The Trophy Wife

by Sandra Steffen

  Shadows were long, the evening still, the sky the color of early twilight when Emily and Rand pulled out of their mother's driveway. "Please, God, I don't want to leave her," Emily whispered, tears running unchecked down her face as she waved.

  "We have to, Em," Rand said, waving, too. "Dr. Wilkes is right. The longer we stayed, the more confused Mom became."

  "Drive slow," Emily said around a sob. "I want to look at her as long as I can."

  Their dear mother stood next to her therapist, waving for all she was worth. She looked dangerously pale, and achingly beautiful as she waved goodbye. In that last moment before they disappeared around a curve in the street, she blew them a kiss from the tips of her fingers.

  Emily and Rand were quiet after that, each lost in similar thoughts. Their mother had slept for three solid hours, only to awaken with a screaming headache. No matter how much her head hurt, or how long she'd slept, she hadn't forgotten Rand and Emily. But she hadn't remembered any more, either. Emily didn't know who was more disappointed, her or them.

  Dr. Wilkes had reminded them that, regardless of what she couldn't remember, she remembered them. It had been Dr. Wilkes who'd insisted they finally leave Meredith in her care. She and Rand had argued about that, but in the end, they'd admitted that she was probably right. This had been their mother's home for nearly ten years. It was Dr. Wilkes's belief that she would be better off in familiar surroundings, warning them that a sudden move at this point might cause a major setback. It was their mother, herself, who'd insisted Martha step up her therapy. She would try anything, she'd declared, including hypnosis again in order to regain the remainder of her memory, so she could go home, intact.

  "Can you imagine how excited and thrilled everyone is going to be?" Emily exclaimed.

  She and Rand had the same thought at the same time. "Not quite everyone," Rand said.

  "The evil twin is going to be furious."

  "My God, Em, when I think about everything she's done."

  "I know."

  "I wish it was safe for you to come back to D.C. with me."

  They both agreed she would be safer in hiding back in Red River, Montana.

  "I'm going to hate to leave Mississippi behind," she said. "Because it was here that I got to see you again. And Mom. Did I tell you I saw Amber, here, too?"

  "Amber's in Mississippi? Are you sure?" Rand asked, in that infuriating way brothers had.

  She gave him a look only sisters could manage, which pushed his buttons and made him defensive. "What would she be doing here?"

  "I don't know. I thought maybe you knew. I haven't exactly been in contact with the family lately, remember? Amber must have a good reason. And something tells me it has something to do with the handsome, dark-haired man she was with."

  "Amber is in Mississippi with a dark-haired man? This family is getting impossible to keep track of. And nearly impossible for me to keep safe."

  "We're Coltons, Rand. We all have brains and good instincts. You men have brawn, and the women have feminine wiles. Something tells me Amber is using hers right now. Wherever she is."

  Rand shuddered. He knew firsthand how it felt to be on the receiving end of an intelligent, determined woman's feminine wiles. Men were no match for that kind of strategy. If the youngest of his natural-born sisters was indeed using her feminine wiles right now, he felt sorry for the poor bloke she was with.

  On the other hand, what a way to go.

  Eight

  The inn's door opened easily when Tripp nudged it with his elbow; Amber had left it ajar. The woman thought of everything.

  As he shouldered his way through, he noticed that she appeared to be having a serious conversation with the no-nonsense woman standing near a desk in the next room. Apparently, there was a problem.

  The bed-and-breakfast could have been lifted straight off the pages of a glossy magazine. It was Southern in style, with tall pillars and a verandah that stretched along the entire front. As long as it had running water and a couple of clean rooms, Tripp wouldn't have cared if it was a shack.

  He looked around him in the foyer. This was no shack.

  He'd paid the taxi driver, arranged his carry-on and most of Amber's bags over his shoulders and in his arms, then followed the course she'd taken up the wide brick walkway. He was hot and sweaty, his clothes wrinkled, his shirt stuck to his back. With every step, the thought of a cool shower and a quiet room grew more appealing.

