He caught her wrist before she could go anywhere and tugged her back down to the mattress. “In sickness and in health, remember?”
Except that they hadn’t really meant their vows. Not like that, anyway. Had they?
“I’m not going anywhere,” he repeated sternly. “Not when you’re sick.”
“But I’ve already had nearly a full night’s sleep.”
He leaned closer and gave her a tender glance. “We were exposed to the same germs at the school, remember? So if I’m going to get it, I’m going to get it. Lay down. Close your eyes.” He brought her into the curve of his body and spooned with her. Kissed her ear. “And go to sleep.”
Poppy didn’t think she would be able to do that, but figuring she could slip away once he was asleep, and spare him that way, she reluctantly closed her eyes. The next thing she knew sunlight was streaming in through the windows. It was late morning. And Trace was still asleep.
She eased from the bed and went downstairs.
And there, on the blinking phone, all kinds of messages awaited.
* * *
TRACE HEARD POPPY get out of bed and slip out of the room. Aware she might need her privacy, he gave her a few minutes’ grace. When he heard her moving around on the first floor, he got up, too, and ambled downstairs.
Poppy was sitting at the kitchen table, a glass of ginger ale and a plate of saltine crackers positioned next to her laptop computer. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders, the vivid color in her cheeks matching her pink-and-white-checked flannel pajamas.
Thinking the smell of coffee might make her nauseated, he helped himself to a glass of ginger ale, too. She looked alarmed. “Are you sick?”
He smiled at the protectiveness in her eyes. “No.”
She scowled. “Then you don’t have to drink that.”
“Really?” He closed the distance between them and made an exaggerated show of examining her visually. “And I thought misery loved company.”
Poppy moaned and buried her face in her hands. “Trust me. You don’t want what I had last night.”
Wondering if maybe she did have fever, he once again pressed his hand to her forehead. She felt warm, but just ordinarily so.
Poppy glared at him. “You’re aware the only other person who does that is my mother?”
Her sarcastic tone made him smile.
If she was this irascible, it had to mean she was on the mend. “It’s a fairly reliable indicator when there are no thermometers to be had.” He dropped his hand and pulled up a chair.
She rolled her eyes, grumbling, “Unless you’re in the desert.”
“Even then.” He waited until she looked him in the eye. “Fever usually feels like the skin is burning up from the inside out.”
Another eye roll. “’Cause it is.”
But she seemed to be calming down.
“Seriously.” Trace settled so his knees were touching hers beneath the table. “How are you feeling now, darlin’?”
Poppy swallowed. “Okay, actually.” She paused before nodding at the plate of crackers and glass of ginger ale. “I just don’t want to push it. So—” she inhaled a breath that lifted the soft swell of her breasts “—I thought I would start with this.”
Having been there when she got sick, he didn’t blame her. Figuring she might want to talk about something else, he nodded at her laptop. “Why were you frowning when I walked in?”
Poppy sighed. “A couple things from clients. One has decided a lamp she was completely in love with three months ago just doesn’t go with her home. Another’s decided she should have had the mother-in-law suite in her home redone, as well, and wants to know if I can completely overhaul the two rooms before her in-laws visit in four days.”
He hadn’t realized her job could be so exasperating. “And the answer is?”
“No. I understand the panic—when you have guests coming you suspect aren’t going to be happy. But this couple is on the kind of budget that dictates they are going to have to live with whatever major changes they make for years to come.”
“So there’s nothing you can do.”
“Not on that scale. I’m going to suggest they freshen up the suite with a new coat of paint, fresh bedspread and bath towels—that’s something I can arrange on short notice. And it won’t break the bank. But they are still going to have to decide exactly what they want, and that can be tough, too.” Poppy typed something. Paused.
“You’re frowning again.”
Poppy turned her laptop so he could see the monitor. “We also had an email from Mitzy. She forgot to give us a list of what the twins are going to need.”
Trace shrugged. “Okay.”
Poppy pointed to what she wanted him to see.
“‘Each infant will require ten diapers daily for the first month. Six to eight four-ounce feedings of formula...’” Trace read aloud in shock.
Quickly, he did the math.
“That’s twenty diaper changes a day! And twelve to fourteen bottle feedings, too,” he noted in amazement.
Poppy was the most capable and independent woman he knew, but could anyone handle that?
She scrawled a few numbers on the piece of paper beside her, noting serenely, “Or one hundred and forty diaper changes a week and fifty-six bottle feedings.”
Trace helped himself to one of the crackers. “You don’t look at all surprised.”
“I come from a family of multiples. I knew from experience it was going to be a lot.”
Not for the first time, Trace felt a current of guilt for leaving her so soon after the twins arrived. Yet what choice did he have? He was in the military. He went where they told him to go.
She picked up a cracker and took a very small bite. He watched her savor the salty snack. “How are you going to manage it?”
