Книга - The Trophy Wife

The Trophy Wife
Sandra Steffen


Lady, when the clock strikes midnight, you're history!To settle an old score, dark and brooding Tripp Calhoun needed a wife for the night. Amber Colton could light up a room in five seconds, and even though her high-society pedigree clashed with his rough-hewn upbringing, she fit the bill perfectly. But what began as a "business trip" soon gave way to an outpouring of pent-up desire and shared dreams. Never before had he let a woman close enough to touch his tormented soul. Would the hardheaded doctor, used to controlling his own destiny, allow his trophy wife to close the deal?









JOE COLTON’S JOURNAL


My marriage is self-destructing before my eyes. How can the woman I’ve loved for a lifetime have changed so much? I hardly recognize her anymore. Good thing I have Tripp Calhoun’s visit to lift my spirits. Who would have guessed that the troubled teenage gang banger who first showed up at the Hopechest Ranch would grow up to be a caring doctor? He’s done us all proud. He’s in Prosperino for business—and to attend the wedding of a former flame. Pride demands that he make an appearance, and he’s sweet-talked my daughter, Amber, into being his trophy date. Those two are so good at “pretending” that the sizzling electricity they generate is powerful enough to heat up the entire Hacienda de Alegria Estate! Too bad the hardheaded Tripp isn’t looking to settle down with a “pampered” Colton heiress. But come on, now. His true feelings are more transparent than Meredith’s totally inappropriate new wardrobe. And if I can see the writing on the wall, it’s just a matter of time before my savvy daughter does, too….




About the Author


SANDRA STEFFEN

Two things Sandra Steffen loves are challenges and happy endings. What could be more challenging than throwing a spoiled heiress and a struggling young doctor with a chip on his shoulder together in a pretend engagement? That’s exactly what happens in The Trophy Wife. Sparks fly, tempers flare and of course love finds a way…or does it? This national bestselling author and winner of the 1994 National Readers’ Choice Award was up for the challenge and is immensely proud of Tripp and Amber’s story.

Sandra grew up in Michigan in a large, close-knit family. In keeping with this tradition, she and her husband are the proud parents of four sons.




The Trophy Wife

Sandra Steffen





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)







Meet the Coltons—

a California dynasty with a legacy of privilege and power.

Tripp Calhoun: The deceptive doctor. Anxious to save face in front of an old girlfriend, this pediatrician needs a date for one night…and gorgeous, accomplished Amber Colton seems the answer to his prayers.

Amber Colton: The trophy date. This sophisticated businesswoman’s eyes had been wide open when she agreed to be the doctor’s date for one night. But now that their contract has ended, she’d like to make their agreement a lot more binding….

Meredith Colton: The missing mother. Desperate to believe the fantastic story she’s just been told, this amnesia victim has a sudden flashback and knows her true identity. Now she’s just waiting for the right moment to return to Prosperino.















Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen




One


Amber Colton stared at her bare feet. Her nail polish was chipped on the big toenail of her left foot. She sighed. She checked her fingernails and sighed again. There had to be more to life than nail polish.

If she listened hard enough, she could hear the ocean. She could smell it on the air, too, but she couldn’t feel it. Whether it had been due to luck or planning, this portion of the garden was protected from the cool wind that could blow in off the ocean at a moment’s notice no matter what the season.

Looping one arm around her bent knees, she shaded her eyes and studied the cotton-candy clouds in the sky. There was a time when finding clouds shaped like elephants, mushrooms and all sorts of other objects had kept her and her brothers and sisters busy for hours at a time. Back then, the patio surrounding the pool had been wet constantly from so many children splashing, and voices, sometimes a dozen at a time, rang through the courtyard.

And Amber had never been bored.

She pushed a shock of her strawberry-blond hair away from her face and rose to her feet. She never should have come home in this mood. She should have taken her friends up on their invitation to go to the Cayman Islands with them. But she just couldn’t muster up enough enthusiasm to brave the airsickness that inevitably plagued her when she flew, just to watch the sun go down from another hemisphere.

It was the same sun. The same life. The same feeling of restlessness that threatened to drive her to tears. No, not to tears. Amber Colton didn’t cry, not anymore.

At twenty-six she was far too young for boredom and restlessness to become a permanent condition. It would pass. She shouldn’t have taken today off, that’s all. But lately despite the fact that her work at the Hopechest Foundation was meaningful and worthwhile, she felt as if something was missing, and had been for a long time. She’d had vacation time to use up and she’d been missing her dad something awful, so she’d driven out from Fort Bragg to her childhood home in Prosperino to visit him. Still, Amber felt terribly alone. And bored. God, yes, she was bored.

She’d been bored last night, too. Her friend Claire Davis must have heard it in her voice when Amber had called her last night. Claire had shown up at the ranch at five this morning. Amber glanced at the woman who was sleeping soundly in the shade on the other side of the pool. Claire was a good friend. Amber sighed. A good friend who just happened to be nocturnal.

She didn’t know what prompted her to peer into the backyard. A tiny bit of color caught her eye. For lack of any clear plan, she meandered to the edge of the formal-looking path.

Other than the ornamental and showy variety, there weren’t many flowers in the garden anymore. Once upon a time, her mother had spent hours on end filling the garden with lush green foliage and flowering plants native to California. For the past ten years, the gardening had been another of poor Marco’s responsibilities. He managed to keep it fairly neat and tidy, but the riot of beautiful yet casual colorful flowers was but a memory these days.

Amber bent down. The tiny pink blossoms nearly hidden from view were more than a mere memory. Somehow, the plants had survived all these years of neglect. Curiosity sent Amber to her knees. From there, it was easy to get down on all fours and stretch out until she could reach the weeds growing behind the ornamental shrubs that had taken the place of her mother’s flowers.

From this angle, Amber discovered more delicate blooms hidden among the weeds. Intrigued by the tenacity of the little plants, she ignored the hot sun at her back and the hard ground beneath her knees. Careful not to injure the shoots themselves, she tugged at the weeds that somehow had failed to choke them.

Footsteps sounded on the path. She didn’t look up until she heard Inez Ramirez’s voice.

“I brought you some iced tea. I see I should have brought the sunscreen. What are you doing, besides getting sunburned and dirty?”

Amber opened her mouth, but the longtime Colton housekeeper rushed on, as she always did.

“You are supposed to be relaxing. You’re on vacation.”

“I’m too restless to relax.”

“Your swim failed to help?”

Amber shrugged. Swimming alone wasn’t much fun, and it certainly wasn’t stimulating. She swept a hand toward the far corner of the courtyard. “Remember how beautiful the garden looked, Inez, back when my mother loved to tend it?” She didn’t say, “back when she loved to tend us all,” but she could tell from the look on Inez’s pretty, expressive face that she was thinking the same thing.

Inez didn’t believe in feeling sorry for herself, and she didn’t allow those around her to wallow in self-pity, either. Placing her hands on hips that had rounded over the years, she lowered her chin and raised her eyebrows. “If you would get serious about finding a husband and having babies, you would be too tired to be bored.”

Amber rubbed the dirt from her hands then brushed a blade of grass off her thigh. Finding a man and making babies was Inez’s answer to every problem. “Men are after two things, Inez: Sex and money, not necessarily in that order.”

Inez crossed herself, her lips moving in silent prayer. Amber couldn’t be certain whether she did it for Inez and Marco’s two beautiful daughters, Maya, who had recently had a beautiful baby girl, and Lana, who had been distracted lately, or for Amber. “Not all men,” she said when her litany was completed.

Amber reached for another weed. “Name one.”

“My Marco. And your father and brothers are good men.”

Amber shook her head. “Okay. Now name one man who fits that description and also isn’t married or related to me.”

As far as Amber was concerned, Inez’s silence spoke volumes. Recalling the sound she’d heard a while ago when a car had pulled into the driveway on the other side of the sprawling estate, she asked, “Who’s here, Inez?”

If she’d been looking, she might have noticed the change that had come over the older woman’s features. She certainly would have seen the sudden glint in those dark brown eyes and been suspicious of the way the wheels suddenly seemed to start turning behind them.

“Oh,” Inez said casually, “someone to see your father.”

Before Amber could question further, the older woman was hurrying toward the wide French doors that led into the house. Sighing again, Amber turned her attention back to the weeds.



Tripp Calhoun’s footsteps echoed on the gleaming tile floors inside the Coltons’ spacious home, the sound changing to a muted thud as he stepped onto a richly colored rug. He stopped before a massive stone fireplace and viewed the leather sofas and large armoire that undoubtedly cost more than he made in a month. Not a thing was out of place in the entire room—except maybe him.

Memories had washed over him when he’d pulled through the wrought-iron gates leading to Joe and Meredith Colton’s estate. He’d been fifteen when he’d first set foot on the grounds, angry, rebellious and scared to death, though he’d hidden the fear well, the way he’d learned to hide most emotions back then.

Meredith Colton had seen right through him. To this day, he didn’t know how she’d done it.

He fiddled with the clasp on his watch, slipped the band over his hand. Starting to pace again, he looped the watch over a finger and twirled it in a nervous gesture. He didn’t remember the room being so austere. Hell, he could have been looking at a picture in one of the dog-eared magazines in his waiting room.

