Poppy's Passions

by Stephanie Beck

Poppy bit back a sigh as she wrapped another set of stitches. It was Thursday evening yet she’d been dealing with weekend quality injuries all day. Stupid was equal opportunity, but the bulk of her work usually happened Friday and Saturday. Car accidents, broken arms acquired by falling off ladders, kids shoving paperclips into sockets, usually were contained to the weekend when people had time to be irresponsibly active. Lucky her, the weekend had started early.

  “Don’t let these get wet,” she advised the older man who’d sliced open his forearm on a rusty muffler. “The tetanus shot and antibiotic should help against infection. Come right back in if you spike a fever ibuprofen won’t settle, got it?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He nodded his bushy head profusely. She hoped he would show the sense most men didn’t and actually come in if he got an infection, but didn’t have high hopes.

  After walking him out, she stopped in the break room for a breather. She was tired and incredibly hot. Even in November with the temperatures cooling and the heat kept low in the hospital, she was sweating like mad. She added another layer of deodorant and smoothed her blue scrub top over her belly, hoping the antiperspirant would last until she escaped the floor again.

  The reason for her increased temperature was settled comfortably south of her heart and not so pleasantly north of her bladder. Two reasons actually, courtesy of the Patrich brothers. She’d googled them, even tried, badly, to bribe a hotel clerk. She needed to find at least a phone number so she could tell them what was happening. In month four she was finally past the most dangerous months and wanted them to know that one of them was going to be a father.

  Their response was something she couldn’t anticipate, but she hoped since they played their games with no problem, facing the consequences would come as easily. Parenthood, especially the unexpected kind, was a big deal and they had a lot to talk about. Wherever they lived, visitation, if they wanted it, would be a nightmare.

  They were her friends though, and if friendship meant as much to them as it did her, they would be fine. It wasn’t like she expected anything more than minimal child support. She had a good job, a bigger home, and the means to care for the babies. Keeping communication open and friendly seemed like the best plan.

  She remembered Cody saying in passing that he liked kids. In a few months there was a one-in-three chance he would have two of his own or have two new nieces, so she hoped the other brothers felt the same.

  She was proving to be a “fertile myrtle.” The first time she’d trusted Steven, loved him, and knew a pregnancy would be a welcome, wonderful event. The most recent one had condom failure written all over it. The Patriches had gone through more little packets than she could remember counting, and one or more had apparently broken or slipped.

  The first pregnancy had ended too soon, but she’d felt the stirrings of life before. Conceived in love she’d thought at the time, utterly romantic even if they weren’t married. Steven was a friend of her father’s, a respected, prestigious doctor and her family had raved about him. It had been the easiest thing in the world to love him and bask in her family’s approval for the first time in her life.

  The first few weeks were wonderful. Steven, at the end of a long, unhappy marriage, was thrilled to be starting out so well. He wanted children very much, more than he’d wanted her.

  Amid wedding plans and baby talk, she miscarried. There was no reason the doctor could ascertain. One day she was pregnant, the next she was not. The kind doctor explained it wasn’t uncommon in the first twelve weeks. She’d been at ten.

  After rapid consideration of her news, Steven decided not to chance another childless marriage. When he recommended they wait to marry until after their next try at pregnancy bore a healthy baby, she understood exactly what she was to him—a brood mare. She rejected his idea and he’d told her to think it over. A week later he called and broke off their relationship completely. She learned in vitro had finally worked for his ex-wife and they were back together, thrilled and expecting a baby.

  When Poppy had started sleeping more and puking five weeks after her night with the Patriches, she’d gone immediately to her doctor. Like the last time, she did everything the doctor said and at week twenty-one, her body was pleasantly filled out and healthy. Even her ass was back at its fighting weight, helping balance her stomach, which pressed against her top, big with twins.

  “Poppy, we’ve got a multiple victim car accident,” her partner on the ER floor announced over her radio. “Feeling okay, hon?”

