Lone Star Twins

by Cathy Gillen Thacker

  Trace inclined his head at the kitchen. “Are you sure you don’t want something to eat before we head out?”

  Poppy’s stomach vibrated with butterflies. “No. I can do that later,” she said with a smile. When I can relax. Turning the attention back to him, she moved closer, inhaling the brisk soap and sandalwood clinging to his skin. “Did you get something to eat?”

  “A sandwich a while ago.”

  His gaze drifted over her before returning ever so slowly to her face. He took her hand in his and gave it a comforting squeeze. “So I’m good.”

  “Then let’s go.” She led the way out the front door and into his SUV.

  “Why are you so nervous?” he asked as he drove the short distance to the hospital.

  “I don’t know,” Poppy fibbed.

  He lifted a reproving brow.

  She ran a hand over her eyes and turned her gaze to the holiday wreaths on the lampposts as they passed. “It’s just I’ve had a hard time being around pregnant women in general since I...”

  He pulled in and parked in the hospital lot. “Lost our baby.”

  “Yeah.” Poppy got out of the SUV. She met him at the rear, where the duffel was stowed. “I mean, I can do it on a one-by-one basis. Like, with my sisters. I just focus on the person and their happiness rather than their actual condition,” she told him quietly. “But whenever I do have to go to the gynecologist and I end up in a roomful of pregnant women, or worse—at the hospital around a ton of women who have just given birth—it sort of brings it all back to me.” She forced herself to go on despite the tightness in her throat and the ache in her heart. “And I know that sounds selfish and awful...”

  “It sounds human.” He consoled her gently, taking her in his arms.

  Snuggling against him, Poppy sought solace in his warmth and strength. “I’m sure it will pass as soon as I do adopt. Because I’ll be replacing the last of my lingering sorrow with joy.”

  Surreptitiously he removed a sprig from his pocket. “’Tis the season for that.”

  She pursed her lips at the plastic leaves and berries suddenly dangling above her head. “Mistletoe again. Really, Trace?”

  “Hey.” He used his free hand to cup her chin. “It comes in handy. Especially when you’re standing there looking so lovely.” He ran his thumb along the outline of her lips.

  Desire caught fire inside her. “We’re going to be late for class.”

  “Some things are more important.”

  His mouth slanted over hers before she could murmur another word. He kissed her as if she were the only woman on earth for him, and she kissed him back, just as passionately, savoring the hard warmth of his body.

  The feel of Trace pressed against her sent sensations rippling through Poppy’s core. Suddenly the sadness, the devastating loss she’d felt, all fell away. All they had in front of them was the brightness of their future, the realization of family and the perfectness of this moment.

  It was as if all her Christmas wishes had suddenly come true.

  Until they heard a discreet cough, that was.

  Blushing, Poppy and Trace broke off their hot and heavy make-out session. And turned in unison to see her very happily married brother-in-law, Gavin Monroe, leaving the hospital. He chuckled, shaking his head. “Newlyweds!”

  Poppy grinned.

  Indeed.

  Maybe she and Trace hadn’t done things the traditional way, but they were happy together and that was all that counted.

  * * *

  COURSE INSTRUCTOR MEG CARRIGAN looked up as they entered the classroom. The longtime nursing supervisor, and family friend, pointed to the empty floor mat in the center of the room. “You’re right there. Everyone, this is Trace and Poppy Caulder.”

  “Uh, McCabe,” Poppy corrected, blushing slightly. “I haven’t changed my last name yet.” Although it was something that would need to be done. And soon.

  “I’m with you, hon,” a vivacious brunette with an artful streak of blue in her hair said. “I didn’t change mine, either, when I got married. And good thing, too,” she added, hand on her swollen belly, “since it didn’t last.” Her companion coach, which appeared to be her older sister, rolled her eyes.

  Poppy didn’t know what to say to that, so she merely nodded and smiled.