They called this place Hacienda de Alegria. House of Joy. There didn’t appear to be much joy in it anymore.

Tripp hadn’t been back often over the years. It wasn’t as if he’d been one of Joe and Meredith’s real kids, or even one of their adopted children. He’d been a foster child. Not that he wasn’t thankful. Joe and Meredith had saved him from the streets of L.A., given him a home for one life-altering summer. Where he was today and who he’d become was due to their influence. They’d put up a good share of the money for college and med school. Tripp owed them, big-time and he’d worked his tail off to make them proud.

Pausing at a marble-topped table, he picked up a photograph. The two young boys in the picture looked to be about eight and ten. They were the youngest Colton children. He’d only seen them a couple of times, so it wasn’t surprising that they didn’t look familiar. Their mother, Meredith Colton sure should have looked more familiar, though. And yet, she didn’t. Oh, she was as beautiful as ever, but the image he’d carried in his mind of the woman who’d taken him in was in sharp contrast to the cool, brittle woman in the photograph. Something had happened to this family years ago, and no one had been able to fix it.

The heavy thud of footsteps behind him drew him around. Inez Ramirez smiled as she approached, muttering that Joe was going to be tied up on the phone for some time yet. Tripp expected Inez to suggest he come back another time. Instead, she bustled over, retrieved the photograph from his hand, and, returning it to the table, said, “Everyone is fidgety today. Go. Wait out by the pool. Get some sun and fresh air.”

Inez had aged during the seventeen years since Tripp had stayed here. Her black hair now had a wide streak of gray that started at her forehead and disappeared in the bun at her nape. She ushered him through the living room and into the courtyard. “You wait out there. You relax.”

She was still as bossy as ever.

“I’m thirty-two years old, Inez. Not six.”

“Thirty-two is a good age, I think.”

“A good age for what?”

Her smile was smug. It put him on edge, because a smile like that always meant that a woman had something up her sleeve.

She slapped something into his hand. “A good age to feel young. Enjoy the sunshine.” With that, she turned on her heel and disappeared.

Tripp knew better than to argue with a woman like Inez Ramirez. And he wanted to talk to Joe. He supposed he could wait out here as well as inside.

The hand he smoothed over his shirt did little to erase the wrinkles it’d gotten as a result of the hour of sleep he’d caught at the hospital. Wandering to a table near the pool, he noticed a tray containing glasses and a tall pitcher of iced tea. Next, he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. Well, well, well. He wasn’t alone in the courtyard.

One woman appeared to be sleeping, fully clothed, on a chaise lounge on the other side of the pool. Another woman clad in a pale lavender swimsuit was on all fours near the center of the garden. He couldn’t see her face, but this angle awarded him a view of long legs and the nicest rear end he’d seen in a long time.

“Lose something?” he called.

The woman swung around in surprise. Shading her eyes with one hand, a smile spread slowly across her face. “Why, Tripp Calhoun! I didn’t know you were here.”

“Amber Colton. It’s been a while.”

She placed a finger to her lips. “Shh. Claire’s sleeping.”

He cast a cursory glance at the other woman, who hadn’t so much as moved a muscle, then walked a little closer to Amber. From this position he could see the tan line along the inner swells of her breasts. It wasn’t easy not to stare. She certainly had curves in all the right places. Her hips flared just enough to entice a man’s imagination and her legs were long.

“You’re probably thinking I remind you of my mother.”

His eyebrows arched before he could stop them. That wasn’t what he’d been thinking at all. “I don’t recall ever seeing your mother pull weeds wearing a purple bikini.”

As if she was suddenly aware of the view she was inadvertently awarding him, she rose almost shyly to her feet. Amber Colton, shy?

She glanced at the bottle of sunscreen in his hand. “Did Inez send you out with that?”

Inez. Ah. So this was what she’d had up her sleeve. “That woman is trying to start something.”

“With you?” Amber asked.

He nodded.

No, Amber Colton definitely wasn’t shy. She was very blond, extremely pretty. He’d wondered how tall she was. Now that she was standing he’d put her at close to five-six. A leggy five-six.

He jerked his gaze away before he got caught looking. “Very funny. Obviously, Inez doesn’t know that I’m not the type to have a tête-à-tête with a rich little heiress out by the mansion’s pool.”

A blind man would have caught the haughty lift of Amber’s chin. Tripp figured he probably deserved the scathing comment that was certain to follow. After all, he hadn’t exactly been nice. Truthful, but not nice.

There was a terse silence. But the scathing comment never came. She didn’t accept the bottle of sunscreen from his outstretched hand, either. Instead, she strolled to an ornate bench and reached for a white cover-up. When she’d fastened the last big button, she said, “I still say your name should be Chip, not Tripp, to go with the mountain-sized chip you carry around on your shoulder.”

They stared at each other, unmoving.

A memory swirled over Tripp, and he smiled, a rarity for him. “That was the first thing you said to me the summer I stayed here.” She’d been what, nine or ten? That would make her twenty-six or seven now. “You’ve grown up, Amber.”

Amber found herself gazing into Tripp’s dark brown eyes, and wondering… Oh, no she didn’t. After that last comment of his, she wasn’t about to give in to the curious swooping sensation tugging at her insides.

Stark and white, his smile did crazy things to her heart rate. She dragged her gaze away. It was bad enough that his look sent a tingling to the pit of her stomach. She would be darned if she would let him know it.

She remembered the first time she saw him. He’d been fifteen, lean and belligerent and street-smart. He was still lean today, but his shoulders were wider, his chest thicker. His jet-black hair wasn’t as long as hers anymore, but it was still too long to be considered reputable. There was more than a hint of Latino in his features, passed on to him from one of his grandfathers, who had immigrated to America when still a boy. The first time she’d laid eyes on Tripp, she’d thought he looked like Zorro, the legendary superhero her brothers used to pretend to be when they were kids.

With his looks, he could have acted on one of those medical dramas or police-detective shows. Tripp was a pediatrician now. Her gaze caught on the gold stud in his ear; he certainly didn’t look like the pediatricians she’d visited as a child.

The good manners and etiquette instilled in her from the cradle dictated that she stride to the table and pour iced tea into the waiting crystal glasses. His fingers brushed hers as he accepted the glass. Their gazes met, held. For a moment, neither of them moved.

That tingling was back in the pit of her stomach, stronger than ever. She didn’t know why she glanced at his knuckles. His hands were large, his fingers long, his knuckles bony, especially the first two. She reached out with her other hand, covering the hard ridge of the largest one with her finger. “So these broken bones healed.”

He drew his hand away from hers very slowly and took a sip from the glass. Ice jangled, his Adam’s apple bobbled slightly as he swallowed. A bead of perspiration trailed down his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his white dress shirt. He seemed nervous.

Or was it something else?

Running a hand through his hair, he peered into the courtyard and said, “I was sure your parents were going to send me to another foster home before I even unpacked my bags.”

Amber decided she must have been imagining his unease. “You said Peter Bradenton threw the first punch.”

“I lied.”

“I know.”

He spun around. “You knew?”

She’d never heard more surprise or disbelief in two little words. He wasn’t smiling now, and yet something was still happening to her, something delicious and exciting and fun.

He said, “How long have you known?”

“I saw the fight from my bedroom window.”

Tripp was looking at her, his expression one of total dismay.

“Then why didn’t you tell your father the truth?”

She sashayed closer. “If I’d done that, you wouldn’t have spent all these years trying to make it up to him. Guilt is a great motivator. Besides, he knew.”

“You just said you didn’t tell him.”

She pulled a face. “I didn’t have to. He always knew when any of us lied. Besides, Peter Bradenton had it coming. He was always trying to put people in their places. In your place wasn’t where you wanted to be.”

“You were what, nine years old, and you knew that?”

She batted her eyelashes. “Girls mature faster than boys.” She watched in fascination as his lips parted and his eyes went from very wide to narrow slits. He wasn’t immune to her charms. He looked as surprised about that as she was.

She remembered the fight between Tripp and Peter Bradenton, and the chaos it caused. The Colton rule was: No fighting. Period. They could argue all they wanted, and had, but her parents simply did not allow fighting. Tripp was the only foster child to come through the ranks who broke the rule. And he did it the first week he was here. Her mother had heard the commotion and had come running. Without saying a word, she’d separated them. Still silent, she’d gotten Peter a towel for his bleeding nose, and Tripp an icepack for his hand. She sent Peter home, and Tripp to the stables to tell Joe. Amber had followed from a distance. When her dad had confronted Tripp about lying, she’d slunk out of the shadows and backed up Tripp’s story, saying that Peter took the first swing. She’d shaken beneath her father’s probing stare. In the end, he’d told Tripp to have Meredith take him to the doctor for X rays, and then sent them both back up to the house.

Tripp hadn’t said a word until they were well away from the stables. She’d expected a thank-you. Instead, he’d shoved his hair behind his ears, his lips curling with contempt as he said, “I don’t need anybody doing me any favors, least of all a scrawny, spoiled little rich girl like you.”

