Secret Triplets(44)

 

Only three months ago we had started the “Gumshoe Investigation Agency,” and already it was booming. There were so many clients that we had a waiting list, or a waiting notebook, more accurately. Sure, it was mostly Brock who got to do the legwork, chasing down the bad guys and missing items or people, but I still got the thrill of the hunt; he was constantly contacting me for information, routes, and advice on what to do next. I was the expert after all.

 

Though I wasn’t the only one who got to pursue my passion. Brock had sold four paintings since we’d moved near to Hermit Peak. Maybe it was because our whirlwind reuniting had taken place there, but Brock and I had fallen in love with Santa Fe and hadn’t left. Maybe we never would.

 

The city was chock-full of beautiful buildings and culture—an arts center in and of itself. Finding our house hadn’t been easy, but after touring close to twenty different options, it had been clear that one was right. As soon as we’d seen it, we’d known. It was the same adobe style as the ones I had seen during my harried search for Brock on Carson Valley Way, but that was where the similarities ended. It was set by itself, in no discernible neighborhood, and its style was as unique as it was pleasing. I still found myself stopping to enjoy its stunning effect; it made me feel as though I were in Spain or Mexico. The location, being close to the mountains, was the clincher.

 

How Brock had afforded it, he still wouldn’t say, though I thought it had something to do with the money he had saved up during his long-gone criminal days.

 

Nevertheless, our choice had paid off these past nine months. Since we’d bought the place, we had been blissfully happy and had taken long, relaxing walks at least every week. Yes, we really were lucky.

 

As our triplets slept soundly and my husband painted the walls, I rocked back and forth, back and forth. I lost myself in the soft rocking rhythm, in the pale flecks of yellow Brock was adding to the final wall—sweeping daffodils that swirled among the lilacs, bluebells, and pink roses.

 

“I’m warning you, Brock, you’re never going to get me out of here if you make their nursery this pretty,” I said.

 

“Then I’ll just have to paint the whole house, every room,” Brock replied, shooting a smirk my way.

 

I smiled to myself; his threat wouldn’t be the worst thing, even as well decorated as our house already was. Every new painting Brock made left me more speechless than the last, and if this nursery was any indication, the other rooms he painted wouldn’t be an exception.

 

After one more dab of paint on the wall, Brock said, “There, done.”

 

As he came over to me, I rose into his embrace. He held me and regarded his creation, while I turned my gaze to ours, the three babies flopped on their backs side by side in the cradle: Ian, Noelle, and Sasha.

 

“Still think we should do the picnic this afternoon?” I asked, and he nodded.

 

“Already bought the baguette and everything. Besides, it’s been a few days since I’ve gotten to check out the mountain.”

 

“Okay,” I said, extricating myself to go over to the crib. “We better pack up and wake up the little ones then.”

 

In the kitchen, I stood at the marble counter and assembled our arsenal of supplies: the baguette, a block of cheese, several clusters of grapes, a box of cereal, and a variety of chocolate bars. I tucked it all into one of the massive Tupperware boxes Tiffany had goaded me into purchasing on our furniture shopping spree, which now seemed so long ago.

 

I smiled at the thought of my dear friend. Tiffany and Kyle came to visit almost every month, and they were due to visit in a week or so. They were the triplets’ godparents after all.

 

“You ready?” Brock called from the nursery. “They woke up just in time.”

 

“Yup. All ready,” I called back.

 

A few seconds later, Brock came in, the three kids in his arms.

 

“Time for the tri-stroller!” he boomed.

 

The babies giggled as I wheeled in the teal, three-seat powerhouse of a stroller that had saved us from God only knew how many headaches.

 

We swept our three darlings into their spots, and then I got behind the handle and started pushing. Once out the door, it was a short walk to the trail to Hermit Peak. Lucky for us, this trail was a fairly smooth dirt one. While I had experience pushing the giant stroller over a wide range of terrain, a difficult surface meant a long trip with lots of breaks and Brock eventually taking over after I gave up on my attempts to get my pre-baby body back.

 

And so up we went, the babies gurgling their approval of the fresh air while Brock hauled the picnic supplies along.