Poppy's Picnic (Poppy's Place Short)
Read Poppy's Picnic (Poppy's Place Short) Online
Authors: Stephanie Beck
Tags: #romance, #Poppy's Place, #contemporary, #menage
Poppy’s Picnic
Copyright 2013 by Stephanie Beck
Published by Stephanie Beck
Copyright 2013 Cover Art by Fantasia Frog Designs
Editing and Formatting Services by Wizards in Publishing
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Book 1 in the Poppy's Place Series.
Mary's Men
Book 2 in the Poppy's Place Series.
Also by Stephanie Beck
A Winter Tale with Marshmallows
Poppy’s Picnic
A Poppy’s Place Short
By
Stephanie Beck
Chapter One
Cody flung a button weed into his bucket and continued trudging through the certified organic pea pod patch. Why the hell had Poppy decided they needed, of all things, small green balls full of pus?
“Your neck is turning red,” Trevor called from the row beside him. “Did you put sunscreen on like Poppy told you?”
“Of course I did.” He sat down in the cool dirt between the rows. “I’m just pissed. This is stupid. Why the hell do we need organic peas? Don’t we make enough money to buy magic peas? Between the three of us, there’s got to be enough income not to have to fuss with this crap.”
Trevor joined him on the ground, the tiny pea sprouts between them. His brother shrugged. “This isn’t about money. I don’t know what bug crawled up her ass, but it’s there, and she wants the patch cleaned. Michael, any thoughts on what has her so fired up?”
The eldest Paraby brother sat between his rows. They were well-spaced for picking, but that only made the process take more time.
“No idea.” Michael pulled off his ball cap and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist. “I just know she’s been acting funny since we got home from San Antonio, so I don’t want to rock the boat. It’s two acres of peas. We can handle it, guys.”
Cody nodded. Their time in San Antonio had been a mixed bag. Good in that they’d had time to reconnect after a busy year. Not so great because all of Poppy’s old family wounds had been laid bare. An ugly divorce, cancer, a stroke—each terrible in its own right, but when they mixed together and dropped in Poppy’s lap, she’d taken the blow head on. They’d been there to help her and deflect what they could, but there was no denying old scabs had been ripped open.
She deserved a little more of their patience as she dealt with the new revelations. She didn’t ask a whole hell of a lot from them. He pushed to his feet. He could weed the stupid peas.
“I’ll keep working.” Trevor also jumped up. “But that doesn’t mean I have to eat the fucking things. I hate peas.”
“Me, too,” Cody said.
“Make that all three.” Michael peered over the field. “The shit we do for love, eh guys?”
**
Poppy smeared frosting on a graham cracker and topped it with a second. There. Very fancy cookie. She set it on the plate with the rest of the packet done up with vanilla frosting straight from the can. She wiped her hands on a towel and rested her forehead on the cool refrigerator door.
What a mother she was. Her girls worked so hard at school—Da and Dee in first grade and sweet Lola in preschool—and all she had to give them was cracker sandwiches. She hadn’t even gone to pick them up. While she napped, dead to the world, Mary covered for her—leaving a note assuring Poppy she would take them to lunch.
Then why had Poppy made treats?
“Because I’m crazy, obviously.” She pulled the fridge door open and grabbed a gallon of milk.
“Ooooh, frosting. Best part of having grandkids is the food.” Paul Paraby, father-in-law and semi-retired rancher grinned from the kitchen entryway.
“Help yourself, there are plenty.” She fought to pull herself together before the waterworks started. She hated crying in front of any of her family, but her fathers-in-law were the worst. They always wanted to fix things. In this case, there was no fixing.
“You seen Mary around?” He took a snack and motioned toward the milk.
She filled two glasses. Her ulcers had cleared up so well, she hadn’t even thought of them in years, but she poured hers only half-full.
“While I was sleeping the afternoon away, she had to go pick up the girls for me. She said she’d take them out for lunch, too.” Poppy handed him his drink. “I can make you a sandwich if you’d like.”
He shook his head. “Oh no, I’m fine. Just wondering. You doing okay? Boys around?”
“They’re in the garden.” She took a sip of cold milk, but left the pitiful cookies on the plate.
Paul was the most down-to-earth and practical of the fathers, a man of the land for many years. He and Cody spent their days working the shared ranch. She saw a lot of her youngest husband in his father. Big mouth—gentle soul.
“I hate weeding,” he muttered. “Why’d you want the organic stuff anyway? Doesn’t SaraJean carry that crap?”