She’d stuck her nose in the air and informed him that his name should have been Chip, not Tripp. He’d stared at her, and she’d held his gaze despite the fact that she was half his size. Back then she hadn’t known they were rich and she wasn’t spoiled, no matter what he said. Even then she’d known what really mattered, and it wasn’t something a person could buy. What truly mattered was trust, love and loyalty. Everything else faded away without them.

Amber looked around the courtyard today. The garden, with all its demanding tea roses and ornamental shrubs and bushes had faded, too, as if it too was lacking what it truly needed.

“What have you been doing out here?”

His question brought her back to their earlier conversation. Swirling the iced tea she had yet to taste, she said, “I went for a swim. Then I watched the clouds.”

“You watch clouds? Like a meteorologist?”

She shook her head. “Nothing that interesting. It was a game we used to play when we were kids.”

Tripp looked around the garden, with its pool and fountain and women with nothing better to do than stretch out and catch a nap. Places like this were made for lounging. He didn’t have enough hours in a day to accomplish everything he needed to do, let alone the time to watch clouds and play games. Or wait, for that matter. His receptionist liked to say that Tripp became a doctor because it enabled him to be the one keeping others waiting, instead of the other way around.

He glanced at the house where he was supposed to meet with Joe. Maybe Tripp wasn’t the most patient man on the planet, but the real reason he’d become a pediatrician was tied up with this house, and the people who’d taken him in all those years ago.

“Want to try?” Amber asked.

He looked at her blankly. “Try what?”

“See that cloud over there?”

He peered at the horizon. He saw a lot of clouds. “Which one?”

“The one shaped like Smoky the Bear.”

He squinted at the distant sky. The description didn’t help.

“Look.”

He was looking, dammit.

“There. To the right of the line formed by a jet’s exhaust.”

Tilting his head at an angle to match hers, he said, “That tall cloud over there?”

“Yes.” She sounded breathless. “Do you see it? The one that looks like Smoky the Bear?”

He looked down at her, and forgot what he’d been doing. Her eyes were green, her lashes long. Her hair was mussed, a riot of golden tangles around her face and neck. Her mouth was pretty, her lips full and slightly pouty. Heat stirred inside him. He was tempted to kiss her, here and now. As a gust of wind fluttered her soft white beach cover-up, pressing it against her body, the heat moved lower.

“A bear?” He cleared his throat. What the hell had happened to his voice? Forcing his eyes back to the clouds, he said, “I don’t see any bear. Joe DiMaggio, maybe.”

He was vaguely aware that she’d eased closer. He misjudged just how close; the next time he moved, his arm brushed something incredibly soft. He glanced down again and stepped back as if he’d touched fire.

His beeper sounded and he jumped again. This time he swore under his breath, and reached for the pager. Reading the display, he said, “I need to call the hospital in Ukiah.”

She motioned to the cordless lying on a low table, then watched as he picked it up. After punching several numbers, he spoke in low tones. Replacing the phone to the table, he said, “I have to meet a patient at the hospital in Ukiah.”

He was halfway to the house when she called, “What do you want me to tell my father?”

He turned around. Amber wished she were close enough to get a good look at the expression in his dark brown eyes.

“Tell him I’ll call him later.”

“I’ll tell him. It was good to see you again, Tripp.”

“You, too.”

She smiled. As if it required a conscious effort, he broke eye contact and slowly resumed his retreat. Rather than leave via the house, he changed directions, veering toward the side yard. Less than a minute later, she heard his car start on the other side of the house.

What in the world had just happened?

She stared at her iced tea. Closing her eyes, she placed the cold glass against her forehead.

She’d reacted to the sight and sound and touch of Tripp Calhoun. And he’d reacted to her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so breathless without doing a thing. Her entire body felt sensitized. If she were to jump in the pool right now, she would sizzle all over.

A door opened, and Inez bustled outside. “Your father is off the phone.” The other woman looked all around. “Where’s Tripp?”

Amber’s vision remained fixed on the path Tripp had taken. “Something came up. An emergency at the hospital. He had to leave.”

Inez made no reply.

Amber could feel Inez’s penetrating gaze. “What is it?” Amber asked.

Turning her hand over, Inez said, “He left his watch inside. Did he say when he will return?”

“No. I’m afraid he didn’t.” Amber reached for the watch. “I’ll be sure he gets it, Inez.”

“That is a good idea, I think.” Inez turned away before Amber could decide what to make of the dark-haired woman’s beaming smile.

Amber strode to the shaded side of the pool. Bending down, she gently shook her friend. “Claire, wake up.”

A pair of baby-blue eyes fluttered open. “I don’t want to wake up. I was dreaming about this amazing, ruggedly attractive, dark-haired man.”

Amber smiled. “It wasn’t a dream, Claire. Believe me. Come on. I have to go to Ukiah.”

Claire sat up languidly. “Ukiah, really?” she said, pushing her straight, coffee-colored hair away from her face. “Could you drop me off at the gallery first? You can fill me in on the way.”



Half an hour later Amber pulled her car into the alley behind Claire’s art gallery in Prosperino. Claire opened her door and climbed out, then leaned down to say goodbye through the open window. Behind her, Amber noticed a door opening on the second story of a building in the distance. Something about the woman descending the stairs seemed familiar. Very familiar.

“Amber, is something wrong?” Claire asked.

Amber didn’t take her eyes off the woman, whose hair was hidden beneath a scarf, her eyes behind dark glasses, until she’d disappeared around the corner. “I thought I just saw my mother.”

Claire turned to look behind her, but the woman was gone. “Your mother, here?” Claire asked incredulously.

“I know.” Amber couldn’t imagine her mother lowering herself enough to visit the art district of Prosperino. It must have been somebody else. For the sake of curiosity, she pointed to the building in the distance. “Is that a business or an apartment?”

Claire shuddered. “I guess you could call it a business. A shady private investigator rents the upstairs office. I can imagine your mother there as easily as I can imagine her strolling the streets in the red-light district.”

“Prosperino doesn’t have a red-light district.”

“I’m thinking about starting one.”

“Claire.”

Claire winked. “Now, don’t you have someplace to go and some ruggedly attractive man to see?”

Amber shook her head, nodded, and finally smiled. While Claire strolled into the second of the two art studios she’d opened a few months ago, Amber put her car in gear.

The engine purred like a contented tiger. Her mother had given her the shiny little sports car for her last birthday. It was red. She didn’t even like red. Before the car accident, Meredith Colton had known that.

What would her mother have been doing visiting a shady private investigator in Prosperino, when she’d made such a point these past ten years of finding fault with everything about the town? It must have been someone else.

Amber glanced at the sky. The clouds had thinned, forming a haze, the one shaped like Smoky the Bear blurring with all the others. Joe Dimaggio, indeed. Tripp’s smile, stark and white, shimmered across her mind.

What was it with men and baseball players?

Her last boyfriend had been a Giants fan. He’d enjoyed using baseball metaphors to describe their relationship. He’d spent the biggest share of their dates trying to get past first base. The night he’d presented her with a three-carat diamond, he’d expected a grand-slam home run. The ring had been pretty, but it wasn’t home run material. And neither was he. She’d turned down his proposal. Last she’d heard he was pursuing some other rich girl down in San Francisco.

Amber thought about Tripp. Until his arm had brushed the outer swell of her breast, she’d thought she was the only one aware of the attraction between them. Gracious, he probably wasn’t even admitting that he’d felt any such thing.

Whether he admitted it or not, she knew he had.

She touched the watch in her pocket and smiled. This was better than a vacation.

She wasn’t bored anymore.




Two


A blast of hot air hit Amber the moment she opened her car door. Taking a deep breath, she placed a steadying hand on her queasy stomach and climbed slowly to her feet. It had been cool and foggy along the coast when she’d left Prosperino, which just went to show that the locals were right. There really were three seasons in this part of California, often all in the same day.

She rotated a kink from between her shoulder blades then stepped away from her car. The drive to Ukiah seemed like forever. Though it was only forty-five miles, it was like her father always said: “Prosperino is near a lot of places, but you can’t get there from here.” Joe Colton compensated by flying whenever possible. Not Amber. She’d reached the brink of motion sickness negotiating the twenty-five mile stretch of Highway 101 that wound around cliffs and up and down hills over the coastal mountains. Flying would have done her in. Thank goodness the road that ran north and south on this side of the mountains was straighter and mostly four-lane.

She took a shaky step, popped a breath mint into her mouth and peeled off her jacket. So this, she thought as she looked around, her heels clicking over the paved parking lot, was where Tripp worked. He was going to be so surprised to see her.

The streets of Ukiah were lined with beautiful old Victorian houses. The sprawling hospital was old, too, but it looked as if it had been remodeled in recent years. Double doors slid open as she approached the building. Folding her jacket over one arm, she peered around the lobby trying to decide where to go from here.

Across the waiting room, a short, heavyset nurse with broad shoulders and a hairstyle that resembled an army helmet stood behind a high counter.

“Hello,” Amber said, sauntering closer.

Clutching a pen between thick fingers, the gray-haired nurse looked at Amber over the tops of the reading glasses perched low on her broad nose. “May I help you?”

