Intimacy simmered between them as they stared into each other’s eyes.
“You just don’t want to go it alone after they’re born,” Trace guessed.
You’re right, Poppy thought fiercely. I don’t want to do it without you. Not anymore. Where had that thought come from? she wondered. Especially given that this had pretty much been the plan from the beginning, at least until he had put in for the hoped-for transfer back to the continental United States.
Aware he was still waiting for her answer, she said, “I don’t want you to be deprived of bonding with the twins those first few months. I know from my own sisters’ kids there are so many changes, so fast.” Her breath stalled halfway up her windpipe. She blinked back tears. “I don’t want you to miss anything wonderful.”
Trace moved in close as pedestrians passed to their left. He caught her elbow in a light, protective grasp. “It’ll work out, Poppy, even if the stars don’t all align and I’m not here as much as I want to be in those first few months. I’ll still experience every moment through you. I’ll still be their dad. Still love them right along with you,” he vowed huskily.
But he might not ever love her, not in the deeply romantic way that she wished. And while she knew she could handle them going along with the status quo, she still wished she could have it all. With him.
Chapter Thirteen
“You’re still frowning,” Trace said as they walked toward the parking lot.
And she shouldn’t be, given the news they had just received. Unable to say why, without going back on their deal, and putting Trace in an untenable position, Poppy said the first thing that came into her head. “I was thinking about the nursery.” Not about whether or not you’ll ever love me the way I’m beginning to realize I’ve always loved you. She swallowed. “Had I known we had this much time...” Her brow furrowed thoughtfully. “I would have painted it before we set it up.”
Trace, who had reached into his jacket pocket as if to take something out, removed his hand. “What’s wrong with the color in there now?”
“It’s ecru. That was fine, for an office-slash-guest room. Very neutral and relaxing. But the walls in a nursery should be more cheerful.”
He shortened his strides to match hers. “So we’ll paint it.”
“We’re having a big party this weekend, remember?”
He shrugged his broad shoulders affably. “We still have Sunday afternoon and evening free, if you want to do it together.”
She raised a cautioning hand. “Actually, we don’t. Callie gave us tickets to a matinee performance of the ‘Messiah’ in San Antonio on Sunday. It’s so spectacular I try to go every year. But if you don’t want—”
He caught her hand before she could finish. “Of course I’ll go with you.” He tugged her closer. “Maybe we could even do a little shopping before or after.”
Poppy inhaled his brisk, masculine scent. “Which is another thing...” she confessed, savoring the reassuring warmth of his touch. “I haven’t even started buying gifts for my family.”
He put his arm around her shoulders and winked. “Then it’s a good thing we’re going to the city for a concert, isn’t it? Where all the stores are open extended hours. We could even stay in a hotel Sunday evening, if you want.” He waggled his brows suggestively.
Despite herself, Poppy laughed.
He went in for a kiss just as his phone buzzed. Their lips touched but it went off again. And again. With a sigh, he looked at the screen, frowned and lifted it to his ear. “Hey, Mom,” he said. “What’s up?” A short silence. “I’m with Poppy. We just came from a meeting.” Another pause. “What do you mean, what are we wearing? She has on a dress and a cardigan and looks ravishing, if I do say so myself.”
He grinned as Poppy playfully punched his arm. Holding the phone out of reach, he continued in exasperation, “A sport coat and slacks...Yes. I have a tie on...Because it was an important meeting.” Trace blinked. “You want us to come now?...Well, sure, I’ll ask her...Thirty minutes... Fine. See you then.”
He ended the call.
“What’s going on?”
Trace exhaled roughly. “My mom is looking at space for a florist shop in San Angelo. She wants my opinion.”
This was weird. “What do you know about commercial space?”
He smiled knowingly, sharing her bemusement. “Absolutely nothing.”
“Speaking of which...isn’t your mom’s current beau a commercial Realtor?”
Trace put his phone away slowly. “He’s going to be there, too. And, as you might have gathered, she wants you there, as well, to give your opinion. She’d like us all to go to lunch after.”
Poppy studied the taut planes of his face. The joy she’d evidenced only a moment earlier was all but gone. “Obviously you don’t approve.”
He grimaced. “I think something is up that she was reluctant to tell me on the phone.”
As it turned out, Poppy soon discovered, Trace was right. Bitsy was not only glowing with excitement when she greeted them, she was also wearing a sleek white-satin suit, with a white lily corsage pinned to the lapel, and sporting a rock on her left hand that could support a family of six for a year. Her beau, Donald Olson, was not only beaming, too, but he was also dressed in a very elegant wool suit.
“So what do you think?” Bitsy asked as they toured the newly refurbished space.
Trace shrugged. “It seems fine. A lot smaller than your current store in San Antonio.”
Bitsy tucked her arm in Donald’s. She cuddled up to him, her dreamy countenance a counterpoint to her crisp, business-like tone. “Oh, honey, I’m selling that.”
Trace turned. His tone hardened suspiciously as he asked, “Why? I thought it was doing great.”
