Lone Star Twins

“Oh, yeah.” This time he didn’t bother to hide his exasperation.

“We should call this ridiculous wedding off now,” Poppy declared, “before it goes any further. And just find a way to elope by proxy instead!”

Looking ruggedly fit in his desert fatigues, Trace folded his arms across his brawny chest. “You really think that will work—with your family?”

He had a point. “You’re right. It’s probably best to know what they’re planning rather than be surprised at the courthouse.”

Trace gave the look that usually preceded him taking her into his arms and holding her until all her troubles eased. “Exactly.”

She rubbed her temple. “Besides, given how complicated this marriage by proxy is, it’s probably best we have all the help we can muster.” She studied the taut planes of his handsome face. “Have you talked to your commanding officer?”

“The paperwork from our end is under way.”

Another silence fell; this one only slightly less tense. He studied her, too, his expression gentling. “You going to be okay?” he asked in that tender-tough tone she loved.

Poppy thought about the family she had always wanted, the twins just waiting to be born and about to come home to her. “I don’t have any choice,” she told Trace. “I have to be.”

So she would be. It was as simple—and complicated—as that.

Chapter Two

“I can’t tell.” Violet peered at her older sister closely, four days later, as the two of them stood in Poppy’s old bedroom at her parents’ home. “Are you about to cry—or burst into the ‘Hallelujah Chorus’?”

Poppy grinned at the reference to her favorite Christmas music compilation playing in the background. “How about a little of both?” she quipped as she stepped into the wedding gown her sister held out. The truth was she was incredibly happy about fulfilling her long-held dream of having babies of her own in just a few short weeks. But not so thrilled about being pushed into a marriage neither she nor Trace wanted. What if it ruined what they had? Changed their relationship in a way neither expected?

“Everything has happened so fast,” she admitted as the heart-pumping finale of the “Messiah” ended and the more bluesy sounds of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” began. “It all feels a little surreal.”

Violet secured the hook at the top of the bodice and then moved around for the full effect. “Well, you look absolutely gorgeous, sis.”

A little sad Trace wasn’t here to see her in the gown, Poppy moved to the mirror to check out her reflection. “I just wish we’d arranged for the ceremony to be at the courthouse instead of the community chapel.” The downtown venue had been the site of many a McCabe wedding. And, unlike hers, the marriages embarked upon in the century-old building, had been hopelessly romantic, incredibly satisfying and long lasting!

Violet studied her sister with a physician’s caring intuition. “Are you also wishing Trace was going to be here—in person—instead of just watching someone else stand in for him?”

Yes, and no, Poppy thought, pausing to pin on her tiara and veil. Having him here beside her would make it feel as if they were entering into a traditional union instead of the modern arrangement they had agreed upon. So she was glad, in that sense, her best friend in all the world was thousands of miles away.

But not having Trace here depressed her on a soul-deep level, as well, since she always missed him when they weren’t together.

The twins burst into the room, both looking elegant and beautiful in their silver satin bridesmaid dresses. “When did you say Trace’s buddies were supposed to arrive?” Maggie asked.

“I’m not sure,” Poppy admitted, trying not to flush. “I haven’t actually been able to contact him for a couple of days.”

Callie did a double-take. Romantic as ever, she pressed a hand to her heart. “He hasn’t called you?” Or video-chatted or answered her emails. Poppy slipped on her satin pumps, once again feeling like the odd woman out, since not only was she the only non-multiple among the six McCabe daughters, but the only one not gloriously in love with her man, too.

“He might be out on assignment.” Otherwise, there was no explanation.

As expected, all five of her sisters exchanged worried glances. Luckily, just then, Jackson McCabe appeared in the door. “I just had a text. The military contingent from the air force is about ten minutes out. So we better get a move on if we want to get to the chapel before they do.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Her sisters chatted excitedly as they all made their way downstairs.

Poppy, with her voluminous skirt, entered the limo, along with her mother and father. Her sisters and their spouses and children followed in a caravan of pickups and SUVs.

Thanksgiving had been two days before.