Amber put on her friendliest smile. “I’d like to see Dr. Calhoun.”

The only things that moved on the stern-faced nurse were the brown eyes giving Amber a thorough once-over. “He isn’t taking appointments this afternoon.”

Amber eased closer and smiled conspiratorially. “That’s okay. I don’t have an appointment.”

She knew the blunder for what it was the second it was out. Nurse Proctor—that was what her name badge said—turned her attention back to the chart. Amber was dismissed.

Obviously, Nurse Proctor didn’t know that Amber wasn’t easily dismissed. “I won’t take up much of his time,” she said, trying on an even bigger smile.

The nurse’s eyes remained fixed on the chart.

Amber tried another tack. “I know he’s here because he told me he was coming here in answer to an emergency call.”

“In that case you’ll understand why he can’t be disturbed.”

Amber didn’t expect to pull him away from an emergency. That call had come hours ago. If he was still busy, fine. If not, what harm could there be in allowing her a moment or two to see him?

“Is Tripp still in the building?”

The nurse made a noncommittal reply without opening her mouth. Recognizing an impenetrable brick wall when she crashed into one, Amber moved away from the counter, as far out of range of Nurse Proctor’s peripheral vision as possible. She pretended a keen interest in her chipped manicure.

The elevator dinged. The door opened, and a young man clad in green scrubs ambled into the lobby.

“There you are, Fred!” The no-nonsense nurse motioned him to the desk. “They’re waiting for these charts up in OB.”

With the jaunty walk of a guy who knew he looked good both coming and going, Fred took the charts and started back toward the elevator. Just then, a woman ran in from outside, yelling, “Somebody, help. I think my daughter’s ankle is broken!”

Nurse Proctor rushed around the counter, grabbed a wheelchair and bustled toward the sliding doors. Amber slipped quietly into the elevator behind Fred.

He punched a button. Leaving his hand hovering over the panel, he asked, “What floor?”

She had no idea, but she said, “Three, I guess.”

Brown eyes twinkled as he looked her up and down. “Looks like you’re going my way.”

The door closed and the elevator slowly started to climb. Amber placed a hand to her stomach.

“Are you afraid of heights?” he asked.

She smiled wanly. “I get motion sick easily.”

With a lift of his sandy-blond eyebrows, he grinned, his smile white and just crooked enough to look beguiling. “My sister swears by the ear patch. You need someone to take your mind off it. Lucky for you I’m here.” He looked her in the eye and smiled again. “My shift is almost over. We could grab a cup of coffee or a bite to eat or whatever…” His voice trailed off suggestively.

The elevator continued to climb. “Look, Fred—”

“Fredrico.”

“But the nurse called you—”

“Proctor calls me a lot of things. Trust me.”

“Fredrico, I’m afraid there’s an age requirement any man I see must meet.”

He eased closer. For a boy, he certainly knew his moves. “How old would I have to be?”

“Old enough to vote.”

“Too bad. You’re missing a great opportunity. If it’s true that men reach their sexual prime at seventeen, I hit that mark a mere two years ago. I may not be old enough to vote, but I can personally guarantee you that I haven’t even started to go downhill.”

The elevator glided to a stop on the second floor. Leaning against the rail, Amber said, “You don’t say.”

“I could prove it, if you’d like.”

She held up one hand. “We’ll just consider it my loss. Could you tell me where I might find Dr. Calhoun?”

“If you’ll tell me your phone number, we’ll make it an even exchange.”

While Amber was chuckling, the door opened and a woman pushing a cumbersome cart got in. The door closed, taking the three occupants up to the next floor. The lady with the cart got off, and Fredrico said, “I know where Doc Calhoun is.”

“You do?”

“I’ll take you there, but you have to promise not to tell Proctor.”

Amber grinned up at the sandy-haired young man. She’d felt strangely carefree ever since she’d talked to Tripp out in the garden, and she just couldn’t help responding to the secrecy in Fredrico’s expression. “Okay. I promise.”

“He’s with a patient. This way.”

They got off the elevator and strode through doors bearing a sign for authorized personnel only.

At first, she couldn’t place the sound coming from someplace up ahead. Then it came again. Rounding a corner, she whispered, “Are dogs allowed in this hospital?”

With a shake of his head, Fredrico pointed to a room up ahead. “It’s a little unconventional. Proctor can’t find out. There’s Doc Calhoun. See the little kid he’s with? His name’s P.J.”

Amber crept closer on tiptoe. Tripp was sitting on the edge of a bed, in a room at the end of the hall. Nestled in one arm was a pudgy tan puppy. A little boy with curly brown hair, a bandage on the side of his head and a cast on one arm stared straight ahead.

“What’s wrong with him?” Amber whispered.

“He got banged up pretty bad, but mostly he’s mad. He’s four years old and he wants his mama.”

“Where is she?”

“She died in the accident.”

Both of Amber’s hands came up, covering her mouth. “What about his father?”

“Nobody knows where he is. P.J.’s been here a week. There’s a good chance he’ll be okay, but his arm got cut up, and he’s gonna have to work to get full use back. He hasn’t exactly been responsive or cooperative. Yesterday Doc Calhoun noticed him watching a television show about a dog. And my girlfriend’s dog had a litter of pups, and well…”

Amber’s eyebrows raised a fraction. “Your girlfriend?”

Fredrico started to nod. Realizing his faux pas, he simply shrugged.

The puppy yipped again. All at once it wiggled out of Tripp’s hands, landing in the boy’s lap. The little boy looked down dazedly. And then, as if in slow motion, he reached out, tentatively touching the puppy’s fur. It was all the invitation the dog needed. Tail wagging, the pudgy little puppy licked P.J.’s face. P.J. blinked, smiled and let loose a belly laugh.

“Folks sure are gonna miss that man around here.”

Amber cast a questioning look at Fredrico, but he was already starting to move away from her and didn’t see. “If I don’t get these charts over to OB, Proctor’ll send out a search party. If she hasn’t already.”

Amber whispered, “Goodbye, then, and thanks.” Her gaze returned to the man and child in the room up ahead. Tripp was so engrossed in the boy, he didn’t seem to know she was watching. Her breath caught just below the little hollow at the base of her throat. With his stubby ponytail and earring, he still looked like the street-smart kid he’d been years ago. She was beginning to realize that he was so much more than that.

His voice was a low murmur, his touch gentle as he showed P.J. how to pet the puppy. Mesmerized, Amber acknowledged the fact that this wasn’t simply a case of no longer being bored. This was something else, something she couldn’t name but wanted to explore.

Tripp chose that moment to glance into the hall. Their gazes locked, and awareness fluttered around the walls of her chest. He didn’t smile, but she felt the heat in his gaze just the same.

P.J. said something, and Tripp turned his attention back to the boy. Shaken, and touched, Amber smoothed her hands down her slacks, her fingers tracing the outline of the watch in her pocket. Her heart beat wildly. Unwilling to intrude on the doctor-patient moment, she wrenched herself away, and retraced her footsteps to the elevator.

What was happening to her?

She wanted more than ever to talk to Tripp. She considered waiting in the lobby, but the thought of being scrutinized by Nurse Proctor was less than appealing. If only she had something more constructive to do here.

She looked around. Some people hated hospitals. Not Amber. She dealt with them on a weekly basis in her work for the Hopechest Foundation, an organization her mother had founded years ago. Today, the foundation funded centers for children in need all across the country. Among them were day-care centers for children who were HIV positive, and after-school programs, and sporting events for city kids confined to housing projects.

Amber looked around again, recalling the children she’d seen working in the fields during her drive from Prosperino. Needy kids weren’t confined to housing projects or large cities. They were everywhere.

Striding to the nurse’s station she’d passed earlier, she introduced herself. At her mention of her affiliation with the Hopechest Foundation, the other woman was all ears.

“I was wondering if you might direct me to the person in charge of special programs to help children in need.”

The young nurse beamed her approval. “Directions won’t do. I’ll take you there myself.”

Now this, Amber thought, was more like it. By the time she left the hospital administrator’s office, the scent of hospital food wafted on the air. The meeting had taken longer than she’d expected. Wondering if Tripp was still in the building, she followed the exit signs through a labyrinth of hallways. She must have taken a wrong turn, because she didn’t recognize this wing. Sure enough, she came to the stairs, not the elevators.

Pausing to get her bearings, she turned and started back the way she’d come. She’d taken only three steps when the low murmur of voices carried to her ears from an open door a few feet away.

“People around here are going to miss you, Calhoun.”

She stopped in her tracks. People were going to miss Tripp? Now that she thought about it, Fredrico had implied the same thing. Where was Tripp going?

She turned again. Striding to the door, she raised her hand, prepared to knock. The voices started again, and Amber’s hand remained suspended in midair.



“But if you insist on leaving, I’m putting dibs on your office.”

