The Trophy Wife

by Sandra Steffen

  Amber looked closer at her mother. Why the sudden interest in Amber's whereabouts? Or was it the destination that was causing her mother's concern?

  "Tripp and I are attending a wedding there."

  The other woman visibly relaxed. "Take plenty of hair gel. The humidity wreaks havoc with a woman's hair."

  Hair gel. That was what their relationship had been reduced to. Facials, good posture and hair gel.

  Her mother didn't ask about Tripp, or how flying would affect Amber. Amber wished her father had been here. She missed him and had wanted to see him before she left tomorrow. He, at least, would have been interested in what she did, where she went. Feeling sad that she couldn't reach through the brittle veneer to the warm heart of the mother she once knew, Amber said, "Will you tell Daddy I stopped by? And tell him I'm sorry I missed him."

  "I'll be sure to relay the message."

  * * *

  Like hell she would, Patsy thought after that little do-gooder left the room. She hated being called Mother by Meredith's children. She hated being called Meredith even more. Perhaps some day she could reclaim her real name. Until then, she must continue the charade.

  Patsy eyed the telephone. She was waiting for a call from Silas Pike.

  She shuddered. The man, with his grimy ponytail and Fu-Manchu mustache and goatee, was as inept as he was ugly. He'd screwed up too many times to count. But he was the only person Patsy had been able to find to finish the job that car accident had started ten years ago.

  Patsy sighed. Turning in Joe's oversized leather chair, she watched as Amber drove out of the driveway in her smart little sports car. Patsy had sent everyone on errands this morning, and had thought she had the house to herself. She must have been in her room when Amber arrived. Now, Patsy thought, the coast was clear for her meeting with Silas Pike.

  His phone call was late, and Patsy's stomach was in knots. Seeing Amber hadn't helped. It never did. Everyone said that both Amber and Sophie looked just like her. Amber, especially, with her sunny personality and quick sense of humor acted so much like Meredith it turned Patsy's stomach.

  Patsy had resented her twin sister all her life. Being forced to be nice to Amber, who acted just like her mother, was more than Patsy should have been forced to endure.

  She'd already endured so much. Since the very beginning, everything had gone awry. She'd been treated unfairly all her life, the downtrodden twin, while Meredith was doted upon. The fact that they were identical didn't seem to matter to their mother, who'd placed Meredith on a pedestal while finding fault with everything Patsy did. She hated her mother for that. She hated Meredith most of all. Amber wasn't much better. She reminded Patsy too much of Meredith. Sophie, too. Why couldn't Joe and Meredith's children just leave and never come back? Was that too much to ask?

  But no, even grown up, they came back time and time again. With their every return, Patsy was forced to remember Meredith. And she wanted to forget her identical twin sister had ever existed.

  Besides, no matter what anybody said, neither Amber nor Sophie worked as fastidiously at their looks as Patsy did, therefore neither of them were as stunning as she was. Of course, it cost a pretty penny to keep up features like hers. Her hair stylist, manicurist, masseuse and clothing experts were the best money could buy. She was worth it. She deserved all the special treatment. Why, what with everything she'd been forced to endure these past ten years, she deserved all this and more.

  Ten long years she'd been waiting, suffering through this charade. If only Meredith had died in that car accident. Then Patsy could have assumed Meredith's identity without all these headaches. Without always fearing the worst. Without constantly looking over her shoulder, worrying that Meredith might return at any moment. Without wondering if that plain little red-headed brat, Emily, whom Meredith and Joe were stupid enough to adopt, might show up here with someone who believed her story of seeing two mothers at the accident. Once, Patsy had overheard Emily, the simpering little orphan, refer to her as the bad mommy.

  What if somebody believed her story? What then? Patsy had had no choice but to hire Silas "Snake Eyes" Pike to silence Emily once and for all. Patsy was supposed to get rid of Joe at the same time. Could nothing ever go smoothly?

  With Joe gone, and Meredith and Emily out of the way, Patsy would have had all the Colton money. Then she could raise her darlings, Joe, Jr. and Teddy. And she could use every means to find the baby girl she'd lost so many years ago.

