Poppy’s Passions
by
Stephanie Beck
Poppy’s Passions
Copyright © 2010, Stephanie Beck
ISBN: 9781937325787
Publisher: Beachwalk Press, Inc.
Electronic Publication: June, 2013
Editor: Pamela Tyner
Cover: Razzle Dazzle Design
eBooks are not transferable. No part of this book may be used or reproduced without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations in articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Back Cover Copy
Can Poppy find the courage to risk triple the love—and triple the heartbreak?
Poppy Maguire is tired of being a loser. Emotionally neglected as a child, she wants to find the courage to leave her family and the job she hates. She desperately wants to make a change. Little does she realize how much of a change sexy brothers Cody, Michael, and Trevor Paraby will bring to her life when the friendly shoulders they offer turn into so much more.
Comfort turns to passion and Poppy learns what life could be like in the arms of not one, but three men who love her. But what happens when the pink line on a pregnancy test doubles and she’s expecting twins, courtesy of one of the Parabys?
The brothers blow her mind by offering her the family and love she’s always longed for. But do they realize what they’re in for? Cody is moving a little too fast, Michael may not be in for the long haul, and Trevor is a bit self-centered. In order for Poppy to have the extraordinary love she fears she hasn’t earned, everyone is going to have to do some growing. But can she break free from the bad seed of her abusive family and have the courage to bloom?
Content Warning: Explicit sex
Dedication
For my granddad who used to sneak into my notebooks and read my stories. He said they would be pretty good if I left out all the kissing. Miss you, Old Guy.
Chapter 1
Seven. During Poppy Maguire’s long drive across town in rush hour she’d had time to rank her puke and aggravation filled day as her seventh worst. Considering her year, seventh was no picnic. A never ending wave of disappointment and pain, nothing stood out positively in the last ten months. Today’s disgusting developments seemed on par to finish the horrible year, demanding the white Russian in front of her have friends before she called it a night.
Her stomach growled hard, reminding her of the lunch she’d missed in favor of showering off kid puke. Poppy blamed the adult. Grandma brought the poor guy in with terrible stomach pains and finally confessed to giving him half a dozen red velvet cupcakes for breakfast. Both the boy and his guardian felt much better after he’d unloaded a gallon of red chocolate sludge.
Poppy needed to send the new ER doctor flowers. When the boy’s hiccups started, Dr. Webster pushed her in front of him and let her take the brunt of the mess. She paid the price, shoes and scrubs ruined with red stains. Life as a traveling ER nurse in San Antonio’s hospital system was never glamorous, but most days she managed not to wallow in puke. Some days she just got really lucky.
With the incident finally far enough away to think about food, she remembered the only things in her cupboards were stale Pop-Tarts. She grabbed a sticky menu when the brown lettuce in her crisper came to mind. With drag racers in town from all over the country, the usually quiet neighborhood bar was packed. It wouldn’t be easy in the crowd to get an order in, but she stretched higher in her seat to catch Nick’s attention. The older bartender had a soft spot for her.
Instead of Nick’s friendly brown gaze, she connected with the Christmas green eyes that had haunted her the past week. She shook her head, telling herself the owner of those eyes wasn’t the reason she’d been to the bar every night for seven days. A drinking problem, developing one of those was probably less detrimental than getting mixed up with the man behind the green eyes.
Nick appeared from the kitchen and slid a basket of chicken wings, potato wedges, and celery sticks in front of her. “From Cody across the bar. The celery’s the best I could do for fresh vegetables, so make sure you eat it.”
“Ah, thanks, Nick.” Mouth immediately watering at the scent of chicken, she took a moment to send a celery salute to the owner of the green eyes across the bar.
The last few months had been touchy health-wise for her, and as a nurse she knew she’d lost too much weight too quickly. Her hair had thinned, which was why it was trapped in her trademarked ponytail, or on the worst of hair days, twin pigtails. Her sisters said she looked great, finally losing her baby fat, but she felt like a ghost of herself and not strong in her new shape.
Cody must have agreed because every night since they met he sent her food or a drink with cream in it. He let her eat, unlike most men who would have immediately moved in. He kept an eye on her, ambling over after she’d made a dent in the big basket of food. He sidled up on the stool beside her, motioning to Nick for another beer before setting his Stetson on the bar.
“Tough day, darlin’?” His drawl was a little lazy but not nearly as southern as the Texan men around her.
“A little,” she admitted, offering him chicken and fries.
“Eat.” He handed cash across to Nick as she took another bite. “Trevor won his race today, so we’re in town another week.”
“That’s exciting.”
It didn’t bother her that he didn’t pursue the topic of her rough day, because they’d learned in earlier conversations Cody’s stomach couldn’t handle even her most tame hospital stories. The poor guy got twitchy and pale just at the mention of needles.
“You don’t have to get back to your ranch?”
“Nope, late summer is sort of a lull. My dad is handling the day-to-day stuff for a while, and at least for another few weeks it’ll be quiet. In September we’ll start selling stock and getting ready for winter. Do you have any time free this week? Maybe for a movie or some sightseeing?”
