She returned his playful smile, but the usual enthusiasm seemed to be missing from her pretty brown eyes.
Hoping it was just the physical malaise dampening her usual good spirits, he walked back to the SUV, set the mistletoe inside and returned with a bottle of water.
“Thanks.” Poppy took one sip, then another.
“So why are you so anxious about the party?” he asked eventually, as she continued to study the barren Texas landscape as if it held all the answers.
Her slender shoulders stiffened. “I don’t know.”
Now she really was fibbing. “Yes. You do.”
Another pause.
Not sure if this was the time or not—but hoping it would help her mood, which admittedly had been all over the place ever since he’d returned to the States—Trace reached into his pocket. He withdrew the small velvet box he’d been carrying around “just in case” all day.
“What’s this?” she asked in surprise.
Trace put it in her hand. “Open it and see.”
Poppy flipped the lid.
She stared at the golden locket nestled in the satin folds. “It’s a push present,” Trace explained. “With room for photos of both kids. I think you normally give it to the new mom after she delivers the baby, but I figured that might not be appropriate, given Anne Marie’s feelings and all, so... I was waiting until we got the word our adoption had final approval.”
Poppy continued to stare at the gift, her lower lip trembling.
She had never reacted with this much ambivalence to anything he had ever given her before. “Is this not the right thing?” he asked gruffly, remembering Mrs. Brantley at the jewelry store—who’d been urging him to go with diamonds—hadn’t been all that impressed with his choice, either.
Poppy shook her head, letting him know he was on the wrong track once again. And then promptly burst into tears. And from the looks of it, they weren’t happy ones.
Chapter Fourteen
Poppy prided herself on the fact that she almost never cried. Never mind “ugly” cried. But she was certainly doing it now. The sobs coming out of her sounded as if she’d just lost her best friend. And in a weird way, she had.
This hasty marriage of theirs had upset the dynamics of practically everything.
“Would you have preferred something else?” Trace persisted.
Poppy blotted her face with the back of her free hand. “The necklace is fine. It’s b-b-beautiful, in fact.” And so thoughtful, which was just like him, damn it.
“Then why are you crying?” Trace asked gently.
Poppy shrugged.
“There has to be a reason.”
There was, but it was nothing she could say without heightening the tension between them and making them both feel worse.
“There isn’t,” she lied, her lower lip still quivering with telltale emotion.
He stroked his hand over her back, rubbing in deep, soothing circles “Then how about you hazard a guess?”
How could she tell him watching his mother marry someone for all the wrong reasons had triggered an inner unease in her about their own situation that she had yet to shake? And that this gift he had just given her, out of duty and obligation, only made their situation seem even more disingenuous. Because the popular axiom was right: marriage changes everything.
But even if that’s how she really and truly felt, how could she bring herself to admit it—when she had promised him from the get-go that getting hitched would change absolutely nothing between them? When she knew he still felt the same way he always had? It was only she who was changing. Wanting, needing, hoping, for more.
Aware he deserved some explanation, however, Poppy struggled to staunch the flow of tears. “It’s everything,” she choked out. The fact she almost had everything she had ever wanted. The knowledge that she never would have everything she had dreamed about, too.
“And it’s nothing...” She gestured inanely.
He tucked his thumb beneath her chin and lifted her face to his. “Come on, Poppy. Level with me.”
Still holding the jewelry box in one hand, Poppy rubbed a hand over her face with the other. She pushed away from him, away from the scrutiny.
“Okay, then, if you must know. I’ve never been newly married, never been about to adopt a child—never mind twins—before!” Never spent so much time with you at one clip, loving every minute of it, while knowing at the same time that soon it will all be gone, because I’ll have to say goodbye to you again for at least six months. Maybe more...
He steadied her with a hand beneath her elbow then stepped back slightly. Compassion and concern glimmering in his eyes, he asked, “Are you that freaked out about caring for the twins by yourself?”
Yes. And that scared her, too. For years now she had been certain she could do it all on her own. Without even her family for backup. The same way she had accomplished everything else of merit and value in her life.
Now, only to find...maybe she wasn’t so strong and so independent, after all. And that sucked.
As Trace continued to study her, an intimate silence fell between them.
With effort, Poppy pulled herself together. She pivoted, so he could help her put on the locket. “I’m sure my mood swings will stabilize once the babies are actually born.”
They would have to, she thought, swallowing around the parched feeling in her throat as he fastened the necklace.
“I mean, with twenty to twenty-four diaper changes a day, and at least twelve feedings, I won’t have time for all this self-defeating anxiety. I’ll just be in emergency mode.”
An inscrutable expression crossed his handsome face and he gave her a look that had her pulse jumping. “Which is likely the problem.”
Now he was seeing her the way she had never wanted him to see her. Weak. And needy.
