Trace whisked her back into the crowd of swaying couples.

Hand against her spine, he brought her as close as the full skirt of her wedding gown would allow. Poppy let her body sway to the beat of the music, relaxing now that the big picture moments were finished. Their first dance, the toasts, the cake-cutting and endless picture-taking.

All of which had prompted an extended trip down memory lane. “Remember our very first dance?”

“The senior prom? You quarreled with your date a few days before …”

“So he ended up taking someone else.”

“And I stepped in, as your friend.”

She’d come very close to falling head over heels in love with Trace that night. But knowing how he felt about romance in general, she had come to her senses in time to preserve their growing friendship. To the point they hadn’t even shared a good-night kiss when he’d finally dropped her at her front door, at dawn.

“And you’re still doing it.”

Lone Star Twins

Cathy Gillen Thacker

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CATHY GILLEN THACKER is married and a mother of three. She and her husband spent eighteen years in Texas and now reside in North Carolina. Her mysteries, romantic comedies and heartwarming family stories have made numerous appearances on bestseller lists, but her best reward, she says, is knowing one of her books made someone’s day a little brighter. A popular Mills & Boon author for many years, she loves telling passionate stories with happy endings and thinks nothing beats a good romance and a hot cup of tea! You can visit Cathy’s website, www.cathygillenthacker.com, for more information on her upcoming and previously published books, recipes and a list of her favorite things.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

“Christmas has come early this year,” Poppy McCabe announced from her impeccably decorated living room in Laramie, Texas.

Lieutenant Trace Caulder stared at the screen on his laptop. He’d never seen his best friend look happier.

The only bummer was that they were separated by thousands of miles, as was usually the case. Determined to enjoy every second of their video-slash-web chat—despite the fact he was currently stationed on an air base in the Middle East—he kicked back in the desk chair and drawled in the native Texas accent that mirrored hers, “Really, darlin’? And how is that?” Given that even Thanksgiving was still several days away.

“You remember when you were home on leave two months ago?”

Hard to forget that weekend in Fort Worth. For two people who’d never been in love and likely never would be, they sure had amazing chemistry.

Oblivious to how much he wanted to hold her lithe, warm body in his arms and make sweet love to her all over again, Poppy persisted on her verbal trip down memory lane. “When we went to the Stork Agency and met Anne Marie?”

That had been the only serious part of the entire rendezvous, but important nonetheless. “Sure, I remember,” Trace said, pausing to take in the sexy fall of her thick, silky mahogany hair. A sweep of bang framed her oval face; the rest tumbled over her slender shoulders. Lower still, the five-foot-seven interior decorator had shapely calves, delicate feet, a taut tummy and trim waist, and full, luscious breasts that were meant to be worshipped. Very little of which he could actually see, given that the image on the screen only showed her from the ribs up...

But then, given how much time he’d spent paying homage to her lovely form, and vice versa, he didn’t really need to see her body to remember it. Fondly. He could tell by the way she often gazed at him that Poppy felt the same.

“Anne Marie was a nice kid.” And at seventeen years old, Trace recollected, way too young to be pregnant. That was why she was giving up her children for adoption.

“Well, she’s picked us to raise her twins!” Poppy exclaimed with a joyous twist of her velvety-soft lips.

“Seriously?”

“Yes! Can you believe it?” She paused to catch her breath. “There’s only one itty-bitty problem...”

Trace saw the hesitation in Poppy’s dark brown eyes. Waited for her to continue.

She inhaled sharply. “She wants us to be married.”

Whoa now. That had never been on the table.

Trace swung his feet off the desk and sat forward in his chair. “But she knows we’re just friends—” and occasional lovers and constant confidantes “—who happen to want to be parents together.” He thought the two of them had made that abundantly clear.

Poppy folded her arms in front of her, the action plumping up the delectable curve of her breasts beneath her ivory turtleneck. Soberly she nodded, adding, “She still gets that neither of us want to get hitched.”

No woman prized her independence more than the outspoken Poppy. For a lot of very different reasons, he felt the same. “But?” he prodded.

Wrinkling her nose, she reluctantly explained. “Anne Marie’s decided she would feel better if we were actually married at the time of the adoption. And, as it happens, the Stork Agency apparently has a requirement of their own—that any time more than two children are adopted simultaneously, there be two married adults with a longstanding relationship doing the adopting.”

“The agency officials didn’t say anything about this when we were there, meeting Anne Marie and the other girls.”

“Apparently they didn’t expect Anne Marie to choose us...but they wanted to give her a basis for comparison. As it turns out there was another couple that was also in the running, which Anne Marie’s mother met and prefers, and they are married. But in the end, Anne Marie decided she wants us. On the condition,” Poppy reiterated with a beleaguered sigh, “that we get hitched and the kids have the same last name.”

“I have no problem with you becoming a Caulder,” Trace said. “In a nontraditional sense, of course.”

“Or you could become a McCabe.” Removing a coated elastic band from her wrist, she swept her hair up into a messy ponytail on the back of her head and secured it there.

Aware when she wore her hair that way it reminded him of her college cheerleading days, he volleyed back. “Or, better yet, you could just drop the Elizabeth—” her middle name “—and change yours to Poppy McCabe Caulder. Like a lot of married women do, for practical reasons, to cut down on the confusion.”

Silence fell.

Finally, realizing this was one battle she wouldn’t win with him, Poppy conceded, “Fine. If you insist.”

“I would.” Thanks to two parents who couldn’t stop marrying—and then divorcing—he’d been saddled with a lot of different “family names.” He had no intention of ever inflicting the same on any offspring. Whatever it started out with was what it would stay.

He studied the ambivalence in her dark brown eyes. “You’re sure you want to get married, though?”

Trying not to think that if things had gone the other way, he and the woman opposite him might very well be married now, Trace watched her rise to pace around the room, then return, her taut-fitting jeans doing very nice things for her waist and hips.

A river of desire swept through him.

He wished they were close enough to touch.

Kiss.

He wished he could inhale the tantalizing apple blossom fragrance of her soap and shampoo.

Meanwhile she looked perfectly content with the way things were; the two of them thousands of miles apart.

“It’s a big step,” he cautioned her. “Even if it is only on paper.”

She twisted off the top of a water bottle. “I’m sure I want to adopt those twins with you.” She paused to take a long, thirsty drink then shrugged. “And since this is the only way...”

Travis knew how frustrated and upset she was, deep down. And with good reason. He and Poppy had abandoned contraception ten years ago, when she’d told him she wanted to start a family, on her own. As her best friend, because he still felt responsible for a very sad time in her life, he had readily agreed to help her achieve her goal of having a child on her own.

After six years, and many a passionate rendezvous, she still hadn’t been able to conceive. She hadn’t wanted to see a fertility doctor, because she didn’t want to risk having multiples. So she had signed up to adopt. Again with his full emotional support. For the first two years, strictly on her own, as a single woman. When that hadn’t panned out, he had signed on to be the dad in the proposed arrangement. Except that they hadn’t been selected by any of the mothers wanting the type of open arrangement they did.

Hadn’t even come close. Until now.

But there was a catch.

The babies were twins.

And, of course, when he’d agreed to all this a couple of years ago, he had never considered the fact that he and Poppy would have to get married.

That, for a lot of reasons, neither of them wanted.

Yet with both of them thirty-five and her biological clock ticking, passing on the marriage requirement and waiting for another baby to come along—a single-birthed child this time—did not seem wise.

It would be foolish to not do whatever was deemed necessary to make this happen. Even if getting hitched wasn’t something they would choose under any other circumstance. “What’s the timetable?” Trace asked finally, aware that nothing about their long-standing relationship was exactly conventional.

“According to the agency, we’ll need at least three weeks to get all the legalities in order, after we’re married. That is, if we want the babies to come home from the hospital with me.”

“And naturally we do.” After waiting so long, Poppy would be heartbroken if she had to miss out on a single second of motherhood.

She took another long, thirsty drink. “The twins are due on December twenty-fourth.”

That gives us less than a month, all told. Trace frowned. “Only one problem with that. I’m still deployed and not due for leave again until next spring.”

Suddenly looking plucky as ever, Poppy beamed with her trademark Can Do attitude. She might not have been a twin or triplet, like her five younger sisters, but she knew how to go after what she wanted, no matter the obstacles in her way. “Fortunately, I have a solution.” She pushed on. “A marriage by proxy.”

Trace had heard the term bandied about by his fellow airmen and women, mostly as a joke. Realizing he was thirsty, too, he got up to get a bottle of water from his room’s mini-fridge. He returned to the desk, his dog tags jingling against his chest. “You can really do that?”

“In exactly four states in the USA. California, Texas, Montana and Colorado. Luckily—” her grin widened “—we are both permanent residents of the Lone Star State.”