Tripp looked at the man sitting on the other side of his desk. Aside from their chosen professions and their affiliation with this hospital, he and Gavin Cooper were complete opposites and unlikely friends. With his blond hair and blue eyes, Coop looked more like a beach bum than a brilliant doctor. He was laid-back and easygoing. Dubbed the Don Juan of County General, he wore the perpetual, slightly bedraggled, contented look of a man who’d recently crawled out of a woman’s bed. Even now, slouched in a chair, his arms folded, his feet on Tripp’s desk, ankles crossed, he made a science out of relaxing.

Not Tripp.

He shot out of his chair, slid his hands into his pockets and jangled his keys. “I haven’t gotten the position yet, Coop.”

He found himself standing at his window, his back to his friend. He had a great view of the mountains from here. It wasn’t the Mendocino Ridges that drew his gaze, but the parking lot below. The lot contained the usual assortment of vans and family sedans. The candy-apple-red Porsche stuck out like a sore thumb. He’d seen that vehicle parked in the driveway at Hacienda de Alegria that very afternoon.

It belonged to Amber Colton.

When he’d happened to glance into the hall outside P.J.’s room an hour ago, he’d thought he was seeing things. Amber had stood so still, she could have been a mirage, and he, a thirsty man in the desert.

Her hair had been long and loose around her tanned shoulders, her body, lean and svelte beneath formfitting slacks. A bolt of sexual attraction had come out of nowhere. If he hadn’t been sitting down, it would have knocked him off his feet. He couldn’t afford that kind of attraction. He’d already been down that road once: The poor street kid made good and the bored, rich heiress. It hadn’t been pretty.

“It’s only a matter of time. After all, who better than you…” Coop’s voice droned on in the background.

Tripp ran a hand down his face, scrubbing it over the stubble on his jaw and on down the front of his wrinkled shirt. That red sports car in the parking lot was no mirage. What was Amber doing at County General?

“Calhoun, are you even listening?”

“I heard you. It so happens I received a letter from Montgomery Perkins in Santa Rosa yesterday. The field has been narrowed to two.”

“Who’s your contender? Anybody I know?”

His back to Coop, Tripp said, “Does the name Spencer ring a bell?”

“First or last?”

“Last.”

“Spencer? As in, Derek Spencer?”

The next time Tripp looked, Coop was sitting up straighter.

“The one and only.”

A succinct and unbecoming but fitting word spewed out of Cooper’s mouth about the same time his feet hit the floor. “I still can’t believe he became a pediatrician. I always figured Spencer for the type to specialize in plastic surgery, not so he could repair cleft palates and facial scars, but so he could do nose jobs and boob implants for wannabe starlets down in Hollywood. What would he want with a position in a private practice in Santa Rosa?”

“It gets worse.”

“How could it get any worse than competing with your backstabbing rival from med school?”

“It seems Derek’s gotten himself engaged.”

“Who’s the unlucky woman?”

Any other time, Tripp would have appreciated his friend’s sarcasm. “Olivia.”

“Your Olivia?”

Tripp didn’t bother to remind Coop that Olivia wasn’t his anymore, if she ever had been. Olivia Babcock’s father was an influential man in the medical field, capable of pulling very impressive strings. It didn’t look good for Tripp. It didn’t look good at all.

“Does this mean I won’t be getting first dibs on this office?” Coop asked.

“I’m not giving up that easily.”

“Yeah? In that case, listen up. People don’t mind if an E.R. doctor is a player, but parents like their kids’ pediatricians to be family men, so if I were you, I’d find myself a woman with a couple of kids. Better yet, find one with relatives as influential as Olivia’s, too. Stat.”

Tripp was in the process of scowling when he heard a noise in the hallway outside his office door. He caught a whiff of expensive, exotic perfume a millisecond before Amber Colton breezed in. There wasn’t a wrinkle in her sage-green pantsuit. He didn’t know how rich people did that.

Tripp wasn’t surprised at the change that came over Coop. The man went on testosterone alert every time a woman came within ten yards of him. But Amber wasn’t paying him any attention. She was looking at Tripp.

“Hello,” she murmured, her voice just sultry enough to sound seductive. Reaching into her pocket, she drew out his watch. Easing closer, she said, “I thought you might want this back before tonight.”

She had to know how that sounded. Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled at Coop and said, “Does he leave his things lying around the hospital, too?”

Tripp had to force his gaping mouth shut.

Amber appeared completely nonplussed. With a flutter of eyelashes and the sureness that the rich seemed to be born with, she extended her hand toward Coop. “Hello. I’m Amber Colton.”

Coop’s voice lowered, softened, mellowed. “Gavin Cooper, head of E.R. Colton? Any relation to Joseph Colton?”

“You know my father?”

Coop chuckled. “Not personally.” Rising languidly to his feet, he released Amber’s hand. He looked Tripp in the eye and said, “I underestimated you, my friend. I see you’re already on it. You show up at that dinner party this weekend with a woman like Amber on your arm, and you’ll be a shoe-in for the position in Santa Rosa. At the very least you’ll give good old Spencer a run for his money. I’ll leave you two alone.”

Still grinning, Coop left, closing the door behind him.

Amber stared up at Tripp. The room, all at once, was very quiet. Maybe too quiet. Something was wrong.

Tripp’s eyes had narrowed. Hers were wide open. His breathing was deep, hers, shallow. In the tight space so near him, she thought of a dozen questions. What position? What does it have to do with Santa Rosa? What rival? Who was Olivia?

Three separate times, she opened her mouth to voice one of them. Her gaze caught on Tripp’s mouth. He really had a marvelous mouth, the bottom lip fuller than the top. Right now, both were set in a straight line.

“Is something wrong?”

The question seemed to bring him to his senses. He took a deep breath, let it all out and paced to the other side of the cluttered office. “Coop thinks we’re lovers. What on earth could possibly be wrong? And what are you doing here, besides charming the socks off every male you meet?”

Amber recognized an attack when she was under one. She didn’t understand the reason for it. “I repeat. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Bull.”

That got his attention. “Do you make a habit of eavesdropping?”

“The door was open,” she said quietly.

He glanced over her shoulder, and so did she. The door was closed now. And they were alone. Tripp took a backward step, putting more distance between them.

“Coop can hold his own,” he said, “but the orderly I saw you with earlier is still a boy. It was like watching the bored, pampered house cat play with a poor defenseless mouse.”

Poor defenseless mouse? For long seconds, Amber could only stare at him, stunned. Finally, she said, “Fredrico is about as defenseless as an octopus.”

“Fredrico?”

She’d been prepared for several questions. That wasn’t one of them. “He helped you smuggle that puppy into the hospital. Surely you know his name.”

“I know Fred’s name. Everybody does.”

She was getting a bad feeling about this. Now that she thought about it, Nurse Proctor had called the boy Fred. “I see.”

Tripp was on a roll. “Good, because Don and Mary Smith might have named their son Frederick, but definitely not Fredrico.”

All right, already. The boy had pulled one over on her. That didn’t explain the reason for Tripp’s bad mood, or what he and Cooper had been talking about. “Let’s talk about positions, shall we?”

Tripp’s pulses leapt. “I beg your pardon?”

“Didn’t I overhear something about a position you’re hoping to gain down in Santa Rosa?”

Ah. She was referring to the position he’d applied for at an exclusive, private practice in Santa Rosa, not, er, the position for another activity completely unrelated to medicine. He cleared his throat. Clearing his mind of the mental picture that had sprung straight out of his imagination was more difficult to accomplish.

“There’s an opening in pediatrics there. The practice is affiliated with the oldest, most prestigious hospital in Santa Rosa. It’s larger than Ukiah County General, and wealthier by far. I would receive a higher salary, and ultimately, I could reach a lot more kids.”

“Then I don’t see the problem. I’ll do it.”

She stared up at him with luminous green eyes so large it was easy to get lost in their depths. “What exactly are you proposing?”

He didn’t have much mind capacity left at this point, but even he had enough to appreciate the effort she put forth to keep from rolling her eyes. “Your rival is going to be there with his fiancée, right? I’ll go with you. Then you and your rival will be starting on even ground.”

He stared at her for several seconds. She looked happy, as if she was enjoying herself. Again, he thought of a pampered house cat. Olivia used to look like that, too. It was a sobering thought.

“What are you doing here, Amber?”

Her eyes delved into his. She really had very expressive eyes. He imagined they would look this way, large and luminous, in the dark. Whoa. That kind of thinking could be dangerous to a man who was trying to keep his wits about him.

She reached out, touching the watch she’d placed in his hand minutes earlier. “Inez discovered this in the living room at Hacienda de Alegria. You were right. About Inez, I mean. She was matchmaking, just as you said. It would have been apparent even without all the advice she gave me along with directions to the hospital here in Ukiah. Don’t worry. I have no intention of allowing Inez to manipulate me.”

It was true, Amber thought. She didn’t allow many people to push her around. Besides, she didn’t need anybody to play matchmaker for her. The three marriage proposals she’d received these past five years spoke for themselves. Amber Colton knew how to get a man. She was beginning to doubt she would ever find one to love, however. There had been a strong attraction between her and Tripp in the garden earlier that day. Though it wasn’t love, it had been fun.

“You want this position. I’d like to help you get it.”

“What’s in it for you?” he asked.

“What makes you think there has to be something in it for me?”

