Detective Barelli's Legendary Triplets. Melissa Senate

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

      “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