Christmas in Texas. Rebecca Winters

when I’m out of the house.” Seagal nodded as if her suggestion made sense. “Good idea. I’ll call her now.”

      “No,” Capri said, trying not to snap at him. He was just too big, too good-looking, overpowering the small bedroom where they’d spent many happy hours.

      “I don’t want you here. You’re going to drive me insane.”

      “Well, that is a personal problem, I believe,” Seagal said, dragging one of her pretty upholstered chairs into the bedroom. “I would drive you insane no matter what, so I might as well go for broke.” He flung himself into the stuffed, sweetly patterned chair that went with the floral sofa that had so offended his masculine sensibilities. “You covered these chairs. They were denim blue. Now they’re—”

      “Toile,” Capri said, knowing he wouldn’t know what that meant. “To go with the floral sofa and the delft-blue paint on the walls, the delicate gold-foil mirror over the white fireplace mantel, and the special cushions I had made for the two ladderback chairs. Sort of country-French appeal I call it.” She smiled at him. “It’s a feminine room. Not a place for hanging deer heads and hunting rifles.”

      “I know.” He grimaced. “And you changed the comforter on the bed. It’s lacy.”

      “And white.” Capri enjoyed Seagal’s perplexed expression. “I gave up the masculine decorating scheme after you left.”

      He looked at her. “We’ll discuss that another time. You just rest right now. You need the rest, and so do my sons. Clearly, you aren’t any better at obeying doctor’s orders than you are a husband’s.”

      She tossed a pillow at him, catching him in the face. “Don’t go all pigheaded to try to get me off the subject. Call Kelly.”

      “You’ll hardly notice I’m here. I’m serving a dual role that none of your girlfriends can fulfill.”

      “Annoying me and wearing out the new furnishings?” She smiled sweetly. “As I said, this isn’t going to work. You’re too bossy—”

      “And you’re stubborn as heck. What woman thinks decorating for Christmastown is more important than her own babies?” Seagal demanded. “You always said that my responsible side weighed your flighty side.”

      “But I didn’t necessarily mean that it was a good thing.” Capri thought about it. “To be honest, Dr. Blankenship didn’t say I absolutely had to go to bed last week, Seagal. He said it would be best, and that he preferred to err on the side of caution. You know John Blankenship,” she said, trying to make him see she wasn’t being reckless with her pregnancy. “He advises most of the town to stay away from the Wedding Happy Bakery because he says the magic in their secret batters is guaranteed to clog arteries just from looking at the cookies and cakes. He’s a fine doctor, but he’s been known to be a bit of an alarmist.”

      “Maybe. But not where babies are concerned. He’s seriously planning to send a nurse out here with a drip if your contractions don’t go away.” He studied her, not happily. “You’re just going to have to accept the fact that I’m here for the long haul, babe.”

      “I don’t think so,” Capri said, knowing steam was probably pouring out of her ears. If Seagal thought he was just going to waltz back into her life and start being an overbearing donkey, he could just go bray elsewhere. “Hand me the phone.”

      He got up, seemed to consider her words, then paced down the hall. “We’ll continue this discussion in a moment.”

      “He acts as if I didn’t take care of myself for the past several months.” Capri reached for the phone on her bedside table, finally hooking it with the aid of a slipper she pulled off her foot. She dialed Kelly’s number.

      Kelly’s cheerful voice shouted a hello. Capri switched the phone to her other ear, hoping the eardrum wasn’t bruised. “I need a favor.”

      “What?”

      “Doc Blankenship’s put me on bed rest. As in, don’t move a fingernail.”

      “Oh, man. You are going to lose your mind,” Kelly said.

      Capri sighed. “I need a personal assistant.”

      “Isn’t Seagal in the house with you? Kind of dishy for a personal assistant. I bet if you put him in an apron—only an apron—he’ll be your dream come true.”

      Capri winced. “I do not want to put Seagal in an apron or anything else.”

      “Don’t share,” Kelly said. “I’m too busy trying to have my own sweet dreams about his buddy, Jack. Nothing’s happening on that front, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have my radar trained on him.”

      “Kelly,” Capri said, “if you could be here, Seagal and I wouldn’t be alone together. And then sometimes he’d leave, go do some cop stuff.”

      “Oh.” Kelly was silent for a moment. “I’d love to help you out, but I can’t. I’d never forgive myself if I messed up this chance for the two of you to work things out. I owe it to my darling godchildren to help you two wonderful, well-intentioned but obstinate friends realize that marriage means two people in the same bed. You are my dearest friend, even if you didn’t tell me about the twins,” Kelly said.

      “I will name a baby after you if you help me.”

      “You’re having boys,” Kelly said. “Does Seagal know he’s having boys?”

      “The name Kelly is appropriate for a boy or a girl,” Capri said with some disgust at her friend’s lack of loyalty. “No, he doesn’t know, and you’re not telling him. Besides which, it turned out that the early sonograms were wrong. Baby Snow is having a twin sister.”

      “Snow?” Kelly didn’t say anything for a moment. “Does Seagal know you’re using your maiden name?”

      “No.” They were two weeks from a divorce; she had to be practical.

      He was going to hit the roof.

      “You’re really not focusing on what’s important. What is important is that I’m big as a house, I feel stuffed like a Christmas turkey and I don’t want Seagal sitting here looking at me when I could do stand-ins for the blueberry girl in Willy Wonka. I’m feeling distinctly unlike my former more slender self,” Capri said.

      “It’s all right,” Kelly soothed. “Seagal probably likes a little more woman than less.”

      Capri sighed. “You are not helping. And you’re not going to, are you?”

      “Not the way you want me to,” Kelly said. “But I’ll bring you some carrot cake from the Wedding Happy Bakery,” she said, her voice brightening.

      “Oh, that’s just what I need—mach-five calories. How’d the cleanup go, by the way? Did everything get put away properly for next year? Did—”

      “Relax,” Kelly said. “Believe it or not, we took care of everything even without your capable guidance and your megaphone. Now rest, my godchildren.”

      Kelly hung up, and Seagal walked back in the room, slinging himself back into the puffy chair. “Your mother brought you a casserole. My favorite.” He looked pleased, not noticing Capri’s outrage. “I put it in on the counter. It’s all warm, and she brought nice toasty bread because she heard I was staying here with you. I always loved your mom,” he said, practically sighing in anticipation of the meal. “She didn’t want to come in. But she gave me a very mother-in-lawly hug and said welcome home.”

      She glared at her almost-ex. “Seagal, you are not staying here.”

      “It’s either me or Jack.”

      “I’ll take Jack,” Capri said definitively.

      Seagal looked hurt. “You know he gossips. Like a girl. And if he’s here, Kelly will be here all the time. I don’t know