“Tell him to come here,” Poppy said, realizing it was past time to turn the bacon and get the biscuits in the oven. “And ask him if he’d like a late brunch.”
Trace relayed her message. “Okay. See you in five minutes, then.” Trace turned to his bride. “He’s not going to stay. He just wants to come in for a minute.”
Somehow she wasn’t surprised. Calvin Caulder had never been—would never really be—a family man.
A fact that was confirmed when the six-foot-two cowboy walked in the door, hat in hand.
Everything about him said he was in a rush. “Sorry I wasn’t at the ceremony,” Calvin declared after greeting them both perfunctorily. “I didn’t want to chance a run-in with Bitsy.”
Trace accepted the apology with the sincerity in which it was given. “It’s okay, Dad.”
“Besides,” Calvin continued, looking so much like an older, sun-weathered version of his big-hearted son that Poppy wanted to cry, “you know how I feel about weddings.”
Trace recited, deadpan, “After three of your own, you don’t care if you never go to another one as long as you live.”
A nod and an acknowledging smile. “Three divorces will do that to you.” The cowboy reached into his pocket and handed over an envelope. “I figured with twin babies set to arrive any day that cash might help the two of you more than anything. In any case, I know Poppy will put it to good use.”
“Thank you, sir.” She smiled, noting the check was made out to her alone. Which made sense, right? Since she was the one with the local bank account. “And, yes, you’re right, I will.”
She followed him to the door, wishing he’d done more than throw the money and run. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” She knew it would mean a lot to Trace.
Calvin shook his head. “I’m on my way to Wichita Falls to see an Angus bull I’ve got my eye on. I want to get there before daylight ends.”
Poppy did her best not to see the raw disappointment in his grown son’s eyes. “Let me get you a cup of coffee for the road.”
* * *
AS SOON AS Poppy had disappeared into the kitchen, Calvin looked at Trace. “Walk me out?”
Figuring whatever his dad had to say was probably not something his new wife should hear, Trace nodded. He grabbed his jacket on the way and walked down the bungalow’s front steps to his father’s pickup, which sat in the drive next to the house.
“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Calvin asked. “It’s probably not too late to plead insanity, ask for an annulment or something.”
Trace sighed. Here we go. “Dad, come on.”
The older man didn’t even have the good grace to look apologetic. “Look, I know you want a family, son. And I’m all for that. But adopting twin infants when the two of you haven’t even lived together is not wise.”
The hell of it was, the sensible part of Trace thought so, too. Or would have, if he and Poppy had actually been planning to live together full-time. Thanks to his commission with the military, they weren’t. Life would go on, as usual. With the two of them seeing each other enough to stay connected but not enough to drive each other crazy.
“I want what Poppy wants.”
Calvin rubbed his jaw ruefully. “That’s what I thought when I rushed to the altar with all three of my wives.”
Trace let out a breath. “I’m not like you, Dad.”
“Sure about that?” Calvin settled the brim of his Resistol low on his brow. “This all sounds pretty impulsive to me. And impulsiveness is what has always gotten me in trouble.”
No foolin’, Trace thought just as Poppy rushed around the corner, her face a telltale pink. She had a travel mug in her hand. “Here you go!” she said cheerfully.
Calvin accepted the coffee. “Thank you, sugar. Well, good luck. Both of you.” He climbed into the cab of his pickup and started the engine. With a final wave, he drove off.
Trace turned to Poppy.
Without surprise, he noted she was not looking him in the eye. Suspecting the worst, he snapped, “Just how much did you hear?”
And, just like that, their vow to always be one-hundred-percent straight with each other went by the wayside.
“Nothing really,” she said.
Chapter Five
“Is this how we’re going to start our married life?” Trace asked brusquely. “Lying to each other?”
Regret shimmered between them, as tangible as the cold December air. “I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop.”
“But my dad isn’t exactly soft-spoken.”
Finally she did look him in the eye. “I have to ask.” She dropped her gaze then looked back at him slowly. “I know it hasn’t even been a whole day yet, but...do you want out?”
His gut twisted. “No. Do you?”
Shivering, she wrapped her arms around her. “No.”
Trace did his best to put aside the calamity his father had brought. “Then why are we standing out here when there is still brunch to be made?”
Poppy flashed him a bright smile that did not quite reach her eyes. “Good question.” She held out her hand. He caught it.
They walked back into the kitchen. Poppy poured him a fresh mug of coffee, herself another juice, then slid the biscuits into the oven to bake.
Just that swiftly, the companionable mood they’d shared had been broken.
He was disappointed, but not all that surprised. Poppy had always been elusive. Keeping her deepest thoughts and feelings to herself. Heck, she hadn’t even told anyone in her family what had happened when they were in college. Or even that she was minus one ovary and one fallopian tube.
And he understood that.
She hadn’t wanted her parents to know they’d been having a no-strings affair, and worse, been careless.
Understanding her need for privacy, that had suited him just fine.
But now, suddenly, he could feel her holding him at arm’s length for reasons he didn’t understand. And that did bother him, even as she went back into perfect hostess mode.
