The Trophy Wife

by Sandra Steffen

  Coop was already out of his car. His footsteps slowed, then stopped. He was shaking his head at the other man. Tripp couldn't make out exactly what they were saying, but he could tell from the tone of their voices that it wasn't good. The stranger's face was reddened, as if angry, and he laid his hand on a bulge beneath his shirt that was surely a pistol. Coop must have seen it, too. He motioned for Tripp to stay back.

  "Can I help you?" Tripp asked.

  The man took an ominous step in his direction. "Now, would I be here if I thought you couldn't?"

  "Are you sick?" Tripp doubted it, but he was buying time, trying to think.

  "I'm sick, all right. Of doctors like you sticking your nose in a man's business." The man was large, with big, beefy, grease-blackened hands, one of which was scratched, with dried blood. His dingy gray T-shirt was sweat-stained, and he reeked of whiskey and cigarette smoke. His complexion was ruddy, his hair the color of dirty dishwater, and in need of a cut and good washing.

  "Why don't we go around to the back door?" Tripp said. "I keep a bottle of whiskey inside." He hoped to God that lie didn't turn around and bite him. He wanted to get the guy in front of him. Maybe then he and Coop could take him from behind.

  It didn't work. The man didn't budge. "Where is she?"

  Tripp tried again. "If you don't want a drink, at least let me take a look at that hand."

  This time the ploy worked. The man took his hand off the gun beneath his shirt and studied the scratches. Next, he leered at Tripp. "My hand don't need treatin'. Go on inside. This is between me and Casanova here."

  He seemed to think he'd made a joke, because he laughed, a loud, lewd, raucous sound that contained more rage than humor. From the clinic a window squeaked as someone slid it shut, the sound drawing the man's attention. Tripp and Coop only had a moment to exchange a look.

  Coop made a gesture with his head. "Go ahead, Dr. Calhoun. Go on in. This is between Ray and me. Ray, why don't you and I step around to the side of the building, out of sight of a patient who might stray past and get in your way?"

  With utmost caution, Tripp eased away, toward the porch. Hopefully, Coop would keep the man talking long enough for Tripp to get inside and call the police.

  He'd only taken two more steps when a voice stopped him in his tracks. "Darling? You aren't going in without me, are you?"

  He looked over his shoulder. Amber was walking jauntily toward him, smiling all around. Tripp swallowed. "I thought you were going to wait in the car."

  She stomped her foot and pouted. Tripp's throat convulsed. What the hell was she doing?

  "I mean it, Amber. Get back in the car."

  "Don't boss me, all right?" She turned to Coop. "He's always bossing me."

  Ray glared at Amber. "If you know what's good for you, you'll do what you're told."

  Tripp prayed to God Amber would shut up.

  She stomped her foot again and stuck out her lower lip. "What I'm told! I'm not a child." Was that her voice, so tiny, so pampered, so damned whiny?

  "Amber."

  She glanced at Tripp, as if trying to convey something. What the hell was she doing?

  With a lift of her chin, she looked at Ray again. "I'll have you know I have every right to go wherever I choose."

  "I hate women who think they know everything," Ray spat. "And I hate spoiled rich girls almost as much as that lazy, no-good, lying wench who stole my kids and wants to put me in jail for doing something a real man has the right to do. So if I were you, I'd do what your boyfriend here tells you and shut the hell up."

  Two cars drove by, seconds apart. Otherwise, the early evening was quiet. As far as Tripp was concerned, the silence felt ominous, oppressive.

  "But I want to see the clinic," Amber said, pouting again. "You both promised to show me." She stepped between Ray and the street, blocking his view of the vehicle that pulled into the lot.

  "Amber," Coop said, "why don't you get back in the car, huh? Be a good girl."

  She looked at both men. Speaking in an unusually loud, whiny voice, she said, "Oh, all right. Could I at least have the keys so I can listen to the radio?"

  Tripp had left the keys in the car. She knew that. What was she—

  Suddenly, footsteps pounded behind them and no less than six police officers rushed in from every direction, pistols drawn.