  Another mom-to-be, a petite redhead, interjected, “I’m Louann. This is my husband, Jack.” Her eyes went to Poppy’s tummy. “I’m guessing you’re newly pregnant?”

  Trace put a hand on Poppy’s shoulder. “Actually, we’re adopting,” he said.

  The awkward silence in the room was palpable. Just as Poppy had expected.

  “We’re going to be part of the birth team in the delivery room.” If we ever get the final approval from social services and the agency, Poppy thought anxiously. “So we have to take the class.”

  Meg grinned. “Well, one of you is going to have to be the pregnant one. The other, the coach. The question is which of you is going to actually coach the birth mom?”

  Although they hadn’t discussed that, Trace immediately pointed to Poppy.

  She raised her hand. “I guess it’s me.”

  “Then, Trace, you’re going to have to be the one expecting.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “Are you a good actor?”

  He flashed a devil-may-care grin. “I think I can be.”

  Oh, dear heaven, Poppy thought. Give that man a stage. And a joke...and there was no telling what could happen.

  * * *

  DESPITE THEIR CONVERSATION EARLIER, Trace had felt Poppy tense and had caught a fleeting glimpse of her past heartbreak in her eyes the moment they’d walked into the classroom. He knew her well enough to sense she could easily burst into tears at any second, if things got too serious.

  He was determined not to let her humiliate herself that way. She’d been through enough already.

  “All right. I want the coaches to sit behind the moms or beside the moms,” Meg said, gesturing toward the comfy-looking floor mats placed around the room. “Which means, Poppy, you’ll be behind Trace,” she directed.

  Poppy nodded, her cheeks turning that telltale pink before the storm. So Trace did the only thing he could. He put his hand to his middle and groaned. Dramatically. “Oh, my word! It’s coming!” he shouted.

  Everyone broke into laughter.

  Meg glared at him. “You’re not in labor yet.”

  “Then what is this? Arghhhh!” Trace moaned.

  More laughter.

  “Okay. We can work with this,” Meg said. “Poppy, massage his shoulders. Whisper comforting words in his ear. Get him to calm down.”

  Trace’s “partner” leaned forward and began kneading his upper torso, her touch not exactly gentle. “Stop embarrassing us.”

  “Ohh-hhh-hhh.” Trace groaned even louder.

  Meg stepped in to demonstrate. “Like this.” She massaged his shoulders firmly but gently then handed the task over to Poppy.

  Poppy mimicked the instructor. As always, the feel of Poppy’s hands was pure heaven. Trace began to relax, despite himself. But when he glanced over his shoulder, to see how his wife was doing, he could see she was still on the verge of tears.

  That left him only one alternative.

  Still hamming it up, he sighed in ecstasy. Turning his head toward her and pulling her face down to his, whispered in her ear, “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so glad you’re here.”

  * * *

  “I THOUGHT FOR sure you were going to get us kicked out of the class,” Poppy scolded an hour later as they walked out of the hospital.

  “Just trying to lighten the mood.”

  For which she was grateful. His antics had kept her from bursting into tears. Several times. “Oh, you did that, all right,” she drawle
d, pretending to be more upset than she was. “I don’t think anyone completely stopped laughing the entire class.”

  He wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her closer to his side. “You look pretty when you smile, you know that? And even more gorgeous when you get the giggles.”

  She knew she’d been practically delirious with laughter, as had a number of other couples. “Stop now.”

  He moaned, as if having a contraction, and gave her a comically exaggerated come-hither look. “Coach me!”

  She elbowed him in the ribs. “I mean it.”

  He amped it up even more by doing the rhythmic breathing exercise that brought air in slowly and then let the tension out—by groaning.

  Afraid he was going to attract even more attention, Poppy trapped him in the shadow of his SUV and kissed him.

  He stopped clowning around and kissed her back until her nipples were tingling, her tummy was warm and weightless, and she could barely catch her breath.