“So...husband. What kind of fruit do you want?”
He returned her genial smile, knowing she would give him everything she had—except a way past the barricades guarding her heart. “What do you have?”
She opened up the fridge to survey the shelves. “A fresh pineapple. Oranges. Some grapes and strawberries.”
Enjoying the way she looked in faded jeans, boots and a bright red sweater, with her hair spilling loosely over her shoulders, Trace shrugged. “How about all of the above?”
“You got it.”
Not shy about enlisting his help—in the kitchen, anyway—she handed him the pineapple, serving bowl, cutting board and knife. She went to the sink and began rinsing the strawberries. “Can I ask you a question?” she said finally.
He could tell by the tone of her voice that she didn’t think it was one he would welcome.
“What was it like with you and your dad when you were growing up? I mean, I know you rarely saw him when your mom briefly moved to Laramie in your senior year in high school.”
Ah. So this was what was bothering her. Their upcoming Q-and-A session on their families, with the social worker.
Trace cut the ends off the pineapple, then the sides. “I didn’t see him that much before then, either.”
“How come?” Poppy moved to the other side of the island and set her cutting board opposite his.
Trace frowned as he cut out the core. “When he was with my mom, he was always working his ranch. And she insisted we live in town, so she could be close to her florist shop—which at that time was located in San Angelo.” He exhaled slowly and a muscle in his jaw flexed. “Then, when they divorced and he remarried, his next two wives weren’t keen on having the scion of a previous romantic relatio
nship around. So even when my dad and I did see each other, things were...tense. Plus, I had half a dozen stepbrothers and sisters with those relationships. So there wasn’t ever a lot of one-on-one time with my dad, in any case.”
Poppy accepted the bite of pineapple he pressed against her lips, smiling as the sweetness hit her tongue. “And your mom remarried and had stepkids, too.”
“Six times before I graduated college and began my military service. Twice since, although from what she hinted last night, husband number nine is on the horizon.”
Poppy licked the pineapple juice from her lips, and he felt himself grow hard.
“What was her shortest marriage?”
Trace grimaced. “Two days.”
“And her longest?” Finished with the strawberries, Poppy began de-stemming the grapes.
Trace shifted his weight to ease the building pressure against his fly. “The five years she spent married to my dad.”
“How many stepsiblings did you have altogether?”
“At last count? Twenty-seven.”
Poppy joined him at the sink to wash her hands. “In that sense you put even the McCabes with their big families to shame.”
He nudged her with shoulder and hip. “We Caulders have to exceed at something,” he told her playfully. “And since it’s not marriage...”
Poppy handed him a dishtowel. “Maybe you and I—with our newfangled attitude about what marriage should and should not entail—will change the tide.”
Trace sure hoped so. He would hate for him and Poppy to end up the way his parents had. Either giving up on relationships completely, like his dad, or continually searching for that elusive happily-ever-after, like his mom.
He braced his hands on the granite countertop on either side of her, before she could move away. “Does that bother you? The fact I didn’t come from a family as well-grounded and loving as the McCabes?”
Her gaze turbulent, Poppy shook her head. “No. I just feel sad for you, that your childhood was so tumultuous.”
“And worried about our twins? That some of my family angst will somehow transfer to them?”
She splayed her hands across his chest. “I know you’ll be a great father. That they’ll be very loved by both of us.”
She always had believed in him. Just as he had always believed in her. He pulled her to him for a long, lingering kiss. She melted against him, soft and supplicant. When they finally came up for air, she had a glazed look in her eyes that thrilled him nearly as much as the way she surrendered to his kisses.
He tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “By the way. I never had a chance to ask. Do we know the sex of the kids we’re adopting?”
“A boy and a girl.”
He took a moment to imagine him and Poppy with a son and a daughter. “Well, that couldn’t have worked out better.”
The flush of excitement in her cheeks said she thought so, too. “Should we be talking about what we’re going to name them?” she asked.
The timer on the oven went off.
Reluctantly, Trace stepped back to let her pass. “You can decide that.”
She cast him a surprised glance over her shoulder.
“Seriously?”
He nodded. “Poppy, I want you to have everything you want, exactly the way you want it.”
She paused then turned to take the tray of fluffy, golden-brown biscuits out of the oven.
Trace didn’t need to see the slight slump to her shoulders to know that he had disappointed her. Why, he wasn’t sure. Any more than he could comprehend why she had asked him to sleep in the guest room the evening before. When she had to know, deep inside, that they would only end up where they had this morning—making love in her bed.
Figuring this was proof enough he wasn’t cut out for traditional marriage, any more than she was, he steered the conversation on to something they could deal with. Their road trip later that day.
* * *
TRACE WANTED TO DRIVE, so they took the SUV he had rented for the month, rather than her minivan. Poppy sat beside him in the passenger seat, reflecting on the events of the past week and trying not to fall asleep. That was not an easy task, given that Trace was unusually quiet, too. But that was to be expected, she told herself as she relaxed to the soothing Christmas music filling the interior of the car, since he had a lot to process, as well.
