Poppy nodded. Thanks to her sisters’ help, they would.
“So what’s the matter?” Lily asked compassionately. “Why are you so glum?”
While they ate, Poppy talked about how weird and unsettling the past two days had been. How everything was absolutely fantastic one moment and then awkward or not so great the next. “And worst of all,” she concluded, “we nearly had our first fight this morning at the storage unit.”
“Over what?” Violet asked.
“Trace wants to pay for half of the nursery!”
“And that’s a problem because...?” Rose, the ace negotiator in the family, asked.
Poppy blew out a breath. “First, I don’t want to tell him how much everything costs, despite the employee discount I’m going to give myself.”
Lily frowned. “He’s never struck me as cheap.”
Poppy’s dinner sat like lead in her stomach. “He’s not the kind of guy who’s going to want to pay three hundred dollars for a framed painting, either.” The thought of disagreeing with him on anything left her feeling ill.
Struggling to contain her feelings, Poppy sat back. “I mean, you know Trace. Since he’s been in the military, he’s always stationed around field hospitals. He practically lives out of a duffel bag.”
“Maybe that’s because he’s never had a real home of his own to go to or to leave his stuff in.” Rose carried her plate to the sink. “He might feel a lot differently if he did.”
Poppy and her other sisters got up, too. “Or he might not.” She sighed. “The point is I don’t want to fight about this stuff with him. And this is the kind of stuff married people argue about. I know. Because I’m in the interior design business and I hear about it all the time. Although sometimes the situation is reversed and the wife is the one who doesn’t want to spend the money.”
Lily wrapped her arm around Poppy’s shoulders. “So tell him how you feel. Because you’re in interior design and these are your first kids, you want everything to be really special. Surely he’ll get that.”
“He did come all the way back here to marry you,” Violet reminded her, hugging her, too.
Poppy scoffed. “Only because he thought the paperwork wasn’t going to come through in time for the marriage by proxy.”
“The point is—” Rose stepped in to gently offer her support “—he was here. And he loves you.”
“Like a best friend,” Poppy insisted.
The triplets exchanged looks. Now she wasn’t the only one who was worried, Poppy noted.
“I think your situation is more romantic than you know,” Violet said firmly as the three of them headed upstairs to clear the office-slash-guest-room of other furniture.
Poppy stared at the sofa bed where she’d wanted Trace to sleep that first night here. “I know you all want to think that I’ve found the love of my life, and he me, just the way you all have with your spouses...” She shook her head slowly. “But what Trace and I have isn’t like that.”
Violet—who’d lost her first love to cancer before finding happiness with Gavin Monroe, advised sagely, “Well, whatever it is, enjoy it, Poppy, because before you know it Trace’ll be back on the other side of the world again.”
* * *
POPPY TOOK HER sister’s advice to heart, so when Trace finally arrived home the next evening, after multiple weather delays, she gave him the kind of warm, wonderful greeting he deserved. He returned her hug and kiss just as wholeheartedly. “Get the nursery done?”
She nodded.
He held out his hand. “Let’s see it.”
Up the stairs they went. Trace stood in the doorway long enough to make her heart pound. Then he walked in, grinning approvingly at everything, it seemed. The pastel chenille rug spread out across the wood floor. The glider rocker and ottoman. He even seemed to like the striped window treatment and the twin off-white cribs with the blue and pink bedding.
“Nice.” He paused in front of the framed Beatrice Potter print on the wall; took in the wide bureau with the padded change-table top. “Really nice. I can see you in here with the kids.” Taking her hand in his, he hooked his arm around her shoulders and tugged her close to his side. “Anne Marie is wild about it, too.”
Poppy gazed up at him, her heart hammering in her chest. Was this how all wives felt when their warrior husbands returned home after a day away? “She texted you, too?” she asked, practically bubbling with joy.
“Yep. She said it’s better than she ever could have envisioned. She especially likes the fact they’re going to share a room.” An impish smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “The question is...are we going to be sharing a room tonight?”
“I don’t know. It depends on how you behave,” she teased.
“I can be good.” He promised, mischief in his eyes. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he brought her close. Dropping his head lower, he shifted his lips over hers.
Tingles swept through her.
Lower still, she felt the stirrings of his desire, too.
“Or bad,” he caressed the shell of her ear with the tip of his tongue, “if you prefer...”
Her shivers of awareness turned into a cascade. The truth was, she liked him any way. Every way...
He lifted his head, stared deep into her eyes.
After a moment, she said quietly, “We’re really doing this. Aren’t we?”
His gaze turned warm, possessive. He rubbed a hand up and down her spine. “We are...”
And it felt so good, Poppy thought. So right. To finally be getting the family she had wanted with him for so long.
And speaking of the babies they were about to adopt... “Anne Marie also asked me about the names.”
Trace wrapped an arm about her waist. Together, they headed back down the stairs. Bypassing the boxes of Christmas decorations yet to be put up, he stripped off his coat and shoes and knelt to build a fire. “Have you decided anything?”
