Lone Star Twins

by Cathy Gillen Thacker

  “Eat in or go out?”

  Maybe it was selfish, but she wanted Trace all to herself, at least for tonight. And if they went to Mack’s, everyone they knew who walked in would be stopping by to chat with them. “In. If that’s okay with you?”

  He nodded, abruptly looking no more eager to leave their little bubble of happiness than she was. “Perfect.”

  * * *

  “YOUR HOME IS just gorgeous, Poppy,” Hallie Benton said once the party had gotten under way.

  All the other military wives gathered in her kitchen, agreed.

  “Thanks.” She smiled. From her vantage point, she could see the men in the backyard, grilling, swapping stories and watching the kids, some of whom were playing freeze tag, others a bean-bag-toss game that had been set up.

  “It’s such a shame you’re going to have to give it up,” Fran Jones remarked.

  Cara Cesaro arranged the beautiful array of homemade side dishes and salads on the buffet. “Not necessarily.”

  Everyone turned to the oldest member of the group.

  “You and Trace could rent it. But you’d have to find a tenant who would love it and cherish it as much as you obviously do. Otherwise...” She shook her head.

  A murmur of worry went through the group.

  Linda Mayes stacked napkins. “At least Trace has put in a hardship request to be stationed in the continental United States.”

  Hallie shrugged. “They all do after a while or...get divorced.”

  Fran waved at one of her children in the yard. “Luckily, Trace is getting wise fast.” She swung back around. “Now that he’s finally married and ready to settle down.”

  “What are you going to do with your business?” Dawn Huff asked Poppy, cutting a large tray of cornbread into squares.

  “Duh,” Linda said. “She’ll have to sell. Or move operations, I guess.”

  Cara sliced lemons for the iced tea. “Won’t that be hard? Given how much pilots move around? You’d barely get set up one place, when you’d have to pick up and go somewhere else?”

  Everyone looked at her.

  Poppy knew there was only one way to shut this down. The truth. “Actually...” She paused. “The twins and I aren’t planning to follow Trace around. He’s going to continue to come to us instead.”

  A shocked silence fell. “Do you really think that’s smart?” Hallie finally asked.

  Fran was skeptical of their plan, too. “You’re a military wife now. Military wives—good ones, anyway—are all about the careers and needs of their military husbands.”

  Poppy could see that that was true of the women gathered around her. Their devotion to their husbands and families was iron-clad. It had to be. But she and Trace didn’t have just any marriage.

  Linda said gently, “Our husbands love the fact that we support them one hundred and ten percent. Our willingness to put them and their service to our country first is what makes our relationships so successful.”

  “And if you and Trace are serious about starting off on the right foot,” Dawn added firmly, “you should at least consider doing this for Trace, too.”

  Two weeks ago Poppy would have thought these words were heresy. There was no way she would have even considered it. But now that they had actually lived together as man and wife, she was beginning to feel differently.

  The question was, did he? And how could she even ask without putting him on the spot?

  Luckily, she had no more time to worry over it, as Trace and his buddies flowed into the kitchen, en masse. Poppy could tell instantly by the mischievous looks on all their faces that something was up.

  Something fun.

  “What have you-all been up to?”

  Grins, all around.

  “Trace has been telling us the secret to having a happy marriage,” Paul Huff said, taking his wife, Dawn, in his arms.

  Linda Mayes laughed as her husband, Jack, stepped behind her and cradled her close. “Oh, he has, has he?” she said skeptically.

  Randy Cesaro tucked Cara against his side.

  “Appears he’s become quite the expert in just a few short weeks.”

  Tucker Jones took his wife in one arm, and shoved his other in the pocket of his jeans. Grinning boyishly, he looked at Trace. “So, Lieutenant,” he drawled, using Poppy’s pet name for her new husband. “Do you want to demonstrate the secret of your success? Or shall we all do it together?”

  Poppy’s heart pounded as Trace advanced on her, a predatory glint in his hazel eyes. “Oh, I think, in this case, it’s one for all and all for one. This being the season to be merry and all that.”

  The women exchanged perplexed looks. Everyone turned to Poppy. “I have no clue,” she declared.

  Until Trace pulled a very familiar cluster of leaves and berries from his pocket, that was. He dangled the mistletoe over her head. “Perhaps this will bring it all back,” he said.

  Poppy gasped. “You’re not...really...”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said, lowering his mouth to hers, where he bestowed a tender lingering kiss, at the same time all the other guys did the same with their wives. “I am. Because if there’s one thing every serviceman or woman knows, it’s how to appreciate the ones we love.”

  Poppy could see that was true.

  What she didn’t know was if Trace loved her like these guys all obviously romantically cared about their wives, or if he loved her in more of a familial, lifelong best friend kind of way. And if it was only the last, did it really matter, when he made her—and everyone else around them—feel so damn good all the time?

  * * *

  “WHAT WERE YOU and the other wives talking about so intently this evening?” Trace asked after everyone had left.

  Poppy would have liked to have something—anything—to occupy herself with, but the truth was there wasn’t much to do since everyone had pitched in to help with the cleanup before they had left.