She tossed her head, the thick, silky strands swishing softly around her shoulders. “After you leave, my plan is for me and the babies to stay with my parents at their home, nights.” Clasping her hands in her lap, she settled deeper into her chair. “During the days, I’ll be here, and I’m going to bring in someone to help, probably for the first six months or year. Which won’t be a problem,” she said, warning him with a look not to offer her money again. “Although I wouldn’t have needed to make such elaborate plans if I had adopted one child, as I originally thought I was going to do. I could easily handle one baby on my own.”
Trace imagined that was true.
Poppy paused and raised one hand to point a little farther down on the email. Fresh color sweeping into her cheeks, she continued her tirade. “What bothers me is the fact that Mitzy not only felt the need to tell me this, as if I hadn’t already calculated all this on my own. She’s also requiring us to submit a written plan for how we are going to care for the twins once they come home and you leave. And that makes me think that she isn’t so certain we’ll make great parents, after all.”
* * *
TRACE NOT ONLY understood Poppy’s concern, he shared it. So when Poppy settled down to make the first of several calls to clients, to discuss their issues and possible solutions, he went out to take care of some “errands.”
First stop—the social worker who had caused his wife such worry.
He caught her at her office on her lunch hour.
Mitzy looked up from her desk. “You know our final Q-and-A session for the amended home study is not for another three days. And that’s really just a wrap-up-any-loose-ends-and-hear-the-decision kind of meeting.”
Trace lounged in the open doorway. “I just dropped by to make sure that you got the care plan Poppy emailed you this morning.”
Mitzy took the last bite of salad, then closed the lid on the container and slid it into her insulated lunch sack. “I did.” She studied him with a poker face. “But th
at’s not the reason you’re here.”
Trace wasn’t accustomed to begging. But if that’s what it took—to get Poppy what she deserved—then so be it. “Do you have a minute to talk?”
“I’ve got five before my next appointment.” Mitzy motioned for him to take a seat.
Trace shut the door and settled in the chair she’d indicated. “Poppy has the feeling you may not be gung-ho about us adopting the twins.”
Mitzy uncapped her thermos and poured herself some lemonade. “I know she’d be a great mother. The problem is...the Stork Agency requires us to ensure a couple of things.”
“Such as?”
“First, they require a good rapport between the birth mother and the adoptive parents, since they specialize in open adoptions that foster an ongoing relationship. You and Poppy have that, since you are clearly compatible with Anne Marie. And vice versa. Second, the agency has a policy that when more than one child is adopted at a time, there be two parents in a longstanding relationship who are also married, taking on the challenge. They also want to make sure that the marriage will last and that the couple is equally devoted to each other, as well as the idea of adoption.”
“So the kids don’t end up in broken homes,” Trace concluded.
“Right.”
“Makes sense. So am I right in assuming that I’m the problem in this scenario? Maybe because of my parents’ history of multiple marriages and divorces?”
Mitzy leaned forward, hands clasped in front of her. “Actually, it’s more you, Trace.”
He hadn’t felt this much on the hot seat since he’d been called into the CO’s office to explain why he should be granted immediate leave so he could make it home in time for his proxy wedding.
Mitzy’s glance turned even more serious. “So far, I’m not seeing much of a commitment from you toward these kids—or Poppy, for that matter.”
Trace scowled. What the hell was she talking about? He was here in Laramie, wasn’t he? Not to mention that he’d had to call in every favor he’d accrued over his long career just to get here.
“I’m in the military.”
She raised a brow at his curt tone. “I know.”
Trace cooled his temper with effort. “What do you want me to do? Quit?”
Mitzy tilted her head. “Would you?”
* * *
HALF A DOZEN errands later Trace returned home to find Poppy in the driveway, cutting the twine securing a Scotch pine to the top of her minivan. Her color was good. She was in a dark green Polartec fleece jacket, white tee, jeans and boots. She smelled good, too—like the apple blossom soap and shampoo she used. He parked his SUV behind hers and got out, container of chicken soup in hand. “Feeling better, I take it?”
“Much.” Poppy smiled. She walked around to the other side of the minivan, utility scissors in hand. “In fact, I don’t recall when I’ve ever recovered from the stomach bug so quickly.”
He set the takeout bag on the hood of his SUV and ambled over to her. “That’s good to hear.” He had hated seeing her sick.
She grabbed the trunk of the tree and pulled it toward her. He leaned in to assist. “You know, I would have helped you with this, if you’d told me you were going to do it.” He felt a little hurt at having been left out, oddly enough.
Poppy shrugged, recalling, “You’ve never been that into Christmas.”
With good reason, he thought. Given how tumultuous and angst-filled his holidays had been as a kid. His parents often either fighting over where he should be and when, or worse, trying to foist him off on one another so their own plans could continue without the hassle of trying to include a son from a previous relationship who—he readily admitted—had been a little surly and a lot uncooperative.
“I like it, as much as anyone.” Now that he was a grown-up, he could appreciate the value of Christmas as much as anyone and liked a good meal, a holiday movie or a little carol singing. If only because it reminded him of his homeland.