  Tripp shoved Amber and Coop behind him.

  Ray's hand went to his gun.

  "Don't try it," the officer closest shouted.

  Another policeman yelled, "Put your hands up where we can see them."

  All six officers closed in, pistols pointed. They had Ray facedown on the ground and handcuffed before he knew what hit him. Things moved quickly after that. They read him his rights and stuffed him in the back seat of a cruiser, heading for the county jail.

  Two officers remained behind to take statements. Letting Coop handle that, Tripp turned on Amber. "Why didn't you stay in the car?"

  Amber's eyes were large now, her voice back to normal as she said, "I was afraid you were going to go inside. And the doors and windows were locked."

  "What do you mean they were locked?" He sputtered. "Who locked them, and how could you have known that?"

  "Because I told them to. I called the clinic, right after I called 911. Of course, I had to call information for the number. My hands were shaking so hard I could hardly press the right buttons."

  The officer confirmed her statement. "She was extremely specific about the procedure. Told us not to use our sirens."

  Coop grinned. "Sweetheart, I owe you dinner."

  Tripp wasn't smiling. He couldn't. She'd played the spoiled little rich girl very convincingly. But her ingenuous act could have gotten her killed.

  Suddenly, he knew what that distant memory that had been bothering him for the past several days meant. It involved safety.

  He couldn't keep a woman like Amber safe.

  She'd garnered her knowledge of danger from watching crime dramas on television. She thought that, since this episode had turned out okay, they all would. But Tripp had lived and fought and survived on the city streets. He'd known people who hadn't lived to tell about it. Sure, Ukiah wasn't as dangerous as L.A. But danger was danger and life was a crapshoot. In his world, no matter where it was, Amber would stick out like a sore thumb. It didn't matter that this golden-haired, spoiled, pampered heiress had a heart of gold, nerves of steel and a mind that worked in ways he didn't begin to understand. She would still be a sitting duck. Like his mother had been.

  Other than the summer he spent at Hacienda de Alegria, and a few brief affairs like the one with Olivia, he'd been alone most of his life. There was a good reason for that. If he ever found a woman willing to take on the risk of spending her life with him, it would have to be a woman who shared his background and could work behind the scenes or at his side without drawing attention to herself. He'd known that weeks ago, before Amber had breezed into his life and turned it upside down and him with it, making him forget everything except the need running thick and warm through his veins.

  Tonight had been one hell of a reminder.

  She didn't belong in his world. It didn't have anything to do with prejudice. It had to do with life and death. And Tripp preferred to keep Amber in the first category.

  The officers wrote down their names and addresses. Coop went inside to see the patients who were waiting.

  True to his word, Tripp showed Amber around as he'd said he would. He spoke in monosyllables.

  Amber felt bereft. She'd helped him tonight. They should be celebrating. It wasn't that he was claiming all the glory. He wasn't talking about the episode at all. He had closed himself off even more.

  She met a few of the patients, took her tour of the clinic, listened to Tripp's description of each room's use. Every time she looked at the shutters that had come down in Tripp's eyes, she grew more scared. If there was a medicine for heartsickness, she could have used a strong dose.

  After the tour, he drove
her back to her car. Again, it was executed in nearly complete silence.

  Amber didn't much care for complete silence, especially when her heart and future happiness were on the line. "All right, Calhoun, what's the matter?"

  "Nothing."

  She felt her eyes narrow, but she didn't call him on the carpet about his lie. Instead, she wanted to get him talking. Maybe then, she would be able to figure out what was wrong. "Now that I've seen the clinic," she said, "it's your turn to drive out to see all the changes at the Hopechest Ranch."

  His jaw was set, his eyes straight ahead. "Maybe I'll do that sometime."

  Her heart thumped erratically. Something snapped inside her, and her patience ran out. "Maybe? Sometime? Could you be a little more vague?"

  He finally looked at her, his eyes filling with a curious intensity. For a long moment she looked back at him, hope fluttering in her stomach.

  The shutters came back down over his eyes, and squashed the butterfly wings of her hope. "I don't want to make this more difficult than it already is."