“So how does that work?” he asked curiously, wishing he’d had time to clean up since coming off duty before they’d connected.

Poppy sobered. “I can’t speak to the process in the other three states. But under Texas law, a member of the military who is deployed out of the country can request to be married by proxy. Generally, there need to be extenuating circumstances—like the birth of a child or some other reason for urgency—and the ceremony will have to take place here in Texas. We’ll just get someone to stand in for you at the courthouse.”

Physically take my place? Next to Poppy? His jaw tightening, Trace tried not to consider how much that rankled, or why it might. “You’re kidding,” he said gruffly and then paused as he studied her slightly crestfallen expression. “You’re not kidding?”

“This is the only way we’re going to be able to adopt Anne Marie’s babies,” Poppy reminded him. “And you know how long I’ve been on the waiting list.”

Forever, she had often lamented.

A fresh wave of guilt stung Trace. He was part of the reason Poppy had had such trouble getting the family she’d always wanted. Although no one but he and Poppy knew about the specifics, at least in her hometown of Laramie. Mostly because she hadn’t wanted anyone else to know about the tragedy and he’d had no choice but to abide by her wishes.

“Anne Marie is also the only one who’s ever been amenable that we want to raise these children more as friends than anything else. The fact you’re constantly deployed in the military, like her late father, actually gives you a heroic edge in her view. Just as the fact that I was big sister and eventual babysitter to both the twins and the triplets gives me a unique perspective on what a child in that situation might feel or need.”

That was certainly true. Poppy had been through a lot even before they’d hooked up. Mostly because, as the oldest sibling and the only single-birthed child in the Jackson and Lacey McCabe brood, she had often been overlooked in a way that the other girls had not.

Not that she had ever complained about it.

Rather, she’d joked it had given her a freedom and autonomy her other siblings could only envy.

Poppy inhaled deeply. “I mean, what are our chances of ever finding someone else who thinks our situation is ideal for the children she’s relinquishing?” There was a long pause. “We just have to comply with the agency’s requirement and demonstrate our lifelong commitment by getting married.”

Well, put that way...he supposed it didn’t seem too much to ask.

“You’re right,” Trace said finally. “This is our chance.”

Poppy took another deep breath, the action lifting the soft swell of her breasts, and then slowly released it. Steadfastly, she searched his face. “So you’re okay with a marriage by proxy?” she asked.

Trace pushed any lingering reservations he felt aside. This was Poppy they were talking about. A woman who knew her own mind and had more than proved over the years she wouldn’t go all fickle on him, no matter what happened.

He nodded. “It’s not as if a piece of paper or a marriage pretty much in name only is going to change anything between us.”

Poppy smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners in the way that always made him want to take her in his arms and hold her close. “Right,” she said.

Wishing he was close enough to hug her, Trace continued. “And if it sets Anne Marie’s mind at ease, so much the better.”

Visibly relaxing, Poppy laid a hand over her heart. “So you’ll do it? You’ll request a marriage by proxy?”

Trace knew he owed Poppy this much—and more. Hoping this would finally balance the scales between them and allow the last of her lingering grief to slide away, he nodded. “Yes, darlin’,” he promised. “I’ll talk to my commanding officer right away.”

* * *

“ABOUT TIME THE two of you decided to tie the knot,” Jackson McCabe said when Poppy stopped by the hospital to inform her parents of their plans.

Her dad had just come out of surgery and her mom was winding up a long day on the pediatrics floor.

“I agree.” Lacey beamed, looking as lovely as ever in her blue scrubs and white doctor’s coat.

As always, feeling a little in awe of her super-successful, still-wildly-in-love parents, Poppy followed them into her father’s private office. She held up a hand. “You both understand that Trace is still going to continue on with his life’s work in the military and I’m still going to be running my design business here. Right?” That was actually a blessing in disguise. There would be no risk of getting too romantically entangled, since they both wouldn’t be under the same roof most of the time.

“You may change your mind about that when the babies actually get here,” her mom predicted.

Her dad nodded. “Little ones have a way of changing even the best-laid plans.”

“Well, not ours,” Poppy said stubbornly.

If there was one thing she loved—and Trace was adamantly against—it was living in the rural Texas town where she’d grown up and he’d moved to briefly as a teen. Luckily, the two of them had attended the same college, where they’d gotten even closer, and had almost everything else in common.

“We’re just doing this because it’s required of us if we want to adopt the twins from the Stork Agency.”

“It’s still cause for celebration!” Lacey picked up the phone with a wink. “And that means family!”

Half an hour later Poppy was ensconced at her parents’ Victorian home in downtown Laramie. Her folks were busy opening champagne and setting out food, picked up from a local restaurant. Trace was once again connected via Skype, as were her San Antonio-based twin sisters and their families. The triplets had arrived with their families, too. And, as always, everyone had an opinion about what would be best for the oldest of the Jackson and Lacey McCabe brood.

“You can’t get married at the courthouse,” her mom said.

Poppy caught Trace’s handsome countenance on the monitor. His expression might be carefully casual, but she could tell by the look in his hazel eyes he was as opposed to all the calamity as she was. What, she wondered with a pang, had she gotten them into? Why hadn’t they just eloped via proxy?

But it was too late now.

The news was out.

“All five of us want to be your bridesmaids. It’s tradition,” the ultra-romantic Callie declared via Skype.

Poppy wished she could lean up against Trace’s muscular six-foot-four frame and take the comfort only he could give. Since that wasn’t an option, she did her best to throw a monkey wrench into the plans. “What about groomsmen, though?” She looked at Trace, expecting him to bail her out.

Instead he shrugged. “I’ve got fellow airmen stationed at the military base nearby I can call on to escort them down the aisle.”

Poppy moved closer to the computer camera and gave him a look she hoped only he could see. To her frustration, Trace remained as ruggedly composed as ever. His brawny arms were folded in front of him, his broad shoulders relaxed.

And his chest. How well she knew the sculpted abs and lean waist beneath his snug T-shirt. Not to mention...

Oblivious to the direction of his daughter’s privately lustful thoughts, Jackson asked, “What about the best man?”

“I’ll arrange for that, as well as the groom, sir,” Trace promised with his usual calm command. “It will all be military. If that matters in terms of color scheme or anything.”

Poppy rubbed her forehead, already exhausted just thinking about this. “It’s too much trouble,” she declared, doing her best to take charge of her very overbearing family. She turned away from Trace and made eye contact with everyone else there in person and on the additional laptop screens. “Especially given the fact that Thanksgiving is just a few days away and for the adoption to proceed as planned, Trace and I need to get married in the next week.” Couldn’t anyone see a big McCabe shindig was impossible?

Again, she looked to Trace for help.

Instead he said, “I’m fine with whatever Poppy wants.”

“Well, what Poppy wants—what she deserves—is a wedding every bit as wonderful and meaningful as we all had!” Callie insisted. “I mean, it’s not as if this is ever going to happen again for either of you, is it?”

Poppy and Trace exchanged glances and simultaneously shook their heads. Not in this lifetime... This one marriage that wasn’t really a marriage was it. At least they were both on the same page about that.

“Well, then, there you go,” Callie’s twin, Maggie, an event planner, said. “Poppy’s wedding to Trace needs to be every bit as special for her, as all of ours were for us. Luckily, I can pull a ceremony and reception together for you and Trace, even on very short notice.”

Poppy had been afraid of that. When her five sisters put their minds to something, there was nothing they could not achieve. Especially in the romance milieu.

“I’ll handle the wedding announcement and invitations,” veteran publicist Callie volunteered.

Lily smiled and squeezed her husband’s hand. “Gannon and I will take care of everything on the legal end that needs to be done here through our firm.”

Rose leaned against her rancher hubby, Clint. “I’ll donate all the food for the reception from my wholesale business.”

Physician Violet looked at her doctor-husband, Gavin. “We’ll hire the caterers to cook and serve it.”

“We’ll provide everything else,” her mother said. “Down to the flowers, venue and dress!”

“And anything else you might want or need,” her dad finished quietly.

Aware she actually felt a little dizzy, Poppy had to sit. She rubbed at an imaginary spot on the knee of her jeans, wondering how her life had gotten so far out of her control so fast. Especially when she had worked so hard not to let events overtake her, not ever again.

Inhaling slowly, she lifted her chin. “I know you all want to give me a beautiful wedding, and I truly appreciate it, but don’t you think that’s all a little over the top since the groom in question won’t actually be here? Except to watch via Skype—”

Trace, who never made a promise he couldn’t keep, cut in. “I may not actually even be able to do that.”

Her father frowned, knowing, as did the rest of them, that military orders could change on a moment’s notice.

