfect life back, a second chance.

      But she was “the new her,” so in twenty minutes she was marrying Elliot and becoming Allie Talley.

      Allie Talley. She smiled, thinking of Lila, and a small laugh came out of her. She’d been about to make herself cry, but becoming the new her, becoming the rhyme of Allie Talley, had lightened the mood.

       Badumpa.

      Everything is going to be okay, she told herself. She picked up the locket from where it lay just under the V of her jacket and flicked open the latch. Tyler, Henry, Ethan, Olivia. Everything she did, she did for them.

      But suddenly all she wanted to do was race out the door after her sisters.

      * * *

       I’m alive.

       I’m not dead.

       Scratch that—that’ll be obvious the second she sees you.

       I had to fake my death.

       I’ve been walking, talking, breathing, living on this earth all this time...

      Sunglasses on, Stetson pulled down low, Theo Stark sat in a booth in the truck stop diner just outside the town limits of Wedlock Creek, waiting for a refill of his coffee and practicing in his head what he was going to say to Allie when he finally saw her again.

      For the first time in almost two years.

      On the drive up from southern Wyoming, he’d replayed what he’d say over and over. But the closer he got to Wedlock Creek, the more none of it sounded right. It was all the truth, of course, but when it came right down to it, his wife believed he was dead. And he wasn’t.

      At first, he wouldn’t have to say anything. The fact that he was alive would be obvious.

      God.

      At just after one forty-five this morning, he’d gotten the call that had finally brought him back to life. The serial killer who’d turned Theo’s world upside down was now dead. The threat was gone.

      And Theo could come out of the shadows.

      Last year at this time, with the weeks counting down to the holidays, he’d wanted nothing more than to get that call so he could go home for Christmas. He’d been hiding out for months at that point, alive and well on a remote cattle ranch, when everyone believed he was dead. Living under a fake name, keeping to himself, earning just enough to get by and move on if necessary. But the months went on and on until, finally, the call he’d been waiting for had come. He was going home.

      The waitress came over with the refill, and Theo ducked his head low, nodding a thank-you. He’d recognized the woman, who used to work in the coffee shop on Main Street. But he couldn’t risk anyone recognizing him and gasping. Since he was supposed to be dead, he figured anyone who did a double take would assume he was just a guy who looked a lot like the Wedlock Creek police sergeant who’d been killed in the line of duty. But he wasn’t taking any chances until he explained himself to Allie.

      While the waitress poured, making small talk about the weather, he reached for the Wedlock Creek Chatter the previous customer had left on the table and pretended great interest in flipping through the free weekly newspaper. Anything to keep his head down and conversation to the bare minimum. The waitress left and he breathed a sigh of relief.

      He was about to push the newspaper aside when a small boxed notice on the People in the News page caught his eye. His heart started to pound and he read the two-line notice again.

      Then again.

      Today was Thursday. And it was now, according to the clock on the wall, 11:40 am.

      Theo threw a ten-dollar bill on the table, shot out of the booth and the diner, and jumped into his black pickup, a trail of dust in his wake as he sped toward town.

      Toward Allie. His wife. About to marry another man.

      No. No, no, no, no.

      He had twenty minutes to stop her. He was fifteen minutes from the town hall. A five-year veteran of the Wedlock Creek Police Department, the former sergeant knew full well that a patrol car would be hidden in the alley just after East Elm Road; people loved to speed on the service road into the center of town. And though Theo wanted to floor the gas pedal, he couldn’t risk getting pulled over.

      Because no one, except for one FBI agent and one US marshal, knew that he was alive, that he hadn’t been killed in an explosion during a stakeout gone terribly wrong.

      He’d