The sound he made in the back of his throat spoke volumes. There was arrogance and belligerence in the lift of that chiseled chin. In that instant, he reminded her of how he’d looked after she’d stood up for him to her father all those years ago.

“All right,” she said. “We were friends when we were kids. I’m hoping we can be friends again. Friends help each other. If acting as your fiancée for one evening helps you gain a position you want, so be it.”

“I don’t like lying. Lies are like dogs. They seem harmless to your face, but the minute you turn your back, they go straight for the seat of your pants.”

“Pretending isn’t the same as lying. If you need—”

He shook his head. “I want to do this on my own, without the help of a bored heiress in need of a project.”

Her mouth fell open. She snapped it closed. Finally she said, “Of all the condescending…” But words failed her. She swung around in a huff and reached the door in three brisk strides. “If you ever decide to come down off your high horse, give me a call.”

She slammed the door.

She hadn’t gone far when she heard Tripp being paged to the ICU.

He reached the elevator seconds after her. They entered in single file. She punched the button for the lobby, he the second floor.

When the door closed, he said, “I suppose I owe you an apology.”

She stared straight ahead. “That didn’t sound very convincing, Tripp. Unless you’re sincere, forget it.”

They rode in silence.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said when the elevator stopped on two.

She stepped aside without comment.

He started to get off, then paused in midstride. Finally, he resumed his exit.

He turned around to look at her just as the door began to close. She stared at him for a moment, then looked away. An instant later, the door closed and the elevator jerked into motion.

Friends? she thought clutching the rail.

Ha! She’d received friendlier goodbyes from the man who read her electric meter every month.

If this was friendship, they were off to one heck of a start.




Three


Tripp placed the stethoscope on his young patient’s chest. After listening intently to her heartbeat, he moved it around and listened to her lungs. Most of his patients giggled when he did this.

It was all eight-year-old Sierra Rodriguez could do to smile.

“Still not feeling so good?” He spoke in Spanish. The shake of her head was a universal language.

He’d delivered some good news to her parents this morning. The blood tests had ruled out leukemia. The bad news was, she was still running a fever and her belly still hurt. Though Sierra wanted to go home, she needed more tests. She wanted to go home. Migrant workers, her parents didn’t have health insurance, money in their pockets or even a permanent home. None of that mattered to Sierra. Home was wherever her family was.

There were hundreds of families just like them in this part of the country. They were exactly the kind of people Tripp had set up his pilot clinic, located on the outskirts of Ukiah, to help.

The clinic was helping, but there was so much more that needed to be done. Medicine cost money. There was no way around it. He could have used a windfall. If he was ever going to expand his pilot program and fund more clinics for the poor in other towns all across California, he needed donations, backers. He needed prestige and contacts, and one way to acquire both was to land and hold that position down in Santa Rosa for a few years, at the very least.

He needed to reconsider Amber’s offer. Damn. He had as much trouble swallowing his pride as Sierra had swallowing medicine.

Replacing Sierra’s chart, he studied the little girl. Her eyes fluttered closed. She was still very sick. Mentally, he was deciding on the next round of tests. He left the room, deep in thought, his footsteps as heavy as his guilty conscience.

He cringed. He was feeling guilty, and he hated it. Amber Colton had said it was a great motivator. Maybe it was true for some people, but it hadn’t been guilt over lying to Joe and Meredith Colton all those years ago that had made him strive to be truthful and to do his best. It had been Joe and Meredith, themselves. It was their generosity, their goodness, and the kindness they’d bestowed on him.

Not everyone had ulterior motives. He wondered if it was possible that Amber had offered to act as his fiancée out of the goodness of her heart. Was her offer an act of kindness, and not pity as he’d first suspected? He should have tried to discern which it was. Instead, he’d refused her help, point-blank. And he’d insulted her in the process. He’d seen the hurt in those big green eyes. She’d driven all the way over here to return his watch yesterday, and he hadn’t even said thank you.

He wished the hell he would stop thinking about what he should have done or said to her. He wished he could stop thinking about her, period. She’d found her way into his dreams last night, too. He’d awakened in the throes of a strong passion. Not a good way to start a day that promised to be long and frustrating.

He entered his next patient’s room. Cisco Villereal grinned at Tripp. The boy was going home today, less his tonsils. Cisco wouldn’t miss the infected little bands of tissue, but Tripp was going to miss the six-year-old who, with his family, was heading for the next field and the next harvest.

Kids like Cisco and Sierra made all the grueling days, the long hours, double shifts and hard work worthwhile. Tripp knew doctors who complained that pharmaceutical companies governed modern medicine. It was true that doctors had to shuffle through a boatload of paperwork, but the bottom line remained the same. It was the patient that mattered.

Tripp treated the patient. In the process, he helped the entire family. Often, he could tell how sick the child was by how great the fear in the parent’s eyes. Those parents didn’t care about hospital politics or red tape or malpractice insurance. If the child was sick enough, they didn’t even care about money. They wanted their child well.

It was what Tripp wanted, too. He’d made it his life’s work. Not bad for a kid who’d dropped out of school when he was fourteen. He’d dropped out of life before that. Back then, he’d never imagined that someone like him could be anything other than a tough, smart-mouthed street kid whose mother was dead and whose father wasn’t around. Kids like him didn’t grow up to be doctors. A lot of them didn’t grow up at all.

Tripp had been heading down a short road that led nowhere. And hadn’t cared. All that began to change the day he was sent to the Hopechest Ranch. From there, it had only been a stone’s throw to Joe and Meredith Colton. That stone’s throw had changed the entire course of his life.

He’d never set foot inside a hospital until that summer when he was fifteen and Meredith Colton had taken him to the emergency room. He’d busted three bones when his fist had connected with Peter Bradenton’s arrogant, better-than-thou face. Fascinated by the buzz and bustle of the hospital emergency room, Tripp had no longer felt any pain. When it was over, his fear that Joe and Meredith would send him away had returned. Not that he’d admitted that, but somehow, Meredith had known. She’d been different back then, kind to her soul, and filled with so much goodness a person ached to make her proud.

Pride was something he’d understood. Pride was all he’d had.

Meredith told him she expected him to apologize to Peter. It hadn’t been easy, but for her, Tripp had done it. When he’d finished apologizing, he’d warned Peter what would happen if he were ever unkind to any of the Coltons again.

And then, yesterday, Tripp had been unkind to Amber.

She’d offered to help him. And what had he done? He’d let his pride get in the way of what he needed. If that wasn’t bad enough, he’d insulted her.

And he wasn’t sure how to fix it.

At the very least, he owed her an apology. He’d picked up the phone to call her three times last night, only to replace it without completing the call.

An apology like this should be made in person, but he didn’t even know where she lived. Once he found out, he planned to drive to her place when his shift was over. He dreaded the confrontation, yet he didn’t mind the prospect of seeing Amber again. That bothered him. He liked to think he was immune to curvy, blond and pampered women. The fact that he wasn’t was unsettling as hell.

“Good morning, Doctor.”

He nodded a greeting at the petite nurse who had spoken. A dozen people were milling about out in the corridor. His eyes homed in on the woman he couldn’t get out of his mind.

He stopped so abruptly someone from X-ray ran into him from behind. “Excuse me, doctor,” the technician murmured.

“My fault,” Tripp said.

He followed Amber around the corner, keeping her in his line of vision as she wove around patients and staff in her path. Tripp believed a man could tell a lot about a woman by the way she walked. Amber Colton had the walk of a woman accustomed to getting a second look. She wasn’t oblivious to it, but she didn’t seem affected by it, either.

She was wearing another pantsuit, this one white. The top was sleeveless and cinched in at the waist. Her pants were loose in the legs and just snug enough at the hips to lead a man’s imagination into dangerous territory. His blood heated, and he scowled.

She was nothing like the kind of woman he needed to look for. She spelled trouble. There was no way around it. But he owed her an apology, and by God, she was going to have one.

“Amber, wait!” It came out as little more than a croak; it was no wonder she didn’t hear him.

He lengthened his stride and increased his pace. This time, he kept his eyes trained on something other than the sway of her hips. He focused on the square leather bag hanging from her left shoulder. It swung with every step she took. Every now and then, it moved enough to give him a glimpse of a stuffed dog that was tucked beneath her arm.

She passed the elevator and had almost reached the stairway when he tried again. “Amber, wait!”

This time his voice reached her. She looked over her shoulder and stopped suddenly. He noticed she didn’t smile.

“You’re not an easy woman to catch up to. Where are you going in such a hurry?”

She glanced at the plush, stuffed brown puppy beneath her arm. “I want to get this up to P.J.’s room. I’m already late for an appointment with the head of charity affairs.” She didn’t add, “So if you have something to say, say it.” She didn’t have to. The lift of her eyebrows was a prod if he’d ever seen one.

Tripp wasn’t accustomed to being prodded.

“What is it? What are you thinking?” she asked.

He wondered if women had any idea how much men squirmed when asked that question. He blurted the first thing that came to mind. “That you’re a bossy woman.”

She flushed. And he gave himself a mental shake. He’d angered her again. Or perhaps she was still angry from the day before.

