Lone Star Twins. Cathy Gillen Thacker

      As expected, all five of her sisters exchanged worried glances. Luckily, just then, Jackson McCabe appeared in the door. “I just had a text. The military contingent from the air force is about ten minutes out. So we better get a move on if we want to get to the chapel before they do.”

      “Thanks, Dad.”

      Her sisters chatted excitedly as they all made their way downstairs.

      Poppy, with her voluminous skirt, entered the limo, along with her mother and father. Her sisters and their spouses and children followed in a caravan of pickups and SUVs.

      Thanksgiving had been two days before.

      Yet the downtown streets were already decorated for Christmas. Wreaths with red-velvet ribbons had been strung on every lamppost in town. Twinkling lights and decorations adorned many of the front yards as well as the businesses that lined the major avenues.

      Once again, it seemed to Poppy, time was passing far too quickly.

      The limo idled in front of the century-old chapel. Her mom got out and went in with her sisters and their families, and a steady stream of guests.

      Finally even that dwindled. “Nervous?” Jackson asked gruffly.

      Awaiting her grand entrance, Poppy nodded at her dad. More so than I ever have been in my life. Though she was damned if she knew why.

      After all, Trace wasn’t even going to be here.

      It was just her...and whomever he had chosen to stand in for him. And maybe, if she was lucky, her groom was back from wherever he had been and would be watching the ceremony via Skype.

      So there was absolutely nothing to be anxious about.

      A few more minutes passed. Finally her dad’s phone chimed. He grinned as he looked at the text message. “Trace’s military buddies have arrived. They just went in through the rear of the chapel.”

      Another few minutes. Another text. Jackson opened the door and got out. “Showtime!”

      Her jitters increasing, Poppy inhaled a bolstering breath. Accepting her father’s hand, she gathered her skirts in her other palm and stepped out.

      Her hand tucked securely into the crook of her dad’s elbow, they stood at the top of the steps, out of view, and awaited their cue as the rest of the bridal party entered to the strains of Pachelbel’s Canon.

      Finally, it was time. Poppy and her father glided through the vestibule and into the chapel.

      There, in front of the altar, stood seven tall, strapping men in uniform. Most handsome of all was the sandy-haired air force pilot next to Reverend Bleeker.

      Poppy blinked. And blinked again.

       Trace?

      * * *

      SHE WAS SURPRISED, all right, Trace thought, staring back at her. Although no one was more surprised than he was to find himself in Laramie, Texas, for his own wedding, no less.

      But now that he was finally here, he had to say he was damn glad he’d taken advantage of the opportunity given him and had headed back to the good old US of A.

      Because watching Poppy come through the chapel doors on her father’s arm was enough to stall his heart.

      She looked like a princess in the white satin gown. The high neck and long sleeves, closely fitted bodice and poufy skirt covered every sweet, supple inch of her. Her silky, dark hair was caught up in elaborate curls pinned to the back of her head. If he found fault with anything, it was that the veil covered her face and he couldn’t see the expression in her eyes.

      Until she reached the altar and the reverend asked, “Who giveth this bride away?”

      “I do,” Jackson McCabe said in a deep, gravelly voice. He turned, lifted Poppy’s veil and bent to give her a reassuring smile and to kiss her cheek, and then he handed her off to Trace.

      As they faced each other, Trace could see the conflicting emotions in Poppy’s gorgeous sable-brown eyes.

      Confusion. Delight. Anxiety.

      Aware he was suddenly feeling all that and more, he followed the minister’s directive and took both of Poppy’s hands in his.

      The ceremony was a blur. He repeated what he was supposed to say. Poppy did the same. Until finally the reverend said, “I now pronounce you and husband and wife. Trace, you may kiss your bride.”

      Poppy gave him the look.

      The one that warned him not to overdo it.

      So of course he did.

      * * *

      POPPY DIDN’T KNOW whose gasp was louder—hers or their guests—when Trace took her in his arms, bent her back from the waist and planted one on her.

      A roar of delight went up, followed by cheers, wild clapping and a yee-haw or two.

      And still he kept kissing her; the touch of his warm, sure lips as magical as ever. A thrill swept through Poppy, followed swiftly by a surge of pure happiness. Unable to help herself, she wreathed both her arms around his neck and kissed him back with the same abandon.

      It took the discreet cough of the minister to break it up.

      The heat of her embarrassment flooding her face, Poppy opened her eyes.

      Grinning triumphantly, Trace slowly shifted her upright.

      More cheers followed, drowned out by the beginning of the recessional.

      In the aisle, the airmen in dress blues stood with their ceremonial swords drawn into a canopy. Gallantly tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow, and still beaming proudly, Trace escorted her beneath the canopy.

      “I can’t believe you’re here,” Poppy murmured as they stepped to the front of the receiving line in the chapel vestibule.

      Eyes darkening possessively, Trace gave her waist an affectionate squeeze. “Surprised ya, huh?” he whispered back.

      And then some, Poppy thought, still tingling from his recklessly impulsive kiss.

      “You look so beautiful,” he said, his eyes twinkling with delight.

      Poppy grinned, aware he wasn’t the only one who’d had his breath taken away. “Right back at you, Lieutenant,” she murmured happily.

      Then all was taken up by the formalities of greeting their guests. And it wasn’t until the two of them had dashed down the church steps, through a shower of bird seed and well-wishes, and were sharing the limo to the reception that Poppy finally had the chance to talk with him privately. “I gather this is why I haven’t heard from you in two days?”

      Trace ran a hand beneath his closely shaved jaw. “I was on standby on several of the flights, so I wasn’t entirely sure I was going to make it in time for the ceremony.”

      “But you did make it.” And he’d obviously found time to shower, too, she noted, the joy she had felt upon seeing him in the flesh still staggering in its intensity.

      “It appears the only thing most folks love more than an impromptu wedding that needs all the help it can muster to be pulled off, is one between an active-duty airman and his bride.”

      Poppy knew that was true. There was something about star-crossed lovers that appealed to just about everyone. Star-crossed lovers in the military, even more. Still...

      She studied the just-cut perfection of his short, sandy-blond hair. “Why did you come?” Especially when he had never so much as hinted that it was a possibility.

      A shadow crossed his face and he hesitated, as if not sure how to respond. Finally he said, “You seemed so overwhelmed when we last Skyped. I thought you might have trouble handling all this on your own.”

      Disappointment jabbed her in the stomach, putting to rest any