Chapter 25
Chapter 25
S ully’s day started bad and went downhill. In law enforcement, holidays could go two ways. Either it was deathly silent while people took time off being stupid to celebrate, or people used the time to fuel their stupidity with alcohol. Today was a combustible day. He’d been sent to tag along on five domestics with the state patrol, and it wasn’t even noon. Domestics were notoriously the most dangerous calls, emotion and alcohol merging to create an unstable powder keg. And there were always weapons in the home, adding another element of danger. Cops never knew if they were about to walk into battle, if a few well-placed words would be enough to diffuse the situation, or if they’d have to use force. In three of the scenarios, Sully and Len, the state trooper he was backing, were able to talk the couple down. In two it ended in a brawl. At the last house, there had been young children on standby, watching their screaming father get tackled, a gun wrestled out of his grasp while their bleeding mother stood nearby, pleading with the officers not to hurt him. Until Poppy, that was the thing Sully hadn’t understood—how a woman could take a beating and defend the man who beat her. But he got it now, at least a little. They’d been conditioned, trained to take it and move on. It was a horrible way for a woman to live, wrenching when children were involved.
In addition to the draining, disheartening domestics, he had his regular investigative work, work that had ground to a standstill after Poppy’s date with Diego. The man was taunting him, Sully could feel it. Every time he thought of how close he’d gotten to Poppy, close enough to touch her, he wanted to erupt in a pile of hot lava rage, to literally hunt the man down and lay hands on him. But then he would calm himself with the remembrance that it was what Diego wanted. So much of being a cop was an issue of mind over matter, of not reacting to enraging emotional stimuli. It was why so many cops ended up divorced, because they became so used to cutting off their emotions they started doing it with their wives.
Sully tried imagining ever being cold and aloof with Poppy and laughed out loud. It would be like not reacting to picking up a live wire. She was so electric the response was beyond his control, all passion, sparkle, and sass. And they weren’t even together. How much more potent would she be if they were?
“You all right?” Len asked, darting him a glance when he remained silently staring into space, his mind on Poppy.
“Fine,” Sully said, dragging his attention back to the vehicle, a good thing since he was the one driving.
“Whatcha got going on tomorrow?” Len asked. “You working?”
“No, working Christmas. Tomorrow’s off.” Since crime never stopped, cops didn’t either. It was Sully’s first Easter off in six years. “We’re going to my, ah, Poppy’s sister’s house.”
Len’s eyes bugged. “Wait, that’s Calhoun Ridge, right? Man, sometimes I forget you know him, and now you’re practically family.”
“We were always practically family,” Sully said, tugging his collar. “We go back a ways, grew up in the same town, I played ball with his brother.”
“Yeah, but now it’s official. Well, almost. I mean, he’s going to be your kid’s uncle. Although I guess you won’t be his kid’s uncle, not really.”
For some reason the comment annoyed Sully. It seemed unfair somehow that Cal got to officially be his child’s family while Sully orbited on the periphery, alone and unofficial. Not that he planned to be uninvolved, but he also wouldn’t be Uncle Sully. He would remain Sully, baby daddy. His hand gripped the wheel and he cleared his throat.
“Man, your girl sure is pretty. I can see why Diego went for her. Even pregnant, she’s…”
“Len, shut up,” Sully said, his voice low and dangerous. Len did a double take. Even though Sully was a tough, no-nonsense Ranger, he was affable, congenial, friendly, almost always smiling or laughing. It was the first time outside the job Len had ever heard him sound so…menacing.
“I didn’t mean anything by it, Sul. It seemed out of character, you know, you getting a girl knocked up. We were all pretty shocked by it. But then we saw her in those pictures with Diego and it was like, oh, that’s why. Because sweet and hot together. And even pregnant you can tell her body is…”
Sully slammed on the brakes so hard Len’s body would have flown through the front windshield if he hadn’t been wearing his seatbelt. “Not another word, or I swear you will walk back to the station.”
Len made a show of pressing his lips together. Sully resumed driving, heart thundering. It was bad enough the guys had been talking about Poppy, speculating over what kind of woman she was because she’d gotten pregnant, over what kind of man he was for making her that way. But then he brought up the pictures with Diego, and it was all Sully could do to keep a lid on his temper. A murderer had gotten within inches of his heart, next to his baby and his, well, his Poppy. And all his coworkers had witnessed it. Sully wanted to throw up.
The remainder of the day did nothing to improve his mood. By the time he let himself into his house, he wanted nothing more than to run off his anger and then shower. But the scent of butter and sugar greeted him on the porch, tempting and confusing him at once.
He followed his nose to the kitchen where he saw Poppy working frantically, a dozen pie tins spread over his kitchen table. She didn’t look up when he entered. He wasn’t certain she’d even noticed him.
“Poppy?” he said, curious and only a tiny bit annoyed. She had never let herself in uninvited before.
She glanced up, a streak of flour on her cheek. “Oh, hi,” she said, and then she burst into tears.
He hadn’t seen her in tears since her arrival. He vowed then that his reaction the next time would be better. The vow galvanized him to action. He went forward, gathered her to him, and led her to the couch, settling her into his lap as they sat down. The thing he had finally realized about Poppy was how important, possibly even necessary, human touch was to her. She needed it the way she needed food and air. He petted her, rubbing her back, kissing her hair, squeezing her shoulders, soothing her with his words, whispered little endearments, sweetie, honey, baby, and her favorite, darlin’.