She exhaled in frustration. She needed to get a grip. “Like I told you before, I will have help,” she said slowly, reminding them both there was no need to panic, even if she had already done so, at least a little.
She touched the locket as though it were a talisman.
“But what if it’s not enough?” he asked, his brows pulling together in concern.
“It will be, Trace. I’m already getting emails from the in-home baby nurse agency my mom and dad recommended. And since I’ll be living at their home temporarily once you head back overseas, I’ll have a ton of family support. So it really will be all right.”
These were, after all, solvable problems.
And if she had to accept that while she might be falling in love with Trace, he would only ever see her as his life and family partner, lover and best friend, well, then, so be it. The deep affection they felt for each other, and their mutual devotion to building a family together, would be enough to make her and the kids happy.
It would have to be.
There was no other choice.
* * *
TRACE HAD HEARD from other airmen how their wives sometimes fell apart when they were about to be deployed overseas. It usually sprang from the fact they had kids and being the sole parent on duty could feel like too much over time. But sometimes it was just the fact that the wives got lonely. And felt abandoned. Or needed more.
But that wasn’t Poppy. It never had been.
She had always weathered his subsequent sign-ups and absences just fine.
Always resisted putting unreasonable demands on him. Hell, really any demands at all. That was what he had liked about their relationship. They were both free to pursue their dreams, and just as free to come together whenever they could.
Poppy’s problems had always been hers to fix. Just as his had been his to rectify.
And that had worked for them just fine.
So maybe they should go back to
more of a separation of lives that had worked so well in the past? And not keep trying to merge the two.
“Look, we can cancel tomorrow’s party, if you like,” Trace said quietly, taking her hand and leading her back to the SUV.
Poppy seemed clearly affronted by even the suggestion. “No way. I’m looking forward to meeting more of your friends and their families.”
He slid open the passenger-side door and helped her inside. “If you’re not up to it—”
She settled into the seat. “I had some air. I’m fine.”
But she reclined her seat slightly, turned down the temp on her side of the vehicle and closed her eyes the moment the SUV started moving.
Fortunately they only had another fifteen minutes to go.
When they reached her bungalow, she evidenced a determined cheerfulness that was almost as scary as her sudden burst of tears had been.
But, knowing women who were about to give birth—and in a way that was exactly what was about to happen for Poppy via adoption—she was entitled to her moodiness.
As the “dad” in the situation, it was his job to make sure she was physically comfortable and to allay those emotions.
He headed straight for the kitchen. Got out the chicken soup he’d purchased the day before and slid it into a saucepan to heat.
“Monte Carlo or plain grilled cheese?”
“Plain grilled cheese.”
He got out the ingredients and assembled two sandwiches while she lingered nearby. He was glad to see the healthy color coming back into her face.
She released an exasperated sigh when she noticed him staring at her. “You know, you don’t have to wait on me.”
So she’d said before. Could he help it if he felt compelled to do so? Enjoyed doing so, more than either of them ever could have imagined?
He watched her take off the cardigan she’d thrown over her dress and loop it over the back of a chair. Her dress was sleeveless, which was good—it gave him a nice view of her incredibly sexy shoulders and toned arms. The locket looked nice on her, too, very mom-ish and right.
Figuring he owed it to her to take some of the pressure off, however, he pointed out calmly, “And you don’t have to throw me a party tomorrow.”
“Touché.” A slow smile tilted the corners of her luscious lips. She seemed to know instinctively this was one battle she wouldn’t win. He was going to take care of her right now, and that was that. Best of all, she was going to let him.
“But seriously...back to the party,” Poppy continued with a smile. “We are having it. So. What can I do to facilitate it?”
He gestured at the table. “Sit down and make a final list since I am guessing you’re better at organizing social gatherings than me.”
She rolled her eyes, grabbed a pen and paper. “No argument there.”
He laughed, as he was meant to, and slid the sandwiches into the skillet. The buttered bread sizzled as it hit the pan. “Paper plates, cups, even disposable silverware are all fine. We don’t need tablecloths...”
She made a disgruntled face. “We’re having tablecloths.”
“We can have the disposable paper kind, then.”
He was overruled yet again. “We’re having cloth,” she said firmly. “In fact I’ll use my Christmas ones. But disposable everything else will be fine.”
He turned the sandwiches. “You sound like a wife.”
“And you sound like a husband.”
They exchanged smiles.
“Do you have any coolers or anything to put drinks in?” he asked, liking the way it felt, simply hanging out with her. Better yet, enacting a life with her.
Poppy propped her chin on her fist. “I’ve got three large stainless-steel washtubs we can fill with ice and drinks.”
Trace poured the soup into bowls. “Great.” He plated the sandwiches and brought their very late lunch to the table.
Even as they ate, she began to fade. To the point that by the time she had finished, she could barely keep her eyes open. He studied the faint shadows beneath her eyes. Reaching over, he brushed his knuckles along her cheek. “You need a nap.”