Lacey moved to stand beside her husband. Her arm curved over Jackson’s bicep as she studied Trace’s image on the screen. “What about your family?”

This time Trace did grimace, Poppy noted, glad to see she wasn’t the only one who felt events had spiraled completely out of control.

He squinted. “I haven’t told them yet but I imagine my parents will both want to come.” He paused, reluctantly adding, “My mom and dad will likely want to be seated well apart from each other, though.”

Poppy groaned inwardly. It didn’t matter what the situation, Trace’s parents never got along. Never had. Probably never would.

Jackson seemed to read her mind and again deftly nixed his daughter’s effort to call off this calamity before it happened. “It’s important you both have family there, so whatever we need to do to ensure your folks are comfortable, Trace, will be done.”

“After all,” Poppy’s mother added, “the two of you are making a lifelong commitment, not just to each other but to the twins you’re planning to adopt. So it’s important you do this right. Or as right as can be, under the circumstances.”

More excited chatter followed.

Not sure whether she was going to suffocate or to scream in frustration, Poppy picked up her laptop and headed upstairs. “I need a moment alone with Trace before he signs off.” She ducked into the bedroom she’d had as a teen and shut the door behind her. “Still there?”

“Oh, yeah.” This time he didn’t bother to hide his exasperation.

“We should call this ridiculous wedding off now,” Poppy declared, “before it goes any further. And just find a way to elope by proxy instead!”

Looking ruggedly fit in his desert fatigues, Trace folded his arms across his brawny chest. “You really think that will work—with your family?”

He had a point. “You’re right. It’s probably best to know what they’re planning rather than be surprised at the courthouse.”

Trace gave the look that usually preceded him taking her into his arms and holding her until all her troubles eased. “Exactly.”

She rubbed her temple. “Besides, given how complicated this marriage by proxy is, it’s probably best we have all the help we can muster.” She studied the taut planes of his handsome face. “Have you talked to your commanding officer?”

“The paperwork from our end is under way.”

Another silence fell; this one only slightly less tense. He studied her, too, his expression gentling. “You going to be okay?” he asked in that tender-tough tone she loved.

Poppy thought about the family she had always wanted, the twins just waiting to be born and about to come home to her. “I don’t have any choice,” she told Trace. “I have to be.”

So she would be. It was as simple—and complicated—as that.

Chapter Two

“I can’t tell.” Violet peered at her older sister closely, four days later, as the two of them stood in Poppy’s old bedroom at her parents’ home. “Are you about to cry—or burst into the ‘Hallelujah Chorus’?”

Poppy grinned at the reference to her favorite Christmas music compilation playing in the background. “How about a little of both?” she quipped as she stepped into the wedding gown her sister held out. The truth was she was incredibly happy about fulfilling her long-held dream of having babies of her own in just a few short weeks. But not so thrilled about being pushed into a marriage neither she nor Trace wanted. What if it ruined what they had? Changed their relationship in a way neither expected?

“Everything has happened so fast,” she admitted as the heart-pumping finale of the “Messiah” ended and the more bluesy sounds of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” began. “It all feels a little surreal.”

Violet secured the hook at the top of the bodice and then moved around for the full effect. “Well, you look absolutely gorgeous, sis.”

A little sad Trace wasn’t here to see her in the gown, Poppy moved to the mirror to check out her reflection. “I just wish we’d arranged for the ceremony to be at the courthouse instead of the community chapel.” The downtown venue had been the site of many a McCabe wedding. And, unlike hers, the marriages embarked upon in the century-old building, had been hopelessly romantic, incredibly satisfying and long lasting!

Violet studied her sister with a physician’s caring intuition. “Are you also wishing Trace was going to be here—in person—instead of just watching someone else stand in for him?”

Yes, and no, Poppy thought, pausing to pin on her tiara and veil. Having him here beside her would make it feel as if they were entering into a traditional union instead of the modern arrangement they had agreed upon. So she was glad, in that sense, her best friend in all the world was thousands of miles away.

But not having Trace here depressed her on a soul-deep level, as well, since she always missed him when they weren’t together.

The twins burst into the room, both looking elegant and beautiful in their silver satin bridesmaid dresses. “When did you say Trace’s buddies were supposed to arrive?” Maggie asked.

“I’m not sure,” Poppy admitted, trying not to flush. “I haven’t actually been able to contact him for a couple of days.”

Callie did a double-take. Romantic as ever, she pressed a hand to her heart. “He hasn’t called you?” Or video-chatted or answered her emails. Poppy slipped on her satin pumps, once again feeling like the odd woman out, since not only was she the only non-multiple among the six McCabe daughters, but the only one not gloriously in love with her man, too.

“He might be out on assignment.” Otherwise, there was no explanation.

As expected, all five of her sisters exchanged worried glances. Luckily, just then, Jackson McCabe appeared in the door. “I just had a text. The military contingent from the air force is about ten minutes out. So we better get a move on if we want to get to the chapel before they do.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Her sisters chatted excitedly as they all made their way downstairs.

Poppy, with her voluminous skirt, entered the limo, along with her mother and father. Her sisters and their spouses and children followed in a caravan of pickups and SUVs.

Thanksgiving had been two days before.

Yet the downtown streets were already decorated for Christmas. Wreaths with red-velvet ribbons had been strung on every lamppost in town. Twinkling lights and decorations adorned many of the front yards as well as the businesses that lined the major avenues.

Once again, it seemed to Poppy, time was passing far too quickly.

The limo idled in front of the century-old chapel. Her mom got out and went in with her sisters and their families, and a steady stream of guests.

Finally even that dwindled. “Nervous?” Jackson asked gruffly.

Awaiting her grand entrance, Poppy nodded at her dad. More so than I ever have been in my life. Though she was damned if she knew why.

After all, Trace wasn’t even going to be here.

It was just her...and whomever he had chosen to stand in for him. And maybe, if she was lucky, her groom was back from wherever he had been and would be watching the ceremony via Skype.

So there was absolutely nothing to be anxious about.

A few more minutes passed. Finally her dad’s phone chimed. He grinned as he looked at the text message. “Trace’s military buddies have arrived. They just went in through the rear of the chapel.”

Another few minutes. Another text. Jackson opened the door and got out. “Showtime!”

Her jitters increasing, Poppy inhaled a bolstering breath. Accepting her father’s hand, she gathered her skirts in her other palm and stepped out.

Her hand tucked securely into the crook of her dad’s elbow, they stood at the top of the steps, out of view, and awaited their cue as the rest of the bridal party entered to the strains of Pachelbel’s Canon.

Finally, it was time. Poppy and her father glided through the vestibule and into the chapel.

There, in front of the altar, stood seven tall, strapping men in uniform. Most handsome of all was the sandy-haired air force pilot next to Reverend Bleeker.

Poppy blinked. And blinked again.

Trace?

* * *

SHE WAS SURPRISED, all right, Trace thought, staring back at her. Although no one was more surprised than he was to find himself in Laramie, Texas, for his own wedding, no less.

But now that he was finally here, he had to say he was damn glad he’d taken advantage of the opportunity given him and had headed back to the good old US of A.

Because watching Poppy come through the chapel doors on her father’s arm was enough to stall his heart.

She looked like a princess in the white satin gown. The high neck and long sleeves, closely fitted bodice and poufy skirt covered every sweet, supple inch of her. Her silky, dark hair was caught up in elaborate curls pinned to the back of her head. If he found fault with anything, it was that the veil covered her face and he couldn’t see the expression in her eyes.

Until she reached the altar and the reverend asked, “Who giveth this bride away?”

“I do,” Jackson McCabe said in a deep, gravelly voice. He turned, lifted Poppy’s veil and bent to give her a reassuring smile and to kiss her cheek, and then he handed her off to Trace.

As they faced each other, Trace could see the conflicting emotions in Poppy’s gorgeous sable-brown eyes.

Confusion. Delight. Anxiety.

Aware he was suddenly feeling all that and more, he followed the minister’s directive and took both of Poppy’s hands in his.

The ceremony was a blur. He repeated what he was supposed to say. Poppy did the same. Until finally the reverend said, “I now pronounce you and husband and wife. Trace, you may kiss your bride.”

Poppy gave him the look.

The one that warned him not to overdo it.

So of course he did.

* * *

POPPY DIDN’T KNOW whose gasp was louder—hers or their guests—when Trace took her in his arms, bent her back from the waist and planted one on her.

A roar of delight went up, followed by cheers, wild clapping and a yee-haw or two.

And still he kept kissing her; the touch of his warm, sure lips as magical as ever. A thrill swept through Poppy, followed swiftly by a surge of pure happiness. Unable to help herself, she wreathed both her arms around his neck and kissed him back with the same abandon.

It took the discreet cough of the minister to break it up.