  Figuring if they didn’t want to get carried away then and there, they had better call a halt, Poppy reluctantly broke off the kiss. She stepped back slightly and caught the teasing glimmer in his eyes. “Are you going to behave yourself, Lieutenant?”

  Another classmate couple beeped their horn lightly as they passed. Poppy and Trace turned to wave.

  “Well?” Poppy commanded archly, brows raised.

  “I don’t know.” He trailed a hand down her side. “Will you stop kissing me if I get serious?”

  “How about I resume kissing you—at home sans clothes—if you stop clowning around and just let us get there?”

  “Deal.”

  They got in the SUV. Able to see he was already thinking about the many ways he was going to make love to her, Poppy said, “Do you think I should legally change the name of my business, too, before the adoption? I mean, everything has been happening so fast, I hadn’t really thought about that. But if I’m already doing the paperwork for one, maybe I should do the paperwork for the other at the same time.”

  He slid her a look. “Your business has always been in your maiden name.”

  “That’s true. It’s always been McCabe Interiors.”

  “So maybe you should just keep it the way it is. At least for now, to avoid confusion. I mean, it doesn’t really matter if you go by one name professionally and the other personally, does it?”

  “No,” Poppy said. Either way, they were still married.

  But, she thought wistfully, there would have been something nice—and traditional—about having the same last name in all respects, anyway.

  And even nicer, if her husband had wanted it that way, too.

  * * *

  AFTER A BLISSFUL evening of lovemaking, followed by a night of sleeping wrapped in Trace’s arms, Poppy awakened rested and relaxed. Her only problem was—once again—a slightly nervous tummy, which she hoped to quell with a proper meal.

  “So, how many are coming to the party?” she asked while making toast.

  Trace plated the scrambled eggs and bacon. “Thirty-five so far.” He turned off the stove and carried the repast to the table. “In the end, I expect it will be more like fifty. I just haven’t heard back from everyone yet.”

  Poppy tried not to feel overwhelmed. Up until now she and Trace had mainly lived in their own little bubble. She hadn’t spent a lot of time with his military buddies; he hadn’t put in a whole lot of time with her family, either. Yes, they had gone to formal occasions—such as her sisters’ weddings—but most of the time they were alone. Talking, making love; just hanging out.

  At their wedding, there had been little opportunity to do more than cursorily greet the guys who had helped him out, last minute.

  “By the way, I told everyone it’s potluck,” Trace said.

  Poppy’s worry over fitting in with his work buddies vanished under the more pressing problem. She poured him a cup of coffee but, worried about a return of her acid indigestion during their upcoming meeting with Mitzy Martin, stuck to a soothing glass of milk for herself. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “It’s the way we always do it. That way, no one has to bear the full expense of hosting a big gathering.”

  Made sense. Passing on the butter, Poppy took a small bite of dry toast. “What is everyone bringing?”

  “I don’t know. Stuff.”

  Realizing belatedly Trace might want something on his toast, she went to the fridge and brought back peach and raspberry jams. “You didn’t organize some kind of sign-up sheet or something?”

  He helped himself to the raspberry. “No need.”

  He was such a man sometimes! “We could end up with all desserts or all meats.”

  His mouth quirked slightly. “That won’t happen. We’re supplying the nonalcoholic beverages, meat and dessert. I told everyone I’d barbecue steaks for the adults and hot dogs for the kids.”

  “Which means the only things left for people to bring are side dishes.”

  He nodded.

  She bit her lower lip, what little appetite she’d had, fading.

  “There’s no need to stress over this, Poppy. No one is going to walk away hungry.”

  She met his wry gaze. “Are you sure you don’t want me to try to coordinate with everyone?” So they didn’t end up with all potato dishes or all baked beans.

  “No. You have enough on your agenda.”

  “Still...” This was for him and his friends. So, even if it was sort of impromptu, she wanted it to be as nice as it could be.