With a lift of her chin, she met his gaze straight on. “You don’t like the way I look, the way I act, the way I talk. What is your problem, Tripp?”

He held up one hand. “I don’t think bossiness is necessarily a bad trait. I didn’t mean it as an insult.”

“You could have fooled me.”

She was no shrinking violet, that was for sure. Tripp admired her for it. If she’d been afraid of her own shadow, she never would have had the courage to stand up to her father on his behalf all those years ago. “I didn’t stop you to take another cheap shot at you. I stopped you to apologize. For yesterday. And in answer to your earlier question, if I have a problem with you, it’s not your fault.”

Amber stared up at Tripp. His shirt and tie were black, his skin a shade of brown that didn’t need sunscreen. He was clean-shaven this morning and handsome beyond belief. And it ticked her off that she’d noticed. He’d just admitted that his earlier jabs had been cheap shots. In the same breath, he’d admitted that he did, indeed, have a problem with her.

“Whose fault is it then, Tripp? This problem you have with me.” Her breath caught in her throat, making her voice sound breathless to her own ears. That ticked her off, too.

“I’m sorry about insulting you yesterday. You didn’t ask to be born into a wealthy family any more than I asked to be born into a screwed-up one. It’s just that you rich people have no idea how intimidating you are to the rest of us.”

He called that an apology? “I…you…” Amber was never at a loss for words, yet here she was, stammering for the second time in a matter of days.

She didn’t try to speak again until she’d made certain she’d put one entire thought in order. “Rich families can be just as dysfunctional as poor ones.”

They were arguing about whose family was more dysfunctional? The conversation had sunk to a new low.

He shrugged in a noncommittal, infuriating manner.

“I intimidate you?” she asked.

He released the clasp on his watch, fiddled with it, tightened it again. “Forget it, okay?”

Perhaps she should have let it go, as he’d asked, but that wasn’t her style. Yesterday, when she’d seen him again out in the garden at Hacienda de Alegria, she’d felt a connection to him. Ever since her mother had changed and her father had grown distant and her family had basically fallen apart, she’d feared that nobody would ever love her for herself again. Looking at the lines around Tripp’s eyes and the furrow between his brows today, she believed it was possible that she’d been wrong. She felt on the brink of understanding something important about him.

Forget it? Now why on earth would she do that? “How do I intimidate you?”

Releasing most of his breath in one noisy stream, he said, “You’re brilliant, you’re witty, you’re rich. You received your MBA from Radcliffe.”

“And you’re a doctor, for heaven’s sake.”

Luckily, the corridor was empty, so no one heard him raise his voice as he said, “I’m a struggling, part-Latino, mostly broke doctor who had to work my butt off to make it through med school.”

“I distinctly recall my father saying that you graduated at the top of your class.”

“The top of my class would have been the bottom of yours.”

“I highly doubt that.”

He made no reply. So she tried another tactic. “I intimidate you. That’s the problem,” she said, persisting. “That’s what’s keeping us from being friends. Let’s see. How could we fix it?”

“I don’t think we—”

“When I was in grade school and had to give a speech, I used to imagine my classmates in their underwear. Maybe you should try it.”

His eyes darkened, his lids lowering slightly.

She ducked her head, pulled a face, and smiled. “On second thought, that’s probably not a good idea.”

It occurred to Tripp that he was staring. He couldn’t help it. The warmth in Amber’s smile got to him. He couldn’t help that, either. He ran a hand over his hair, skimming the rubber band that secured the stubby ponytail at the back of his neck. He’d kept his ponytail to remind him of where he’d been, and where he was going.

“Coop read me the riot act when he discovered I’d turned down your offer. But you’re right. This isn’t a good idea. None of it.” Not what was in his imagination, not what was coursing through his body. “If I need a woman, it’s one who shares my background, my heritage. And I don’t need anybody’s pity.”

Her face fell, a bleak expression settling where her humor had been. She took a backward step. An instant later her chin came up, and her voice rose. “Pity? That’s what you think this is about?”

“Aw, hell.” He’d done it again.

She handed him the stuffed dog. “I’m late for my meeting. I would appreciate it if you would see that P.J. gets this.”

For a long moment, she stared at him without blinking, a burning, faraway look in her eyes. Slowly, she turned, her heels clicking as she walked away from him across the polished, spotless floor.

She paused in the doorway, her back to him, her shoulders rising and falling with her effort to draw a deep, calming breath. “I never felt sorry for you, Tripp.” She turned and faced him. “Until now.”

She left him standing in the middle of the corridor, his heart beating a heavy rhythm, the ears of the stuffed dog clutched tightly in his fist, sourness in the pit of his stomach, and egg on his face.



Amber ignored her doorbell on her Fort Bragg home the first time it rang. Not five seconds later it rang again, followed immediately by a loud knock that rattled the house. She unfolded her arms and legs and rose from the floor. Hurrying, she raised up on tiptoe to peer through the peephole.

A sound of surprise rose from the back of her throat before she could stop it. Fifteen minutes of meditation, wasted.

She dropped back down to the heels of her feet. Bristling, she reached for the doorknob, but froze in indecision. Her ego was still smarting from her last confrontation with the stubborn, belligerent Dr. Tripp Calhoun.

“Come on, Amber. Open up.”

She considered ignoring him. In the end, her curiosity got the better of her. “Give me one good reason why I should.”

The moment of silence stretched. Prepared to wait as long as necessary, she shifted her weight to one foot and folded her arms.

“Please?”

He gave her that one word in a voice soft and warm enough to slip into. Her hand flew up to cover her mouth, gliding slowly down her neck, coming to rest over the rapid thud of her heart. She took a fortifying breath, turned the lock and opened the door.

Facing him squarely, she simply looked at him. He was wearing faded jeans and a black T-shirt that had seen better days but fit him to perfection. His face was made up of interesting planes and hard angles. His teeth were white, his lashes long, his chin firm, his cheekbones prominent. His nose was narrow and had probably been considered regal-looking before it had been broken years ago. He was an arrestingly good-looking man, with just enough imperfections to ensure that his wasn’t a pretty face. She had artist friends, like Claire, who would love the chance to paint him. He was that handsome. Amber knew a lot of handsome men. None of them made her so angry with seemingly so little effort.

“Please isn’t a reason, Calhoun.”

His chiseled features cracked slightly, giving her a glimpse of a self-deprecating half smile. “I’m afraid it’s all I’ve got.”

Her traitorous heart skipped a beat, darn it all. He was wrong. He had so much more. But who was she to argue? “What are you doing here?”

“I came to say I’m sorry.”

She clasped her hands together and stared at them. “Your last apology had a lot in common with an insult.”

His silence drew her gaze. Studying his lean, olive-skinned face, her heart lurched. He seemed to be having difficulty swallowing, too, his lips thinning into a straight line. “I’m sorry about that, too.”

She believed him, which either made her foolish or desperate. She bristled. Oh, no it didn’t.

Squaring her shoulders, she said, “Apology accepted. Now, if you’ll excuse—”

“P.J. loved the stuffed animal.”

“He did? I mean, I’m glad.”

He held her immobile with his eyes. “And I was thinking that it might be good for him to meet someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” She was breathless again. Had she no backbone whatsoever?

“Someone with a strong will, a drive to succeed, a sense of humor and a forgiving spirit.”

Evidently not.

She nearly melted into a heap at his feet. Entirely too caught up in her own emotions, she had to remind herself that she was no longer a whimsical girl of nine, or even nineteen. She was a woman, strong and independent.

He looked at her for a long time. Next, he looked beyond her into her foyer where a candle burned and a tabletop fountain gurgled.

“I would be honored if you would invite me in.”

The word honored was nearly her undoing. It was so old-fashioned, it left her wondering if chivalry was really dead, after all. Thinking “once burned,” she took control of her wayward thoughts and said, “You’ve apologized and I’ve accepted. What else is there to say?”

She could tell this wasn’t easy for him. Groveling never was. She might have let him off the hook, but then she remembered his little quip comparing her to a spoiled cat. And he’d called her bossy.

It wouldn’t hurt to let him squirm.

“I’ve changed my mind, Amber.”

“Oh? About what, pray tell?”

“About your offer.”

As it often did this time of day, a heavy fog had rolled in, producing a perfect excuse for her shiver. “And what offer was that?” She didn’t know what to blame for the way her voice had dropped in volume.

“Your offer to act as my fiancée at a dinner party this weekend. That is, if the offer still stands.” He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of voices from a middle-aged couple walking their Great Dane. “May I come in?”

So, he’d changed his mind about that. She waved at her neighbors, then looked up at Tripp again. She wondered if he’d changed his mind about her, as well. But one thing at a time. She stepped aside, and opened the door all the way.

Tripp walked past Amber. Hesitating in a spacious foyer, he tried to affect an ease he didn’t feel. He hadn’t been at all certain she would accept his apology. He sure as hell didn’t assume that her offer was still good.

“Why don’t we sit down?”

Why? Because sitting down meant he had to try even harder to appear relaxed. “After you.”

He followed her into a small living room dominated by overstuffed furniture and framed artwork done almost entirely in pastels. A dozen candles burned on a low table. A small fountain gurgled nearby. “Did I interrupt something?”