  "I have the confirmation right here." Amber lowered a shoulder bag to her feet and rifled through her purse.

  Tripp stopped a few strides away. Whatever the problem, she seemed to be handling it. Which came as no surprise to him.

  "According to this fax, dated two days ago," she said with quiet emphasis, "rooms ten and twelve are reserved in our names."

  The other woman's countenance changed by degrees as she perused the fax. Next, she studied her register again. "Oh, dear."

  Easing closer, Tripp said, "Problem?"

  The other woman was probably fifty, and wore it well. Her auburn hair was smartly styled. Her diamond ring must have been three or four carats, her clothing as refined as the Southern lilt in her voice. "I don't know how it happened, but we just ushered two dentists and their wives from Iowa to rooms ten and twelve. They had confirmations, too."

  The bags were getting heavy. "You're saying you don't have a room for us?" Tripp asked.

  "Oh, no." She gave him a small smile. "We have a room for you."

  Hoisting the bag that was slowly slipping from his grasp, he said, "Excellent. Where are they located? If you'd point us in the right direction, we'll find them ourselves."

  He didn't know what to make of the furtive glance Amber and the other woman exchanged. It was Amber who answered. "Not them, Tripp. It. There's only one room reserved for us."

  The innkeeper said, "If it's any consolation, I've always felt it was the loveliest room in the inn."

  Tripp glanced down at Amber. Her hair was mussed, her lipstick long gone. She'd been traveling for hours. She'd been ill. How in the hell did she manage to look so damned appealing?

  He needed some space.

  He needed a shower, bad. And he needed both soon. "It doesn't matter if our rooms aren't next to each other," he said. In fact, it might be better if they weren't. Turning to the other woman, he said, "Put Amber in your loveliest room, and give me another one."

  "I'm afraid everything else is taken, sir."

  Amber knew the exact moment the full implication soaked through Tripp's sweat-glistened skull. It didn't take long. And he didn't look pleased.

  She didn't know what to do or say. She'd verified these reservations herself. She'd considered every detail of this trip very carefully. By hook or by crook, she planned to woo Tripp into falling in love with her during the next forty-eight hours. Her last encounter with her mother had forced her to take a closer look at her reasons for remaining up north in the Fort Bragg area. Who would care if she left? She had friends everywhere. And really, if she put her mind to it, couldn't she do work for the Hopechest Foundation anywhere?

  Meaningful work was important. Was being with someone who cared about her in return just as important? The answer was a whispered yes that started in her mind and ended in her heart.

  Perhaps it was time for her to make a fresh start. Perhaps she would make one with Tripp. Some people believed they not only made their own fate, but they made the wave that carried them to it. Amber tended to be among those who believed a person could only control so much. She was all for catching a wave. She just didn't harbor any illusions, for sometimes, the perfect wave reared up and tossed a true believer on her rear.

  She hadn't planned to fall in love with Tripp Calhoun. Now that she had, she wanted him to love her in return. She was going to give it her best shot.

  She'd been thrilled to learn rooms ten and twelve had a connecting door, and positively ecstatic to discover that there had been a cancellation, and therefore they were both available. She
'd shopped for hours for the perfect dress and shoes. She'd packed candles, her most beautiful dressing gown and her Enya CD. She'd planned the seduction of Tripp Calhoun right down to the tiniest detail. But even she hadn't had the audacity to be so obvious as to reserve only one room.

  Apparently, providence was on her side. She hid a smile.

  "Amber," Tripp said, "why don't you take this room? I'll get another somewhere nearby."

  She hadn't planned that. She stared at him, speechless.

  "Again, I apologize for the mix-up," the innkeeper said. "I would be happy to phone other inns and hotels in the area, but I'll be surprised if anything is available."

  Amber didn't trust her voice, but the more the dear, kind, wonderful woman with the impeccable taste but only one vacant room talked, the more Amber liked her. "This is peak tourist season. To compound the problem, there are several conventions in this part of the city alone. The hotels are overbooked, and the local inns are already scrambling to accommodate everybody. I'll start phoning around. In the meantime, would you care to see the room?"