  “Yep, I’m on my way.”

  Serious cases were triaged to the left wing where nurses were ready for the more trauma filled patients. With her balance off and touchy stomach she requested to work the right wing, and after throwing up during an emergency tracheotomy, the request was mercifully granted.

  She scrubbed her hands before entering the cubicle Tammy pointed her to. With her nurse’s smile pasted on and senses braced to deal with more of the blood and gore she despised she stepped in.

  “Trevor Paraby?” she asked, checking the chart and assessing the amount of time the patient would require. “Can you tell me your date of birth, please?”

  “That’s me, it’s July—” he replied, then cursed loud. “Poppy Maguire! Where the hell have you been hiding?”

  “Trevor?” She looked at him, and the blood drained from her head and the world spun.

  He hopped down from the table and steadied her with the arm not strapped to his chest. “Are you okay, Poppy?”

  “Um, fine.” She fought hard to swallow her anxiety as bile and tears threatened. “You need to sit so I can check your arm. What happened?”

  “Some fucker was pissed I won a race and rammed me,” Trevor explained, retaking his seat on the papered table, though he looked ready to hop down again at any time. “Probably had to do with the quarter million he lost.”

  “My goodness, I guess.” Her stomach settled quickly as it usually did, unless she threw up. “Okay, you’ll go for x-rays. Tammy will take you, but it looks like a clean break from what the EMT onsite reports. It’s a very typical injury from car crashes. You’re lucky.”

  “Can’t you take me, babe?” Once again he was off the table and wasted no time in pressing close, his pain tolerance very high, she thought, to sport an erection with a broken arm. “I’ve missed you like crazy, pretty girl, the way you hug with your whole body, those sweet lips, and your pretty ass.”

  His sweet words made the frustration of the past months boil. “You could have called, Trevor Paraby.”

  “Baby, we always travel using our alias names, otherwise we get stalkers and shit. We were going to tell you as soon as we found you, but Cody didn’t get your number and you don’t have a landline. You also don’t put your cell number down for anything.” Her surprise must have showed because he continued. “We looked, believe me. We had a line on you but your dad turned out to be less than helpful, same with your employers. You should be pleased to know your rights have not been violated in any way, the assholes.”

  “You called my dad?” Completely horrified at the thought of what conversation could have passed between him and any of the brothers, especially Trevor, she tried to think of the last time she’d spoken with her father.

  Trevor was slouching lower so they were face to face, watching her as she managed her anxiety. “Yeah, I said I was coordinating your school reunion one time and offered a fair prize the other. You’re still pale, baby. How about you sit for a minute?”

  “I need an x-ray, Tammy,” she said lifelessly into her radio instead of replying to his concern. “Non-critical.”

  “It’s an hour out. The right side has some majors coming in. Need a doc for pain meds?”

  “No,” Trevor answered, moving closer to wrap his free arm around her shoulder.

  “Not at this time.” The scent of leather and grease hung on his clothes, but the cologne she remembered was there too, filling her nose and turning her on even though she didn’t want it to.
r />   “Okay, go ahead and take your half hour if you want. It’s slowed over here. Knock on wood.”

  “Here, baby,” Trevor said, fishing a juice box out of his backpack. “You don’t look good. Are you working a double shift or something? Are you sick?”

  Before she could answer, screaming came from the hall and Tammy ordered someone to stop. Poppy rushed toward the door. Unrest in the ER was a fairly common occurrence, desperation and anger often accompaniments to emergency situations. The hospital employed several security people stationed near the ER to help keep the patients and staff safe.

  The flimsy curtain of the cubical ripped open before she got to it. A young man all in green leather gear, much like Trevor’s, stormed in and jerked a gun from his vest. His eyes were wild and angry as he looked for a target and settled on her. Sudden fear had her frozen in place. He lifted the gun and shot twice. The first shot came before she could react, but the second was skewed when he was tackled to the ground. Security was shouting, patients and staff screaming in terror.