Yet the downtown streets were already decorated for Christmas. Wreaths with red-velvet ribbons had been strung on every lamppost in town. Twinkling lights and decorations adorned many of the front yards as well as the businesses that lined the major avenues.

Once again, it seemed to Poppy, time was passing far too quickly.

The limo idled in front of the century-old chapel. Her mom got out and went in with her sisters and their families, and a steady stream of guests.

Finally even that dwindled. “Nervous?” Jackson asked gruffly.

Awaiting her grand entrance, Poppy nodded at her dad. More so than I ever have been in my life. Though she was damned if she knew why.

After all, Trace wasn’t even going to be here.

It was just her...and whomever he had chosen to stand in for him. And maybe, if she was lucky, her groom was back from wherever he had been and would be watching the ceremony via Skype.

So there was absolutely nothing to be anxious about.

A few more minutes passed. Finally her dad’s phone chimed. He grinned as he looked at the text message. “Trace’s military buddies have arrived. They just went in through the rear of the chapel.”

Another few minutes. Another text. Jackson opened the door and got out. “Showtime!”

Her jitters increasing, Poppy inhaled a bolstering breath. Accepting her father’s hand, she gathered her skirts in her other palm and stepped out.

Her hand tucked securely into the crook of her dad’s elbow, they stood at the top of the steps, out of view, and awaited their cue as the rest of the bridal party entered to the strains of Pachelbel’s Canon.

Finally, it was time. Poppy and her father glided through the vestibule and into the chapel.

There, in front of the altar, stood seven tall, strapping men in uniform. Most handsome of all was the sandy-haired air force pilot next to Reverend Bleeker.

Poppy blinked. And blinked again.

Trace?

* * *

SHE WAS SURPRISED, all right, Trace thought, staring back at her. Although no one was more surprised than he was to find himself in Laramie, Texas, for his own wedding, no less.

But now that he was finally here, he had to say he was damn glad he’d taken advantage of the opportunity given him and had headed back to the good old US of A.

Because watching Poppy come through the chapel doors on her father’s arm was enough to stall his heart.

She looked like a princess in the white satin gown. The high neck and long sleeves, closely fitted bodice and poufy skirt covered every sweet, supple inch of her. Her silky, dark hair was caught up in elaborate curls pinned to the back of her head. If he found fault with anything, it was that the veil covered her face and he couldn’t see the expression in her eyes.

Until she reached the altar and the reverend asked, “Who giveth this bride away?”

“I do,” Jackson McCabe said in a deep, gravelly voice. He turned, lifted Poppy’s veil and bent to give her a reassuring smile and to kiss her cheek, and then he handed her off to Trace.

As they faced each other, Trace could see the conflicting emotions in Poppy’s gorgeous sable-brown eyes.

Confusion. Delight. Anxiety.

Aware he was suddenly feeling all that and more, he followed the minister’s directive and took both of Poppy’s hands in his.

The ceremony was a blur. He repeated what he was supposed to say. Poppy did the same. Until finally the reverend said, “I now pronounce you and husband and wife. Trace, you may kiss your bride.”

Poppy gave him the look.

The one that warned him not to overdo it.

So of course he did.

* * *

POPPY DIDN’T KNOW whose gasp was louder—hers or their guests—when Trace took her in his arms, bent her back from the waist and planted one on her.

A roar of delight went up, followed by cheers, wild clapping and a yee-haw or two.

And still he kept kissing her; the touch of his warm, sure lips as magical as ever. A thrill swept through Poppy, followed swiftly by a surge of pure happiness. Unable to help herself, she wreathed both her arms around his neck and kissed him back with the same abandon.

It took the discreet cough of the minister to break it up.

The heat of her embarrassment flooding her face, Poppy opened her eyes.

Grinning triumphantly, Trace slowly shifted her upright.

More cheers followed, drowned out by the beginning of the recessional.

In the aisle, the airmen in dress blues stood with their ceremonial swords drawn into a canopy. Gallantly tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow, and still beaming proudly, Trace escorted her beneath the canopy.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Poppy murmured as they stepped to the front of the receiving line in the chapel vestibule.

Eyes darkening possessively, Trace gave her waist an affectionate squeeze. “Surprised ya, huh?” he whispered back.