Finally they reached the north Texas branch of the Stork Agency Home for Expectant Mothers.
Located on five acres in a quiet suburb of Fort Worth, the four-story dormitory rivaled those at college campuses with its private rooms and cozy gathering areas, outfitted with televisions, sofas and chairs. A second building housed an infirmary, counseling center, classrooms and cafeteria. A large atrium bridged the two brick structures and served as a lounge for the young women and their guests.
“You didn’t tell me you were bringing Trace!” Anne Marie squealed when they walked in a few minutes before seven that evening.
As usual, the tall, golden-haired teenager had a textbook in front of her and a cell phone close at hand. Maybe it was the fact Anne Marie had grown up on military bases around the world, Poppy noted, or the recent loss of her dad combined with the predicament the teen found herself in, but she looked more mature than her seventeen years in some ways and tons younger in others.
Poppy clasped her outstretched hand warmly. “We wanted to surprise you.”
Anne Marie put her textbook aside and beamed at them both. “So you did get married!”
“Last night,” Trace affirmed.
Anne Marie checked out the gold band on Poppy’s left hand. Then looked at Trace, frowning when she saw he did not have a wedding band.
He lifted a cautioning hand. “We’re still working on that. Not to worry...it’ll be there by tomorrow.”
“That’s good.” Anne Marie tucked her phone into a compartment and zipped her backpack closed. “Because everybody needs to know you’re married, too.” She looked at Poppy earnestly. “Don’t you agree?”
Not if it made him feel hemmed in, Poppy thought. Out loud she declared as candidly as possible, “I think it’s always best not to have double standards when it comes to men and women.”
“Amen to that!” Anne Marie high-fived Poppy in a celebration of female power. Using one hand behind her for leverage, she settled in a side chair. “Do you have any pictures of the wedding?”
Glad for the rapid-fire subject change, Poppy got out her phone. “A few.”
Anne Marie scrolled through them avidly. “Wow. It was really pretty. You look like the perfect couple.”
Trace and Poppy sat on a loveseat, kitty-corner from her. “Thanks.”
When she’d finished, Anne Marie handed over the phone. “So did the local social worker come and visit you? My counselor here said they were going to send someone to amend the original home study.”
“They did, and that process has already started.”
Anne Marie looked as surprised as Trace and Poppy had felt that very morning. “It may take a week or two to complete, though,” Poppy continued.
Anne Marie ran a hand over the end of the French braid that fell over one shoulder. “It’s kind of a pain but it’s also kind of good, too, you know, that they check out everything so well.”
“It is,” Trace and Poppy agreed in unison.
The teen looked at Trace. She shook her head fondly. “You look so much like my dad. Even when you’re not in uniform...” She sighed wistfully, the grief she still felt showing on her face.
“How are you doing, sweetheart?” Trace asked Anne Marie gently, the military man in him coming through.
“I still miss him,” Anne Marie admitted, picking up on the conversation she and Trace had had the previous time they’d met. She absently rubbed a hand j
ust beneath her collarbone. “And get sad sometimes. But it makes me feel better that the twins are going to end up with a military dad, too. I know, if he were still alive, he would like that.”
Anne Marie shifted in her chair, as if unable to get comfortable. That was easy to understand, given her growing girth. The slender young woman had gained close to forty pounds, all of it carried in a basketball-shaped mound in front of her. “What about your mom?” Trace continued, recalling there had been trouble there, too.
Anne Marie winced. “We’re still barely speaking, but she’s not as mad at me as she was.” She leveraged herself out of her chair and began to pace, as if trying to walk off her physical discomfort. “The counselors have helped us both understand that I made impulsive choices out of grief over my dad’s death, and ended up pregnant. And my mom was so mad at me for making everything harder than it already was because she was grieving, too.”
Trace and Poppy followed the teenager over to the Christmas tree in the corner of the lounge. “So you think everything is going to be okay with you and your mom?”
Fingering a snowflake ornament, Anne Marie nodded. “Yes. Once things get back to normal.” She grimaced again. Her hand went to the center of her chest.
“Are you feeling all right?” Poppy asked.
Anne Marie sighed. “I get heartburn every time I eat now.”
“Is there something you can take to alleviate the discomfort?”
Anne Marie grinned. “Geez, you sound like a mom. And the twins aren’t even here yet! And, yes—” she comically mimed compliance “—I already did. It just hasn’t completely taken effect yet. In the meantime, I have a favor to ask.”
“Whatever you need,” Trace said with customary gallantry.
Anne Marie beamed. “Do you think next time you come, you could maybe bring me pictures of the nursery? So I can show my mom. And help her understand that you and Trace are way better than my second-choice couple on the list.”
“Is your mom still having second thoughts about us?” Poppy blurted before she could stop herself.
Anne Marie shrugged. “You know my mom. She’s really old fashioned. She likes the fact that the other couple has been married for a long time. But she also knows it’s my decision. And I know, once she hears you-all got married, and sees the pictures of where the babies are going to live, then she’ll know everything really is going to be all right.”
Lone Star Twins Page 6
