Lone Star Twins

by Cathy Gillen Thacker

  He rubbed the pad of his thumb across her lower lip. “So maybe I’m not the only noble one in this family?”

  Poppy rose on tiptoe and kissed him with all the affection she had in her heart. “Let’s just say I learned from the best.”

  They shared another kiss.

  Trace hugged her tightly then stepped back.

  “But that’s not all I have to tell you,” Poppy said.

  His mouth quirked, as if he wasn’t sure what could be more life-changing than what he’d just said.

  Poppy went on excitedly. “Anne Marie wants us to be at the birth. To do that, we have to take at least one Lamaze class. So I’ve signed us up for the one here in Laramie, which meets at the hospital tomorrow night.”

  Trace favored her with a bemused smile. “Sounds...interesting,” he said finally.

  “I know.” Poppy had had the same initial reaction. Trace and her? In a Lamaze class? Together? She hadn’t been sure whether to laugh or to worry.

  She squeezed his hand. “We’re going to be like two fish out of water. But we can handle it.”

  To her relief, he seemed to think so, too.

  “In the meantime, do we have any plans for tonight?” he asked in that low, gravelly tone she adored.

  Poppy hesitated. “Not that I know of. Why?” She looked at him closely. “What do you have in mind?”

  He flashed that sexy grin. “Our first ever date night.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “You want us to have a date night?” Poppy stared at Trace in surprise. She’d never known him to be romantic. Sexy, kind, funny, smart and chivalrous? Yes, he was all that and so much more. But given to established courtship rituals? No. He steered as far away from those as possible. Yet here he was, asking her for their first actual “date.”

  His brow lifted. “Yes? No?”

  “I don’t know?” She was already feeling way too romantic and overly sentimental herself, so to do something like this would only add fuel to that fire.

  Yet he was apparently dead serious.

  A slow smile tilted the corners of his lips. “You want to be persuaded?”

  “Maybe.”

  Tucking his thumbs into his belt loops, he rocked forward on the toes of his boots. “All the married folks I know have them. So we should probably start the tradition, too.”

  Ah, yes. Tradition. That was exactly what the military was run on, too. No wonder he was suddenly so hot to take her out.

  “I thought we weren’t going to run our relationship like everyone else runs theirs,” she countered, still trying to figure out if she could do this without getting her heart broken in the end.

  He shrugged amiably and flashed her a sexy grin. “Some activities that come with marriage sound good.” He stepped close enough to inundate her with the soap-and-man scent of him. “Besides, what else do we have to do?”

  Make love, Poppy thought. Again and again and again. She straightened abruptly. “You’re right. Maybe we should get out of the house for a while.”

  While she went upstairs to freshen up, he took out his laptop.

  By the time she returned, still defiantly wearing the same old jeans, Polartec jacket, tee and shearling-lined boots, he was grinning from ear to ear. Her only obvious concession had been to take her hair down, run a comb through it and spritz on perfume. Although, he noted, she’d touched up her makeup.

  Determined not to make more of this than there actually was, she sauntered close to him, able to see he’d shaved, though she wasn’t sure how she’d missed him upstairs. The scent of sandalwood and mint clung to him. “Since this was your idea, big guy, where do you want to go?”

  He donned a leather aviator jacket over his charcoal-gray sweater while she grabbed her scarf and the dark green all-weather outer shell to her fleece jacket.

  “The town square,” he said.

  Poppy allowed him to help her on with her coat. She told herself the long-running spate of masculine gallantry didn’t mean anything. “Is the community sing-a-long tonight?”

  “Yep.”

  She spun around to face him. “Just when I thought you couldn’t surprise me any more than you already have...”

  He grinned at her triumphantly, taking her hand and leading her out the front door. A companionable silence fell between them as they walked through the beautifully decked-out neighborhoods. When they approached Main Street, the sounds of the high school band and choir could be heard, along with a spate of familiar yuletide melodies. Everyone was encouraged to join in.

  When the concert broke up, Poppy and Trace turned to the food venders set up along the avenue. It seemed that every booster organization in the county was selling something.

  “No need to play favorites,” Trace decided after they stopped for mini brisket tacos.

  “I agree.” Poppy wound her way over to the cranberry-apple tarts.

  Thirsty, they stopped for chilled bottles of water and hot mugs of peppermint tea.

  Together, they wandered the streets contentedly, looking at the window displays on all the shops and saying hello to old friends. Admiring the festive wreaths and red velvet ribbons everywhere, as well as the twenty-five-foot Christmas tree in the center of the town square.

  It was small-town life at its best.

  And, Poppy noted, Trace seemed to think so, too.

  He inclined his head at the booths still doing business. “Want anything else?” he asked her.

  Poppy shook her head. She let her hand rest against her middle. “I’m stuffed.”

  “Me, too.” He rubbed his thumb across the curve of her cheek.

  Poppy cocked her head, sensing a building emotion in him. “Want to take the short way or the long way home?”

  He took her hand in his. “Why don’t we walk down a few extra streets? See what kind of decorations everyone’s put up this year?”