  Patsy massaged her temples. She wanted the perfect life she'd always dreamed of. Soon, she told herself.

  Silas insisted he was getting closer to discovering Emily's whereabouts. And as inept as he was, the other P.I. she'd hired to find her twin was probably right about the fate Meredith had undoubtedly met. It was comforting to believe that Meredith had become a homeless person with no memory, and more than likely, died as a Jane Doe. It was fitting. Patsy liked to imagine it that way.

  She leaned back in Joe's chair, continuing to wait for Silas Pike to call. The phone didn't ring, but at least the new gardener she'd hired pulled into the driveway. No matter how much she'd badgered him, Marco Ramiriz had refused to rid the gardens of the pitiful plants Meredith had grown years ago. Patsy would see that the new gardener did as she said. After all, it wouldn't require a green thumb to yank out plants that shouldn't have survived to begin with.

  Bit by bit, year by year, she was ridding her life of everything Meredith had touched. She would enjoy watching the destruction of the few remaining wildflowers and scraggly plants Meredith had once loved. The anticipation made her smile.

  The phone rang. Her smile turned nasty the instant she heard the sound of Silas Pike's voice on the other end. He was sniveling. She hated sniveling. She'd hired him to put an end to the problem of Emily Blair once and for all. He was inept. She hated that most of all. He'd been so close to finding that little brat who could at any moment insist that she, Patsy, wasn't who she said she was. Emily, with her sickening nickname, "Sparrow," was a loose end that needed to be eliminated.

  "I don't want to hear any more excuses," Patsy said in a low, menacing voice.

  She rolled her eyes as Silas spouted several more reasons that he hadn't been successful this far.

  "Just keep a watchful eye on that do-gooder Wyatt Russell and his new little wife, Annie. While you're at it, keep close tabs on Toby Atkins. I have a feeling he knows more about Emily's whereabouts than a good sheriff should."

  Silas made noises about needing money.

  "I've given you all the money you're going to get this month. Lay off the booze, and find Emily. And when you do, await my instructions."

  She hung up. Looking out the window again, she tried to cheer herself with the knowledge that one day soon, all this unpleasantness would be behind her, and this entire estate would be hers.

  * * *

  "Louise?"

  The beautiful woman finished snipping the flower from its delicate stem before glancing at Martha Wilkes, who watched Louise closely as she neared.

  In a soft, Southern accent, Martha said, "You still aren't comfortable answering to that name, are you?"

  For ten years she'd been going by the name Louise Smith. She shrugged and did her best to smile. She didn't believe for a moment she was fooling Dr. Martha Wilkes.

  "Do you still want to go through with the meeting with Emily and Rand, who claim you're their long-lost mother?"

  Yes! No! Yes. She was terrified. According to her records, her past wasn't pretty. Patsy Portman. That was the name on her file. It felt as unnatural as Louise Smith. There was something vaguely familiar about Portman, but she couldn't imagine being called Patsy.

  Once, in a dream, she'd heard someone call her name. When she awoke, she remembered the dream, but not her own real name. It was an M word, like Mary, or Marianne, or Mary Beth. Or perhaps what she'd heard was Mommy.

  Massaging her temples to stave off the headache that invariably accompanied probing too deeply into her memory, Lou
ise considered telling Martha to cancel the meeting. Then she would go running into her home, where she could hide from the nightmares that had haunted her for ten long years. She might have succumbed to the hysteria that threatened to overwhelm her. But she didn't, because not all her dreams had been unpleasant. Sometimes, she felt a sense of déjà vu so powerful she was faint and hopeful at the same time. There was a place deep inside her, a place beyond logic and reason, that had experienced a great love, and children's laughter, and tears, and joy. Other doctors and therapists she'd seen over the years had dismissed the sensation, theorizing that it was most probably due to the fact that she'd once given up an infant for adoption. For a long time Louise had accepted that explanation. But that theory couldn't explain the visions she'd been having of a tall, dark man. In her most recent dreams, he'd stood in a lush garden, surrounded by children of all ages, all waiting expectantly for her, arms open wide, as if waiting for her to come home. The garden in her dreams was similar to the garden she was standing in right now including a fountain. But that garden and fountain were larger, and there was a swimming pool, and a sound that could only be the ocean carrying on a soft breeze.