At last she was calm, her head resting tiredly on his chest, her body shuddering with leftover snuffles.
“Can you talk?” he asked, his thumb sliding gently up and down her neck.
“It’s nothing,” she said, and he laughed. His laughter made her smile. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It’s really nothing, in the scheme of things. A pipe burst in my house. The landlord had to shut the water off. Sasha will be here any minute, and now I have nowhere to stash her. I have about a thousand pie orders for tomorrow, which is great, but I was a bit optimistic in my ability to get everything done. I’ve been up and baking since three. My feet hurt, I’m exhausted, and I’m nowhere near finished.” She inhaled deeply again. “You smell amazing, by the way.”
“Thank you. How many pies do you have left?”
“Thirty six,” she said. “I had to do the cakes first because of frosting.” She explained as if this made sense to him when, really, it didn’t. What he knew about baking could fit on an index card. He was merely the one who got to enjoy the fruits of her labor, hence the reason he had now started running five miles every night when he got home from work. Life with Poppy was a delight, but it had the power to make him soft as a butter cow. He checked his watch. It was six.
“I’m going to help you get your next batch of pies in the oven, and then I’m going to grab us some BBQ takeout. And then we’ll do the next batch and the next until we’re all finished.” He kissed her temple. She snuggled closer, nestling.
“What about Sasha?” she asked, sounding sleepy.
“She’ll stay here, you both will.”
“Your house is better anyway,” she admitted, sliding her arms up to wrap around him. “Thanks, Sully. I owe you.”
“I think you’ll pay me back forever when you push this thing out,” he said, tapping the bump. Poppy giggled, pressing her face to his neck to absorb the laughter. Sully squeezed her tighter and closed his eyes, wishing to freeze the moment. Life with Poppy always felt like a small series of stolen moments that never seemed to last. Always the reminder intruded: She’s not really yours. Soon this will all be over. Someday she’ll belong to someone else. In the beginning those intrusive little thoughts had been annoying. Now they were nothing less than panic inducing. At this point in their relationship, if he had to see Poppy with another man, he might actually die from the pain and injustice of it.
“I should get back to it,” Poppy said, sounding as reluctant and tired as he felt. They both dragged themselves to the kitchen where they made an assembly line. Poppy had already put the crusts in the tins. Sully measured equal amounts of the filling into each one while Poppy went behind him adding the pecans. They put six pies in his oven. He carried four pies to her oven while Poppy cleaned the kitchen. Sully went to get their supper while Poppy began prepping the next batch of dough.
When he returned, she glanced up at him with something like adoration in her eyes, and he felt a spark of hope. If this was all it took, this taking care of her, he could do it. He was a natural caregiver, and Poppy made it easy by being so receptive. They shared a smile, one not devoid of sparks, and ate as they worked. Between bites of brisket, Sully cracked about a million eggs while Poppy rolled dough and pressed it into tins. The first batch of pies came out of the oven, and one more batch went in.
“Hey, my Mom’s got an oven,” Sully said, smacking his skull like the dunce he was. “Let’s put some in hers, and we’ll almost be done.”
“For a park ranger, you’re kind of a genius,” Poppy said, standing on her toes to steal the pickle out of his fingers and eat it before he could protest. He grinned at her, his eyes following her fluid movements around his small kitchen. It was like watching a dancer in her element—pivot, dip, slide, spin, repeat, over and over as she repeated the prep work for each pie. Sully was amazed, both by her ingenuity and her skill. Everyone loved her pies, everyone loved her. She had made a success of her popup bakery in a town that didn’t like strangers, a town that could barely keep any business alive.
They were too tired and tense to talk much as they worked, both exhausted from their long days. But even so, a funny thing began to happen in that kitchen. It became filled with a kind of glow, sparks of electricity that multiplied into one giant current of attraction. The room was charged with it. Sully stared at Poppy, dropping his eyes when she looked up to catch him. And then, when he couldn’t take it any more, his eyes would stray in her direction again, in time to catch her averting her stare from him.
She put the last pie in the oven and turned her attention to the sink, her back to him as she began to wash the dishes.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Cleaning up,” she said, not bothering to turn around. Her tone sounded normal, but there was a tightness in her shoulders, more from exhaustion than anything else.
“No, I mean what are you doing to me,” he said. He pressed against her, pushed her hair aside, and kissed her neck. Poppy melted, as she always did, going up in flames as a sigh leaked out of her. He was about to spin her to face him when a loud knock sounded on the door. They both froze.
“Sasha,” Poppy whispered, sounding guilty, likely because she forgot. Sully forgot, too, but then he tended to forget everything but Poppy when she was in the room.
They eased apart. Poppy dried her hands and faced him. “How’s my hair?” Her fingers reached to smooth the flyaway strands. Sully noted the way they shook and beamed at her.
“Beautiful,” he said and then, because he couldn’t resist, he tipped her face and skimmed his lips over hers, ever so lightly. She tipped forward on her toes, leaning into him, urging him to continue. “Sasha,” he said, his lips moving against hers.
“No, it’s Poppy,” she said, pulling back to give him an ornery grin and a boop on his nose.
They walked to the door together, side by side. Sully had offered to pick the friend up from the airport, but she declined, choosing to rent a car and drive instead. Apparently all the women in Poppy’s world were the strong and independent sort.
Excited now, Poppy flung open the door in delight. “Sasha!”
“And George,” he added, stepping into view beside his sister.