Poppy watched him angle the wood just so, the taut muscles of his shoulders and arms bunching and flexing as he worked.
Lower still, his thighs were really hot, too. “I really think this is something we should do together.”
“Okay.” He wadded up a little newspaper and stuffed it in the middle. “Hiram for a boy and Henrietta for a girl.”
“Trace...”
“Persephone for a girl and Pegasus for a boy?”
She handed him a match. “I know you’re not serious.”
“Well, they are going to be Texans.” He lit the paper and watched it flame. “So the boy could be Tex and the girl could be Tessa...”
She stepped back and propped her hands on her hips. “Is alliteration really necessary?”
He squinted. “You prefer we name them all flower names, like your folks did you and your sisters? Except I’m not sure how that would work with a boy.” He set the screen in front of the fire and stood. “Is there a flower name that would be appropriate for a boy?”
Poppy rolled her eyes. She loved it when he teased her this way; a fact he very well knew. “I was thinking more along the line of Trace Jr. for the boy. And a pretty, old-fashioned name, like Emma, for our little girl.”
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re serious?”
She hadn’t realized how serious—until now.
Taking her by the hand, he walked her over to the sofa. Settled beside her. “I hadn’t really thought about naming our son after me. But is it fair to you if our son carries my name and our daughter’s moniker is the only one that’s the same category as yours?”
Leave it to Trace to consider the situation from all angles. Poppy covered his left hand with her right and tried not to worry about the absence of a wedding ring. “We could put McCabe as her middle name. Emma or Ella McCabe Caulder. And Trace McCabe Cau
lder for him.”
“No preference for the girl’s name?”
“I like them both equally. I expect I’ll know for sure when I meet the babies for the first time. In any case, I’d like their names to carry an equal connection to both of us.”
His lids dropped sexily. “Me, too.”
Poppy grinned and leaned over to kiss his cheek, her worry over the future fading as fast as it had appeared. “I think we just made our first joint decision as parents-to-be,” she announced happily.
“The first,” Trace agreed, kissing her sweetly, “of many to come.”
Chapter Seven
“Busy day ahead?” Trace asked the next morning after breakfast.
Poppy rushed around, getting ready for work. Thanks to the fact that they’d made love twice last night—once before they went to sleep and another time just before dawn—she was running late this morning.
Not that she was complaining.
Her body was humming with that well-loved satisfaction only Trace could bestow on her. She smiled, loving the way he looked, lounging on the rumpled covers of her bed, clad in a pair of low-slung navy pajama bottoms and a body-hugging gray T-shirt. “I’m decorating Beau and Paige Chamberlain’s ranch for the holiday. They’ll be home from Europe tomorrow and they’re throwing their annual open house the day after that.”
“This is something you do every year, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Poppy put on a pair of gold Christmas tree earrings that Trace had given her as a joke five years prior. Although they were actually quite nice. Poppy spritzed on perfume and spun away from the mirror. “And the decorating theme changes every year, too.”
“And this year it’s...?”
“A New England Christmas.”
His eyes twinkled. “In Laramie, Texas.”
Poppy ignored the shimmer of sexual attraction between them. If she acted on it, she’d never get to work. “It’s going to be lovely.”
“Want some help?”
Wistfully, she let her eyes rove over his solidly built frame and powerful shoulders. “Actually, I have a full crew.”
He rose, went into the bathroom and came out, toothbrush in hand. “I could still help.”
Her master suite was small and cozy. Too cozy she sometimes thought. Ruing the fact that bath and bedroom opened directly onto each other, she said, “I appreciate the offer.”
He went back to the sink, which was located just inside the door, rinsed, spit and then lounged in the open portal. “But?”
He closed the distance between them in two steps. She could feel his body heat and breathed in the enticing fragrance of mint and man. “It will go faster if you’re not around distracting me.”
He rubbed his jaw in a thoughtful manner. His gaze took her in head to toe. “If I promise not to hit on you...like any newlywed might hit on his wife...”
She laughed at the exaggerated innocence in his low tone. “You’re determined to milk this for all it’s worth, aren’t you?” she asked, her heart kicking against her ribs.
“You can’t deny you’re enjoying our honeymoon, too.” He caught her in his arms and kissed her softly and slowly, leaving her longing for more.
Although she knew she could be late and leave most of the work to her staff, she also knew if they got back into bed again, they’d never get out. Not today, anyway.
Forcing herself to be the responsible business owner in this equation, Poppy splayed her hands across his hard chest. “Surely you can find something to do. I know you’re at loose ends. Maybe another short flight for Will’s charter air service?”
He dropped his hold on her and stepped back. “Already checked.”
Apparently to no avail.
Poppy went to her closet and pulled out a navy fleece vest to go with her plaid shirt and jeans. “Well, then, Rose’s husband, Clint, usually has a lot going on with his horses and his cattle. Particularly in the winter. You could always offer to lend a hand, since you used to do all that for your dad, growing up.”