  She moved out into the backyard. The day had been unusually warm. The evening was just as mild. Although in the distance she could see clouds moving in, obscuring the stars. As the breeze wafted over her, Poppy pulled her sweater closer around her. “Everyone was giving me advice on how to be a good military wife.”

  Looking as relaxed and content as he’d been with his friends, Trace checked the temperature of the coals and put the cover on the grill. “Well, not to worry. You are one.”

  She’d like to think so.

  Poppy hovered near enough she could see the expression on his face. The lights from inside the house bathed them in a soft yellow glow, at odds with the darkness of the night. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt like she needed to test him on this. “They all said I should pack up and move whenever you do.”

  A muscle flexed in his jaw. “I would never ask you to do that, Poppy,” he returned gruffly. “You know that.”

  But what if I would? she wondered.

  He came even closer, inundating her with his brisk masculine scent. Masculine satisfaction radiated from his eyes. “I like you just the way you are.” He took her all the way in his arms. Determination tautening the rugged planes of his face, he said in that gruff-tender voice she loved, “Don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise.”

  He lowered his head and captured her mouth in a kiss that had her senses spinning and her heart soaring. And then he deepened the kiss even more, reminding her that he knew what she wanted and needed better than anyone, even when she would have preferred he didn’t.

  She moaned; the possessive feel of his arms around her robbing her of the will to resist. And then she was kissing him back, just as passionately, even as he guided her into the house. Through the downstairs. Up to their bed.

  Her pulse jumped as he lifted the veil of her hair and pressed light, searing kisses along the nape of her neck to
the V of her sweater. Already feeling the dampness between her legs, and the desire pounding through her, she brought his lips back to hers. Their tongues mated until her whole body was alive, quivering with urgent sensations. She pressed her body erotically against his. Whenever they were together this way, she felt so many things. Wonder. Passion. Need. Yearning. He made her feel completely and truly alive in a way only he could.

  Hands moving along the buttons of his shirt, she opened the edges. Revealing the hard ridges and taut, broad planes of his shoulders and chest. His skin was satiny smooth, over it a mat of golden-brown hair that covered his pecs and arrowed downward to the goody trail. She smiled, exploring the warm hardness with both hands.

  He stepped back, amusement flickering in his eyes. “You just can’t resist me, can you?”

  Slanting his lips over hers, his hands roved beneath the hem of her sweater, over her ribs, to her breasts.

  She yielded to the way his hands swept over her curves, molding and exploring, defining and weighing the jutting nipples and gentle slopes. Desire trembled inside her, making her belly feel weightless, soft.

  “I don’t want to resist you,” she whispered back, letting her hands fall to his fly. “Never have.” She eased the zipper down and slid her hands inside. “Never will...” She found his erection, hot and urgent. Her heart pounded. They were practically combusting and they’d barely started.

  He gave her a look that promised this evening would be every bit as memorable as she wanted it to be.

  “When you say things like that it drives me wild,” he growled, easing off her sweater and bra, even as she pushed his pants down.

  His shirt came off next.

  Then her jeans and panties.

  He kissed her again as they lay on the bed. She surrendered to his every kiss and caress, burying her hands in his hair as he slid down her body and sent her into a frenzy of wanting. And then he was nudging her thighs apart with his knee, settling between her legs, sliding even lower. She cried out as he claimed her, touching her and kissing, taking her to new heights and depths, exploring every nuance of desire, until there was no more holding back, no more waiting, only the hot, wonderful, quivering sensation as he completely rocked her world.

  He waited until her pulsing stopped then moved upward yet again, taking her legs and wrapping them around his waist.

  “That’s it,” he whispered as their bodies melded. “Open for me.”

  She was suffused with sweet, boneless pleasure.

  He surged deeper still. “Take all of me...”

  For a moment Poppy didn’t think it was going to be possible, not when he was this aroused, but then he slid home yet again, moving one arm beneath her and lifting her hips. With a soft, giving moan, she arched into him, letting her body do for him, with the most sensual part of her, what he had already done for her.

  The connection left her feeling deliciously distraught.

  She surged again, and again, and again.

  Restless now. Needing. Wanting. Holding him tightly, she kissed him more and more rapturously as the two of them rocked together, offering each other refuge, until they were locked in an explosion of lust and feeling unlike either of them had ever known.

  And it was only when they slowly came back to earth that Poppy remembered the question she’d asked.

  Should she follow him? Just pick up and move wherever the military sent him?

  He’d said no.

  His lovemaking just now said yes.

  But what was the real answer? And how would she ever find the nerve to pursue the matter further without wrecking what they already had?

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I thought you were going to go into the office for a while when we got back, to catch up on email and return client calls,” Trace told Poppy on Monday afternoon when they pulled into the driveway of her bungalow.

  Relaxed from their day-and-a-half trip to San Antonio, Poppy got out of the SUV and headed for the cargo area. “That was the original plan.” She lifted out the shopping bags containing Christmas presents for all her nieces and nephews, as well as a few things for their own soon-to-be-delivered little ones. “But then I got to thinking on the drive back that the babies really could be born any day...”