  “Poppy—Poppy, are you okay?”

  She realized she wasn’t on her feet. Sometime in the moments she’d blinked, Trevor pushed her to the floor. It was cold, colder than she would have thought. She tried to remember how she’d come to be face down on the tiles, but it was a shocked blurb in her mind. Trevor was above her, protecting her, though his weight was making the ceramic covered floor even harder.

  “I think so,” she answered, but felt herself slipping into shock, the cold of the floor sinking into her pores.

  “Hell, she’s bleeding. Michael, she’s bleeding. We need a doctor in here now. Poppy was shot,” he said, progressing to a shout. “Damn it, we need a doctor over here.”

  Poppy. Shot? Poppy was shot? No way. She would know if she was injured, let alone shot, she thought groggily. She was a professional, after all.

  Chapter 4

  “Come on, beautiful. Open those eyes for me.”

  The voice was so compelling Poppy figured she’d have to be dead not to comply with the innocent request. Dull pain roaring to life assured her she wasn’t dead, not when the simple action required much more effort than anticipated. She blinked the fuzzy, too tired feeling from her eyes and knew it was from medications. She’d given enough of it to recognize the effects.

  “That’s my girl,” Michael crooned in sweet, deep tones better suited for the bedroom. “You have the prettiest blue eyes. Did I tell you that the last time I saw you? I should have if I didn’t. I’ve missed how they sort of sparkle. Even now they’re twinkling up a storm. How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

  “Michael?” She’d dreamed of them so often she couldn’t be sure he was real.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered, taking a gentle hold of her hand. “I’m right here with you. How are you feeling?”

  She squeezed his hand as discomfort grew. “Kinda’ rough.”

  “The doctor should be around to see you again soon,” he promised. “Do you need me to call the nurse?”

  “I’m okay for now.” The pain helped clear her mind past the medication haze. “Is everyone okay?”

  “Yep, Cody’s with Trevor and both are okay.”

  “What happened? Who was that guy?” She adjusted and found the pain radiated from her left shoulder. “Ouch.”

  “Yeah, ouch is right.” He moved a pillow to brace her arm better. “The good news is the guy with the gun is a horrible shot and only grazed your shoulder. He’s one of the racers Trevor was competing against.”

  “The one who lost all the money Trevor said he won?”

  “That’s the one. So, good news, you will be okay. The bad news is, it’s going to hurt for a while and it’s going to itch like crazy once it starts healing. Now, beautiful, do you think you’re up to answering a few questions for the detective? We know you didn’t see much, but he needs a statement. It should only take a few minutes.”

  Poppy jerked when the man she hadn’t noticed cleared his throat. She frowned at the grandfatherly gentleman, but between his thick mustache and kind eyes she felt immediate comfort.

  “Miss Maguire, I’m Detective Masterson.” He offered his badge before she could ask. “Michael’s right, I won’t keep you from your rest. I need to ask you a few questions. First, can you describe what was happening before the attack?”

  It only took a few minutes to explain the bulk of what she saw. She gave the details she remembered while the detective nodded and wrote notes in his tiny pad. Michael stayed by her side and helped the detective reword things when her medicated mind didn’t understand the questions. She knew Michael had been a detective but seeing him in action reaffirmed her assumption of how good he was.

  “A guy in green gear ripped the curtain and pointed the gun at Trevor. I was in front of him. I think Trevor must have pushed me to the floor,” she said absently. Her eyes widened as the words sunk in. Her hands flew to her stomach, still big and dormant.

  “Babies are tough, Ms. Maguire,” the detective told her with a reassuring smile. Beside her Michael’s comforting hand went from stroke to grab. “That’s all I need for now. We have the suspect red-handed, you could say, as he was still holding the gun when security got to the scene. It was a scary time with these boys dogpiled on him, but they kept him from shooting anyone else.

