Page 20 of Yuletide Acres

Chapter 4

Dylan

“You did what?” I bellow, my jaw open in a gape.

“Marissa and I spent the day with Poppy.” My mother’s eyes flash at me, warning me to cease and desist. “It was lovely. She’s lovely. You’re a shit.”

“Why am I a shit?”

“Does it feel good, knowing you made a woman cry?”

My heart sinks. No, it feels awful. Every tear running down Poppy’s face hits like a bullet, along with her admission that she carried—and lost—our baby. She was pregnant when I left her, and I can’t shake the guilt that the stress over my sudden disappearance helped bring about the miscarriage.

Our child would be ten years old now.

No, I can’t think like that. It’s painful enough knowing he existed; conjuring up what might have been is agony.

“Well, does it?” my mother presses. She isn’t about to let this situation lie.

“No.”

“I don’t understand, Dylan. This isn’t you. You’re never cruel. You’re the man who stops to move a turtle out of the road. The man who helps the old lady across the street in the pouring rain. You’re not the man who drives an innocent woman to tears as you march her out of town. Or are you?”

My anger flashes. If my mother knew the entire story, she wouldn’t be so keen on Poppy Mills remaining in Yuletide Acres. “Before you go all high and mighty about how perfect Poppy is, I’ll let you in on a secret. She was a stripper. Mrs. Withers found incriminating photos of her—scantily dressed, wrapped around a pole.”

My mother shrugs. Apparently, this is not news. Either the gossip mill is working overtime or Poppy admitted her sordid past. “Mrs. Withers is a detestable human being. You and I both know that. Poppy is the complete opposite.”

“She let men touch her,” I seethe. “I can’t even imagine how many men screwed her when she was a stripper.” Hell, even the thought makes me cringe.

“Is this about her former occupation or your insatiable jealousy?”

“This has nothing to do with me,” I bellow, even though I know the green-eyed monster is the major player in my emotions right now.

Instead of agreeing, my mother’s eyes darken in anger. “Did you even get Poppy’s side of the story?”

“What side might that be?” I shudder at the image of Poppy, wearing only a thong as she shakes her ass in front of countless strangers. It’s sickening. Somehow, strippers never bothered me before. Then again, I didn’t have a romantic past with any of them, either.

“Did you bother to inquire if any men touched her? You’re assuming the worst without any facts to back it up.” She holds up her hand when I open my mouth to retort. “Hold on, I’m not done, Dylan. Did you ask why she did it?”

“The strippers I’ve known didn’t make their money on the stage. They made it in the VIP rooms. I know firsthand how hands-on they are in those areas. So, does it matter why Poppy chose to be a stripper?”

“Yes, it does. If she did it to survive, there’s no shame there.” My mother paces the kitchen, wringing her hands. “Here’s a little-known fact about your mother. I was a go-go dancer in New York. That’s how I met your father.”

I couldn’t be more shocked if she told me I was the offspring of aliens. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not. I was broke, and dancing earned me a damn good living. I don’t regret one day of it, because it brought your father and I together. Never mind the fact that he was also the only man I let touch me. I was more than happy to leave that life when I was offered another choice. You fail to realize, dear boy, that not everyone is blessed with a successful family. Many have to scrape by, doing whatever they can to survive. There’s a good possibility that Poppy Mills didn’t have the same upbringing as you. Her options may have been severely limited.”

I drum the kitchen table, unsure how to get control over my feelings. They’ve been all over the place this last week, even more so since my encounter earlier today with Poppy.

That kiss. God, that kiss. It might have been coerced by my co-workers, but I was right. She did taste sweeter than I remembered. The finest wine, one I’ll be hopelessly addicted to again if I don’t keep my distance. But for the first time since I’ve known Poppy, she pulled away from the embrace and out of my arms. Ran at breakneck speed away from me.

And the pain lingering in her eyes as she tore away. Pain that I brought her, pain that’s lived there for years.

I scrub my face, willing my brain to focus on something—anything—other than that beautiful brunette. “What would you have me do? Poppy is getting the same rights as anyone else. A chance to plead her case to the council.”

“Perhaps she might have more luck with a kind word from the mayor.”

“Mom, it’s complicated.”

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