She flushed the way she always did when he fussed over her. “Is there mistletoe involved in there anywhere?”
He appreciated the invitation to dally. “Maybe later.” He growled playfully. “For now, all you get is sleep.”
For a moment he thought she was going to argue. Stay there and say they had to do dishes, something. Instead she put her napkin aside and rose, hand extended, her slender shoulders slumping with exhaustion. “I’ll go,” she relented. “But only if you sleep, too.”
He went with her up the stairs. Moments later, their shoes were off and they were on the bed. She turned onto her side, he snuggled up behind her. Within seconds, she was fast asleep.
He waited a few more minutes then carefully extricated himself. Covering her with a blanket, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, stood looking down at her.
He hadn’t seen her this vulnerable since she’d lost their baby, and a good portion of her fertility as a result.
Tenderness wafted through him, along with a fresh flood of guilt. Even though she’d put on a brave front earlier, he knew she was struggling with emotions she couldn’t—wouldn’t—detail.
He wasn’t really sure what to do.
Yet he knew he was responsible for all of this somehow.
And that in turn made the idea of leaving her again all the harder.
* * *
POPPY WOKE TO total darkness.
She was alone, on her bed. Necklace on. Still in the dress she’d worn earlier in the day.
Trace was nowhere to be found.
Feeling disoriented, she turned on the bedside lamp, sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. A glance at the clock said it was nearly 9:00 p.m., which meant she had been asleep for approximately five hours.
And she was hungry again.
Go figure.
Still feeling a little unsettled, she walked downstairs. Trace was sitting at the dining room table, his laptop in front of him. Seeing him sitting there in her dining room, in jeans and a loose-fitting shirt, his sandy-blond hair all rumpled, it was as if Christmas had come early.
And often.
Grateful to have him there, in a way she had been too foolish to be earlier, she smiled.
She’d love to go to him and distract him with a hot and steamy kiss. But she could see from the logo on the screen that he was doing something related to the air force. Looked like paperwork of some kind. Official business.
That meant he was entitled to his privacy.
He turned, shifting so she could no longer see the screen. “Hey, sleepyhead.”
Deciding her initial instinct was right—he really didn’t want her to see what he was viewing—she moved out of eyesight and into the kitchen. “Sorry I disappeared on you like that.” She opened the fridge and took out the milk, thinking a glass of the icy-cold liquid might ease the gnawing feeling in her stomach. “I didn’t mean to nap so long.”
“I’m glad you did,” Trace called over his shoulder. He typed in a few more words. “Give me one second and I’ll be done.”
Poppy nodded and reopened the fridge. There was plenty of food inside, but it all required cooking. And this late, she really wasn’t up for it. Maybe a bowl of cereal?
She went to the pantry, perused the shelves. They had a few wheat flakes left—but not enough for even one serving. She had to remember the next time she went to the market: Trace liked cold cereal every bit as much as she did. “Have you had dinner?” she called over her shoulder.
“No.”
“Hungry?”
He was still typing. “Starving.”
As was she. “Any ideas?”
Happy things were normalizing between them yet again, she retorted, “Sounds good. And we’re in luck because Mack’s Pizza is open until midnight on weekends.”
He took her by the hand and led her to the spacious laundry room on the other side of the kitchen. She blinked at what she saw. “Wow. You’ve been busy.”
Trace moved behind her to allow her an unobstructed view. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he tugged her against him. “You know there is practically nothing in this town you can’t get delivered or ordered in advance?”
The warmth of his body was like the sweetest cocoon. She relaxed against the hardness of his chest. “That’s because no one has very far to go.” She studied the neatly stacked items. “I see you got all the beverages and party supplies.”
“I also ordered an assortment of Christmas goodies from the Sugar Love bakery. The grocery is holding all the meats, condiments and rolls. I’ll pick both orders up tomorrow, when I get ice.”
Smart. Poppy turned to face him. Winked. “I think you may have a future as a personal assistant. To me.”
With a wicked gleam in his eye, he stroked a hand through her hair, lowered his head to just above hers. “Oh, I could certainly do that...”
Poppy shook her head in amusement. “Yeah, right,” she murmured, going up on tiptoe to kiss him.
He kissed her back, just as fervently.
Finally they broke apart. “I’m sorry I was such a basket case earlier.”
He nuzzled the sensitive skin of her neck. “Ah, but you’re my basket case.”
Contentment swept through her.
He grinned. “Too corny?”
She shook her head. “Cute. Like you.”
His gaze drifted over her. “Now that’s corny.”
She laughed. “Then we’re even.”
He kissed her again, briefly this time. Then pulled back.
“I was serious about the pizza.”
“That’s good.” Poppy went to find her phone and the takeout menu she kept in a kitchen drawer. “Because I’m starving, too.”
Lone Star Twins Page 16