Poppy's Passions (5 page)

They'd been patient a long time. Years, in fact, until Michael's thirty-fourth birthday when they'd buckled down and began the search for the right woman. They'd started going out together, but always found themselves culled apart by women looking for a single man for a singular good time.

When it was just sex they were perfectly capable of making their own good time, but the desire for more kept them focused on finding the woman for all of them.

Michael was getting older and wanted a wife and family, so he'd taken the first turn looking for a woman. He'd tried, but he attracted timid, nervous women who didn't suit what they had in mind.

Second oldest, Trevor tried next. He was charismatic, and Cody envied his ability to turn acquaintances into friends in minutes. So he'd had good luck meeting women. The problem was, he would take anything blond, busty, and wearing a skirt back to their hotel. They found women who enjoyed being with all three of them, but they hadn't been looking for permanency. To be fair, there hadn't been a single one they'd wanted to take home to their mother, but it gave them hope and practice.

That ended when the last one was more equipped under “her” skirt than any of the brothers, so the job of scouting possible mates fell to Cody.

Again, they'd been patient. The local women weren't interested, so he headed to Billings and Missoula. All the beautiful women he'd seen, all the interesting women he'd spoken with hadn't raised more than casual interest on his part.

Then he'd seen her across a tiny San Antonio bar. Still in her work scrubs with her fuzzy hair in a ponytail, his eyes locked on her and wouldn't move away. The woman for them was Poppy Maguire, and she was seven hundred miles south.

If not for Paul's heart, they'd have already been back.

"I know that look,” Trevor announced, striding into the office with Michael on his heels. “Someone is thinking of chicks."

"Of one chick,” Michael corrected. “That's the kind of look only Poppy Maguire can bring on. Have you heard from her?"

"No,” Cody answered, accepting the beer Michael offered. “I called the bar we hung out in, and Nick said he hadn't seen her in weeks. The only thing I can think of is to go back down there ourselves and find her."

Trevor flopped on the sofa, propping bare feet on the arm. “Bartender, good thinking. I couldn't find anything either. Her dad's a dick, by the way, hung up on me twice. There's a race on Thursday in San Antonio. I'm thinking that might be karma telling us to get our asses down there."

"This Thursday?” Cody pushed away from his desk and checked his wall calendar.

Trevor flicked on the gaming system he kept in every office and looked Cody's way while it booted. “Yep, this Thursday. Can you handle three more days, Baby Boy?"

"Can you, Middle Man?” he shot back.

Trevor sighed, he was the smartass of the group, probably of any group, but Cody knew he was also the most sensitive of them. “I don't know. It was one week and one night, not even the whole night, and I miss her all the fucking time. How did she get under my skin that fast?"

"I miss her smile and the way she smells. How did she always smell good after working all day at a hospital?” Michael commiserated. Usually he was more introverted in his thoughts but Poppy changed them in little ways. For Michael, spending time with her had opened him up some. “I can go Wednesday."

"I'll have to let Dad know I'm going, but Wednesday should work for me,” Cody agreed, excitement bubbling in his chest.

"Damn, she's got us whipped already. We are so screwed.” A prediction they all hoped would become fact as Trevor blew up a virtual prison. “Wednesday it is."

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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.

In passing, she remembered Cody saying 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 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 doctor was very kind and 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. When she rejected his idea, he told her to think it over, but a week later he called and broke off their relationship completely. She learned in vitro finally worked for his ex-wife and they were back together, thrilled and expecting a baby.

When she'd 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 felt herself pale at the sound of his voice, and when she looked at him her 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.

"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. She heard Tammy order someone to stop and started out of the cubical to help. Unrest in the ER was a fairly common occurrence, desperation and anger often accompaniments to emergency situations, so she'd heard yells before. 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.

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"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.