Bitsy smiled and continued gazing adoringly at her beau. “It is doing great. That is why I’ve had a very nice offer on it. Enough to fund a trust that will in turn fund my eventual retirement.”
At least that was smart, Poppy thought, given Trace’s mom was nearing sixty.
Trace checked out the stockroom. “I still don’t get why you’d want to come back to San Angelo. When you were living here, you were always chafing to get out and move to the city.”
“I was. Then.”
“So what’s changed?”
“This is where Donald has his business, darling. And if we’re going to be married today...”
Trace braced his hands on his waist, pushing the edges of his sport coat back. “You have got to be kidding me.”
She wasn’t, Poppy noted as the tension level rose, right along with the acid in her too-empty stomach. Too late, she realized she should have eaten breakfast. Or at least grabbed some crackers to munch on the way here. Would have, if only she had realized how stressful this meeting would be.
Bitsy continued, in that instant looking every bit as mulish as her only son. “We have an appointment with the justice of the peace at one-thirty this afternoon. And we’d like you and Poppy to stand up for us.”
Trace narrowed his eyes at Donald. “You know my mom has been married—and divorced—eight times.”
The wealthy silver-haired Realtor remained unperturbed. “This will be my fourth marriage.”
Trace dragged a hand over his face. Finally he looked over at the two elders. “Which is all the more reason why the two of you should take a little time to consider this.”
Bitsy continued to glow from the inside out. “I don’t need to consider it, Trace. I’m in love with Donald.”
“And I love Bitsy, with all my heart and soul,” her beau said in return.
Trace groaned again. Emotionally, he implored, “Mom, please, don’t do this.”
His words fell on deaf ears. “I want to be married before Christmas. And I want you and your new wife to witness,” Bitsy insi
sted.
“At least take the time to get a prenup,” Trace said.
“We already have,” she answered. “Liz Cartwright-Anderson drew mine up.”
That meant, Poppy realized, his mother was well protected since Liz was the best family-law attorney around.
“And Donald’s attorney drew up his.”
“For the record,” the older gentleman said with the shrewdness of someone who had not only earned his personal fortune, but protected it, “both are iron-clad.”
* * *
AGAINST TRACE’S BETTER JUDGMENT, they witnessed the ceremony. They did not, however, join the newlyweds for lunch.
“You should not have been so hard on your mother,” Poppy said as they walked back to the SUV.
“I wouldn’t have been if I thought there was a chance in the world this union would last. But it won’t.”
Poppy thought about the way the two lovebirds had looked at each other. It had been sweet. And seemingly sincere. To the point she’d gotten tears in her eyes when the smitten couple said their vows.
However, noting the tense set of his shoulders as he slid into the driver’s seat, she tried to keep her tone neutral. “How do you know?”
Trace backed out of the parking space then gave her a sideways look. “Because my mom might like this guy—a lot—and be totally infatuated with him,” he said, easing into traffic, “but she doesn’t really love him, at least not in any lasting way. She just doesn’t like being unattached during the holidays and, as a consequence, is always buffeted by the emotional winds.”
Poppy could understand that. She’d been feeling unusually sentimental this Christmas season, too. For all sorts of reasons, she thought as her stomach gurgled.
“Yes, that was me,” Poppy said dryly at Trace’s stunned reaction, embarrassed she still couldn’t get a handle on her acid-generating-anxiety.
He asked in concern, “You didn’t eat much breakfast, did you?”
Try one bite of toast. One sip of milk. “I’m fine.” Although, she was starting to feel a little nauseated.
“Look, we can stop for something on the way out of town.”
It seemed wrong, to refuse to sit with Bitsy and Donald and then go straight to another restaurant in town. What if they ran into each other? “Let’s just wait until we get back to Laramie. It’s only half an hour.”
He braked at the stoplight, letting her know with a glance it wasn’t too late. “Sure?”
No. Not really. “Yes,” she said.
Big mistake. No sooner had they left the town limits than her stomach began to roil. She rummaged through her purse and came up with a peppermint candy. Maybe it would help.
“We need to get them a wedding gift.”
His jaw clenched. “No way.”
“Trace...”
“I mean it, Poppy. I’m not supporting this.”
She understood this brought up all the issues and uncertainty of his childhood. Still... “Given that you couldn’t dissuade her, you could at least wish her well.”
He waited until the way was clear, turned on his signal and passed a slow-moving tractor on the two-lane highway. “I know you think that I should have let my mother do whatever she was going to do without weighing in.” He accelerated until he had passed it.
“I do.”
“And while it may well be her decision, it always becomes my problem when it all falls apart.”
Poppy caught the apprehension in his tone. “What do you mean?” As her nausea rose, she did her best to concentrate on the peppermint taste in her mouth.
Trace’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “She calls me and writes me and emails me. Constantly. Wanting to know my opinion. Is she being unreasonable? Is he? Was the marriage a mistake? Should she divorce him or let him divorce her? Do I think he could be cheating, or if he’s not cheating, does it count if he is having an emotional affair with another woman or has just lost all interest in...? Well—” Trace exhaled roughly “—you get the drift.”