And then some, Poppy thought, still tingling from his recklessly impulsive kiss.

“You look so beautiful,” he said, his eyes twinkling with delight.

Poppy grinned, aware he wasn’t the only one who’d had his breath taken away. “Right back at you, Lieutenant,” she murmured happily.

Then all was taken up by the formalities of greeting their guests. And it wasn’t until the two of them had dashed down the church steps, through a shower of bird seed and well-wishes, and were sharing the limo to the reception that Poppy finally had the chance to talk with him privately. “I gather this is why I haven’t heard from you in two days?”

Trace ran a hand beneath his closely shaved jaw. “I was on standby on several of the flights, so I wasn’t entirely sure I was going to make it in time for the ceremony.”

“But you did make it.” And he’d obviously found time to shower, too, she noted, the joy she had felt upon seeing him in the flesh still staggering in its intensity.

“It appears the only thing most folks love more than an impromptu wedding that needs all the help it can muster to be pulled off, is one between an active-duty airman and his bride.”

Poppy knew that was true. There was something about star-crossed lovers that appealed to just about everyone. Star-crossed lovers in the military, even more. Still...

She studied the just-cut perfection of his short, sandy-blond hair. “Why did you come?” Especially when he had never so much as hinted that it was a possibility.

A shadow crossed his face and he hesitated, as if not sure how to respond. Finally he said, “You seemed so overwhelmed when we last Skyped. I thought you might have trouble handling all this on your own.”

Disappointment jabbed her in the stomach, putting to rest any of the wildly romantic notions she’d had when she had walked into the church and seen him standing next to the minister.

Poppy gathered her thoughts slowly. “So you came to rescue me?” And not because he had suddenly discovered he was madly in love with her, as she knew everyone else who had witnessed their nuptials was probably thinking. But because he was her good friend. And friends helped each other out.

He nodded. “Turns out it was a lot easier to get permission to use some of the leave I’d accumulated than to push a proxy marriage request through military channels in the swift time frame you needed.”

Poppy stared at him in confusion. “But you did manage it! Liz Cartwright-Anderson showed me the paperwork this morning.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know if it would come through or not when I left a couple of days ago. At that point, the request was still in limbo. So to make sure the pending adoption went smoothly, I called in every marker I could.”

“And came back to Texas.”

He shrugged, as if it were no big deal. When she knew darn well it was a very big deal. “I haven’t spent the holidays Stateside in years.”

Mainly, she thought sympathetically, because he hated being caught up in the midst of his own quarreling family.

“Well, here’s hoping that this yuletide will be memorable,” Poppy said softly.

“I have a feeling it will be.” He took her hand in his and examined the wedding band. He didn’t have one, because she hadn’t expected him to actually be there. Thus they had forgone that part of the ceremony.

Winking at her, he drawled, “At any rate, we’re married now.”

Clearly, from the joking way he’d said it, it didn’t mean much, if anything at all. That was good. Wasn’t it?

Poppy swallowed around the sudden constriction of her throat. Honestly, the pending adoption plus all this chaos had her brimming with unchecked emotions.

Bypassing what she normally would have done at this point in one of their private reunions—climb onto his lap and really show him how glad she was to see him—Poppy stayed right where she was. Maintaining her ladylike demeanor, she met his eyes and asked casually, “So how much time do you have?”

Oblivious to how fast and hard her heart was beating, he flexed his shoulders beneath the formal blue uniform coat. “Total? Thirty days. Of which I’ve already used two.”

Trying not to dwell on how much she really would like to forget about the reception and kiss him again, Poppy quickly did the math. “So...twenty-eight.” Compared to what short time they usually got—this visit was going to last forever! And yet compared to what she really wanted—Trace stationed somewhere close enough they could see each other all the time—not nearly enough.

His hazel eyes twinkled down at her. “Of course, I’ll need a couple of days of that for travel time when I head back to the Middle East. But I’ll be here for Christmas. And the birth of the twins,” he promised as the limo reached the hotel where the reception was to be held.

It had all worked out perfectly, Poppy thought. So, then, why wasn’t she happier?

