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?
“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