The heat of her embarrassment flooding her face, Poppy opened her eyes.

Grinning triumphantly, Trace slowly shifted her upright.

More cheers followed, drowned out by the beginning of the recessional.

In the aisle, the airmen in dress blues stood with their ceremonial swords drawn into a canopy. Gallantly tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow, and still beaming proudly, Trace escorted her beneath the canopy.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Poppy murmured as they stepped to the front of the receiving line in the chapel vestibule.

Eyes darkening possessively, Trace gave her waist an affectionate squeeze. “Surprised ya, huh?” he whispered back.

And then some, Poppy thought, still tingling from his recklessly impulsive kiss.

“You look so beautiful,” he said, his eyes twinkling with delight.

Poppy grinned, aware he wasn’t the only one who’d had his breath taken away. “Right back at you, Lieutenant,” she murmured happily.

Then all was taken up by the formalities of greeting their guests. And it wasn’t until the two of them had dashed down the church steps, through a shower of bird seed and well-wishes, and were sharing the limo to the reception that Poppy finally had the chance to talk with him privately. “I gather this is why I haven’t heard from you in two days?”

Trace ran a hand beneath his closely shaved jaw. “I was on standby on several of the flights, so I wasn’t entirely sure I was going to make it in time for the ceremony.”

“But you did make it.” And he’d obviously found time to shower, too, she noted, the joy she had felt upon seeing him in the flesh still staggering in its intensity.

“It appears the only thing most folks love more than an impromptu wedding that needs all the help it can muster to be pulled off, is one between an active-duty airman and his bride.”

Poppy knew that was true. There was something about star-crossed lovers that appealed to just about everyone. Star-crossed lovers in the military, even more. Still...

She studied the just-cut perfection of his short, sandy-blond hair. “Why did you come?” Especially when he had never so much as hinted that it was a possibility.

A shadow crossed his face and he hesitated, as if not sure how to respond. Finally he said, “You seemed so overwhelmed when we last Skyped. I thought you might have trouble handling all this on your own.”

Disappointment jabbed her in the stomach, putting to rest any of the wildly romantic notions she’d had when she had walked into the church and seen him standing next to the minister.

Poppy gathered her thoughts slowly. “So you came to rescue me?” And not because he had suddenly discovered he was madly in love with her, as she knew everyone else who had witnessed their nuptials was probably thinking. But because he was her good friend. And friends helped each other out.

He nodded. “Turns out it was a lot easier to get permission to use some of the leave I’d accumulated than to push a proxy marriage request through military channels in the swift time frame you needed.”

Poppy stared at him in confusion. “But you did manage it! Liz Cartwright-Anderson showed me the paperwork this morning.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know if it would come through or not when I left a couple of days ago. At that point, the request was still in limbo. So to make sure the pending adoption went smoothly, I called in every marker I could.”

“And came back to Texas.”

He shrugged, as if it were no big deal. When she knew darn well it was a very big deal. “I haven’t spent the holidays Stateside in years.”

Mainly, she thought sympathetically, because he hated being caught up in the midst of his own quarreling family.

“Well, here’s hoping that this yuletide will be memorable,” Poppy said softly.

“I have a feeling it will be.” He took her hand in his and examined the wedding band. He didn’t have one, because she hadn’t expected him to actually be there. Thus they had forgone that part of the ceremony.

Winking at her, he drawled, “At any rate, we’re married now.”

Clearly, from the joking way he’d said it, it didn’t mean much, if anything at all. That was good. Wasn’t it?

Poppy swallowed around the sudden constriction of her throat. Honestly, the pending adoption plus all this chaos had her brimming with unchecked emotions.

Bypassing what she normally would have done at this point in one of their private reunions—climb onto his lap and really show him how glad she was to see him—Poppy stayed right where she was. Maintaining her ladylike demeanor, she met his eyes and asked casually, “So how much time do you have?”

Oblivious to how fast and hard her heart was beating, he flexed his shoulders beneath the formal blue uniform coat. “Total? Thirty days. Of which I’ve already used two.”

Trying not to dwell on how much she really would like to forget about the reception and kiss him again, Poppy quickly did the math. “So...twenty-eight.” Compared to what short time they usually got—this visit was going to last forever! And yet compared to what she really wanted—Trace stationed somewhere close enough they could see each other all the time—not nearly enough.

His hazel eyes twinkled down at her. “Of course, I’ll need a couple of days of that for travel time when I head back to the Middle East. But I’ll be here for Christmas. And the birth of the twins,” he promised as the limo reached the hotel where the reception was to be held.

It had all worked out perfectly, Poppy thought. So, then, why wasn’t she happier?

Chapter Three

“I’m so sorry your father didn’t show up tonight,” Bitsy, Trace’s mother, told him two hours later as he and Poppy came off the dance floor. “I mean, I knew he’d ditch the ceremony,” the gregarious San Antonio society florist declared unhappily. “That’s just the kind of heartless man Calvin is. But I thought for certain he would make the reception.”

Not sure what to say, Poppy did her best not to react to the bitterness in her new mother-in-law’s voice.

Trace hugged his diminutive, platinum-haired mother. “It’s okay, Mom. It was short notice. I’ll catch up with Dad before I leave the States.”

Bitsy gave Poppy another warm hug. “Well, just so you know, dear, I’m so glad the two of you have finally come to your senses and made it official.”

Trace scowled. “Mom...”

Bitsy straightened the hem of her beaded jacket. “Oh, hush. The two of you have essentially been married—albeit long distance—for years now. Even though you won’t admit it, everyone knows you’re head-over-heels in love. Isn’t that why you finally decided to adopt a child together?”

Uh, not exactly, Poppy thought.

“What I don’t understand is why you’re not trying for a baby the old-fashioned way.”

Actually, they had been, although that was a secret, Poppy thought.

“Unless you’re worried the distance imposed on you by Trace’s stint in the military will make conception all but impossible,” Bitsy finished practically.

“Mom, I am not discussing this with you,” Trace said firmly.

Make that me, either, Poppy thought.

Bitsy peered up at him. “But you do admit you want a baby with Poppy—badly?”

And I want one with him. Badly, as it were, Poppy noted. But just because they each wanted a family, and were willing to have one together, did not mean they were “essentially married,” never mind head-over-heels in love.

Exhaling roughly, Trace rubbed at the muscles in the back of his neck, reminding Poppy that the only thing he hated more than having his life choices dissed or second-guessed, was to have someone assign emotions to him that he did not feel.

“Ah, it’s not just one. It’s twins, Mom,” he said.

“Oh.” Bitsy paused in the act of adjusting a diamond earring, as if not sure what to make of that. “Well, that’s wonderful,” she said finally. Spying her latest beau, Donald Olson—a commercial Realtor from San Angelo, who was now first in line at the open bar—she waved and started to glide off. “Just make sure the little darlings call me Bitsy, not anything grandmother-ish.” She smiled over her shoulder.

“Will do,” Poppy promised.

Trace bent to whisper in her ear. “Maybe if we head back to the dance floor, we won’t have to endure so many blasted questions and theories and...”

“Advice?” Poppy quipped as she slipped her hand into his. “Don’t forget, we’ve been getting plenty of that, too. Like ‘don’t let the sun go down on your anger.’ Or ‘make-up sex is the best.’”

Which was ironic, since she and Trace never, ever quarreled.

Trace whisked her into the crowd of swaying couples. Hand against her spine, he brought her as close as the full skirt of her wedding gown would allow. “My favorite is, ‘never miss a chance to hold her in your arms.’”

Poppy let her body sway to the beat of the music, relaxing now that the big ‘romantic’ moments were finished. Their first dance, the toasts, the cake-cutting and endless picture-taking.

All of which had prompted an extended trip down memory lane. “Remember our very first dance?” Poppy tipped her head up to his as one of their favorite songs, the hopelessly romantic ballad “Wherever You Will Go” began.

His eyes crinkled at the corners, before making a wickedly provocative tour down her body. “The senior prom? You quarreled with your date a few days before...”

Reveling in the cozy feel of his hand clasping hers, and the even more possessive look in his eyes, Poppy let out a quavering breath. “So he ended up taking someone else.”

Trace nodded, recollecting fondly, “And I stepped in, as your friend.”

She’d come very close to falling head-over-heels in love with him that night. But knowing how he felt about romance in general, and infatuation specifically, had come to her senses in time to preserve their growing friendship and keep things light and easy. To the point they hadn’t even shared a goodnight kiss, when he’d finally dropped her at her front door at dawn.

“And you’re still doing it.”

The slow song ended. A faster up-tempo one began.

Trace offered a mock salute, brought her hand up over her head and twirled her around to the lively beat. “My pleasure, ma’am.”