  Amber watched with smug delight as Tripp shrugged. "It is getting late," she said. "The rehearsal dinner begins at seven. It's going to take me a little while to freshen up and dress."

  Finally, he nodded.

  It would have been nice if he was a little more pleased about this new set of circumstances. But one thing at a time.

  "RayAnn, would you come here, please?" the innkeeper intoned.

  A younger version of the innkeeper suddenly appeared. "Yes, Mom?"

  "Please help these people with their bags. And show them to room thirty, would you?"

  RayAnn, a sturdy-looking girl of about sixteen or seventeen, snagged two of the bags Tripp had been holding. With a wink, she said, "If y'all would just follow me."

  Talking as she went, the girl led the way through a large living room where a gray-haired, bespectacled man was looking askance at a woman wearing what could only be fake Spock ears, unless aliens really had landed in Mississippi. Still talking as if nothing was out of the ordinary, RayAnn led her little entourage up an open, Tara-styled staircase. At the top, she took a sharp right, and opened a hidden door. "Room thirty is the coolest room in the whole place."

  The second flight of stairs was steep and narrow. RayAnn and Tripp were winded when they reached the small landing at the top. Amber had practically floated up them.

  RayAnn was too busy unlocking the door to notice. Amber didn't look at Tripp to see if he had.

  Stepping to one side to let them see, RayAnn said, "This is the only room on this floor."

  Yes, Amber thought peering past the girl. Providence was most definitely on her side.

  "What do you think?" RayAnn asked.

  Amber and Tripp strolled over the threshold. The attic room was magnificent. It had a sloped ceiling and ankle-deep carpet the color of ripe plums. There was a quaint writing desk next to the door. Two overstuffed chairs on either side of an antique wardrobe were angled invitingly along the far wall. A king-size bed covered with a luxurious duvet and a dozen textured and tasseled pillows dominated the room.

  Staring at that bed, Amber drew a deep breath. This was where the heart of her plan would be carried out. If she dared.

  Not if.

  She dared.

  She hoped.

  Oh, for heaven's sake. Nearly every man she'd ever dated had been ready and willing to seduce her after the second date. But being the person actually doing the seducing was going to be a new experience. She should have taken notes.

  Nerves fluttered up her spine. She forbade herself to tremble, and quickly looked away from the bed.

  "You think this is something," RayAnn declared. "Wait'll y'all see the bathroom."

  Amber glanced up in time to see Tripp, who'd been heading that way, freeze in his tracks, then swing blithely around as if he'd suddenly thought better of checking out the room.

  "Don't tell me. Y'all are here for the dance convention, right?"

  Tripp's eyebrows lowered a fraction. "Dance convention?"

  "Well," the girl said, "you sure don't look like dentists or sci-fi fans."

  Tripp continued to look puzzled. Amber smiled, because the sci-fi convention explained the fake Spock ears on the woman downstairs. "We're in town to attend a wedding."

  While Tripp opened a door, revealing a television screen, RayAnn whispered, "You sure he isn't a dancer?"

  "He's a pediatrician."

  RayAnn pulled a face. "My pediatrician was about eighty."

  Amber grinned. "So was mine."

  "What do y'all think?" RayAnn asked loud enough for both of them to hear. "You want the room?"

  "Would you give us a moment to discuss it?" Amber said.

  With a wink, the robust girl backed from the room, drawing the door closed with her in the process. Alone with Tripp, Amber said, "I don't believe we have many options."

  He stared at her, jaw set, teeth clenched. "You're willing to share a room with me?"

  She looked at him for several seconds. His dark hair was disheveled, his light-blue cotton shirt wrinkled. His navy chinos rode low on his hips. He was lean and fit, and antsy as a caged cougar. It occurred to her that she wasn't the only one done in by all this traveling. She could tell he was trying not to take it out on her. It was one of the things she loved about him. She couldn't say that, however, at least not yet. So she said, "We lived in the same house one entire summer. I trust you." He had no idea how much, but he would before the night was through.