Poppy followed him into the bathroom. She loitered nearby, watching him spread menthol-smelling lather over his chiseled cheeks and jaw.
He lifted his chin as he ran the blade beneath his jaw. “I know you mean well, Poppy, but I don’t need you to solve my problems for me.”
Hmm. Poppy worked her feet into her engineer-style work boots. Propping them on the edge of the tub, her stretched out thigh perpendicular to his, she laced them up efficiently. Straightening to her full height, she prodded in the most civil voice she could manage, “Was I nagging?”
Still shaving, he slanted her a glance. Suddenly, looking equally peeved. “More like managing—in the way that a lot of wives do.”
Surprised at how swiftly they were slipping into traditional roles in their non-traditional arrangement, Poppy flushed.
Next thing you knew she’d be writing him a Honey Do list. Calling him to see what time he’d be home for dinner.
Swearing, Trace shook his head, then looked her in the eye. “I don’t mean to whine like a kid at the start of summer vacation with too much time on my hands.”
Was that why he’d been initiating so much sex? He was bored? Poppy wondered, even more mortified.
Oblivious to her worries, Trace continued. “I’ve got cabin fever. I’m just not used to being at loose ends.”
Poppy straightened. Found the belt for her jeans hanging on the hook, next to her robe. Ducking her head, she threaded it through the loops. Asked what she couldn’t bear to while looking at his face. “You trying to tell me you want to go back to your unit? Spend the holiday with them?”
He bent over the sink and washed the residual shaving cream from his face. “Can’t. Even if I wanted to,” he said, his face buried in the towel, “my commanding officer is insisting I take the full thirty-day leave this time.”
Wow. It just keeps getting better.
Trace took in her expression. “Not that I’d do that,” he amended hastily. “I want to be here when the twins come home from the hospital. Help you celebrate their first days.”
Uncertainty coiled in her gut. “Right,” Poppy agreed with a smile. Afraid what else she would discover if she lingered, she grabbed her bag and swept down the stairs. “Well, I’ve got to go. And I’ll be late getting home!” she called over her shoulder. “Most likely, sometime after eight.”
* * *
TRACE DIDN’T NEED a marriage expert to know he had failed Poppy, in that same way his parents always failed their various spouses, without ever meaning to or ever really knowing why.
Otherwise she wouldn’t have rushed out the door as though the hounds of hell were suddenly after her.
Was this marriage?
Or just his DNA?
Regardless, he could do better.
Figuring he might as well make himself useful, he showered and dressed. Did the breakfast dishes and got out the Christmas decorations she’d taken from storage two days before.
There were, he soon discovered, a lot of them. Everything from candlesticks and a variety of wreaths and garlands, to Christmas ornaments for the tree.
That they didn’t yet have.
Suspecting picking out the evergreen might be something good for them to do together—and the kind of thing that Poppy might enjoy—he concentrated on stringing colored lights on the eaves of her bungalow. He then wrapped the remaining white lights around the stone columns fronting either side of the steps and used what was left to frame the front door.
Unfortunately the last strand of bulbs wasn’t quite long enough and there was a one-foot gap on one side of the door frame.
He bit back a curse. Evening it out would require undoing everything he had already put up. So, instead, he took a colorful yard ornament of Woodstock and several little bir
d friends, all carrying presents and wearing Santa hats, and propped it next to the door, hoping to disguise the shortfall.
Stepping back, he realized you could still see the problem with the lights. That meant there was only one solution. He’d have to stop at the hardware store to try to find a light strand long enough to completely frame the door.
In the meantime, only two and a half hours had passed.
So he headed for the jewelry store.
There, the owner’s wife, a flamboyant redhead, was only too happy to assist him. She looked up Poppy’s wedding band. “You know, I told her she should order you one at the time, but she wasn’t sure you would want to wear one.” Trace ignored the suspicion in Mrs. Brantley’s eyes.
“I intend to wear one. So if I could just buy it—”
She cut him off with a shake of her well-coiffed head. “We don’t have it in your size. We’re going to have to special order it.”
“How long will it take?”
She walked over to her computer. “Hard to say, this time of year. Could be one week, could be six...”
“Then maybe I should buy one that doesn’t match.”
An officious smile. “I really would not recommend that. Poppy wouldn’t be happy and in the long run, neither would you.”
Trace handed over his credit card for the deposit. “Okay, then special order it.”
“Wise decision.” Mrs. Brantley walked back to the display case. “So, have you thought about what you’re getting Poppy for a push present?”
Trace blinked. “A...what?”
“A push present. The gift all new dads give all new moms for pushing the baby out.” She lifted out a tray of diamond tennis bracelets for him to peruse.
Aware he’d never seen Poppy wear a bracelet, period, Trace lifted a staying hand. “We’re adopting.”
She nodded. “Which, as I understand it, is even more work. But in the end, you have a baby, and a new mom, and new moms like push presents.”
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