Detective Barelli's Legendary Triplets. Melissa Senate
place is falling down,” he said, shaking his head. “You could have been really hurt. And you could have been holding one of the triplets.”
She frowned. “I’ve fixed that three times. I’ll call my landlord. She’ll have it taken care of.”
“Or I could take care of it right now,” he said, surveying the hinge. “Still usable. Have a power drill?”
“In that drawer,” she said, pointing. “I keep all the tools in there.”
He found the drill and fixed the hinge, making sure it was on tight. “That should do it,” he said. “Anything else need fixing?”
“Wow, he babysits and is handy?” She smiled at him. “I don’t think there’s anything else needing work,” she said, adding the vegetables into a pot bubbling on the stove. “And thank you.”
When the triplets started fussing, he announced it was babysitting time. He scooped up two babies and put them in Exersaucers in the living room, then raced back for the third and set Brody in one, too. The three of them happily played with the brightly colored attachments, babbling and squealing. He pulled Bea out—he knew she was Bea by her yellow shirt, whereas Bella’s was orange—and did two upsie-downsies, much to the joy of the other two, who laughed and held up their arms.
“Your turn!” he said to Bella, lifting her high to the squeals of her siblings. “Now you, Brody,” he added, putting Bella back and giving her brother his turn.
They sure were beautiful. All three had the same big cheeks and big, blue-gray eyes, wisps of light brown hair. They were happy, gurgling, babbling, laughing seven-month-olds.
Something squeezed in his chest again, this time a strange sensation of longing. With the way he’d always felt about marriage, he’d never have this—babies, a wife making pot pies, a family. And even in this tired old little house, playing at family felt...nicer than he expected.
Brody rubbed his eyes, which Reed recalled meant he was getting tired. Maybe it was nap time? It was barely seven-thirty in the morning, but they’d probably woken before the crack of dawn.
“How about a story?” he asked, sitting on the braided rug and grabbing a book from the coffee table. “Lulu Goes to the Fair.” A white chicken wearing a baseball cap was on the cover. “Your mother and I went to the fair last night,” he told them. “So this book will be perfect.” He read them the story of Lulu wanting to ride the Ferris wheel but not being able to reach the step until two other chickens from her school helped her. Then they rode the Ferris wheel together. The end. Bella and Brody weren’t much interested in Lulu and her day at the fair, but Bea was rapt. Then they all started rubbing their eyes and fussing.
It was now eight o’clock. Maybe he’d put the babies back in the playpen to see if he could help Norah. Not that he could cook, but he could fetch.
He picked up the two girls and headed back into the kitchen, smiled at Norah, deposited the babies in the playpen and then went to get Brody.
“Thank you for watching them,” she said. “And reading to them.”
“Anytime,” he said. Which felt strange. Did he mean that?
“You’re sure you didn’t win Uncle of the Year or something? How’d you get so good with babies?”
“Told you. I like babies. Who doesn’t? I picked up a few lessons on the job, I guess.”
Why had he said “anytime” though? That was kind of loaded.
With the babies set for the moment, he shook the thought from his scrambled head and watched Norah cook, impressed with her multitasking. She had six tins covered in pie crust. The aromas of the onions and chicken and beef bubbling in two big pots filled the kitchen. His stomach growled. Had they eaten breakfast? He suddenly realized they hadn’t.
“I made coffee and toasted a couple of bagels,” she said as if she could read his mind. She was so multitalented, he wouldn’t be surprised if she could. “I have cream cheese and butter.”
“You’re doing enough,” he said. “I’ll get it. What do you want on yours?”
“Cream cheese. And thanks.”
He poured the coffee into mugs and took care of the bagels, once again so aware of her closeness, the physicality of her. He couldn’t help but notice how incredibly sexy she was, standing there in her jeans and maroon T-shirt, the way both hugged her body. There wasn’t anywhere to sit in the kitchen, so he stood by the counter, drinking the coffee he so desperately needed.
“The chief mentioned the Pie Diner is the place for lunch in Wedlock Creek. I’m sure I’ll be eating one of those pies tomorrow.”
She smiled. “Oh, good. I’ll have to thank him for that. We need to attract the newcomers to town before the burger place gets ’em.” She took a long sip of her coffee. “Ah, I needed that.” She took another sip, then a bite of her bagel. She glanced at him as if she wanted to ask something, then resumed adding the pot pie mixtures into the tins. “You moved here for a fresh start, you said?”
He’d avoided that question earlier. He supposed he could answer without going into every detail of his life.
He sipped his coffee and nodded. “I came up for my grandmother’s funeral a few months ago. She was the last of my father’s family. When she passed, I suddenly wanted to be here, in Wedlock Creek, where I’d spent those good summers. After a bad stakeout a few weeks ago that almost got me killed and did get my partner injured, I’d had it. I quit the force and applied for a job in Wedlock Creek. It turns out a detective had retired just a few weeks prior.”
“Sorry about your grandmother. Sounds like she was very special to you.”
“She was. My father had taken off completely when I was just a month old, but my grandmother refused to lose contact with me. She sent cards and gifts and called every week and drove out to pick me up every summer for three weeks. It’s a three-hour drive each way.” He’d never forget being seven, ten, eleven and staring out the window of his apartment, waiting to see that old green car slowly turn up the street. And when it did, emotion would flood him to the point that it would take him a minute to rush out with his bag.
“I’m so glad you had her in your life. You never saw your dad again?”
“He sent the occasional postcard from all over the west. Last one I ever got was from somewhere in Alaska. Word came that he died and had left instructions for a sea burial. I last saw him when I was ten, when he came back for his dad’s funeral—my grandfather.”
“And your mom?”
“It was hard on her raising a kid alone without much money or prospects. And it was just me. She remarried, but that didn’t work out well, either, for either of us.” He took a long slug of the coffee. He needed to change the subject. “How do you manage three babies with two hands?”
She smiled and lay pie crust over the tins, making some kind of decoration in the center. “Same way you did bringing the triplets from the kitchen to the living room. You just have to move fast and be constantly on guard. I do what I have to. That’s just the way it is.”
An angry wail came from the playpen. Then another. The three Ingalls triplets began rubbing their eyes again, this time with very upset little faces.
“Perfect timing,” she said. “The pies are assembled.” She hurried to the sink to wash her hands, then hurried over to the playpen. “Nap time for you cuties.”
“I’ll help,” Reed said, putting down his mug.
Brody was holding up his arms and staring at Reed. Reed smiled and picked him up, the little weight sweet in his arms. Brody reached up and grabbed Reed’s cheek, like his sister had, not that there was much to grab. Norah scooped up Bea and Bella. They headed upstairs, the unlined wood steps creaky and definitely not baby-friendly when they would start to crawl, which