She shrugged. “I was meditating.”

At least that explained her appearance. Her hair was in a loose knot on top of her head, flyaway, golden-blond tendrils cascading around her ears and neck. Other than the plain silver ring on her second toe, her feet were bare. Her baggy knit shorts hung below her waist, the front dipping lower than the back. Her top was a sleeveless tank made out of a stretchy fabric that clung to her breasts and bared her midriff. It wasn’t as revealing as the bikini she’d been wearing yesterday. It had no business being even more stimulating.

“Smell that?” she said.

For lack of a better plan, he inhaled.

And she said, “It’s a blend of lavender, chamomile and rose essential oils. It’s called aromatherapy and is supposed to be soothing.”

“Did it work?”

“I was getting there. Perhaps you should try it.”

He took a quick, sharp breath. So much for trying to appear unaffected.

He could tell she was trying not to smile as she gestured toward an overstuffed, ruffled sofa, indicating that he could take a seat. “Or would you rather stand?”

It was as if she knew him. He shrugged. They both remained standing.

She meandered to the other side of the room. “So you’ve reconsidered my offer to act as your fiancée at that dinner party.”

“Yes.”

“I thought you said lies are like dogs.”

“They are.”

“But?”

“Coop claims playacting and lying are two entirely different things.”

“I see. You said Coop read you the riot act because you turned my offer down. Is that why you reconsidered? Because Coop made you see reason?”

“Coop has nothing to do with this. I thought about what you said. About pitying me.”

“I shouldn’t have said that. It was my temper talking. I’m sorry.”

“I had it coming. But I don’t want your pity.”

“What do you want?”

She must have walked closer when he wasn’t looking, because he could see her eyes, round in the dimly lit room, the pupils so large only a narrow circle of green surrounded them. Like pools of appeal, they invited him in. He was in the process of taking his second step when it occurred to him that she wasn’t the one who had moved closer.

He needed to loosen his tie. And he wasn’t wearing a tie. He settled for clearing his throat. “It isn’t about what I want. It’s about what I need.”

“What do you need, Tripp?”

His gaze strayed to her mouth, his throat convulsing on a swallow. He had to clear it again in order to say, “I need that position in Santa Rosa.”

“Why?”

“Santa Rosa is a city of more than a hundred thousand people. It’s a wealthy area; the practice is a private one with new, modern, state-of-the-art equipment. The facility is only a thirty-minute drive from San Francisco and caters to the wealthy. My salary would more than triple. I need the money and the prestige.”

She looked him in the eye and said, “You don’t strike me as the type who cares about prestige.”

He told himself he had no business feeling complimented. “It isn’t for me. It’s for a clinic I’ve set up to aid the poor. Right now, it’s operating on a shoestring. I want to expand it in this area. Eventually I plan to open a dozen more up and down the California coast. It’s going to take donations, and backers with deep pockets.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” She asked a hundred intelligent questions. And he, a man who preferred yes and no answers, poured out the story of the clinic’s meager beginnings, and his hopes and plans for its future. Sometime during the conversation, he’d taken a seat on her comfortable sofa and she’d sat in the matching chair, her bare feet tucked underneath her.

Maybe there was something to that aromatherapy after all.

The sky outside her windows went from milky white to gray to pitch black. The candles burned low; she didn’t turn on a light. Sometimes, their conversation flickered like that candlelight, illuminating other topics, her brothers and sisters and a few of the foster kids he’d known while staying with her family. She spoke lovingly of her father, but never mentioned her mother. She seemed concerned about her oldest brother, Rand, and was worried because she hadn’t heard from her younger, adopted sister, Emily. It occurred to him that he didn’t know Amber well. He’d lost touch with most of the Coltons. Other than staying in contact with Joe, Tripp had been too busy clawing his way through med school to maintain strong ties with the huge, extended Colton clan. He hadn’t even known Emily had left town and hadn’t contacted anybody. He hadn’t known that Amber lived in Fort Bragg, either. Inez had been only too happy to supply him with that information when he’d shown up at the ranch in Prosperino earlier. Funny, he’d expected Amber to live in a grand house like her father’s, but her home was quite modest.

She didn’t seem to want to talk about herself, though. Every time it happened, she steered the conversation back to his pilot clinic or the position he was after in Santa Rosa.

“How many times have you met with the doctors at this exclusive practice?”

“Two.”

“How many times has your rival met with the same people?”

“I don’t know.”

She procured a notebook out of nowhere, and began jotting things down. She wanted to know about the dinner, and who would be attending. She was professional, exuberant, warm and smart. God yes, she was smart. He was in awe.

The wind rattled a window. Although he didn’t feel a draft, the candles flickered.

Their gazes met, held. The images from his dreams the previous night shimmered through his mind. His breathing deepened, his gaze skimming over her body.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” she asked.

“Working.” He cleared his throat. At least she hadn’t asked him what he was thinking. It was a good thing, because he would have been even more hard pressed to come up with a good answer.

“What time could you be finished?”

“Four or five.”

“Think you could come back to Fort Bragg around five?”

“You want me to come back?”

She looked at him with a lift of her eyebrows that seemed to say, “Isn’t that what I just said?” But she only nodded.

After a moment, he did, too.

She wrote something in her notebook, tore the page out and tucked it into his hand. “Meet me at this address, say, at five o’clock. We’ll begin the tweaking then.”

Tweaking?

He’d be damned if he would let his imagination go there. He rose quickly to his feet.

Despite his best efforts, he got a mental picture and warmed ten degrees. She was circling him. It gave him a moment to get his body under control.

“What do you mean, tweaking?”

“At this point,” she said from a place directly behind him, “appearance is everything. There’s a wonderful old-world men’s clothing store right here in Fort Bragg.”

He peered at the address on the sheet of paper in his hand. “A men’s clothing store? You want me to buy a new suit? That’s what you meant?”

“Unless you already own a dynamite one. What did you think I meant?”

Never mind what he’d thought. “Dr. Perkins has already seen me like this.”

She looked him over. “There’s certainly nothing wrong with the way you are. Not from a female’s perspective. This Dr. Perkins doesn’t happen to be a woman, does she?”

He shook his head.

And she sighed. “Too bad. Oh, well. This weekend, we’re going to give the people affiliated with Dr. Perkins’s practice a new and improved version of Dr. Tripp Calhoun, the finest pediatrician in sunny California.”

She ushered him to the door. Although he didn’t remember doing it, he must have opened it, because he walked through.

“Tripp?”

He turned on the top step. “Yes?”

“I’m glad we’re going to be friends again.” Before he could answer, she reached up on tiptoe and brushed her lips across his. “Good night.”

The door closed. He didn’t recall saying goodbye, either, but he must have. At least he hoped he had.

He wet his lips, and tasted the strawberry flavor of her lip gloss. He wiped it off with the back of his hand, and stood statue-still, desire uncurling deep inside him.

Whoa. He appreciated Amber’s offer to help, and he would tell her so. After that, he was going to have to lay out a few ground rules. He needed this position, and the credibility it would bring. Okay, maybe he even needed a new suit. If she thought he would bleach his hair and wear blue contacts, she was mistaken. If he got that position, it would be because of who he was, the man inside, not the trappings.

They were going to pretend to be engaged. He didn’t like the idea of lying, even if it was under the guise of pretending. But he didn’t see any other way.

He and Amber were already becoming friends. That part was real. He would hold it there. There would be no real passion between them.

He would tell her as soon as he saw her tomorrow. He started for his nondescript, dependable car and got in. Now, he thought, trying to find a comfortable position in jeans that were suddenly a good size too small, if only somebody would break it to his body.




Four


“Oh, my, I do believe we’ve found the one!”

Tripp tried not to wince, honest to God he did, but if André’s voice got any shriller, the trifold mirror was going to shatter.

“It has style. It says class with a capital C, and it fits you to perfection. Perfection, I say!” André’s eyebrows were chestnut-colored slashes above startling brown eyes that didn’t come close to matching the yellow streaks in his short-cropped hair. “Don’t you agree, Amber?”

Tripp met Amber’s gaze in the mirror. She smiled demurely. “This jacket looks good, too, André.”

The double entendre was lost on André. “Good? It looks glorious. What do you think, Doctor?”

Tripp thought he would have more fun having a kidney transplant. “It’s black,” he said. Every suit jacket he’d tried on had been black.

André looked to Amber for emotional support. She said, “Black is a formal, classic color that never goes out of style. You can wear it to weddings and funerals, fine restaurants, important galas and everything in between. Montgomery Perkins was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He and his family moved to California from the East Coast twenty-five years ago. His bloodline can be traced back to the Mayflower and beyond. He’s the type of man who would own a closet full of black suits, and expect others to, as well.”

Tripp stared at her. “How do you know that?”

She shrugged, then examined her fingernails. “I checked him out. Apparently he’s a very traditional and wealthy physician, one who wouldn’t appreciate a candidate showing up wearing a clown nose or tweed.”

André fanned himself at her mention of tweed. “Have we found the perfect one, or shall we continue?”





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