  Poppy savored the warmth of his touch. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” she observed.

  His fingers tightened around hers. “What’s not to love?”

  She thought about what kind of change this signified. “I never thought you were suited for life in a small West Texas town,” she admitted wistfully.

  He pivoted toward her, the soft glow of the streetlamp making him look more ruggedly handsome than ever. “Never saw us married, either,” he said huskily.

  “And yet here we are,” she noted as they began walking. They passed a particularly cute Santa and his elves display. “Doing okay. So far, anyway.”

  Trace wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tucked her into his side. “Are you going to be okay when I leave again?” he asked in a low tone that told her she could tell him anything and he would understand.

  “I always am.” She flushed, hoping he would ignore the slight catch in her breath.

  He brought her in even closer. “This time you’ll have two infants.”

  Poppy turned her glance to a display of angels as a torrent of need swept through her. “It’s not as if you aren’t coming back.” She swallowed hard. “You are, right?” In the meantime, she had to be strong. Resilient. Keep to the agreement that had served them so well these many years...

  Tightening his grip on her shoulders, Trace stopped and turned her to face him. His lips thinned. “There are only so many open pilot slots, Poppy.” He paused to let his words sink in. “I’ve requested to be transferred back to the continental US as soon as possible, but there is no telling where I’ll be, within the country, when that finally does happen sometime next year.”

  Poppy shrugged; abruptly aware she had an ache in her throat and an even bigger one in her heart. “So maybe the twins and I will move closer to you.”

  Trace frowned. “I would never ask you to do that. You have a business here.�
��

  Ignoring her disappointment, she continued, pretending it was no big deal. “With my background in interior design, I could work anywhere.”

  “But you wouldn’t have the familial support network you do now,” he retorted.

  “I’d have you.” The words were out before she could stop herself.

  Guilt flashed in his eyes and his jaw tightened. “And I would be off on missions more than I was actually home.”

  A troubled silence fell. “So you don’t want me and the twins to follow you around,” Poppy declared, aware personal sacrifice had never been part of their deal. Just the opposite.

  His eyes softened, as did his touch. They resumed walking. “I would never ask you to upend your life that way.”

  “Then what do you want from me?” she asked, her voice quavering as they moved up her porch steps.

  He caught her in his arms, reading her heart as readily as her mind. His mouth lowered, lingered over hers. “This.”

  The feel of his lips on hers sent a jolt of electricity racing through her. Moaning, Poppy wrapped her arms around his neck, opened her mouth to the plundering pressure of his, and pressed her body to his. And once they made contact, there was no stopping with just one kiss. He stroked her tongue with his. She cajoled and teased with hers. Until they were both gasping for breath as if they had just finished a 5K run.

  Aware they were still standing on the front porch, Trace pulled back. The air between them vibrated with escalating passion and fervent emotion. He dropped kisses at her temple, along her cheekbone, the delicate shell of her ear and the pulse in her throat. Lifting his head once again, he looked at her and promised huskily, “I’ll come home to you and the kids, Poppy. All the time.”

  She knew he would. Knowing nothing had ever felt this right, Poppy kissed him again, sweetly, tenderly. “And I’ll be waiting,” she whispered.

  His brow quirked roguishly. “If this is any indication of the homecoming I’m going to get...”

  “Oh, it is.” She took out her key, unlocked the door and turned the knob.

  Pushing the door open with the flat of his palm, Trace accompanied her inside.

  Poppy turned the tree lights on and closed the drapes while Trace put away their coats and lit the fire.

  Their mood was quiet, contemplative and achingly sentimental as their first-ever date night came to a close.

  He pulled her to him and bussed the top of her head, clearly planning to make love to her then and there. “Do I need mistletoe this time?” he rasped.

  Poppy shook her head.

  The truth was he hadn’t ever needed it.

  She was his, for the taking.

  And he was hers.

  * * *

  TRACE KNEW THAT Poppy still wasn’t getting everything she wanted. A happily-ever-after like all her sisters had experienced. The ability to get pregnant by the man she loved and to deliver not just one, but several happy, healthy babies.

  He wanted to bring her joy just the same. And there was one kind of satisfaction he was very good at bringing her.

  He found her clothes, divested them one by one.

  Let her remove his.

  Before she could look at what she’d uncovered, he guided her onto the sofa and dropped to his knees.

  Parting her thighs with his hands, he leaned in to kiss her. Slowly, evocatively, until she was sliding to the edge of the cushion. Her hands were in his hair and she was holding him close, the taut tips of her breasts rubbing against his chest, even as her inner thighs provocatively cradled his hips.

  “Now,” she breathed.

  Lowering his head, he flicked the tip of her breast with his tongue, while lower still, his hand found her most feminine core.

  A wordless cry escaped her.

  His fingers paved the way, finding her rhythm in a way that left her shuddering. She rocked up against him. Hung on to him for dear life.