Together, they carried the tree up the walk, with him taking most of the weight and Poppy guiding the cone-shaped treetop. “I’m just usually not here.”
Poppy paused to unlock the door then wedge it open. “True.”
He upended the tree and, angling it just so, carried it inside. “Although you have a point,” he said as Poppy knelt to help him set the base in the metal stand. “The one year I was home for the holidays in Laramie—my senior year in high school—both my parents were in the midst of yet another set of divorces.”
“Not fun.”
“Not in the slightest.” He stepped back to admire their handiwork. Finding it leaning slightly to the right, he hunkered down to re-center the pine in the middle of the stand. “Which is why, after that, I always stayed on campus and worked through the holidays.”
Poppy checked the trajectory. Finding it satisfactory, she knelt to tighten the screws on the other side. “Well, now you have a reason to come home.” She smiled warmly.
He stood. “I do.” He extended his hand. She grasped it and he helped her to her feet.
Before she could move away, he whipped the mistletoe out of his pocket. One hand gliding down her spine, he swept her against him and indulged in a sweet and lengthy kiss. The ultrasexy kind he knew she liked.
“You are such a distraction,” Poppy breathed.
Trace waggled his brows. “As are you.” He bent his head and kissed her again until she pushed him away.
“But we have to get this done,” she said sternly, pointing to the boxes of decorations. “I want it up in case Mitzy or anyone else involved in the amended home study decides to stop by unexpectedly again.”
In that case...
Trace reluctantly put his desire to make love to her aside for another time.
“Speaking of which, Mitzy called while you were out. She mentioned you had been by her office.”
He shrugged as if it were no big deal when it had turned out to be a very big deal. “I dropped by to see if there was anything else we could do to speed up the approval process.”
“And is there?” Trace opened a box marked Tree Lights and pulled out several carefully wrapped strands. A quick check with the plug showed them to be in working order. “She wants to see more of a daily commitment from me.”
Poppy’s spine stiffened. “Well, that’s impossible.” She moved to help him unwind the miniature bulbs. “At least when you’re deployed overseas.”
Not exactly how he had planned this, but...
Trace moved around to the other side of the tree. “That was probably her point. If I’m going to do this, maybe I need to be all-in.”
He anchored the lights near the top.
Poppy strode closer. Tipped her face up to his. “In what way?”
“By requesting a hardship transfer back to Texas.”
Her mouth dropped open and she stared at him in shock. “Can you do that?”
Not sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing in her view, he shrugged. “Already have. I talked to my CO a little while ago. He said it’s going to take at least six months. Maybe more.”
“Oh.” Poppy laid her hand over her heart. Slowly, joy spread across her lovely face. “But, still...if we were to tell Mitzy that, it would have a positive impact on the process!”
“But would it be enough,” he said carefully, “for you?”
Poppy was not sure how to answer that. Buying herself time, she went back to stringing the lights.
“I would never tell you what to do with your life. Any more than I would want you to tell me what to do with mine,” she told him.
Finished with the lights, they moved on to the ornaments.
Trace fit the star on the top, made sure it was secure and stepped back. “Is that why you didn’t tell me you were pregnant back then, and
probably wouldn’t have if I hadn’t been with you when you realized something was wrong?”
Aware he had never asked her this—or any other hard question—before, because they had been so determined to keep things light and easy between them, Poppy shrugged. “We had just graduated from college. I’d started a new job. You were just a few weeks away from heading off to flight school.”
His face remained impassive. “So?”
Had she let him down?
Poppy bit her lip and tried again. “I know how gallant you are, at heart, Trace.”
He narrowed his gaze. “And that’s a bad thing?”
Poppy attached a pretty glass bulb to a branch. “It is when it leads you to do something that eventually ends up feeling like a lie.” She took out another bulb and handed one to Trace, too. “Bottom line, I was afraid if I told you we had a baby on the way that you would do what our parents would have considered the right thing, and stick around and marry me.”
He didn’t deny it.
Poppy looked him in the eye. “I didn’t want to trap you. And it would have felt like a trap if I’d told you, even if it was an unintentional one.”
He remained silent, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.
Aware at times like this she really didn’t understand the strong, silent guy beside her, Poppy attached several more glass bulbs in quick order. “Besides, I knew I was independent enough and savvy enough to have a baby on my own.”
He came near enough she could feel his body heat. “No one’s disputing that,” he said huskily in her ear.
“Then?” Poppy turned to face him, her arm grazing his in the process.
He reached out his hands to steady her. Looked down at her. “I would have wanted to share in the responsibility.”
The ache in Poppy’s heart moved to her throat. “And you would have had a part in that baby’s life—as much as you wanted,” she explained softly. “After you had achieved your dream of becoming a military pilot. You wouldn’t have had to marry me to do that, or forfeited your desire to serve and protect our country. And I knew you would realize that you could have both, once you actually entered flight school and started realizing your dream.” She blinked back the tears pressing behind her eyes.
Lone Star Twins Page 12