  Trace covered her hand with his. “Listen, these guys are just happy they’re not eating MREs. Their wives and kids are happy to be with them.”

  Abruptly aware she hadn’t even seen a guest list, Poppy said, “They’re all married?”

  Trace helped himself to seconds. “Or divorced. But almost all of them have kids.” He smiled. “And soon we will, too.”

  If it all worked out, Poppy thought. They were still waiting on the final approval.

  Doing her best to ignore the mounting butterflies in her tummy, Poppy checked her watch and asked, “Ready to go?”

  Trace gulped the last of his coffee. “Hopefully, the third time will be the charm.”

  * * *

  AS IT TURNED OUT Poppy’s anxiety was all for naught. The Laramie social worker had only a few more questions for them.

  Once they were answered, Mitzy sat back in her chair. “When the two of you got married, I admit I had my doubts about the validity of the union.” She smiled. “Everything that’s happened the past week—the seriousness with which you took these interviews, the quick way you put the nursery together, attended a Lamaze class at the hospital, and Trace’s desire to return home from overseas—has made me feel otherwise.”

  “Actually getting transferred back to the US may take a while,” Trace warned.

  “I know. But just the fact you took formal action and put in a hardship request with your CO speaks volumes.” Mitzy paused. “And then there’s Anne Marie’s opinion. After meeting with you two last weekend, she is more convinced than ever that not only are the two of you the right people to love and care for the twins, but that you are madly in love with each other and will provide a great home for them.”

  Except, Poppy thought uncomfortably, she and Trace had never claimed, even to each other, to harbor anything but friendship and passion.

  Mitzy smiled. “So I plan to let the Stork Agency know this morning that you passed the amended home study with flying colors and you’re approved.”

  “Great news!” Trace declared, enthused.

  Poppy nodded, outwardly pleased, while inside, her private discomfort grew. She’d always prided herself on her directness. To the point that, having to parse her words felt wrong. Even to achieve a lifelong goal.

  N
ot wanting to spoil the moment, however, or to do anything that would throw a wrench into their plans at this late date, she gave the social worker a faint smile. “So what next?”

  Mitzy made a note on the pad in front of her. “We wait for Anne Marie to go into labor. Which could be anytime now.”

  Poppy was buffeted by yet another wave of anxiety. She reached over and took Trace’s hand in hers. “What do you mean?” She relaxed only slightly even as Trace squeezed her palm reassuringly. “She isn’t actually due for several more weeks!”

  Mitzy closed the file. “Twins typically arrive a few weeks early. If not, doctors will induce labor to prevent complications that occur if it gets too crowded in the womb. But not to worry. Anne Marie had a doctor’s appointment this morning. They did an ultrasound and everything looks fine.”

  “That was all good news,” Trace said as he and Poppy left the building. “It means I’ll definitely be Stateside when the twins are born. So how come you’re not smiling?”

  Because you won’t be here for very long after that, Poppy thought, studying the clouds looming on the horizon. Although the day had started out sunny, it was shaping up to be a gray and gloomy afternoon.

  Instructing herself to get it together, she pivoted to face her husband. “I was just thinking that, even with them coming early, you won’t have much time with the babies before you have to leave.” Disappointment roiled through her, mixing with the residual acid in her tummy. And that makes my heart ache for all of us.

  He paused on the entranceway sidewalk, briefly looking caught up in the anguish of the moment, too. Broad shoulders flexing, he shrugged. “Good thing we know how to make the most of every moment then, isn’t it?”

  It was. For all military families. And yet, somehow this was different...

  He cupped her face in his hand. “You’re really sad about this, aren’t you?”

  Stepping back, she dragged a hand through her hair. “I’m being selfish, I know. The important thing is the kids are healthy and are going to have a good home and we’re finally getting the children we have both longed for, and we’ve had this time, to be together, and prepare for their arrival. I do know that, Trace.”