  His arms full, Trace accompanied her up the steps. “Mitzy said when you called her it was likely to be another week before doctors induced labor.”

  Poppy unlocked the door. “Assuming she doesn’t go into labor naturally in the meantime. Which Mitzy told us was also a very real possibility.”

  They went back for one final trip, Poppy carrying more presents, Trace their overnight bags. They set everything down in the foyer. He helped her off with her coat then dispensed with his. Taking her by the hand, he led her into the living room and settled beside her on the sofa.

  “Does it still bother you that we were never able to get you pregnant?” Draping his arm along the sofa back, he pulled her into the curve of his body. “At least without resorting to artificial means?”

  Poppy basked in his warmth and strength. “Things happen the way they are meant to happen, Trace.” She lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles. “I really believe that.”

  He turned her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist. “So do I. And it doesn’t answer my question,” he said in that low, easy tone of his.

  Poppy wanted to tell him the truth, but what was the point when he couldn’t do anything to fix it? They had made love so many times over the years, all the while hoping she would conceive the child she hoped for. And she hadn’t.

  Yet she knew she owed him at least part of the truth; the part that wouldn’t hurt him. “If wishes were reality, I would have loved to have your baby inside me.” She met his gaze without hesitation or resignation. “But it didn’t happen. And instead...” She smiled, genuinely happy about this. “Here we are, about to adopt twins.” The smile spread from her heart outward. “And when they finally get here, they are going to fill our lives with so much joy that the fact they weren’t in my tummy for nine months is going to be completely inconsequential.

  “Which is why,” Poppy took a deep, enervating breath, “we really need to redo the nursery before the babies get here.”

  Trace frowned. “I thought we were just going to paint the walls.”

  As she snuggled closer to him, she breathed in his scent, realizing all over again how amazing he smelled. She would miss this when he was gone. “Well, I was thinking we might want to redo the linens, too. Once we get the wall color looking exactly right.”

  He raked a hand through his sandy-blond hair. “You’re serious.”

  She wrinkled her nose playfully. “I am an interior designer.”

  “Don’t remind me!” he moaned good-naturedly.

  She sobered. “I just want this to be perfect.”

  Briefly, he looked worried, which was definitely not her intent. “Or as perfect as it can be,” she amended quickly.

  He flashed her an easy grin. “It’s okay. The guys warned me on Saturday you’d be nesting.”

  Pulling away, Poppy propped her hands on her hips. “Really.”

  He lifted his shoulders in an affable shrug. “While you were getting your advice, I was getting a few tips on how to be a good husband. And one of the things I was told—repeatedly, I might add—was that we would be a whole lot happier if I would just cede control. Let you make all the decisions on the domestic front.”

  She took the news with the amusement with which it was delivered. “And here I thought chauvinism was dead.”

  “Was that an insult or a compliment?” he asked, deadpan. “I can’t tell.”

  Poppy laughed despite herself. Reluctantly she stood. Their bedroom antics the night before had left her in serious need of a nap.

  A fact Trace noticed, despit
e the fact she somehow managed to stifle the yawn rising in her throat.

  “Just give me the paint swatch and I’ll go down to the hardware store,” he offered, rising.

  Poppy hedged. “I can’t.”

  He gave her an odd look. “Why not?”

  “Because I need to actually put paint on a piece of whiteboard and look at it under different lights to even know which shades I want to try.”

  “Which shades?” he echoed, aghast. “How many are you planning to look at?”

  “Ah. Eight. Maybe nine. I’ll narrow it down from there.” She raised a hand before he could protest. “That is why I need to get the paint samples right now. So I’ll have plenty of time to study them before we paint on Thursday.”

  He walked with her to the door, all lazy, confident male. “So what can I do?”

  “Disassemble the cribs.”

  Another long, thoughtful pause. “You do remember how long those took to put together, right?”

  Unfortunately, yes, she did. But... “There’s no room in there to paint with the cribs in there, so...” She gave him a sweet, cajoling look that promised she would make it up to him later. “If you wouldn’t mind?”

  Reading her mind, he returned her sexy smile. “You go get the paint swatches. I’ll follow orders here.”

  If only their domestic bliss could continue more than a few weeks. Wistfully, she warned, “I could get used to this.”

  He gave her a playful swat on the derriere. “Better go now, woman, while the going is good!” He pulled her to him and planted one on her. “Otherwise, we might find ourselves beneath the mistletoe. Again.”

  * * *

  POPPY WAS TEMPTED to stay and let him put the moves on her, but knowing the hardware store had the best paint in town, and they closed at six, had her hurrying out to her minivan.

  It took longer than she expected.

  When she returned, her cousin Will’s truck, with the McCabe Charter Air Service logo on the side, was parked in her driveway.

  Hoping he wasn’t stealing her husband for another out-of-town mission—she knew it was selfish but she really wanted Trace mostly to herself during the remaining fourteen days they had left—Poppy grabbed the bag with the paint samples and brushes then hurried up the walk.