His palm heated beneath hers. He ducked his head, the side of his jaw brushing her temple. “Why not do it in the microwave?”
Poppy inhaled the heady sandalwood-and-soap scent of him. Would she ever be less physically aware of him?
“Because it is way too easy to burn it that way,” she said, moving so he could manage the task himself. And she could stay focused.
He seemed skeptical.
She quirked a brow. “Have you ever smelled burned chocolate?”
His gaze tracked the careless way she’d piled her hair up high on her head, with a few wispy strands escaping, and she could tell that he was thinking about taking it right back down.
“No,” he said, “can’t say that I have.”
Trying not to think about the hot, hungry look in his eyes, Poppy swung away. “Then be glad.” She stood on tiptoe and took out the rest of the ingredients. “It’s horrendous enough to turn you off chocolate forever.”
Trace’s glance moved lovingly over her hips to her waist and breasts. “Well, now,” he said in that sexily gruff voice she loved, “that would be a shame.”
Not, Poppy thought, if she still had him.
With him to keep her company, she wouldn’t need chocolate to boost her spirits. Or peppermint ice cream, either. She’d have company and sweet, arousing kisses...
And lots and lots of...sex.
While he was stirring, Trace squinted at the fireplace.
Uh-oh, Poppy thought.
Noting it was all melted, Trace removed the pot and bowl atop it from the burner and set it aside to cool. Then, furrowing his brow even more, he strode toward the living room. “Have you been switching the wreaths around?” Poppy added sugar to the melted butter in the mixing bowl then turned the stand mixer to low speed. She tried not to flush. “Ah, maybe.”
He spun toward her with a snort. “When?”
Oh, dear, oh, dear, oh, dear.
Poppy broke the required number of eggs into a glass dish, picked out a piece of shell and then slowly added them to the mixing bowl. She kept her gaze averted. “When I had a moment...”
He trod closer with panther-like grace. Stood just next to her. “When was that?” he taunted, chuckling softly. “When I was sleeping? You know, you didn’t have to do that in secret. You could have done it in front of me, or even asked me to help. I wouldn’t have minded.”
But what if he had?
They would have quarreled.
And she really did not want to quarrel with Trace. Any more than she wanted to hurt his feelings. Or to have hers hurt, either.
Was this where living together—even temporarily—got them?
Poppy began measuring out the flour in yet another big bowl, added salt and baking powder and whisked them all together. “I appreciate what you tried to do.”
His jaw tightened. “I just didn’t do it right.”
She saw she had really touched a nerve with him. “And this reminds you of...?”
Was that a barely audible sigh she heard?
“Many of my ex-stepparents.”
Ouch. When had life gotten so messy and complicated? “I’m sorry.” And she was.
His expression softened. “Don’t be.” He rubbed his thumb across her cheek. “On you, that perfectionist streak is kind of cute.”
Just as on him...
She really needed to get back to cooking. “I think the chocolate is cool enough.” Together, they worked to slowly add the chocolate to the mixing bowl. When it was fully incorporated, they added the dry ingredients to the wet.
He stood next to her, watching. “Nice.”
This was nice, she thought wistfully. Making Christmas cookies together. “Now for the sticky part,” she cautioned.
“Sounds...interesting.” He flashed a wicked smile.
She flushed—as he meant her to.
“Pay attention, Lieutenant,” she said sternly.
“Yes, ma’am.” He gave her a salute.
Her pulse racing, she showed him how to take a teaspoonful in the center of his palm and roll it into a ball. And from there, dip it in confectioner’s sugar and place it on the baking sheet.
He studied his handiwork. “That’s it?”
“That’s it one hundred and forty-three more times.”
His lips quirked ruefully. “And how did you talk me into this?”
She wiped a smudge of confectioner’s sugar from his jaw. “You volunteered.”
“Which is what usually gets me into trouble,” he growled.
They worked for several more minutes until they had a dozen cookies on a sheet, ready to put in the oven.
Poppy paused to wash her hands. “Trace?”
He joined her at the sink and washed his palms, too. “Hmm?”
She lounged against the counter, pivoting to face him. “Do you regret saying yes to me...about getting married?”
Hands braced on her hips, he brought her against him. “What do you think?”
Think or hope? Poppy swallowed around the sudden dryness in her throat. “That you’re as excited about starting a family as I am.”
He bent his head and kissed her, showing her just how much. Dimly, Poppy heard a buzzing sound. She was inclined to ignore it until she remembered it was the signal that the oven had preheated and was ready for the first batch. Reluctantly she broke off the clinch. They were both breathing raggedly as he pressed his forehead to hers. “The cookies...” she gasped.
“Will get baked,” he vowed, kissing her again, hard and hungrily, until she could barely remember her own name. With a grin, he took her by the hand. “But right now we need some R and R...”
* * *
THEIR REST AND RECREATION ended up taking an hour. That left them on a strict schedule for the rest of the marathon cookie-baking session.