“That’s Captain Ma’am to you,” she teased as he tugged her back into his arms then spun her out again, dipping her backward.

“Outrank me, huh?” His low voice radiated the kind of easy joy she always felt when they were together.

Doing her best to rein in her reckless heart, she admitted, “In some things...” Although at this moment she couldn’t think what. Not when she was matching her steps to his in the energetic beat and wearing a wedding ring he’d slid onto her finger. Had he ever looked more devastatingly handsome, more inclined to just have fun?

Even though the rational side of her knew this was all a formality, undertaken for the best of reasons—the babies they were soon to adopt—she couldn’t help but be swept up in the moment as the song ended and another much slower, sultrier one began.

Clueless to the hopelessly conflicted nature of her thoughts, Trace pulled her in tight against him.

Their bodies swaying as if they were made for each other, he drawled, “Well, then, Captain Ma’am—” with the pad of his thumb, he traced the curve of her lower lip and looked deeply into her eyes “—I guess I’ll just have to do what you say...”

* * *

TRACE HAD BEEN kidding when he said he’d follow her orders. But hours later, when she first laid down the law, he realized by her hands-off expression that she hadn’t been.

He stared at her in disbelief. She’d been getting more distant as the night wore on. He’d attributed it to fatigue and the stress of allowing people to see only what they wanted to see.

“You want me to sleep in the guest room?” he repeated, sure he must have misunderstood what she meant. “On our wedding night?”

She headed through the upstairs hall of her cozy bungalow, the voluminous skirt of her white gown hiding the delectable shape of her hips and swishing lightly as she moved. Steadfastly avoiding his gaze and keeping her back to him all the while, she stood on tiptoe to reach the top shelf of the linen closet at the end of the short hall, trying but failing repeatedly to reach the stack of clean linens and pillows. “You have to understand.” She frowned, rocking back on her heels, her soft lips sliding out into a sexy pout. “I didn’t know you were coming home for the ceremony.”

What did that have to do with anything? When had it ever? One of the things he liked best about her was that she was so easygoing and—usually—up for just about anything.

Not tonight.

He frowned. His presence was supposed to be a happy surprise, not cause for complaint. “I don’t get it.”

She lifted a desultory hand and waved it in the direction of the master suite. “My bedroom’s a mess.”

He cast a look over his shoulder. That much was true. Not only did the elegant retreat look as if a tornado had gone through it, spilling everything from lacey undergarments to high heels in its wake, but there was a good deal of Christmas stuff, too. Gift catalogs. Lists. Even what appeared to be the makings for homemade holiday cards and ornaments.

Not about to be sidetracked, when he had missed her so damn much, he caught her around the waist. Anxious to make up for lost time now that they were finally alone, he trailed a string of kisses down her silky-soft neck. Lingered at the sensitive place behind her ear. Felt her quiver in response. Satisfaction roared through him.

“So we’ll throw a few pillows on the floor,” he teased, reaching for the zipper of her dress.

Stiffening, she wedged her elbows between them. “No.” She wiggled free. “Trace...”

Not about to push her into anything, he dropped his arms and stepped back. Looked down into her face. “What’s wrong?”

Her dark brown eyes took on a troubled sheen. She brushed past him into the mess that was her bedroom. “When we agreed to get married, we said this wouldn’t change anything.”

He followed lazily, making sure to give her the space she wanted. Lounging against the bureau, he surveyed the soft blush flooding her cheeks. The turmoil twisting her sweet lips. “You not wanting to make love with me is definitely a change.”

Hand on the bed, Poppy bent to remove her high heels. “Don’t you see?” She let her skirt fall back into place, but not before he’d gotten a tantalizing glimpse of her long legs.

Trace felt his body harden in response.

Poppy shook her head. “After everything we’ve just been through the past six hours—”

“Seven,” he corrected. That was way too long. Usually, after months apart, they were in bed within minutes of reconnecting, which was why they usually met up at a hotel first.

Poppy frowned. “Okay, seven hours,” she corrected with an exasperated scowl. “If we were to make love now after all of that...”

He saw where she was going. “The vows?”

She nodded in what abruptly seemed like regret. “And the toasts and the cake-cutting and the first dance.” She went around the room, snatching up discarded clothing and stuffed it into the hamper so the lacy unmentionables were out of view. Whirling to face him, she swallowed. “Can’t you see it would be too confusing?”

For her maybe. Not for him.

With effort, he ignored the ache in his groin. “It doesn’t have to be,” he said. As far as he was concerned, vows or not, absolutely nothing between them had changed. They were still free to do whatever and to be whomever they wanted.

She folded her arms beneath the inviting lushness of her breasts. “Right now, everything feels pretty traditional. And you’ve never wanted that. And...” She hesitated slightly before continuing even more stalwartly. “Neither have I.”

Once again their gazes collided.

As was their custom, neither wanted to be the first to look away.

He jerked off his bow tie and loosened the first couple of buttons on his shirt. “So what are you telling me?” he rasped. Feeling pretty damn stifled, he let his uniform jacket go by the wayside, too. “That now that it’s properly sanctioned, we’ll never hook up again?”

She blushed at the ridiculousness of that notion.

“Of course we will,” she said softly, her desire for him momentarily shining through. She paused to wet her lips; her defenses sliding stubbornly back into place. “Just not tonight. Not when we’re both so tired. And confused.”

Trace was confused, all right. He’d pulled every string it was possible to pull, and come an awfully long way, to get turned down cold. On their wedding night, no less!

Sweeping past him, she went back to trying to get the stack of linens off the top shelf. Stumbling slightly, she managed to grab hold of the bottom corner and pull them toward her.

He caught her in his arms as she caught the linens in hers.

Inhaled the sweet fragrance of her hair and skin.

Felt another tidal wave of desire ripple through him.

Damn if he didn’t want her all over again.

That was, assuming he had ever stopped.

Which, of course, he hadn’t.

“Thanks.” Arms full, she wiggled free, pivoted and rustled toward the only other bedroom on the top floor of her bungalow.

Currently a home office, it also housed a sofa bed for guests.

When he visited her in Laramie and bunked at her place, it was always opened up and the covers dutifully rumpled every morning. But only for show. In case someone in her family happened to drop by, unannounced.

Although he doubted anyone really believed they were, or had ever been, just good friends.

No, his place was in her very comfy queen-size bed. Like her, sans clothes.

But, apparently, not tonight.

* * *

POPPY KNEW SHE was disappointing Trace. But, really, she reckoned as she entered the guest room to make up the bed while he went downstairs to get his suitcase, she was doing them both a favor, giving them each a little breathing room.

The last thing she had ever wanted was for him to feel as trapped as his dad apparently had, whenever he was married, or to ever do anything that would spoil their relationship.

Come morning, he’d be thanking her for it.

Meantime, where was he?

Getting a bag couldn’t possibly take that long.

Nor could she hear any sounds of him moving around.

Perplexed, she called out. “Trace?”

No answer.

Grabbing the skirts of her wedding gown, she rustled down the stairs.

Trace was sprawled in the oversize club chair she’d brought into the house just for him. His long legs were stretched over the matching ottoman and his chest moved with deep, even breaths. It looked as if he had sat down, just for a second, and fallen fast asleep.

He was more handsome than ever, in repose.

Tenderness swept over her and she knew she couldn’t wake him. Instead she eased off his shoes and took a throw from the back of the sofa and spread it over him.

As expected, he didn’t stir.

She stood there another long moment, just drinking in the sight of him, realizing all over again just how much she missed him when he was away.

In need of a little comfort herself, she slipped into the kitchen and extracted the nearly empty peppermint ice cream container from the freezer. Taking that and a spoon, she headed back up the stairs, suddenly feeling near tears again.

What was with her these days? Poppy wondered as she moved into her bedroom and sat to finish what was left of the ice cream. Was it the prospect of adopting the twins that had her so emotionally overwrought? The knowledge that while she was getting part of what she wanted, she was still eons away from getting it all? Or just the fatigue?

Poppy had no answer as she let the minty, holiday flavor melt on her tongue and soothe her yet again. Finally she put the empty container aside. Then, taking a moment just to chill, she laid back against the pillows.

The next thing she knew sunlight was streaming in through the windows. It was just after nine in the morning. And—was that her doorbell ringing?

Poppy sat up with a start.

Thinking it must be some sort of emergency, she rushed down the stairs. Too late, Trace had already awakened and moved to open the door. Mitzy Martin stood on the other side of the threshold, work bag over her shoulder.

If Poppy’s childhood friend was surprised to see them still in their wedding finery, she managed not to show it. “Hey, sorry to intrude. But I really need to talk to both of you.”

Gallantly, Trace ushered the social worker inside.

