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.
