Lone Star Twins. Cathy Thacker Gillen

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 to lighten the mood when she heard one.

      Unfortunately, Mitzy chose to ignore it. “Is that likely to happen?”

      “Well...” Trace exhaled slowly, his expression turning even more maddeningly inscrutable. “We are married, after all.”

      “And?” Mitzy persisted.

      Trace lifted his broad shoulders in an affable shrug. “Sometimes spouses disagree, and when that happens, one of them generally ends up on the sofa. Unless they are really ticked off and go to a hotel.”

      Another joke.

      That did not go over well.

      “And you would know that because...?” the social worker prompted.

      Abruptly, Trace lost all patience. “Come on, Mitzy. Everyone in Laramie County knows my mother’s been married eight times, my dad three. So I’ve seen my fair share of discord. And, for the record, I was kidding around about the sofa.”

      “Except the sofa bed upstairs was made up,” Mitzy pointed out with a Cheshire smile.