Finally finished, they packaged the freshly baked confections then rushed upstairs to change for the party. And it was when they were just about ready to walk out the door that the call came through.
“Hey, Will,” Trace said, answering his phone, “what’s up?” He listened, his expression sobering. “Sure. I can help you out. No problem. See you in ten.”
“Ten?” Please tell me it’s not—
“Minutes.” That was about the time it took to get to the Laramie airstrip from her place. Poppy’s heart sank, even as she warned herself not to be so selfish. “Another flight?”
Trace nodded, already in rescue mode. “There’s a heart that needs to be picked up ASAP and flown to Minneapolis for a transplant. The pilot who was going to do it just came down with the stomach flu. I told Will that I’d do it.”
She felt a sudden twinge of guilt. These were problems much bigger than any she had. “Of course.”
He frowned, his voice full of regret. “I’ll miss the party at your mom and dad’s.”
Poppy clasped his shoulders and tilted her chin up to brush her lips against his. “I’ll save you some cookies.”
He reached for his keys and wallet, already focused on his mission. “I’ve got to go.”
Nodding, she crossed her arms at her chest. “Be safe.”
Just that swiftly, he came back and kissed her, harder and longer this time. He muttered something beneath his breath she couldn’t quite catch and then was gone.
Poppy stood there watching until he was long out of sight. With a sigh, she loaded up the cookies herself and headed for her parents’ home.
All five of her sisters and their families had already arrived. Christmas music was playing. Kids were everywhere. As were the sounds of laughter and teasing.
“Hey, Mom, Dad.” Poppy set down the huge box of cookies and hugged them both.
“Trace parking the car?” Jackson asked.
“No.” Doing her best to put on a brave front, she explained.
“Good for him,” her dad said. In this instance, a surgeon first.
“But not so good for you?” her mom suggested in a disarmingly perceptive tone.
Poppy wasn’t sure what to say except, “I understand.” And she did. Helping others was important. Especially at this time of year. And this was a matter of life and death.
“Yet you wish he was here,” her mom concluded.
Of course she did. The last thing she had ever wanted was to be the only single woman among a sea of married sisters. And even though now, technically, she was married, she wasn’t married in the way every other woman in her immediate family was, with all her heart and soul.
And that did bug her.
More than she cared to admit.
Even to herself.
Poppy squared her shoulders. “Can we not talk about this tonight?” Or maybe ever?
Before her parents could respond, Rose’s triplets spied her. “Aunt Poppy!” they shouted and ran up to give her great big hugs. Lily’s two children followed. Then Maggie and Callie’s kids. Even Violet’s daughter, Ava, toddled up to her to say hi.
As soon as the commotion ebbed, Poppy made her way to the drink station that had been set up in the living room. Her stomach suddenly feeling a little too unsettled to handle champagne, she selected sparkling water instead.
“I heard about Trace,” Violet said, coming over to give her a hug.
“Bummer,” Lily agreed.
Rose smiled. “But he’s out there doing good in the world. As always. You can’t argue that.”
No, Poppy couldn’t.
That made her private disappointment that much harder to bear. As long as she was married now—on whatever level—she had wanted her first holiday with Trace to be different.
Special.
Instead it was shaping up to be the same old same old.
“How’s the adoption process going?” Callie asked.
Poppy wanted to lie and say, “Good.”
Suddenly she needed to vent. “Not really sure.”
All her sisters were suddenly listening. “It was almost going better when Trace and I weren’t married.”
No one looked surprised by that revelation.
Poppy explained the amended home-study process thus far.
“Mitzy Martin is sure doing her due diligence,” Violet said. “She came over to the hospital and grilled me and Gavin.”
Rose nodded. “She’s asked us all if your union is the real deal.”
“And, of course,” Callie said, “we all told her that you and Trace have been wildly in love with each other forever.”
Except they hadn’t, Poppy thought.
Infatuated, fond of, had fun with, could always talk to or use as a sounding board, sure. But none of those things constituted being head-over-heels in love.
Her mother joined the group. “Your father and I both told Mitzy we thought you were destined to be together all along.”
Except, Poppy mused, that wasn’t necessarily true, either. Because she knew that had it not been for the requirement they be married to adopt the twins, they would not be married now.
In fact, the subject would never have even come up.
Ever.
“Oh, forget all that!” Callie said with an exasperated huff. “What I really want to know is what you’re giving each other for Christmas. I hope it’s not the usual jokey stuff.”
She and Trace had had a competition in previous years. Who could deliver the corniest or silliest present? It was usually a tie.
Poppy’s stomach churned. She took another sip of sparkling water. “The twins and the marriage are present enough.”
“Sure about that?” Lily asked.
“If you haven’t discussed it,” Maggie advised seriously, “you should. Because the last thing you want to be is short-handed.”