The vivacious Mitzy pulled out a sheaf of papers attached to a clipboard and pen. “The Stork Agency wants an amended home study done ASAP.”

Hence, Poppy thought, the surprise visit. One of several she’d endured during the past few years. “Why?”

“You’ve already interviewed us both extensively,” Trace pointed out.

Mitzy looked around, bypassing the chair with the throw still on it, and took a seat on the sofa. “You weren’t married then. Or planning to marry.”

Feeling a little self-conscious to be caught, still in her wedding gown, her hair askew, Poppy snuck a furtive glance Trace’s way. He looked as bedraggled as she did. His once-pristine military uniform was wrinkled, and from the look of his bloodshot eyes, it appeared he’d had a pretty rough night.

Clearing her throat, Poppy shook off the rest of the cobwebs. “But they asked us to do this!”

“Exactly my worry.” Mitzy sobered. “Is that the only reason you tied the knot last night?”

Poppy locked eyes with Trace, not sure how to answer that.

“Yes,” he said, blunt as ever.

“So if the Stork Agency hadn’t required it?” Mitzy took a clipboard full of papers, and pen from her bag.

Trace shrugged and took a seat in the same chair where he’d spent the night. “I wouldn’t be here today. I’d be back in the Middle East.”

Mitzy wrote on a preprinted form. “Is it your intention to be in this marriage for the long haul? Or just until the adoption is final?”

“Until the kids are grown,” Trace said firmly. He glanced at Poppy. “Or longer.”

Mitzy turned to Poppy. “And you?”

“When Trace and I decided to adopt children together, we agreed we would behave as a family from this point forward.”

“So there was no end date?” Mitzy challenged.

Aware her knees were suddenly a little shaky, Poppy perched on the wide arm of Trace’s chair. “No. Being a parent is a lifelong commitment.”

Mitzy looked at Trace. “Do you agree?”

He nodded. “For better or worse. Just like marriage.”

“Are you expecting the worst?”

Trace returned, “Are you?”

Ignoring his insolence, the social worker rose. “Are you going to live here?”

Poppy and Trace nodded in unison.

Mitzy continued to study them. “Mind if I take a quick look around the premises?”

“You’ve already done that,” Poppy protested. When the upstairs wasn’t such a total mess!

Gaze narrowed, Mitzy paused. “Is there a reason you don’t want me to look around?”

Yes, Poppy thought, knowing if the social worker went up there, she would quickly realize that neither bed had been slept in. “No,” she said out loud.

Her manner all business, Mitzy made her way through the dining area and into the kitchen, which, unlike the upstairs, was neat as a pin. From there, she peeked into the powder room then took the stairs. Poppy and Trace were right behind her.

She paused in front of Poppy’s bedroom, which was still a mess, the covers rumpled from where she’d slept.

“Where will the babies sleep?” Mitzy asked, still making notes.

“In here.” Poppy pointed to the office-cum-guest room.

Wordlessly the social worker took in the perfectly made-up sofa bed, Poppy’s desk and computer.

“Obviously, everything’s happened so fast, we haven’t had a chance to set up a nursery,” Poppy said in a rush. “But I’ll get it done in the next couple of days.”

“Call me when you do. I’d like to add it to the report,” Mitzy told her. “Where are the two of you planning to sleep?”

Trace quirked his brow at Poppy as if he’d like to hear the answer to that, too.

Flushing, she pointed to her bedroom. “Exactly where you’d expect. In my—er, our room.” There wouldn’t be a whole lot of choice once the nursery was set up.

Mitzy turned back to Trace, her expression as poker-faced as his. “Does that square with your plans, too?”

“Unless she relegates me to the sofa,” he replied in a joking tone.

Poppy recognized an attempt to lighten the mood when she heard one.

Unfortunately, Mitzy chose to ignore it. “Is that likely to happen?”

“Well...” Trace exhaled slowly, his expression turning even more maddeningly inscrutable. “We are married, after all.”

“And?” Mitzy persisted.

Trace lifted his broad shoulders in an affable shrug. “Sometimes spouses disagree, and when that happens, one of them generally ends up on the sofa. Unless they are really ticked off and go to a hotel.”

Another joke.

That did not go over well.

“And you would know that because...?” the social worker prompted.

Abruptly, Trace lost all patience. “Come on, Mitzy. Everyone in Laramie County knows my mother’s been married eight times, my dad three. So I’ve seen my fair share of discord. And, for the record, I was kidding around about the sofa.”

“Except the sofa bed upstairs was made up,” Mitzy pointed out with a Cheshire smile.

“And no one slept in it,” Poppy noted. But wisely did not elaborate.

Mitzy looked pointedly at Poppy’s rumpled wedding gown and Trace’s uniform.

In an effort to smooth over any rough edges, Poppy shrugged lightly. “It was a long day and an even longer night. We were both exhausted by the end. Suffice it to say...” She paused, took a breath and turned to look Trace in the eye, giving him a wordless apology for her unprecedented cowardice. “Nothing went according to plan.”

He smiled. Apology accepted. Then he reached over and clasped her hand. Tightly.

A taut silence fell.

Mitzy frowned. “I’m just trying to get a feel for how real this union is going to be.”

Trace countered in a smooth voice, “As opposed to?”

“A sham marriage.” Mitzy walked down the stairs. “Which, I don’t have to tell either of you, would be a very bad thing to have to report on.”

How could things have gone so far south so fast? Poppy asked herself glumly as she and Trace followed. It hadn’t even been fifteen hours! Feeling as if it was her turn to defend them, she said hotly, “It’s not a sham. It might not be traditional by someone else’s standards, but it’s definitely going to be real enough according to ours.”

Mitzy took a seat in the big comfy chair, leaving the two of them to sit side-by-side on the sofa. “I gather since the original plan was marriage by proxy—until Trace showed up in person, anyway—that this was almost a mere formality.”

Before it turned oh, so real, Poppy thought.

“And now it’s not,” Trace said snidely.

Aware she was getting under his skin, Mitzy made another note. “So how long had you been thinking about getting married before you made the decision?” she asked.

Trace continued the battle like the true warrior he was. “Five minutes maybe.”

“I don’t mean when you actually proposed,” Mitzy said.

Figuring the truth, and nothing but the truth, was the way go to, at least as much as possible, anyway, Poppy put in, just as cavalierly, “Actually, it was my idea.”

Mitzy did a double-take. “You proposed to Trace?”

Proposal meant romantic. Hers hadn’t been. Poppy made a seesaw motion with her right hand. “Mmm. More like... I...presented the option.”

Trace draped his arm around her shoulders and shifted closer. “And I accepted.”

“Because of the agency requirement regarding the adoption of more than one child at one time,” Mitzy ascertained.

Poppy and Trace both nodded. She, reluctantly. He, as if to say, what’s the big deal here?

Was he more like his oft-married and divorced mother in this respect than she knew? Poppy wondered uncomfortably.

Mitzy turned the page on the preprinted questionnaire she was working through. “Do you have a prenup?”

“No,” Trace said.

“We trust each other,” Poppy agreed.

Mitzy looked up. “What about an actual marriage contract, verbal or written?”

“No,” they said firmly in unison.

Mitzy tapped her pen on the page. “Surely you have some sense of exactly how this is all going to work.”

Somehow, Trace managed not to sigh—even though Poppy could feel his exasperation mounting. “I’m in the military,” he stated bluntly. “I’ll be here whenever I can, as much as I can. The rest of the time Poppy will handle everything on the home front, like most military wives.”

Military wife. Poppy kind of liked the sound of that. All possessive and gruff-tender.

Mitzy’s expression softened ever so slightly, too. “Will you come home to see them every time you get leave?”

“I always do,” Trace said.

And Poppy knew that was true. Whenever he had time off, the two of them managed to steal time together. Even when it meant they rendezvoused in a third central location.

“So in that sense—” Mitzy smiled, still writing “—nothing will change.”

Trace and Poppy nodded again.

“So is this it?” Trace asked, looking impatient. And still jet-lagged.

Another long, thoughtful pause.

“Actually,” Mitzy said, riffling through the content on her clipboard, “I have several more pages—”

Pages! Poppy thought.

“—of questions to ask for the amended home study. But I can see it’s a bad time, the two of you being on your honeymoon and all. So what do you say we get together at another time, when you have the nursery done, and finish up then?”

“What else could you possibly need to know?” Poppy asked, only half joking, getting to her feet.

Mitzy slid everything in her work bag. “Well, for one thing, we need to revisit your individual family histories.”

“We did that before,” Poppy pointed out.

“Individually. Not together. Now that you are married we have to make sure there has been full disclosure between the two of you and that there are no underlying issues there, either.”

“Sounds like a test,” Trace grumbled.