  He shifted her, moving her onto her back, then stretched out over top of her, already hard as a rock. Her eyes were unwavering, letting him know that all that mattered was the here and now. The two of them. The chance to spend the holidays together at long last. And the life—and home—they were building.

  He gripped her hips, leaving no doubt about who was in charge, and tilted her in a way that pleased him, pleased them both. With a soft, willing smile, she arched up into him, being creative with how she moved, inciting him to be creative, too. And still he kissed her, and she kissed him back, offering him refuge, until their hearts beat in tandem. What few boundaries still existed between them dissolved.

  Reveling in the soft surrender of her body against his, trembling with the need to make her his for all time, Trace slid his hands beneath her, lifting her. He penetrated her slowly, then deeper still. Her hands ran down his back and she kissed him insistently, taking even more of him deep inside her. She opened herself to him and he claimed her with unchecked abandon.

  When her release came—fast and hard and wild—his came, too. Hitting him with shocking force. Blasting him into oblivion.

  Afterward they clung together, still shuddering, breathing hard. “So this is married sex,” he murmured, dropping down to kiss one taut pink nipple then the other.

  She quivered at his touch. Not completely with pleasure, he noted in concern. “Too much?”

  “Never. But, yeah,” she admitted shyly, “I’m a little, um, tender.”

  “Just here?” He cupped her breasts.

  She flushed. “Actually, all over.”

  They had been unable to keep their hands off each other the past few weeks. “Honeymoon-itis,” he sighed, knowing this meant they were going to have to give it a rest, at least for the remainder of the evening.

  She laughed at the face he made and shifted so the length of her was draped over top of him. “There are worse things than simply cuddling,” she chided.

  He kissed her gently; acutely aware of the satisfaction he got from simply holding her in his arms. “But none better, either...” He winked.

  She chuckled again and pulled a cashmere-soft throw over them.

  No more willing to move than she was, Trace lay with her on the sofa, wrapped in each other’s arms, looking at the lights on the tree.

  Still loving the silken womanly feel of her, he caressed her bare shoulder with his left hand. Exhaled. Who would have thought contentment could be so easily had?

  Without warning, Poppy caught the gleam of gold on his left hand. “Hey! You’re got your wedding ring!”

  “I was waiting for you to notice it.” He held out his hand so she could get a good look at the band that proclaimed him a happily married man to one and all. “I picked it up this afternoon.”

  Delight radiated in her gaze. “How does it feel?”

  She seemed to be asking about more than the band. He was serious when he answered, “Exactly right.”

  And, as it happened, so was the rest of their very first date night.

  * * *

  ALTHOUGH THEY HAD REQUESTED, in lieu of wedding gifts, donations be made to one of several organizations that helped military families, there were still many thank-you notes to be written. Trace and Poppy tackled it together the next morning after breakfast.

  “I’ve been thinking,” she said as they wrote. “We need to do something more to thank everyone who pitched in to help with our impromptu wedding.”

  Trace stuffed, sealed and stamped several envelopes. “What did you have in mind?”

  She let her gaze rove over him. It was amazing how handsome he was, even with his hair delectably rumpled and a shadow of beard lining his jaw. She could really get used to having him around like this. Feeling so much a part of him, so...married.

  Realizing he was awaiting a response, she said, “A party for all your milit
ary buddies. Here or closer to the base,” she added practically, “if you’d prefer that.”

  Respect and admiration shone on his face. “I’d prefer to have them all here at the house, if that’s okay with you.”

  She forced herself to remain matter-of-fact. “Sounds perfect. Next question is when?”

  Like her, he appeared to think the sooner the better. “Saturday night?”

  Nodding, she finished another note. “If you give me a list of email addresses, I’ll prepare an e-vite and send it out.”

  He waved off her suggestion. “We don’t have to be that formal. I’ll fire off an email to everyone, inviting them.”

  There was nothing like her husband on a mission. “What about RSVPs?”

  “I’ll ask them to let me know if they’re coming or not.” He paused, his gaze roving her upswept hair, as if he were thinking about taking it down and tangling his fingers through it.

  “Anything else?” Poppy asked lightly, trying hard not to think how much she would have liked him to do just that.

  “Yeah. Write me a To-Do list. Make it a long one. Since I’m the one with all the free time on my hands.”

  Grinning, Poppy got up to get a yellow legal pad. When she found it, she came back to the table. She wrinkled her nose at him playfully. “You may regret volunteering to do this.”

  “Doubt it,” he teased right back, pulling her onto his lap. He settled her over the hardness of his thighs. “But if I do—” he cupped her face in his big hand and bestowed a hot, lingering kiss reminiscent of their lovemaking the night before “—you’ll just have to find a way to make it up to me.”

  Poppy grinned against the seductive pressure of his lips. If that way included a lot more hot lovemaking, she knew it would be no trouble at all.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Got everything?” Poppy asked that evening when she arrived just in time to leave for the hospital.

  Trace held up the cotton duffel bag containing the supplies the Lamaze instructor had said they would need to bring. Most of which had been borrowed from her sisters. All of whom had already successfully given birth.