She slammed her glass down. “Organic is good. We have the space; why the hell shouldn’t we grow something other than freaking cows? You even did a herd of grass-fed steers last year—as hippy dippy as it gets. Didn’t you make a mint? Why are peas so crazy?”
Paul gulped his cracker and took a sip of milk, wide-eyed. He’d worked the ranch for decades. The question was perfectly valid. Tears slipped past her eyelashes.
I’m such a shrew.
“Hey, hey, none of that. No tears. I don’t care about the peas—I promise.”
Poppy covered her face with her hands then his strong arms encircled her. She rested against his comforting shoulder.
“Oh girlie, what’s going on? You’ve been off your game the last two months. Ever since you came back from San Antonio you’ve been different. You know we’re here for you, right? Nothing has changed for us. You’re still our girl.”
She sniffed back tears, reaching for control that didn’t come as easily as the breakdown. “I know. Thanks.”
“Thomas and I will have a talk with your father if you want. We’ll make sure he understands the way he should treat his daughter.”
“No, please don’t. He wouldn’t understand, anyway. I’m just….” She pulled away, rubbing the backs of her hands over her face. Why was this so hard?
“Time to come clean,” Paul said, his eyes sparkling even as his lips turned down in a frown.
He’s trying to keep a straight face.
“How do you already know?” she wailed. “I didn’t even realize until two weeks ago—about three days after Cody planted the peas. I feel so stupid.”
Paul hugged her again. “Now, don’t do that. You’re just fine. So pregnancy has you a little emotional. You’re allowed. I don’t understand why the boys are bitching about the garden. They for sure don’t want you doing it.”
She sniffed. “I haven’t told them yet.”
He held her at arm’s length. “Come again?”
“I haven’t told them. I don’t know how! This was so not planned.”
“Come on, honey. Let’s sit down, and you can tell me all about it. Just a sec.” He strode to the doorway. “Thomas, got a minute?”
Poppy hated spewing her problems all over, but crunch time approached, and she’d hit a brick wall. She needed to tell Cody, Trevor, and Michael they would be fathers again, and she needed advice—or at least a pep talk.
Paul’s twin stepped in, his orange T-shirt and sweat pants much more casual than his lawyer attire. Thomas was also easing into retirement, allowing the sons to do more: Cody on the ranch, Michael in the law office as he worked toward taking the Bar exam. Even Trevor would make the occasional coffee run or document drop for the flourishing businesses.
“What’s up?” Thomas turned to her. “Oh no, what’s wrong?”
Paul pulled out one of the kitchen chairs. “Take a seat, girlie.”
Poppy sat, slouching low. Only a few weeks pregnant, already she wished she wore sweat pants instead of her ever-tightening jean shorts.
The men took opposite sides of the table. Though they were twins, time had given them differences. Gray in their blonde hair showed more for Paul, who grew his longer. His face held more laugh lines, where Thomas’ forehead was creased from hours of reading legal briefs. The lawyer enjoyed a slimmer physique and enjoyed working out, where his brother was softer. In Poppy’s seven years on Paraby Ranch, they’d made her feel loved every day. That reminder gave her confidence. They would help her with this.
“So, what’s the problem?” the always logical Thomas asked.
“Turns out our Poppy hasn’t told the boys she’s pregnant yet.”
Thomas pulled out his phone. “I can get on one of those craft sites to find a cute way to tell them.” He paused and looked up, his cheeks pink. “Ah, I mean, Mary’s been talking about it and showed me some stuff. I’m just passing it on.”
“Not planned, big surprise,” Paul said.
Poppy shook her head. “But not to either of you. How the heck did you know?”
Thomas put his phone down and patted her hand. “Paul spotted it first. No wine at dinner the last few weeks. You’ve been napping while the girls are at school—not your style. Little things you did when you were pregnant with Lola. I’ll give you this—you’re consistent. Mary never had the same symptoms twice when she was pregnant with the boys, so it was harder to read.”
She tapped her fingertips on the table. “So maybe Cody, Michael, and Trevor already know.”
Paul shook his head. “I’d bet they don’t have a clue.”
“Paul is the pregnancy whisperer around here,” Thomas said. “He knew about all three of our boys before Mary told us. He even spotted it before Duane—which always pissed off Duane. Anyway, what’s got you so flustered? Babies are wonderful. I might be biased, but I’d say you make the prettiest ones I’ve ever seen.”
