Lone Star Twins. Cathy Gillen Thacker

Like her, sans clothes.

      But, apparently, not tonight.

      * * *

      POPPY KNEW SHE was disappointing Trace. But, really, she reckoned as she entered the guest room to make up the bed while he went downstairs to get his suitcase, she was doing them both a favor, giving them each a little breathing room.

      The last thing she had ever wanted was for him to feel as trapped as his dad apparently had, whenever he was married, or to ever do anything that would spoil their relationship.

      Come morning, he’d be thanking her for it.

      Meantime, where was he?

      Getting a bag couldn’t possibly take that long.

      Nor could she hear any sounds of him moving around.

      Perplexed, she called out. “Trace?”

      No answer.

      Grabbing the skirts of her wedding gown, she rustled down the stairs.

      Trace was sprawled in the oversize club chair she’d brought into the house just for him. His long legs were stretched over the matching ottoman and his chest moved with deep, even breaths. It looked as if he had sat down, just for a second, and fallen fast asleep.

      He was more handsome than ever, in repose.

      Tenderness swept over her and she knew she couldn’t wake him. Instead she eased off his shoes and took a throw from the back of the sofa and spread it over him.

      As expected, he didn’t stir.

      She stood there another long moment, just drinking in the sight of him, realizing all over again just how much she missed him when he was away.

      In need of a little comfort herself, she slipped into the kitchen and extracted the nearly empty peppermint ice cream container from the freezer. Taking that and a spoon, she headed back up the stairs, suddenly feeling near tears again.

      What was with her these days? Poppy wondered as she moved into her bedroom and sat to finish what was left of the ice cream. Was it the prospect of adopting the twins that had her so emotionally overwrought? The knowledge that while she was getting part of what she wanted, she was still eons away from getting it all? Or just the fatigue?

      Poppy had no answer as she let the minty, holiday flavor melt on her tongue and soothe her yet again. Finally she put the empty container aside. Then, taking a moment just to chill, she laid back against the pillows.

      The next thing she knew sunlight was streaming in through the windows. It was just after nine in the morning. And—was that her doorbell ringing?

      Poppy sat up with a start.

      Thinking it must be some sort of emergency, she rushed down the stairs. Too late, Trace had already awakened and moved to open the door. Mitzy Martin stood on the other side of the threshold, work bag over her shoulder.

      If Poppy’s childhood friend was surprised to see them still in their wedding finery, she managed not to show it. “Hey, sorry to intrude. But I really need to talk to both of you.”

      Gallantly, Trace ushered the social worker inside.

      The vivacious Mitzy pulled out a sheaf of papers attached to a clipboard and pen. “The Stork Agency wants an amended home study done ASAP.”

      Hence, Poppy thought, the surprise visit. One of several she’d endured during the past few years. “Why?”

      “You’ve already interviewed us both extensively,” Trace pointed out.

      Mitzy looked around, bypassing the chair with the throw still on it, and took a seat on the sofa. “You weren’t married then. Or planning to marry.”

      Feeling a little self-conscious to be caught, still in her wedding gown, her hair askew, Poppy snuck a furtive glance Trace’s way. He looked as bedraggled as she did. His once-pristine military uniform was wrinkled, and from the look of his bloodshot eyes, it appeared he’d had a pretty rough night.

      Clearing her throat, Poppy shook off the rest of the cobwebs. “But they asked us to do this!”

      “Exactly my worry.” Mitzy sobered. “Is that the only reason you tied the knot last night?”

      Poppy locked eyes with Trace, not sure how to answer that.

      “Yes,” he said, blunt as ever.

      “So if the Stork Agency hadn’t required it?” Mitzy took a clipboard full of papers, and pen from her bag.

      Trace shrugged and took a seat in the same chair where he’d spent the night. “I wouldn’t be here today. I’d be back in the Middle East.”

      Mitzy wrote on a preprinted form. “Is it your intention to be in this marriage for the long haul? Or just until the adoption is final?”

      “Until the kids are grown,” Trace said firmly. He glanced at Poppy. “Or longer.”

      Mitzy turned to Poppy. “And you?”

      “When Trace and I decided to adopt children together, we agreed we would behave as a family from this point forward.”

      “So there was no end date?” Mitzy challenged.

      Aware her knees were suddenly a little shaky, Poppy perched on the wide arm of Trace’s chair. “No. Being a parent is a lifelong commitment.”

      Mitzy looked at Trace. “Do you agree?”

      He nodded. “For better or worse. Just like marriage.”

      “Are you expecting the worst?”

      Trace returned, “Are you?”

      Ignoring his insolence, the social worker rose. “Are you going to live here?”

      Poppy and Trace nodded in unison.

      Mitzy continued to study them. “Mind if I take a quick look around the premises?”

      “You’ve already done that,” Poppy protested. When the upstairs wasn’t such a total mess!

      Gaze narrowed, Mitzy paused. “Is there a reason you don’t want me to look around?”

      Yes, Poppy thought, knowing if the social worker went up there, she would quickly realize that neither bed had been slept in. “No,” she said out loud.

      Her manner all business, Mitzy made her way through the dining area and into the kitchen, which, unlike the upstairs, was neat as a pin. From there, she peeked into the powder room then took the stairs. Poppy and Trace were right behind her.

      She paused in front of Poppy’s bedroom, which was still a mess, the covers rumpled from where she’d slept.

      “Where will the babies sleep?” Mitzy asked, still making notes.

      “In here.” Poppy pointed to the office-cum-guest room.

      Wordlessly the social worker took in the perfectly made-up sofa bed, Poppy’s desk and computer.

      “Obviously, everything’s happened so fast, we haven’t had a chance to set up a nursery,” Poppy said in a rush. “But I’ll get it done in the next couple of days.”

      “Call me when you do. I’d like to add it to the report,” Mitzy told her. “Where are the two of you planning to sleep?”

      Trace quirked his brow at Poppy as if he’d like to hear the answer to that, too.

      Flushing, she pointed to her bedroom. “Exactly where you’d expect. In my—er, our room.” There wouldn’t be a whole lot of choice once the nursery was set up.

      Mitzy turned back to Trace, her expression as poker-faced as his. “Does that square with your plans, too?”

      “Unless she relegates me to the sofa,” he replied in a joking tone.

      Poppy recognized an attempt