* * *
YET SOMETHING ELSE she did not know about her new husband, Poppy thought pensively hours later as she headed home alone, a huge assortment of holiday cookies in tow. Did he or did he not want to exchange real Christmas gifts with her? And if he did, then what?
She was still thinking about how to manage this latest dilemma, without coming right out and asking him, as she put on her pajamas and got ready for bed.
Unfortunately no solution to the problem immediately came to mind. Sleep seemed similarly out of her reach. So, wanting to do something productive, she turned on her computer and answered the work emails she hadn’t had time to respond to earlier in the day.
She’d just finished and gone upstairs with a book when her phone rang.
The name flashing across Caller ID made her smile.
Was he missing her, too? Had he known she was thinking about him? “Hey, stranger,” she said, feeling a little like old times.
“So you are still awake.” His voice was a sexy rumble.
She snuggled under the covers where she and Trace had recently made love. “I can’t wind down from the party.” From a lot of things...
“That fun, huh?”
Not without you. It was never as much fun. “Let’s just say there was no shortage of McCabes,” she said dryly.
He chuckled. “I’ll bet the kids are excited that Santa Claus will be coming soon?”
As would theirs be next year. “And then some,” Poppy confirmed affectionately. “I take it everything went okay on your flight?”
“Went great.” Trace inhaled. “The transplant team already has the heart.”
Poppy thought about what his efforts must mean to the family of the recipient. “That must make you feel good.”
“I’ve got clearance to fly back tonight.”
Even nicer. But...
“Sure you don’t want to get some sleep and fly back tomorrow?” she asked, amused to hear herself sounding so protective now.
He made a dissenting sound. “I want to be home.”
Home, she thought longingly.
“With you. As much as I can, while I can.”
So it wasn’t her imagination. They were getting closer.
“Miss me that much?” she teased.
“As a matter of fact...” She could hear the sexy promise in his voice. “I do.”
Joy filled her heart and she felt tears spring to her eyes. “I miss you, too.”
“So I’ll see you before dawn?”
“I’ll be waiting.”
He paused again. She heard voices in the background. “Listen, the plane’s ready. I’ve got to go.”
“Travel safe,” she said softly.
“Will do.”
The call ended.
She sat there staring at the phone in her hand.
They weren’t supposed to be married in the usual sense. Yet she felt that way. A fact that was only going to make their impending separation when he had to leave right after Christmas that much harder.
* * *
TRACE PARKED HIS RENTED SUV on the street and tiptoed in, tired but anxious to see his wife.
Was this how the married guys all felt when they headed home after being deployed? Excited as hell, yet their hearts aching a little bit, too, realizing that the togetherness wouldn’t last?
But he was here now. Even if it was nearly five in the morning.
Wary of waking her, he took off his coat and walked soundlessly upstairs. She’d left a light on and was asleep on her side, her features even more delicately beautiful in repose, a cloud of silky dark hair flowing across the pillow. He stood there a moment, admiring her, then stripped down to his T-shirt and briefs. Still marveling that she was his, he pulled back the covers and climbed into bed.
As he cuddled up t
o Poppy, she let out a soft little moan. “Hey, sweetheart,” he whispered in her ear.
She moaned again. More insistently.
Was she...dreaming?
“Poppy?” he said quietly.
Her eyes fluttered open.
She pressed a hand to her mouth, struggled to sit up, and bolted from the bed.
Chapter Ten
“Well, that was some welcome home,” Poppy said miserably several minutes later when she finally lifted her head from the toilet bowl.
Trace hunkered beside her, cool, damp cloth in hand.
She pressed it against her mouth.
“Do you want to get up?”
Her stomach roiled at the thought. She took a shaky breath. “I hope you don’t come down with this, too.”
He touched her arm gently. “You think it’s the stomach flu?”
“Probably. We were at the elementary school. And as Will and his sick pilot can attest, it is making the rounds.”
Trace sat beside her on the floor. Once comfortable, he touched her forehead with the back of his hand.
This time, Poppy didn’t mind. In fact, she was ridiculously glad to see him. “I don’t think I have a fever.”
He dropped his hand and pressed a light, reassuring kiss to the top of her head. “I don’t, either.”
Another moment passed.
Then another.
“Think you’re going to be sick again?” he asked softly.
Poppy softly sighed. The nausea that had been plaguing her for the past hour or so seemed to have gone away. “I think that was it.”
He gave her a hand up. She stood on shaky legs, paused to rinse her mouth in the sink and then brush her teeth.
Trace walked with her back to the bed. Once he’d helped her settle beneath the covers, he started to climb in, as well. “I don’t think you should sleep with me tonight,” Poppy said, aware it was inching toward dawn.
He smiled. Unafraid. “I’ve seen someone get sick before...”
“And you handled it like a pro,” she praised him, just as kindly. “But I don’t want to give you my germs.” She patted the pillow beside her, motioning for him to get cozy, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “So why don’t you stay here and I’ll go downstairs to the sofa.”
Lone Star Twins Page 11
