Wyoming Christmas Surprise

Theo knew how much Allie loved her sisters—they were very close. But he also knew Allie and could tell she was exhausted and needed to sit down—lie down—and process everything.

“It’s a long story,” Allie said, “but has to do with the serial killer he’d been after. He had to fake his death to protect me. The psycho is dead now, so Theo was able to come home.”

Her sisters narrowed their eyes at Theo.

He nodded. “I can explain further. Later, I mean,” he added. “Once Allie and I have had a chance to talk.”

“Thanks for watching the babies,” Allie said to her sisters. “I’ll take it from here.” She gave her sisters the look, the one that meant please just go and don’t ask questions; I’ll tell you everything later. They knew that look.

Thanks for watching the babies. His children. His four children. Four precious little beings he’d never met, held, seen. His heart lurched and he turned to brace a hand on the hood of the pickup.

“I’ll get our purses,” Merry said, rushing inside and coming back out a moment later. “The babies are fast asleep at the moment, Allie. They’ve only been down for about ten minutes, so they should nap a good hour and a half.”

Allie thanked them, and the pair left, walking toward town, which was just a few blocks away. Last he knew, the sisters were roommates, sharing a condo right in the middle of Main Street. He could only imagine the conversation they were having right now.

Allie gave him something of a smile-nod and started up the three steps to the porch. The last time Theo had walked into this house, there’d been only the two of them. And he counted as only a half, since he had put only half of himself into his marriage, their home life, those last few months. The rest he’d given to his job.

As he walked in the front door, the familiarity of the place almost did him in. He’d missed this house more than he knew. He’d built a life here with Allie and everything in it was a reminder of who they were at various ages. Twenty-four. Twenty-seven. Twenty-nine.

He walked through the foyer and into the living room. It was exactly the same. Big overstuffed couches. The muted area rug. The white brick fireplace. A big bowl of apples was on the kitchen island, as always; Allie loved apples. Upstairs, the master bedroom, not much bigger than the other one, hadn’t changed, either. The gray-and-white paisley comforter. Allie’s perfume bottles in front of the big round mirror of her dressing table. And on the bedside table—his side—the police procedural novel he’d been reading was still there, right next to the lamp and alarm clock.

The book was still there.

Which told him that, fiancé or not, Allie hadn’t moved on. Not really.

His relief almost buckled his knees.

He turned around, and there she was, right behind him, biting her lip. He glanced down at her left hand. She wasn’t wearing her wedding rings—the ones he’d put on her finger. Instead, a different gold ring was on her ring finger.

Maybe she had moved on. Maybe she just hadn’t gotten around to putting the book on the bookshelf in the living room. Hell, maybe she was reading it. Maybe she slept on that side now. Nearer the door. For convenience.

“The babies are in the spare bedroom?” he asked.

“It’s not the spare room anymore,” she said with something of a smile. “It’s the nursery.”

He nodded. “The nursery.”

Across the hallway he stepped toward the closed door. He put his hand on the doorknob and gently twisted it, pushing the door open and peering in. Low music was playing: a lullaby, he was pretty sure. The room was dark, black-out shades on the two windows. Four white cribs, each with a chalkboard with the baby’s name in colored chalk hanging across the outer bars, were against the walls. He stepped across the big round blue rug of yellow stars and stood in front of one of the cribs. He closed his eyes for a second and then opened them. Olivia, read the chalkboard. A baby, his daughter, lay sleeping on her back in purple footie pajamas, one hand thrown up by her head in almost a fist. Her lips quirked.

“She’s beautiful,” he whispered.

“That’s Olivia,” Allie said. “On the left is Ethan.”

He moved to the crib on the left and looked in. Ethan lay on his stomach, facing away, but then he turned his head and was now facing Theo. He had Theo’s dark hair, as Olivia did.

“And across the room are Tyler and Henry,” she said.

He moved to Tyler’s crib. He also had dark hair, but there was something in his little face that was all Allie. Henry had the same dark hair, but it was harder to tell whom he looked more like, especially with his eyes closed.

“Four babies,” he said, looking at the cribs, at the tidy room. “How have you done this on your own?”

“Well, this afternoon is a good example of how. I didn’t give them lunch. Geraldine—you remember her from next door?—babysat and fed them lunch while Merry and Lila were at the town hall with me for a bit, then my sisters relieved her and put them down for their nap. Easy-peasy when you have a lot of help.”

“You can’t have help every minute of every day, though,” he said.

“No. And there have been hard moments, hard hours, hard days. But no matter what—the lack of time, privacy, inability to pee in peace, drink a cup of coffee while it’s hot, lack of sleep, staying up for hours with a sick baby only to have two or three sick at the same time, the screeching in the supermarket... I could go on. No matter what, I have them. They’re the reward, you know?”

He did know. “I always felt that way about you, Allie. No matter how hard things got those last few months here. You were still my wife. We were still the Starks.”

She almost gasped, and he wasn’t sure if she was touched or shocked or what. Part of him felt as though he knew her inside out. But he’d lost two years. And now he felt he didn’t know her at all. She’d “buried” her husband. She’d raised quadruplet babies on her own for a year. She was obviously strong in ways he hadn’t been here to witness.

Was she still his wife? Could they pick up where they’d left off—even if things between them had been rocky? Or given how troubled their marriage had been then and all the time that had passed—not to mention the big lie of his death—was it just too late for them?

He sure hoped not.

“I wish I could hold them,” he said. “I want to pick them all up and tell them their dad is here, that I’m home.” He stared down at Tyler, running a light hand along his back, covered in his green pajamas with tiny cartoon dinosaurs. This was his baby. His child.

“Oliva, Ethan, Henry, Tyler,” he said. “I don’t think they’re named after anyone in our families. Did you just like the names?”

“They’re named for you,” she said. “In the order they were born.”

“Named after me?” he repeated.

“The first initial,” she said.

Tyler, Henry, Ethan, Olivia. T. H. E. O. He stared at her, so touched he could barely breathe, let alone speak.

“I had so many names and nothing sounded right or felt right. My parents. Your parents. Our grandparents. Aunts, uncles. I’d settle on a name, but it just wouldn’t stick for some reason. And then I thought, there are four letters in Theo and four of them. And that was that.”

He reached for her hand, and she let him hold hers for a moment. “I won’t let you down again, Allie. Or them.”

She stared at him but didn’t say anything. Finally, she said, “I could use a cup of coffee. You?”

He nodded and followed her out of the nursery and back downstairs. In the kitchen, she brewed coffee and he was about to get out the mugs when he realized he couldn’t just go poking around in her cabinets. For almost two years, this had been her house. Not his. Not theirs. Hers.

“You tell me, Allie, how you want this to go. I mean, are you comfortable with me moving back in? Do you want some time?”

She got out the mugs. And the cream and sugar. “This is your house, too.”

“It hasn’t been for a long time, though. I want to be here. I want our second chance.”

She turned and looked at him. “Me, too.”

Their relationship would have to be different because everything had changed; they were parents. That realization settled something in his gut, gave him hope. They had something—four very special somethings—concrete to spur them on to make their marriage work.

“So I live here again?” he asked.

She smiled and nodded and poured the coffee. “It’s going to be awkward for a few days, I’m sure. We have a lot to catch up on. Things between us weren’t good two years ago, though.”