“We’ve already had this discussion, Cody. Actually I’m pretty sure we’ve had it the past seven nights. I have no plans of being the middle of a Patrich brothers’ bed party.”
There was no missing the whispers about the Patrich brothers in the small corner of the city she’d moved into. It was no secret the three shared women, one woman at a time among them, at the same time. One of the girls she worked with told her all about her own crazy night with the brothers. Poppy was, of course, properly horrified and disgusted by the thought of three men doing incredibly wicked, erotic things to a poor, unsuspecting woman.
Or at least she kept telling herself she was. The reoccurring dreams she had with her playing a starring role between the three delicious brothers screamed otherwise. She couldn’t say she’d been invited, but she was woman enough to recognize the looks Michael and Trevor gave her when she’d met them a few days earlier. She hated to admit it, but she’d looked right back and liked what she saw.
Guys in the past had liked her. They thought she was cute in a neighbor girl sort of way, with her curly hair, freckles, and short stature. The Patrich brothers were no different.
“Pretty Poppy, you’re selling us short if you think we wouldn’t make sure you had a good time,” Cody told her, easy as always, no push in his tone, no pressure.
“Oh, I just bet ya’ll would,” she muttered, and he grinned. “But what next? I know you boys go through women like tissues when you’re in town, together and individually. I have no aching desire to become one of the pack of castoffs.”
His grin fell away, and he looked thoughtful a minute. She wondered if she’d hurt his feeli
ngs. He was a single man, they were all single men, and the woman she’d heard from had in no way been coerced or lied to. Poppy didn’t mean to make it sound bad, just honest.
The Patrich brothers had all the makings of men she would want to keep. She didn’t want a taste of something only to be denied more when they moved on to the next woman. She’d played those games before, and it wasn’t something she wanted to repeat.
“Cody, I’m sure you, Michael, and Trevor know how to show a girl a good time. You’re nice guys, and really I had fun the other night over dinner. Like I said though, I’ve been used and thrown away too often to do it again. And to willingly do it is crazy, so it’s probably better to be friends. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a friendly face the next time you come to San Antonio? One that doesn’t want anything from you guys but to hang out and have a beer?”
He patted her hand with his big, work scarred one. “Yeah, darlin’, that would be nice. Friends are good. So pal, tell me the edited version of your day. I had some ribs earlier I would hate to lose, but tell me what you can.”
* * * *
Another shit day. Poppy pushed tears away from her tired eyes. Worse than shit. Horrid covered in terrifying, trapped in shit. She took her time as she walked into the bar, simply named “The Bar,” and hung up her wet jacket. It had to be raining, of course. Heaven forbid such a horrible day end with sunshine. The crying sky mimicked the tears shed by the heartbroken families who’d left the hospital without their loved ones. She didn’t question why she turned right instead of left to her apartment and refused to examine the reasons why she sought comfort in the bar, but she knew. Alone wasn’t what she needed, not after her day.
“Hey, babe,” Trevor Patrich greeted when she numbly sat beside him at the busy bar. “You okay, Poppy?”
Trevor, unlike Cody, was scrawny to the point he worked out every day to maintain any sort of muscle mass. She’d learned very early he was a teaser and consummate smartass. He didn’t push into mean, which she was grateful for because she couldn’t stand bullies. She’d seen him stop a fight between two racers more Cody’s size than his own with a joke and a round of beer, and she respected him.
He thankfully had a slew of redeeming qualities, because from what she’d heard he also liked to race dragster and chase busty blondes. She wasn’t quite blonde, more strawberry blonde, and she was far from busty, but tonight his brown eyes were earnest, sweet and warm with concern.
“Bad day.” Leaning into his boney shoulder, she tried to put more distance between her heart and the heaviness weighing on it. “I had a really bad day.”
The friendly arm he slipped around her shoulder was the only warmth she’d felt the entire day. “I’m sorry to hear that, sweetheart. How about you come over to the booth we’ve got and tell us about it? We ordered a couple of pizzas, so you can eat and unload on us.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. Come on.”
Cody and Michael sat on opposite sides of their booth. They studied her progress across the bar with the interest that always seemed to be in their expressions when they watched her. It wasn’t as disconcerting as the first time she’d felt their combined gaze upon her. The more she knew about them, the less their attention frightened her. She wouldn’t say she was completely comfortable, but it wasn’t a bad feeling.
Contrary to what their sexual preference implied, they weren’t touchers. A pat on the back, a kick in the ass maybe, but nothing more than appropriate brotherly behavior. From what she’d seen, it was the norm for them. Their sexuality was nowhere near gay or incestuous; she just wasn’t sure what it was exactly.
“Another toughie, darlin’?” Cody asked. He stood and motioned them into his side of the booth. After she and Trevor were settled, Cody pulled a chair to the end of the table and sat. When Michael waved to the waitress Poppy realized they’d been expecting her to sit with them eventually. She hoped they weren’t too disappointed in the lack of good company she could offer.