That Cheshire smile again. “It is, in a way,” Mitzy said. “So, if there’s anything you haven’t told each other—and should—now is probably the time.”

* * *

TRACE WAS ABOUT to say there was nothing he and Poppy hadn’t told each other when he caught the fleeting glimpse of unhappiness in his new wife’s eyes and realized maybe there was. What it could be, though, he had no idea.

He waited until they had showed the social worker out before voicing his concern. He cupped Poppy by the shoulders and looked down at her. “What’s wrong?” he asked gently.

Poppy extricated herself deftly, swirled, lifted the skirt of her wedding dress in both hands and headed up the stairs. “Didn’t you see the way she was looking at us?” She was fuming.

He caught sight of the layers of petticoat beneath the satin skirt. And couldn’t help wondering what was beneath that.

Casually, he caught up with her in the short hall that ran the length of the second floor of the bungalow. “Like a social worker doing her job?”

Poppy stormed into the bedroom, still in her stocking feet. Reaching behind her for the zipper, she pouted. “She thinks our marriage is a sham.”

Trace stepped in to gallantly unhook the fastening at the nape of her gown. Once that was free, the zipper came down easily. “Why?” he countered huskily. “Because she obviously figured out you and I didn’t consummate our marriage last night?”

She shivered when his fingertips grazed her bare skin. “Please don’t say it that way.”

Hands on her shoulders, he turned her to face him. “Since when have we parsed words or dealt with something other than the truth?”

Poppy raked her teeth across the delectable plumpness of her lower lip. “Never.”

“So what’s the problem, then?”

She stared at the open collar of his shirt. “The fact we didn’t make love makes us—our whole union—look suspect.”

“Well, then,” Trace drawled, taking her in his arms and doing what he should have done the night before, would have done if she hadn’t been so skittish and he hadn’t been so damned jet-lagged. “There is only one way to fix that.”

Chapter Four

Poppy knew she and Trace would eventually make love as a married couple. She had just convinced herself it wouldn’t be until she felt emotionally ready.

She splayed her hands across the hardness of his chest and ducked her head to the side. “You can’t kiss me.”

He chuckled, stroking one hand down her back, molding the other around the nape of her neck. “Actually, darlin’...” He left a trail of light kisses across the top of her head, down her temple, along the curve of her cheekbone, to the ultrasensitive place just behind her ear. “I think I’m supposed to...”

“Not yet.” Not until her sentiments were in order, her heart secure.

“Then how about I help you out of this dress,” he said.

She moaned as his tongue swept the shell of her ear. “Trace, I—”

“Unless you’re really going to wear your wedding dress all day.”

Gently, he eased the unzipped gown from her shoulders.

Poppy caught it, one hand to her chest.

His brow lifted. “Something you don’t want me to see?”

Actually yes. “My sisters...”

He waited.

“Well, they got me this, um...”

As always, he knew where she was going almost before she did. “Lingerie?”

“As a joke.”

His husky laughter filled the room. Devilry sparkled in his hazel eyes. “Then I really have to see it.”

Letting her go, he removed his jacket and the tie still loose around his neck and unbuttoned a few more buttons on his shirt. That came off, too. Leaving only a white cotton military-issue T-shirt and uniform dress pants.

With a sweep of his arm, he cleared a place on the side of the bed where she’d been sleeping and sat, propped against the headboard, both hands clasped behind his head.

Her heart pounding, she stammered, “Y-you really expect me to give you a show?”

“Well...since you’ve outlawed the romantic approach I was intending...having a little fun seems like the way to proceed. Unless—” he dared her with a wolfish smile “—the Poppy I know no longer exists?”

Poppy planted both hands on her hips, forgetting for a moment she’d been holding up the front of her dress. The bodice tumbled down, revealing the ridiculously sheer and tight-fitting, low-cut bustier that laced up the front.

His grin widened even more as she decided, against her better judgment, to just leave it where it fell, draped low across her waist. “You know, married or not, I am just the same.”

“Ah...” He undid his belt then his zipper. “Then prove it.”

Her gaze followed his hand.

The bulge she saw pressing against his fly made her mouth water.

“Unless,” he said, going back to simply watching her, his eyes dark and seductive. “You don’t want to give me something to fantasize about when I am far, far away?”

* * *

TRACE HAD MEANT the remark as a jest. Incentive to forget the tumultuous pressure of the past five days and return to their usual horsing around. But the reminder of an eventual departure had set the time clock that always surrounded their reunions running.

“All right, Lieutenant,” she said.

Sashaying forward, she turned, giving him a 360-degree view of the dress peeled down to the waist. Facing him, she continued her striptease.

Not wanting it to be over too soon, Trace goaded. “No music?”

Poppy stopped. Rolled her eyes. Sauntered over to the CD player on her bureau and pushed Play without even looking. The strains of the “Hallelujah Chorus” burst forth, prompting them both to burst into gales of laughter.

“Good choice,” Trace said, getting immediately to his feet.

“What are you doing?” Poppy asked.

“Isn’t it customary to stand for the finale of Handel’s Messiah?”

She knew full well, as did he, that it was.

But it wasn’t the rousing sounds of the traditional oratorio that had his heart pumping. Or hers, either, he guessed. Today it was all them...

But not wanting her to know—just yet anyway—how wickedly excited he was, lest he ruin the mounting anticipation for her, too, he waited for her to make the next move.

Her sable brown eyes lit with a lively, impetuous light. Inhaling deeply, eyes locked with his, she stepped out of her dress and then the petticoat. Then slowly, erotically, moved toward him in nothing but the bustier, garter belt and thigh-high stockings, and the tiniest bikini panties he had ever seen.

When she was just out of reach, she stopped.

It was all he could do not to groan in frustration, as she began taking the pins from her hair, until it, too, spilled over her shoulders in a tumble of dark, silky-brown curls.

Unable to hold back, he breathed, “You are so damn beautiful.”

The adrenaline rush of Handel playing in the background, Poppy sashayed closer still. “Mmm-hmm.” She tilted her face up to his mischievously. “Your turn.” Her eyes drifted over him appreciatively. “Lieutenant...”

Aware he was already way too aroused to hold back for long, he warned, “Poppy...”

She stepped away and tilted her head tauntingly. “Unless you don’t dare?”

Oh, he dared, all right.

Still appreciating the view, he tugged his T-shirt over his head. Spun around, just as she had.

Her soft laughter filled the room.

Hands spread on either side of him, miming a model showing off the garments, he let her look her fill, then hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and pushed them down.

Instead of the white military-issue briefs he knew she was expecting, he was wearing a pair of black silk boxers with red hearts all over them.

Chuckling merrily, she let her gaze drift lower, to the outline of his male anatomy pushing against the silk.

No hiding his desire now.

“Nice,” she said softly as the first song ended and “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” began.

Unable to wait a second longer, sensing she wasn’t either, Trace prowled toward her. “Not as nice as you,” he said, running his thumbs over the crests of her breasts pushing against the sheer fabric.

Her arms came up to wrap around his neck.

Rising on tiptoe, she moved all the way into his arms. Then, pressing her body flush against his, she threaded her hands through his hair, all the tenderness he had ever wanted to see shimmering in her misty brown eyes. “Now, you see? This is why you always end up seducing me.” She kissed him soulfully.

“Really?” Cupping her face in both hands, he returned her kiss with every ounce of pent-up passion that he had. Feeling her shudder, he took her by the hand and led her over to stand next to the bed. Satisfaction roared through him. “Because all this time, I thought it was you seducing me.”

She watched as he unlaced the front of her bustier and the luscious mounds of her breasts fell free. “You know it’s mutual.”

Relishing the sight of her partially dressed as much as completely undressed, he turned his attention to the convenient little bows on either side of her bikini panties. A tug of each and those, too, slid right off.

Her eyes darkened. “You’re going to ravish me, aren’t you?”

Still kissing her, determined to give her all the pleasure she deserved, he backed her playfully to the wall. His palms and fingertips made a leisurely tour of her body. “Oh, yeah...”

With a soft sigh of acquiescence, she lifted her arms to his shoulders. Trembled when he found the sensitive place between her thighs. Desire shot through him. He loved the way she responded to him, the way she insisted, even now, on giving back, by sifting her palms over her shoulders, down his spine, to cup and mold his buttocks.

He moved his mouth to her breasts, nibbling and suckling, making sure there was nothing he missed. Her nipples pebbled all the more, her eyes widened in excitement, and the satin of her skin grew as hot as the fire burning inside him.

Damn. But he loved her like this. All soft and womanly. Rocking against him, so reckless and open to everything...