  “We’re hopeful for a full confession and ideally he’ll wise up and plead guilty. I’ll be in contact with more details when this comes up in the justice department. He’s here on a special visa, so things might get tied up for a while. It could be a few weeks or months but I’ve got your information, so I’ll be in touch.”

  Michael shook his hand and sat again, quiet until the detective closed the door behind him. She watched him think, an animated process with him as he was probably gauging how big she was and counting back weeks.

  Finally, he reached out and tentatively laid his hand on her bulging stomach. “Pretty big.” He cleared his throat. “Were you pregnant before our night?”

  “Nope. Twins are tucked in there.” Relief rushed with the words and she was grateful for the detective’s assumption and interference. The opening line had always been the one she couldn’t get when she practiced what she would say to them. With the block gone, the words came easily. “Apparently a condom or two or three failed.”

  “And you couldn’t find us. And we couldn’t find you either. Even at your apartment.”

  “Trevor told me about trying to call. I hate telemarketers so I never give my cell number. My apartment was too small for me and two babies. I bought a townhouse on the other end of town before I got too big to move myself. I’ve been there two months now, and I like it.” She was rambling but couldn’t stop. “It’s a nice house, and it’s closer to the places I work. I’ve been worried about telling you, even though I’ve wanted to. This whole situation is going to be so complicated.” There was more to say, more fears and concerns, but her stomach had other plans. “Gonna puke.”

  Michael was quick on his feet, she would give him that, and they avoided a major mess with a well placed basin. The nurse—not Tammy—administered nausea meds along with another dose of pain medication before Poppy was transferred to an observation room. Trevor was in yet another room, finally being seen and having his arm treated. Cody was staying with him until he was released.

  There was nothing to do, nothing left to worry about with her secret out. The men she’d wanted were finally close and relatively okay. There was so much to discuss and decide, but her arm hurt and the tired from earlier had become exhaustion. As the excitement ebbed, so did her ability to focus. Michael must have recognized the signs, because he nicely cleared the room of her co-workers and concerned hospital administrators.

  The weekend promised to be an interesting, exhausting few days. She closed her eyes as she relaxed against her pillows, extra warming blankets tucked around her as the shock and injury reversed the constant overheating she usually felt. Michael sat beside her, a magazine he wasn’t readin
g in hand. He was watching her and every so often his eyes strayed to her belly.

  “Still there.” Her words were slurred but clear enough for him to smile.

  “They sure are,” he agreed. “You should sleep, sweetheart. Trevor and Cody will be over soon and you know how noisy they are.”

  “Yeah.”

  They were quiet a minute, the beeping of her monitors the only sound in the room. She fought the drugs and her own exhaustion. So many unknowns remained and she wasn’t sure what she would face when she woke.

  “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

  She turned her head and wondered how he knew she wasn’t sleeping.

  “I can tell,” he said with a little smile. “I spent some time pretending to sleep in hospitals. If you’ll let the medication do its job and rest, I’ll tell you all about it when you wake up.”

  “You won’t leave? Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  Chapter 5

  As was the norm with the Patrich brothers, whose real name was Paraby, Poppy found herself doing things she wouldn’t normally even consider. Case in point, flying first-class, in a window seat, on her way to Montana. Good to his word, Michael had been beside her bed when she woke and hadn’t left. Even when the simple hospital stay turned into a three day event he remained by her side. Cody and Trevor added to the rotation during her misery, and she’d never had to be in the cold room alone.

  She’d spent the last seventy-two hours throwing up and running to the toilet, courtesy of one of the many horrid bugs that seemed to nest in hospitals. To their credit, the Parabys took it in stride. They called the nurses at first when she was ill but by day two they’d had no problem helping her themselves. Without her asking, they assisted her in the shower, helped her wash her hair, and took care of her with more determination than skill.

  The nurses were envious, her associates having no qualms about telling her how lucky she was, and Poppy understood why. She knew exactly what kind of men they had to be to try so hard.