  He turned away from her, but she continued looking at him.

  As if sensing her gaze, he finally looked at her again. "I don't want to hurt you, Amber."

  Meaning he knew exactly what he was doing. She knew the line well. She'd used it herself. He was ditching her.

  Scraping together her tattered pride, she closed her mouth and got out of his car. She didn't say another word as she unlocked the Porsche's door. As she turned her key in the ignition. She couldn't help but glance in her rearview mirror. She was weak, her only excuse.

  Tripp hadn't moved. He just sat there and let her drive away.

  Twelve

  The grant application on Amber's desk blurred before her eyes. Resting her chin in her hand, she stared out the window in her office at the Hopechest Foundation, located on the Hopechest Ranch twenty miles from her childhood home in Prosperino. The dynamo director in charge of the center for troubled kids had once said they would all get more done if the administrative building had been built farther from the daily workings of the ranch. Normally, Amber liked it this way. She liked the close proximity to the kids the Foundation was helping. In the past, it had helped with the boredom she constantly fought and made her feel connected to something or someone. Lately, she felt as uprooted as tumbleweed, which was strange, since she was weighted down by a deep-seated sadness.

  Some of the older boys staying at the Homestead ambled past on horseback. They were helping the foreman move the herd to greener pastures. She wished she were out there with them. The thought came out of nowhere. She'd been making a lot of wishes lately. This very second, she wished she were anywhere but here. And that was crazy. Her work here was meaningful. Everyone who came here had a purpose. Her purpose was to put the MBA she'd received to good use, helping to run the Foundation her mother had started before everything had gone awry. Now, if only she could concentrate on that work.

  She sighed.

  It had been a week since she'd seen Tripp. A long, lonely, confusing week. She'd swallowed her pride and called his office. He'd been out. His return call had been cut short by a voice paging him in the background at the hospital. He hadn't called again.

  Tears welled in her eyes. She swallowed hard and sighed again. She missed him. She'd tried to be angry. Lord knew it would have been better than this heavy sadness that had settled like a brick in her chest. She couldn't even blame him for seducing her and then tossing her aside. She'd seduced him. She loved him.

  "You realize that every time you do that, the roof on this building expands at least a foot before settling back into its rightful place."

  Amber stared at the man leaning in her doorway for a full five seconds before she understood that he was referring to her deep sighs. "Hi, Jackson."

  Her cousin drew closer. "Those sighs for anybody I know?"

  She shrugged and did her best to smile. People were worried about her. Not just any people. Family. Sophie had been the first to notice something was amiss. She must have alerted everyone else. Rand had called again last night. Just when Amber thought there was no cohesion left, the Colton clan pulled together.

  Or at least most of them did.

  She hadn't slept a wink the first two nights after Tripp had given his little "I don't want to hurt you" speech. She'd been certain that if she concentrated hard enough, she would figure out what had gone wrong. Perhaps if she knew what the problem was, she might understand it. She'd gone over and over everything, and she didn't have a clue. She'd fallen asleep out of sheer exhaustion the third night. And while that hadn't resulted in any insight, either, at least she'd been rested on the fourth day. Rested or not, her emotions were a mess. She'd been bored before Tripp had walked back into her life. She was bored again. But this was worse, for it was accompanied with a sadness she couldn't shake, and a feeling that her life was empty. It wasn't, she knew. She had her work. Why couldn't that be enough?

  She sighed.

  She missed Tripp. It was that simple. And it really rankled!

  "Want to talk about it?" Jackson asked.

  "Hmm?" Oh. She'd forgotten she wasn't alone. Chin in hand, she said, "There's not much to talk about."

  Jackson made a sound without opening his mouth. Like the rest of the Colton men, he was tall. His jet-black hair and silver-gray eyes had turned the heads of every female juror from eighteen to eighty. Recently, he gave up his job as an attorney with Colton Enterprises, and took a position with the Hopechest Foundation as legal advocate for the kids living at the ranch. His new job agreed with him, but the new warmth in his eyes stemmed from happiness, and his happiness was tied directly to his new wife, Cheyenne. Amber liked Cheyenne, who had believed in Jackson and in his innocence as only a woman completely in love could.