He rose and took her mouth again, determined not to let it go by too fast, yet able to tell from the quickening meter of her breath she needed more, too, just as he did. Wedging his knee between her legs, he spread them wide and brought his leg up, so she could ride his thigh. She moaned and melted into his body, rubbing, seeking, finding, her tongue tangling with his, until he was as lost in their embrace as she was. Her breath caught even more as he stroked her, finding her center, the wet, velvety heat.

“Trace?” She kissed him again.

He kissed her back, still stroking and touching, making her his. Quivering, her hands found the waistband of his boxers, slid inside to cup him. She whispered, “I don’t think I can wait...”

Another thing he loved about her.

She was okay with living in the moment. And then finding another. And another...

Grinning, he peeled off his boxers. She climbed his body and still resting against the wall, wrapped her legs around his waist. One clever move on her part, and he was inside. Overcome with the feel of her slick, wet heat, he pushed even deeper. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to go, darlin’.”

He moaned as she clamped even tighter around him, bringing him home...

“Exactly what I thought when you first undressed me. And yet...” She pressed her mouth to his, kissing him softly, erotically, finding the same easy timeless rhythm of penetration and withdrawal. She sighed wantonly. “Here we are...”

“Together again,” he rasped, letting her call all the shots the first time they made love during a reunion, the way he always did. Being each other’s soft place to fall...

* * *

TWO ADDITIONAL BOUTS of hot lovemaking and a short nap later, Poppy and Trace finally showered and headed to her kitchen for a long-delayed first meal of the day

“So what’s on the agenda for today?” Trace asked.

Glad things were finally returning to normal between them—meaning not too serious or intense—Poppy took out the coffee. “Well, I was going to make a new wreath for the front door. Then, I have to run over to the office-supply and craft stores to buy supplies for the Holiday Cards for Soldiers project at the elementary school later this week.”

He lounged against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest “That’s right. You help out with that every year, don’t you?”

Wondering if she would ever get tired of admiring his taut, hard body—never mind the things it could do for her!—she shrugged. “The whole school does. It’s a way to show our military how much we appreciate all they do for us.”

“Want help with it?”

“Actually, I bet they’d like you to speak to a class or two, too. Tell them about your job.”

His mouth quirked. “I think I could do that.”

“Great!” Poppy grinned as their eyes met. “I’ll let the teachers know. Then...” Sobering, she took a deep breath, not sure how he would feel about it, never mind the timing, since he hadn’t even been back a full day. “I had planned to go to Fort Worth to visit with Anne Marie this evening. I wanted to let her know that we were married and to thank her for having so much faith in us.”

He moved so she could get into the cupboard behind him. “Want company?”

Did she ever.

Poppy’s thigh brushed his as she reached for the filters. “I’m sure she’d be thrilled to see you.” She stumbled slightly and Trace put a hand beneath her elbow to steady her.

“The only thing is...I was planning to spend the night in a hotel there, rather than drive the two and a half hours back tonight.” She felt oddly clumsy. Almost a little dizzy.

Must be the accumulated fatigue.

He slid her a look. “Do you have a hotel reservation?”

Poppy put the paper filter in the basket. “Yes.”

He watched her grind the beans. “Am I going to need my own room or can I bunk with you?” he asked as the aroma of fresh-ground coffee filled her kitchen.

In the past they had done it both ways, although they usually ended up spending most of their time together, anyway. Aware of his eyes upon her, Poppy added water and hit Brew. “I suppose we could share,” she said dryly, “in the interest of economy and all.”

And the fact that given a choice, I’d like nothing more than to spend another night making wild, passionate love with you and then sleep snuggled up together.

He nodded. “What time did you want to leave?”

Poppy got out the orange juice. “I said I would be there around seven, so...maybe three-thirty.”

“Sounds good.”

A feeling of peace descended between them. And something else a lot deeper and harder to identify.

“So...back to the wreath,” he continued affably as she busied herself pouring them each a glass of juice. “Do you want any help making that?”

* * *

SAY WHAT? “I THOUGHT the only thing you ever did for your mom’s florist business was deliver orders!” As the mood between them began to lighten, she pushed on. “That she wouldn’t let you near the creative side because you were all thumbs.”

“True enough.” He grinned at her playful needling then winked. “Maybe on purpose...”

“Ah. The old male trick of trying to get out of something through demonstrated incompetence?”

He rubbed the flat of his hand across his stubbled jaw. “Not that you would ever do the same thing.”

Poppy called on her inner Texas belle. Flattening a hand across her throat, she drawled, “Why, whatever are you talking about?”

His brow raised at her thick Southern accent. Still laughing, he said, “I seem to remember a flat tire or two...”

“Okay.” She flushed as his eyes surveyed her lazily, head to toe. “So I might have feigned feminine incompetence when we were in college, to avoid getting my clothes smudged with tire yuck.” A perfectly understandable ploy, in her view.

He put his glass aside and moved toward her. “And I might have enjoyed coming to your rescue.”

“That’s right.” Poppy gazed down at their suddenly linked hands. “The first time we ever made love was after you rescued me and came back to my apartment to shower and get cleaned up.”

He kissed her knuckles. “And we ended up in bed instead.”

Tenderness flowed between them. “Amazing, how long ago that was.” Poppy sighed contentedly.

“How long we’ve been together.”

And she knew it was all because they had never been foolish enough to put restraints on each other, and what they each wanted out of life. Or to do anything really crazy like, say, get married.

Only now they had.

Would that change anything?

And what would happen to their long-standing friendship slash love affair if it did?

Trace noticed the shift in her mood. He asked lightly as she moved away, “Was it something I said?”

A joke. Yet not a joke. Poppy turned the oven to preheat it. “No.”

“Then what’s bringing you down?”

Poppy wished she knew why her moods were so mercurial these days. It was like being on a roller coaster. Over the moon one minute, incredibly sad and weepy the next...

She brought out the bacon and began layering it in the bottom of a cast-iron skillet. “Is that another way of saying I’ve been frowning too much?”

“Looking near tears.”

Poppy retrieved the package of ready-to-bake buttermilk biscuits from her freezer. “I know I’ve been emotional lately.” What she couldn’t say—maybe didn’t really want to know—was why.

She got out the eggs.

Seeing the coffee was finished, Trace reached for two mugs. Poppy put up a staying hand. “Maybe later.”

He settled against the counter, aromatic beverage in hand. “Is it because you’re finally about to adopt twin babies?” He paused. “Or because of what happened years ago?”

Poppy should have known he would bring that up. He always did, whenever he was worried about her, in this sense.

And maybe, she thought ruefully, he had a right to be.

Glad she had him to talk with, Poppy released a weary sigh. “I admit I feel a little jinxed when it comes to me ever having a family.”

“Because of the baby we lost?”

God. How was it possible it could still hurt so much? After fourteen years?

Swallowing a lump in her throat, she concentrated on her task. “I know I was barely through the third month.” She broke eggs into a bowl and tossed the shells into the sink. “But I really thought I would carry that baby to term. And I would have, had it not been an ectopic pregnancy.”

“Instead, you lost the child and the tube and ovary.”

That had left her with two-thirds of a working reproductive system. And roughly half the ability to even get pregnant.

“Even after all that, you know, when I had finally gotten past it and we decided to actively try to conceive, I had hoped it would happen. That we’d be successful.” Have the perfect baby that was half me and half you.

“Only it never did.”

“So, can you blame me for being a little worried something might happen?” She hitched in a breath. “Again?”

Trace took her in his arms. “First of all, I don’t think it will. I think you’re finally going to get everything you want. Even if it is via adoption instead of pregnancy.”

You’re...going to get what you want...

He wasn’t talking about himself. Or them, Poppy thought sadly. Just her. But why should that even surprise her? she asked herself. Up until the past few years anyway, it had always been just her thing. Trace had merely been a willing participant and a good friend. A guy who was willing to be “The Dad” in the equation whenever he came home on leave. And how often was that? At most, once or twice a year?

He studied her expression, remorse tautening the ruggedly handsome features on his face, misunderstanding the reason behind her malaise. “But even if something does go wrong with this adoption—”

She pressed her finger to his lips. “Don’t say that,” she whispered.

He kissed the back of her hand gently. “I’ll be right there with you, to make sure you get the family you deserve to have.” This time it was his voice that sounded a little rusty. “It’s the least I can do.”

Guilt. Again.

Poppy’s spine turned as rigid as her heart. “You’re not responsible for what happened, Trace.”

“Come on, Poppy.” He stepped aside as she grabbed a whisk and the mixing bowl. “We both know if I hadn’t gotten careless, you never would have become pregnant, never would have lost the baby, and a good portion of your fertility, to boot.”

She whisked the eggs with a vengeance. “I could have had an ectopic pregnancy anytime. I could still have one in my remaining fallopian tube, if I ever did get pregnant, which we both know now is unlikely to ever happen.”