Cathy Thacker - Lone Star Twins

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.

“And no one slept in it,” Poppy noted. But wisely did not elaborate.

Mitzy looked pointedly at Poppy’s rumpled wedding gown and Trace’s uniform.

In an effort to smooth over any rough edges, Poppy shrugged lightly. “It was a long day and an even longer night. We were both exhausted by the end. Suffice it to say...” She paused, took a breath and turned to look Trace in the eye, giving him a wordless apology for her unprecedented cowardice. “Nothing went according to plan.”

He smiled. Apology accepted . Then he reached over and clasped her hand. Tightly.

A taut silence fell.

Mitzy frowned. “I’m just trying to get a feel for how real this union is going to be.”

Trace countered in a smooth voice, “As opposed to?”

“A sham marriage.” Mitzy walked down the stairs. “Which, I don’t have to tell either of you, would be a very bad thing to have to report on.”

How could things have gone so far south so fast? Poppy asked herself glumly as she and Trace followed. It hadn’t even been fifteen hours! Feeling as if it was her turn to defend them, she said hotly, “It’s not a sham. It might not be traditional by someone else’s standards, but it’s definitely going to be real enough according to ours.”

Mitzy took a seat in the big comfy chair, leaving the two of them to sit side-by-side on the sofa. “I gather since the original plan was marriage by proxy—until Trace showed up in person, anyway—that this was almost a mere formality.”

Before it turned oh, so real, Poppy thought.

“And now it’s not,” Trace said snidely.

Aware she was getting under his skin, Mitzy made another note. “So how long had you been thinking about getting married before you made the decision?” she asked.

Trace continued the battle like the true warrior he was. “Five minutes maybe.”

“I don’t mean when you actually proposed,” Mitzy said.

Figuring the truth, and nothing but the truth, was the way go to, at least as much as possible, anyway, Poppy put in, just as cavalierly, “Actually, it was my idea.”

Mitzy did a double-take. “You proposed to Trace?”

Proposal meant romantic. Hers hadn’t been. Poppy made a seesaw motion with her right hand. “Mmm. More like... I...presented the option.”

Trace draped his arm around her shoulders and shifted closer. “And I accepted.”

“Because of the agency requirement regarding the adoption of more than one child at one time,” Mitzy ascertained.

Poppy and Trace both nodded. She, reluctantly. He, as if to say, what’s the big deal here?

Was he more like his oft-married and divorced mother in this respect than she knew? Poppy wondered uncomfortably.