  Where was the garden of her dreams? Who was the man? And who were the children who called out to her but she couldn't quite hear?

  She looked into the distance where the sun glinted off the wings of a jet cutting through a cloud shaped like a turtle. Nerves tap-danced in her stomach, and a yearning so strong she nearly cried out washed over her. Oh, how she wished that man in her dreams, or one of the children, perhaps, was on that jet and was coming to invite her home.

  Wherever that might be.

  Louise was terrified that this girl, Emily, would take one look at her face, only to turn away, mistaken. Louise was almost as terrified that Emily wouldn't turn away, mistaken. What if Louise regained her memory, only to discover that her dreams were simply that? Dreams. What if the man didn't exist? What if his love never had?

  What if she regained her memory, only to discover that she had no one?

  "Louise?" Martha Wilkes placed her brown hand over Louise's pale one. "We can wait if you want to, or if you need to."

  She gazed into Martha's warm, compassion-filled eyes. Taking a deep breath, she glanced at the sky. The jet was gone, and the cloud that had looked like a turtle was now just another cloud. It reminded her how much everything could change in the blink of an eye.

  She knew better than anybody that life rarely handed out second chances. No matter how terrified she was, she couldn't pass up hers. "Bring Emily and her brother to me. I'll be waiting."

  Seven

  The air outside the airport in Jackson, Mississippi, smelled faintly of exhaust fumes and felt like deep summer. Tripp tried to help the porter stash his carry-on and all four of Amber's suitcases in the trunk of the cab. After getting in the way a few times, he stepped aside and let the man do his job. Placing a tip into the porter's open hand, Tripp climbed into the back seat next to Amber, sputtering, "I could buy a month's supply of medicine for the clinic with what I've spent on travel alone so far this weekend."

  "Dr. Perkins told you to keep track of your expenses."

  "I prefer to pay my own way."

  She leaned ahead, speaking through a window in the glass partition. Seconds after she gave the driver directions to the bed-and-breakfast Dr. Perkins's assistant had reserved for them, the cab was speeding around winding lanes, leaving the airport behind.

  "Montgomery Perkins and his associates can afford it, Tripp."

  "Dammit, that isn't the point."

  The taxi driver made a square turn out of a round corner. Tripp noticed the way Amber placed a hand over her stomach. She turned her head slowly and blinked, her throat convulsing on a swallow. "I'm still groggy from the airsickness pills. What are we arguing about again?"

  For all the floundering he did through his mind searching for a reply, he couldn't come up with anything of value. Why was he trying to pick a fight?

  And then the answer came, unbidden.

  He could think of only two activities that would cure him of the unholy case of unspent desire he'd been battling ever since Amber had fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder an hour into the flight. The numbness had left his hand shortly after she'd awakened, and for the most part, the kink had worked its way out of his neck, but he hadn't forgotten how soft her hair had been beneath his cheek. And he swore her scent had permanently permeated his senses. Okay, arguing wasn't his first choice. However, it was a hell of a lot safer than the other activity.

  He reminded himself that they were simply pretending to be engaged. His brain knew the difference between playacting and the real thing. Why, then, did his desire feel so real?

  Because it was real, dammit.

  Which meant that not all of this was pretend, after all. And that made it even more dangerous.

  The first thing he was going to do when he got to his room was take a cold shower. Perhaps when he'd put a little distance between him and Amber he would be able to concentrate on what he would say and how he would stomach being in the same room with Derek Spencer.

  Beside him, Amber was fumbling around inside her large leather purse. Bringing a pack of mints from the bottom, she offered a piece to him. "It's wintergreen," she said. "It helps soothe an upset stomach."

  Her need for something to soothe her upset stomach reminded him of everything she was doing for him. She'd braved airsickness for him. She was using her vacation time for him.

  Watching as she popped a mint into her mouth, he said, "You're a real trooper."