Poppy sent him a commiserating look. “Sounds pretty awful.”
“It is. Mostly because I know, even before I get one word out, that whatever I say is going to be wrong.”
Poppy rummaged in her bag for another peppermint. “So just refuse to weigh in next time.” She unwrapped it with trembling fingers.
Luckily, Trace’s attention was focused on the road. “It’s not that simple.”
“And maybe,” she said, sliding the mint into her mouth, “it is.”
Trace had no response. Either that or he just chose not to respond. An awkward silence fell between them. Feeling more carsick with every passing moment, Poppy looked out the window and studied the decorations on the homes and ranches they passed. Trace turned on the radio. Beautiful Christmas music filled the passenger compartment. Yet the tension between them remained.
Unable to bear it, because the last thing she wanted to do was to argue with Trace—now or ever—Poppy tried one last time to help him see the situation for what it was. “Look, my parents made their fair share of mistakes. The truth is, Trace, we all do. But the one thing they taught all six of us is that you have to let go when you love someone. Let ’em make their own decisions and suffer the consequences.”
“You’re saying I should support her fully and let her do whatever foolish thing she wants, no matter what?”
Ignoring the pressure rising in her esophagus, Poppy nodded. “And then let your mom own the aftermath, as well. Without you weighing in either before, during or after.” She reached over and squeezed his forearm. “It’s the only way either of you will ever be happy.”
“Independence...” He guessed where this was going.
Poppy gulped in air. Please don’t let me be sick. “Has always been...always will be...key, Trace,” Poppy finished determinedly. “Especially for you and me.”
* * *
IT WASN’T JUST the unusual quavering of Poppy’s soft voice that had him worried. Or the way she kept gulping in air. It was the color of her complexion, too. Trace pulled over to the side of the road, put the SUV in Park. And was quickly glad he had. “Are you okay? You’re looking a little green.”
“Actually...” One hand pressed to her mouth, Poppy unlatched her seat belt and opened the passenger door. “I could use a little air.”
She stepped out into the grassy field in the middle of nowhere. Took slow, measured breaths.
Alarmed, Trace moved up beside her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Are you going to be sick?”
Poppy shut her eyes. For once she let herself lean on him. “Not...if I can help it,” she gasped.
And as a few moments passed, then a few more, and her color slowly began to normalize, Trace began to breathe easier.
“Do you think you’re coming down with something again?” he asked when she finally straightened.
Poppy shook off the idea. “It’s just stress.”
He had a hard time buying that. “I’ve never known you to suffer this way before—unless something else was wrong.” Like the time she’d come down with mononucleosis her first year in college. Or the day she’d lost their baby.
“I had motion sickness as a kid, all the time. It didn’t matter what the mode of transportation—car, boat or plane, I usually needed Dramamine beforehand if I didn’t want to upchuck on one of my sisters.”
He chuckled at her wry tone. The fact she was attempting a joke must mean she was doing better. “That must have made you popular.”
She moaned comically. “You have no idea.”
He could tell that the crisp, cold air was helping her feel better.
“Plus,” she continued on a beleaguered sigh, “I was so nervous about our meeting with Mitzy this morning I didn’t want to eat much before we left, and then b
ecause my stomach was so empty, I had a touch of heartburn this morning during the actual meeting. Couple that with the lack of lunch and the occasional bumps and curves in the road...”
He knew that had all been a factor, but he still felt she was keeping something from him. Perhaps the same something that had upset her during his mother’s wedding.
And Poppy obviously knew it, too, which was why she turned away from him and headed a little farther away, until she was standing next to a strand of cottonwoods. She took a few more deep, calming breaths. “Well, what do you know!” She pointed to a branch. “Mistletoe. The real deal.” She fingered the glossy green leaves with the white berries admiringly. “If this isn’t a sign Christmas is coming, I don’t know what is.”
Trace reached into his pocket. Removed his artificial sprig. “And here I thought you were becoming rather attached to mine.” He waved it over her head then slowly lowered it at the same time as he dipped his head, not stopping until their mouths were oh, so close.
She held up a hand before he could kiss her. “I may be better,” she murmured ruefully, “but I’m not that good. Yet.”
“Then we’ll save it for later.” He pocketed the fake strand that had enabled him to steal a kiss wherever, whenever. “And get this—” he extricated the real sprig from the tree “—for the house and the party tomorrow.”
“Your military friends are a romantic bunch, I take it?”
He noted a faint wistfulness in her low tone.
Was he disappointing her on that level? Given how often and passionately they’d made love the past few weeks, it was hard to see how.
He shrugged. “Their wives and girlfriends seem to think so.”
The question was what did Poppy really think of him—as a husband? He knew she had turned out to be a spectacular wife.
Suddenly looking younger and more innocent than he could ever remember, she remarked, “A lot of pent-up masculinity beneath those uniforms.”
He ran a caressing hand down her spine. “And a lot of breathtaking femininity right here.” He gave her waist a squeeze.
Lone Star Twins Page 15