“Yeah.” Accepting a thick, milky drink from the waitress, she took a deep gulp before she elaborated. “Some days I really, really hate being a nurse.”
“The accident on interstate ninety-four?” Michael asked.
“Yep.”
The brothers waited, watching her as she sipped her drink more slowly. They watched her a lot when they were all together. The looks came in varying degrees of heat, but when she glanced up, genuine concern was the only thing in their eyes. She needed to talk, and she could see they wanted to listen.
“Five dead.” The words didn’t feel right coming out. Nothing about the day felt right. “It was a daycare group going to the zoo.”
“Honey, I am so sorry,” Trevor said.
“All the kids died within minutes of getting to the hospital—six months, two years, and four years old,” she explained numbly. “There were two boys and one girl. Even though her skull was crushed her little pigtails were still in the neat bows her mommy tied. God, her mom cried. Buckets. I’ve never seen anyone cry that much.”
Her voice cracked, and she hated that the words were getting stuck again. The charge nurse at the hospital told the nurses involved to visit the trauma therapist on staff. Poppy went, but the words hadn’t come then either. The therapist was nice, told her to let it settle but to visit soon to talk. That much trauma couldn’t be contained for long. She didn’t want the pain anymore.
“The caregiver was a fifty-five-year-old woman with a perfect driving record and brand new triplet granddaughters. She died after a major heart attack took over and we couldn’t stop it. Then the other driver came in. A forty-three-year-old male who was texting instead of watching the road. He’d been pulled over for texting while driving before, but it didn’t stop him. He was so busy with his messages he didn’t notice the daycare van until he had it crushed against the cement median.”
Cody swore. When she looked up she saw Michael held his forehead on his fist, shaking his head. It was a natural response, one she’d seen in the hospital before. It took a moment to process that sort of ugly reality, especially the preventable kind. She took another breath to finish purging the anger. Trevor settled his big hand over hers and squeezed.
“Maybe I’m in the wrong field, but when we were using the paddles, trying to get his heart going, I wanted to stop.” It was cold-hearted and not something a nurse should ever say, but it was true.
Away from the hospital she didn’t have to fake how “sad” she was. There had been a general consensus about how nice it would have been if they’d at least saved him. One life out of five would have been something. The widow had been in the room as they worked on starting his heart, and while her tears had touched Poppy, she didn’t feel the world had lost much in the death of a man who murdered four people because he was impatient.
“After all those babies came in, broken and dead because of him, I wanted him to die. Then he did. His wife cried and I know he has a grieving family, but I still can’t say I hope he’s in a good place. If there’s a hell, I hope he’s burning in it.”
The helpless anger brought back the tears she’d fought so hard to stop after she’d helped clean up the little one in pigtails for the mortuary attendants. She couldn’t think of the baby girl’s name and maintain the small piece of sanity she had left.
She took another drink and saw Michael nod. He was a private detective now, but for years he’d worked as a police detective in Los Angeles. He’d probably seen worse, which didn’t help, but the compassion he offered meant something more because of the shared occupational trauma. He nodded again.
Trevor freed her hand and hugged her close. She sank into the warm comfort his embrace offered. Even though they were staying quiet in light of the story, she didn’t feel alone with the Patriches.
Waiting out the silence, Michael didn’t let Trevor do all the comforting. He reached across the table, peeled her hand away from her drink, and held it in his warm one instead. Though his hair was prematurely graying
she couldn’t help but think the touches of silver in the blond made him look more handsome and trustworthy. Everything about the way he held himself said he was strong and capable yet approachable. He was somewhere between Cody’s hugeness and Trevor’s lean muscle, and though average looking in every way, the comfort he offered in a single touch touched her heart.
No token responses were offered. Silence worked better than all the trite statements could. Trevor held her and let her bury her face in his shoulder. Every breath of the spicy cologne he wore added another layer of comfort. The constant pressure around her hand from Michael’s grip was the most innocent yet powerful contact she’d ever experienced.
Human decency demanded most to comfort in hard times. She saw it every day at work. Surrounded by the Patriches, it felt different, deeper. They were her friends. Made in seven days they weren’t the deepest of buddies, but even though she didn’t have many friends, she recognized good ones in the faces around her.
The hospital therapist sent a memo recommending the staff enjoy their time off with the people they loved. The obvious choice would have been her father. Most of her sisters lived in town too. Instead, she’d gone to a bar to meet men she’d known for only a week.
No part of her believed time spent with her sisters would make her feel better. They’d never forgiven her for her part in their mother’s death and no comfort was offered. Ever. Going to her father would have required tracking him down at a school function. In the unlikely event of him setting aside responsibility, she knew there would have been nothing but a lecture on personal accountability offered.
She’d considered her sisters for a moment, memories of the past winter still bright enough to draw her. For a while it seemed they’d set aside the past, forgiven her for being born and escalating their mother’s breast cancer. They’d encouraged her to date and had even set her up on double dates with their husbands’ friends. For the first time, she’d held their approval. Under their advice she’d gone further with a man than she ever had, and when pregnancy followed they’d been thrilled.
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