  Tripp stared at Amber. He couldn't help it. Her hair was mussed, her face still pale with the aftereffects of her bout with airsickness. And yet her eyes were artful and serene, as inviting as cool shade on a sweltering day.

  She trusted him.

  Something was happening inside him. He was pretty sure no woman had ever entrusted her chastity to him. He felt at once humble and ten feet tall. And even more in need of that cold shower.

  Damn.

  He strode to the door, opened it and handed the girl the last bill in his pocket. "We'll take it."

  He closed the door on RayAnn's smile.

  "She's right," Amber said.

  Tripp turned around. Amber was the one who'd taken the medicine, and yet he was the one who couldn't seem to put two thoughts together. "About what?"

  "About you. You have the presence, the grace and the style, not to mention the moves of a dancer. Your name suits you."

  "What does my name have to do with anything?"

  "Tripp. It means to dance."

  "You're kidding."

  She lowered tiredly into one of the overstuffed chairs before looking up at him, a faraway light in her eyes. "You didn't know that?"

  He shook his head. "My mother was a dancer before she had me."

  "With the ballet?"

  "Yeah, right." His lips twisted wryly. "In a club in L.A. That's where she met my old man."

  She looked at him for what felt like a long time before saying, "We have something in common, you and I. We were both named after something our mothers loved."

  Emotions stirred inside Tripp, heating him further. He didn't know what was happening to him. He was pretty sure he shouldn't be enjoying it so much, whatever it was.

  His mother had died when he was seven. Other than an image of a woman with blond hair, a cigarette burning in an ashtray, a deep sultry laugh, and feeling safe when she was home, he couldn't remember much about that portion of his childhood. He'd had no idea his name meant to dance. She'd been a dancer. It seemed like too big a coincidence to be coincidental.

  "Why don't you help yourself to the shower?" Amber said, rising slowly to her feet. "I'll unpack some of my things."

  She bent over the bed and unzipped a case. He got a glimpse of beige lace and the upper swells of her plump breasts. After a long pause, during which he fought for self-control, he grabbed his carry-on and headed for the shower.

  * * *

  Tripp crossed his ankles and brou
ght the medical journal closer to his face. Fascinating reading, medicine. There were never enough hours in a day to catch up on all of it.

  He'd been staring at the same page for ten minutes.

  Cool, calm and collected, he checked his watch, then started at the beginning of an article about a new AIDS medication for children, being developed by scientists in the south of France. He read the first line, and the second. Ah, yes, fascinating reading, medicine.

  Fully dressed for the evening, he'd chosen a comfortable chair near the register where cool air was streaming into the room. His feet were propped on a matching ottoman. He had a comfortable place to read, an interesting topic to peruse. He found himself staring at the polished toe of his shoe.

  The carpet was plush enough to absorb all but the faintest sounds. It was so quiet in the room he could hear the page crinkle as he brought the journal back into focus. Farther away, water bounced off tiles.

  Amber was taking a shower.

  He shook his head to clear it, checked his watch and read the second paragraph again. The words swam before his eyes, and instead of the medical procedure outlined in the article, he pictured Amber standing beneath the warm spray, the water gliding down her body.

  He'd stood beneath the same shower half an hour ago. Only he hadn't used warm water.

  A pipe rattled. In the next room the shower was turned off. He heard the thud of the shower door and absolutely refused to picture her drying her face, her neck, first one shoulder, then the other, and finally…

  He scowled. Before the effects of his shower were completely undone, he grabbed the remote and pointed it at the TV. There. Some background noise was just what he needed. He should have thought of it sooner.

  He read the paragraph a third time. And still had no idea what it said. Swearing under his breath, he jerked to his feet, strode to the door and gave it a brisk knock. "Amber, I'm going out for a—"

  The door opened beneath his fist. Amber emerged wearing a creamy satin robe, her face scrubbed clean, her hair secured loosely on top of her head. Her eyes were luminous, her lips parted slightly as she said, "Yes, Tripp?"

  A drop of water clung in the delicate hollow at the base of her neck. He cleared his throat. "I'm going out for a walk."