Chapter Three

“I’m so sorry your father didn’t show up tonight,” Bitsy, Trace’s mother, told him two hours later as he and Poppy came off the dance floor. “I mean, I knew he’d ditch the ceremony,” the gregarious San Antonio society florist declared unhappily. “That’s just the kind of heartless man Calvin is. But I thought for certain he would make the reception.”

Not sure what to say, Poppy did her best not to react to the bitterness in her new mother-in-law’s voice.

Trace hugged his diminutive, platinum-haired mother. “It’s okay, Mom. It was short notice. I’ll catch up with Dad before I leave the States.”

Bitsy gave Poppy another warm hug. “Well, just so you know, dear, I’m so glad the two of you have finally come to your senses and made it official.”

Trace scowled. “Mom...”

Bitsy straightened the hem of her beaded jacket. “Oh, hush. The two of you have essentially been married—albeit long distance—for years now. Even though you won’t admit it, everyone knows you’re head-over-heels in love. Isn’t that why you finally decided to adopt a child together?”

Uh, not exactly, Poppy thought.

“What I don’t understand is why you’re not trying for a baby the old-fashioned way.”

Actually, they had been, although that was a secret, Poppy thought.

“Unless you’re worried the distance imposed on you by Trace’s stint in the military will make conception all but impossible,” Bitsy finished practically.

“Mom, I am not discussing this with you,” Trace said firmly.

Make that me, either, Poppy thought.

Bitsy peered up at him. “But you do admit you want a baby with Poppy—badly?”

And I want one with him. Badly, as it were, Poppy noted. But just because they each wanted a family, and were willing to have one together, did not mean they were “essentially married,” never mind head-over-heels in love.

Exhaling roughly, Trace rubbed at the muscles in the back of his neck, reminding Poppy that the only thing he hated more than having his life choices dissed or second-guessed, was to have someone assign emotions to him that he did not feel.

“Ah, it’s not just one. It’s twins, Mom,” he said.

“Oh.” Bitsy paused in the act of adjusting a diamond earring, as if not sure what to make of that. “Well, that’s wonderful,” she said finally. Spying her latest beau, Donald Olson—a commercial Realtor from San Angelo, who was now first in line at the open bar—she waved and started to glide off. “Just make sure the little darlings call me Bitsy, not anything grandmother-ish.” She smiled over her shoulder.

“Will do,” Poppy promised.

Trace bent to whisper in her ear. “Maybe if we head back to the dance floor, we won’t have to endure so many blasted questions and theories and...”

“Advice?” Poppy quipped as she slipped her hand into his. “Don’t forget, we’ve been getting plenty of that, too. Like ‘don’t let the sun go down on your anger.’ Or ‘make-up sex is the best.’”

Which was ironic, since she and Trace never, ever quarreled.

Trace whisked her into the crowd of swaying couples. Hand against her spine, he brought her as close as the full skirt of her wedding gown would allow. “My favorite is, ‘never miss a chance to hold her in your arms.’”

Poppy let her body sway to the beat of the music, relaxing now that the big ‘romantic’ moments were finished. Their first dance, the toasts, the cake-cutting and endless picture-taking.

All of which had prompted an extended trip down memory lane. “Remember our very first dance?” Poppy tipped her head up to his as one of their favorite songs, the hopelessly romantic ballad “Wherever You Will Go” began.

His eyes crinkled at the corners, before making a wickedly provocative tour down her body. “The senior prom? You quarreled with your date a few days before...”

Reveling in the cozy feel of his hand clasping hers, and the even more possessive look in his eyes, Poppy let out a quavering breath. “So he ended up taking someone else.”

Trace nodded, recollecting fondly, “And I stepped in, as your friend.”

She’d come very close to falling head-over-heels in love with him that night. But knowing how he felt about romance in general, and infatuation specifically, had come to her senses in time to preserve their growing friendship and keep things light and easy. To the point they hadn’t even shared a goodnight kiss, when he’d finally dropped her at her front door at dawn.

“And you’re still doing it.”

The slow song ended. A faster up-tempo one began.