  "For a spoiled little rich girl, you mean?"

  She looked up at him with dewy eyes and a soft, serene smile he wouldn't have minded sampling. "You're not so spoiled. And you're a lot tougher than I gave you credit for."

  Amber didn't know what she'd expected, but it wasn't a compliment, or the barely-there smile on Tripp's mouth. It certainly wasn't the whisper-soft kiss he placed on her cheek. Holding perfectly still, she closed her eyes. There was something incredible about the brush of a man's lips on a woman's cheek. It was something few men bothered with in this day and age. She doubted it was something Tripp did every day. Which made it even more special, and completely endearing.

  She waited to see what he would do next. She would have loved it if he covered her mouth with his, but she wasn't entirely disappointed when he shifted to his own half of the back seat and looked out the window. There would be plenty of time for kissing once they reached the inn. Her imagination running wild with what she hoped would happen after they took their time kissing, she let her gaze trail out the window, too.

  Still a little woozy, she felt airy and hopeful, too, and had even before the jet had touched down. She couldn't explain it, except that she felt close to something or someone precious. It probably had a lot to do with the man sitting next to her. But it also had to do with the dream she'd had on the plane.

  She'd dreamed of her mother. Not the way her mother was now, but of how she'd been a long time ago, when Sophie and Amber and Emily had been young girls and their mother had shown them how to make flower chains in the garden near the pool. The sisters had worn them in their hair, pretending to be forest sprites and laughing until their sides hurt. Amber could still hear her mother's voice as she'd insisted the girls reminded her of birds. That day, four-year-old Emily, with her flyaway red hair and her knobby knees, had become Sparrow. Ten-year-old, golden-haired Amber was nicknamed Finch, and beautiful, lithe, twelve-year-old Sophie was Lark. Amber and Sophie had outgrown their nicknames in no time, but little Emily's had stuck.

  It had been months since any of them had called Emily anything. Sparrow, Amber thought, where are you?

  The taxi was idling at a red light when Amber's gaze was inexplicably drawn to a girl standing at the corner. The girl's back was to Amber, but her hair was the exact color of Emily's. Amber's heart sped up then slowed down. The girl was thinner than Amber had ever seen Emily, but her height
was right, and that hair…

  Amber held her breath as the girl turned. Just then, the wind blew that mane of red hair across her face, hiding it from view. Amber's hand went to the door handle. "Emily?" she called through the open window.

  The sound was lost beneath revving engines and honking horns. The light had turned green and the traffic started forward.

  Her heart in her throat, Amber strained to see the girl's face as they passed. But a group of tourists stepped in front of her, swallowing her into the crowd.

  "Amber, what is it?"

  She heard Tripp's voice, but she didn't take her eyes off that group of tourists. "See that girl? The one with the red hair?"

  They both peered out the back window. "I see several girls back there. Two of them have red hair."

  Amber stared wordlessly until the little entourage disappeared from view. Emotions welled in her throat. Biting her lip to keep it from quivering, she said, "I thought I saw my sister, Emily."

  "Emily?" Tripp asked. "What would your adopted sister be doing in Jackson, Mississippi?"

  Fighting through the cobwebs left over from her motion-sickness medicine, Amber shook her head and sighed. "You're right. What could Emily possibly be doing here?"

  But where else could she be? And why hadn't she called?

  They turned another corner. Before long, the cab was taking a ramp leading to a freeway. According to the directions she'd received from Dr. Perkins's assistant, Amber and Tripp were less than half an hour away from the inn.

  "The journey's been hard on you," Tripp said, close to her ear. "We'll be arriving at the inn soon." He glanced at the watch he'd been fiddling with. "It looks like you'll have time to lie down for a little while when you get to your room. I brought some medical journals to read in mine."

  Amber didn't say anything. Luckily, Tripp didn't glance at her. Therefore, he didn't see the smile of anticipation that settled on her mouth. And he didn't hear her murmur under her breath, "All's fair in love and war."

  * * *

  It wasn't fair! Emily Blair Colton thought as she stepped out of the shadows between two buildings in one of several historic districts in Jackson, Mississippi.