Cathy Thacker - Lone Star Twins

He moved so she could get into the cupboard behind him. “Want company?”

Did she ever.

Poppy’s thigh brushed his as she reached for the filters. “I’m sure she’d be thrilled to see you.” She stumbled slightly and Trace put a hand beneath her elbow to steady her.

“The only thing is...I was planning to spend the night in a hotel there, rather than drive the two and a half hours back tonight.” She felt oddly clumsy. Almost a little dizzy.

Must be the accumulated fatigue.

He slid her a look. “Do you have a hotel reservation?”

Poppy put the paper filter in the basket. “Yes.”

He watched her grind the beans. “Am I going to need my own room or can I bunk with you?” he asked as the aroma of fresh-ground coffee filled her kitchen.

In the past they had done it both ways, although they usually ended up spending most of their time together, anyway. Aware of his eyes upon her, Poppy added water and hit Brew. “I suppose we could share,” she said dryly, “in the interest of economy and all.”

And the fact that given a choice, I’d like nothing more than to spend another night making wild, passionate love with you and then sleep snuggled up together.

He nodded. “What time did you want to leave?”

Poppy got out the orange juice. “I said I would be there around seven, so...maybe three-thirty.”

“Sounds good.”

A feeling of peace descended between them. And something else a lot deeper and harder to identify.

“So...back to the wreath,” he continued affably as she busied herself pouring them each a glass of juice. “Do you want any help making that?”

* * *

SAY WHAT? “I THOUGHT the only thing you ever did for your mom’s florist business was deliver orders!” As the mood between them began to lighten, she pushed on. “That she wouldn’t let you near the creative side because you were all thumbs.”

“True enough.” He grinned at her playful needling then winked. “ Maybe on purpose...”

“Ah. The old male trick of trying to get out of something through demonstrated incompetence?”

He rubbed the flat of his hand across his stubbled jaw. “Not that you would ever do the same thing.”

Poppy called on her inner Texas belle. Flattening a hand across her throat, she drawled, “Why, whatever are you talking about?”

His brow raised at her thick Southern accent. Still laughing, he said, “I seem to remember a flat tire or two...”

“Okay.” She flushed as his eyes surveyed her lazily, head to toe. “So I might have feigned feminine incompetence when we were in college, to avoid getting my clothes smudged with tire yuck.” A perfectly understandable ploy, in her view.

He put his glass aside and moved toward her. “And I might have enjoyed coming to your rescue.”

“That’s right.” Poppy gazed down at their suddenly linked hands. “The first time we ever made love was after you rescued me and came back to my apartment to shower and get cleaned up.”

He kissed her knuckles. “And we ended up in bed instead.”

Tenderness flowed between them. “Amazing, how long ago that was.” Poppy sighed contentedly.

“How long we’ve been together.”

And she knew it was all because they had never been foolish enough to put restraints on each other, and what they each wanted out of life. Or to do anything really crazy like, say, get married.

Only now they had.

Would that change anything?

And what would happen to their long-standing friendship slash love affair if it did?

Trace noticed the shift in her mood. He asked lightly as she moved away, “Was it something I said?”

A joke. Yet not a joke. Poppy turned the oven to preheat it. “No.”

“Then what’s bringing you down?”

Poppy wished she knew why her moods were so mercurial these days. It was like being on a roller coaster. Over the moon one minute, incredibly sad and weepy the next...

She brought out the bacon and began layering it in the bottom of a cast-iron skillet. “Is that another way of saying I’ve been frowning too much?”

“Looking near tears.”

Poppy retrieved the package of ready-to-bake buttermilk biscuits from her freezer. “I know I’ve been emotional lately.” What she couldn’t say—maybe didn’t really want to know—was why.

She got out the eggs.

Seeing the coffee was finished, Trace reached for two mugs. Poppy put up a staying hand. “Maybe later.”

He settled against the counter, aromatic beverage in hand. “Is it because you’re finally about to adopt twin babies?” He paused. “Or because of what happened years ago?”

Poppy should have known he would bring that up. He always did, whenever he was worried about her, in this sense.

And maybe, she thought ruefully, he had a right to be.

Glad she had him to talk with, Poppy released a weary sigh. “I admit I feel a little jinxed when it comes to me ever having a family.”

“Because of the baby we lost?”

God. How was it possible it could still hurt so much? After fourteen years?

Swallowing a lump in her throat, she concentrated on her task. “I know I was barely through the third month.” She broke eggs into a bowl and tossed the shells into the sink. “But I really thought I would carry that baby to term. And I would have, had it not been an ectopic pregnancy.”

“Instead, you lost the child and the tube and ovary.”

That had left her with two-thirds of a working reproductive system. And roughly half the ability to even get pregnant.

“Even after all that, you know, when I had finally gotten past it and we decided to actively try to conceive, I had hoped it would happen. That we’d be successful.” Have the perfect baby that was half me and half you.

“Only it never did.”

“So, can you blame me for being a little worried something might happen?” She hitched in a breath. “Again?”

Trace took her in his arms. “First of all, I don’t think it will. I think you’re finally going to get everything you want. Even if it is via adoption instead of pregnancy.”

You’re ...going to get what you want...

He wasn’t talking about himself. Or them, Poppy thought sadly. Just her. But why should that even surprise her? she asked herself. Up until the past few years anyway, it had always been just her thing. Trace had merely been a willing participant and a good friend. A guy who was willing to be “The Dad” in the equation whenever he came home on leave. And how often was that? At most, once or twice a year?

He studied her expression, remorse tautening the ruggedly handsome features on his face, misunderstanding the reason behind her malaise. “But even if something does go wrong with this adoption—”

She pressed her finger to his lips. “Don’t say that,” she whispered.

He kissed the back of her hand gently. “I’ll be right there with you, to make sure you get the family you deserve to have.” This time it was his voice that sounded a little rusty. “It’s the least I can do.”

Guilt. Again.

Poppy’s spine turned as rigid as her heart. “You’re not responsible for what happened, Trace.”

“Come on, Poppy.” He stepped aside as she grabbed a whisk and the mixing bowl. “We both know if I hadn’t gotten careless, you never would have become pregnant, never would have lost the baby, and a good portion of your fertility, to boot.”

She whisked the eggs with a vengeance. “I could have had an ectopic pregnancy anytime. I could still have one in my remaining fallopian tube, if I ever did get pregnant, which we both know now is unlikely to ever happen.”