Trace offered a mock salute, brought her hand up over her head and twirled her around to the lively beat. “My pleasure, ma’am.”

“That’s Captain Ma’am to you,” she teased as he tugged her back into his arms then spun her out again, dipping her backward.

“Outrank me, huh?” His low voice radiated the kind of easy joy she always felt when they were together.

Doing her best to rein in her reckless heart, she admitted, “In some things...” Although at this moment she couldn’t think what. Not when she was matching her steps to his in the energetic beat and wearing a wedding ring he’d slid onto her finger. Had he ever looked more devastatingly handsome, more inclined to just have fun?

Even though the rational side of her knew this was all a formality, undertaken for the best of reasons—the babies they were soon to adopt—she couldn’t help but be swept up in the moment as the song ended and another much slower, sultrier one began.

Clueless to the hopelessly conflicted nature of her thoughts, Trace pulled her in tight against him.

Their bodies swaying as if they were made for each other, he drawled, “Well, then, Captain Ma’am—” with the pad of his thumb, he traced the curve of her lower lip and looked deeply into her eyes “—I guess I’ll just have to do what you say...”

* * *

TRACE HAD BEEN kidding when he said he’d follow her orders. But hours later, when she first laid down the law, he realized by her hands-off expression that she hadn’t been.

He stared at her in disbelief. She’d been getting more distant as the night wore on. He’d attributed it to fatigue and the stress of allowing people to see only what they wanted to see.

“You want me to sleep in the guest room?” he repeated, sure he must have misunderstood what she meant. “On our wedding night?”

She headed through the upstairs hall of her cozy bungalow, the voluminous skirt of her white gown hiding the delectable shape of her hips and swishing lightly as she moved. Steadfastly avoiding his gaze and keeping her back to him all the while, she stood on tiptoe to reach the top shelf of the linen closet at the end of the short hall, trying but failing repeatedly to reach the stack of clean linens and pillows. “You have to understand.” She frowned, rocking back on her heels, her soft lips sliding out into a sexy pout. “I didn’t know you were coming home for the ceremony.”

What did that have to do with anything? When had it ever? One of the things he liked best about her was that she was so easygoing and—usually—up for just about anything.

Not tonight.

He frowned. His presence was supposed to be a happy surprise, not cause for complaint. “I don’t get it.”

She lifted a desultory hand and waved it in the direction of the master suite. “My bedroom’s a mess.”

He cast a look over his shoulder. That much was true. Not only did the elegant retreat look as if a tornado had gone through it, spilling everything from lacey undergarments to high heels in its wake, but there was a good deal of Christmas stuff, too. Gift catalogs. Lists. Even what appeared to be the makings for homemade holiday cards and ornaments.

Not about to be sidetracked, when he had missed her so damn much, he caught her around the waist. Anxious to make up for lost time now that they were finally alone, he trailed a string of kisses down her silky-soft neck. Lingered at the sensitive place behind her ear. Felt her quiver in response. Satisfaction roared through him.

“So we’ll throw a few pillows on the floor,” he teased, reaching for the zipper of her dress.

Stiffening, she wedged her elbows between them. “No.” She wiggled free. “Trace...”

Not about to push her into anything, he dropped his arms and stepped back. Looked down into her face. “What’s wrong?”

Her dark brown eyes took on a troubled sheen. She brushed past him into the mess that was her bedroom. “When we agreed to get married, we said this wouldn’t change anything.”

He followed lazily, making sure to give her the space she wanted. Lounging against the bureau, he surveyed the soft blush flooding her cheeks. The turmoil twisting her sweet lips. “You not wanting to make love with me is definitely a change.”

Hand on the bed, Poppy bent to remove her high heels. “Don’t you see?” She let her skirt fall back into place, but not before he’d gotten a tantalizing glimpse of her long legs.

Trace felt his body harden in response.

Poppy shook her head. “After everything we’ve just been through the past six hours—”

“Seven,” he corrected. That was way too long. Usually, after months apart, they were in bed within minutes of reconnecting, which was why they usually met up at a hotel first.

Poppy frowned. “Okay, seven hours,” she corrected with an exasperated scowl. “If we were to make love now after all of that...”