  Amber now understood that kind of love. Tears sprang out of nowhere, but she blinked them back.

  Jackson took a seat across from her desk. His gaze was steady, his voice compassionate as he said, "If there's one thing Cheyenne has taught me about women, it's that when one of you says there's not much to talk about, there's usually a lot to talk about. It's just not easy, is it?"

  Amber almost smiled.

  "That's more like it," he said.

  "I appreciate your support, Jackson, but I really don't know what to say."

  "You're not ill?"

  "Not physically. No."

  "Is something going on with your mother?"

  "Nothing's changed there."

  "Then this must involve a man."

  She sighed.

  And he said, "Anybody I know?"

  "You remember Tripp Calhoun?"

  Jackson leaned back in his chair and folded his arms as if settling in for the duration. Now that Amber had started it, it looked as if she was going to have to finish it. She caught her sigh in the nick of time.

  "I always thought Tripp was a good man," Jackson said. "Was I wrong?"

  "No."

  "I take it you've been seeing him?"

  She nodded. "I was."

  "Ah. Past tense. And you love him. Present tense."

  Tears sprang to her eyes again. Oh, but that was getting annoying. "How I feel doesn't matter, because he doesn't love me in return."

  "I find that hard to believe."

  Her laughter sounded slightly hysterical, but it made her feel a little better. "Believe it or not, he doesn't."

  "How do you know?"

  "Trust me, I know." She stared at the application for a grant from an organization in New York. The group needed financial assistance to help fund a day-care center for kids who were HIV positive. There were so many wonderful causes. She wished the foundation had enough money to help every one who requested support, let alone someone who just happened to be too stubborn to even ask. Which brought her to her next point.

  "Not only does he not love me, but it's pretty obvious that he doesn't trust me. He started a health-care clinic for the needy in and around Ukiah. He runs it on a shoestring, sacri
ficing everything for its success. I would love to help. But does he apply for a grant? Oh, no. Not the fierce and proud Dr. Tripp Calhoun."

  She paused long enough to take a breath. Realizing how she sounded, she pulled a face. Jackson looked at her as if seeing her turn into a ranting lunatic was an everyday occurrence. It wasn't. She only turned into one where Tripp was concerned. "I get a little carried away."

  "Would obtaining a grant from the Foundation be a feasible solution to his clinic's financial troubles?"

  "Oh, yes, it would be a feasible solution."

  "And yet Tripp hasn't applied."

  She was a little slower to shake her head this time.

  "Would you say Tripp is a bright man?" He held up one hand. "Where business is concerned, at least?"

  She nodded again.

  "And yet he hasn't contacted the foundation on behalf of his clinic."

  She didn't even bother to shake her head.

  "Think he has a reason for failing to ask you for money?"

  She leaned back in her chair and covered her mouth with both hands. Her heart was taking turns speeding up and slowing down, but her mind raced.

  Did Tripp have a reason?

  She recalled two separate instances when she'd told him that the men in her past only wanted her family's money. One of those times had been immediately after they'd made love, for heaven's sake.

  No wonder he hadn't applied. Or called. Or continued to see her. He cared about her. She knew how little sense that made, but this was Tripp she was dealing with.

  "Do you think everyone has this much trouble with love, Jackson?"

  "I don't know about the rest of the population, but it seems that anybody named Colton does. It may be more trouble for us, but in the end, it's worth it." With that, he rose to his feet. Leaving her alone with her thoughts and revelations, he returned to his office down the hall.

  Amber jumped up and paced to the door, to the window, back and forth and back and forth. The fog was clearing from her brain much the way it had thinned into transparency when she was driving to work this morning. She could think more coherently now. She'd given up on Tripp without a fight. Normally, she didn't give up so easily. She wasn't afraid of hard work, professionally or personally. But she was inexperienced in matters of the heart. It made her feel vulnerable and as unsteady as the brand-new filly trying out her legs for the first time in the pasture by the barns.