"Must she sulk?"
"She's hurting."
Patsy rolled her eyes and dismissed Amber's problems with a wave of her hand.
Joe said, "You could show a little compassion."
"Don't be so melodramatic. She's twenty-six years old. Let her sulk at her own place. You've spoiled them all rotten. Amber and Sophie are both just like M—" She clamped her mouth shut.
"Who? Not you."
"No, not me. I'm not weak or simpering."
Joe looked at those pursed lips. There was a time he couldn't get enough of them. There was a time when he'd loved everything about this woman. Now, he only loved the memory of what she'd once been.
"What did you want, Meredith?"
Her lips thinned as if in aversion. "Never mind. I'll do it myself."
Shrugging his shoulders, he ambled to the pool area where he'd been talking to Amber. "Let me get you something cool to drink, pumpkin."
Behind him, Patsy heard the endearment. Pumpkin, my eye. How dare he call that simpering little brat a pet name, after looking at her with open loathing! He'd probably never looked at Meredith like that. Oh, no, he would have only looked at Meredith with warmth and affection. Ha! He would never look at her that way again. Patsy took comfort in that, and in the theory that Meredith had probably become a homeless person and had died as a Jane Doe. Still, nearly saying that Sophie and Amber were exactly like Meredith had been a close one. She had to be more careful.
She was overwrought, that was all. She couldn't help it. Any second now the phone was going to ring, and Silas Pike was going to have more news regarding Emily's whereabouts. Silas had called a few days ago with the news that he had it from a very reliable source that the snotty little orphan had left Wyoming. Maybe the man wasn't completely inept after all. As soon as he discovered which direction she'd gone, he would close in on her, and Patsy was at once excited and nervous. It was no wonder she was having a difficult time keeping up the charade.
Her private cell phone rang, startling her. Taking it from the pocket of her exquisitely styled jacket, she placed it to her ear. "Yes?"
"I think I know where she is."
A smile sprang to her lips. Fortuitously, she glanced in the direction Joe had gone. Both he and Amber had turned to look at her. "Hello, Sharon!" she said loudly. "You've found the perfect bag, you say? You're sure it's the right one?"
Silas kept his voice very quiet on the other end. "I have it from two very reliable sources that our little Emily Blair is in Montana. I'm narrowing down where as we speak."
"But that's wonderful." Patsy glanced at the pool where her darlings were playing. A burst of excitement tore through her.
"I'll call as soon as I know anything."
"Yes, yes. I'm sure you are thrilled. I know how difficult finding the right accessory can be." She lowered her voice. "You'd better not screw this up again." Raising the volume again, she said, "I look forward to hearing all about it."
She turned off the phone and schooled her expression into a smooth mask. Finally, everything was falling into place. The investigator would find her long-lost daughter. She had her precious sons. And soon, Emily would be silenced forever.
"I've invited Amber to stay for dinner, Meredith," Joe called from the chaise longue near the pool.
Patsy paused on her way inside, and cast Joe an annoyed look. "Tell Inez, not me. Keep an eye on the boys."
Amber stared until her mother disappeared inside.
"I'm sorry, pumpkin. She's been extra distraught and distant lately."
Amber met her father's gaze, and it was all she could do to keep tears out of her eyes at what she saw in the depth of his. The sadness in her father's gaze could only have come from a lonely heart. The loneliest of the lonely.
"It's all right, Dad. It isn't your fault."
Joe rose to his feet. "Is it? Any of it? What could I have done differently?"
"Hey, Dad!" Joe, Jr. called. "Look at me!"
Joe and Amber both watched as the boy with the lean, lanky build did another cannonball into the pool. Teddy swam up behind Joe and dunked his older brother. A series of screeches and boyish laughter ensued. It seemed that even the evening songbirds stopped to watch the tussle. The boys were happy, or at least relatively so. Amber believed that, if not for them, their dad would have left their mother years ago. But they needed him, for without his influence, she would surely smother them.
Sighing, she rose, too. "Bye, guys!" she called to her little brothers.
"Bye, Amber!"
"See ya!"
Her dad said, "You're leaving?"
She nodded. "I think it's best, Dad."
"I'm worried about you, Amber."
She reached up and kissed his lean cheek. She didn't tell him not to worry, because she knew he would anyway. But as she left Hacienda de Alegria, she was worried, too. Seeing her mother and father together always made her sad. They used to be so happy, so much in love. What could have happened to change her mother so?
Starting her car, she drove through the wrought-iron gates, and left Hacienda de Alegria behind. The flyer announcing the fund-raiser for Tripp's clinic fluttered on the seat next to her. Turning on the air conditioner, she pressed a button, putting up the windows. Pointing her car toward Fort Bragg, she wondered how her father stood it. It was difficult to sustain true love, and impossible to sustain the artificial kind.
She'd truly come to understand that recently, because her love for Tripp was true. It had only been a few days since she'd paid him that little visit at his clinic. She could picture so clearly the open longing in his eyes. And yet he'd had the nerve to dismiss her, and request that she not return. It was too dangerous, he'd claimed. And then, as if that wasn't bad enough, he'd proceeded to describe the perfect man for her.
Amber brought her car to a stop at a red light. Her thoughts came to a similar halt.
Danger. There was that word that had lodged in the back of her mind. Tripp had been furious when she'd gotten involved with the capture of that man who'd beaten his wife. He'd overreacted when that car had backfired when they'd arrived home from Mississippi.
If he had his way, he would keep her up on a shelf, safe.
Who did he think he was? For years she'd done whatever she could to earn people's love. She'd attended Radcliffe because her mother had wanted her to. She went into the family business because her father wanted her to. Finally, she'd believed she'd found someone whose love was unconditional. And he wanted to keep her safe, even if it meant they couldn't be together.
Horns honked behind her. Amber turned her attention to her surroundings. The light had turned green and she started through.
Tripp loved her. The thought came, like an epiphany. He loved her. Okay, he had a strange way of showing it, but he loved her. Why else would he be so worried about her? Why else would he sacrifice what they shared in the name of keeping her safe?
He loved her. And she loved him, and somebody had darn well better not give up on them.
He thought he knew her so well. He even thought he knew what kind of man she should look for. She stopped at the next traffic light and picked up the flyer. The fund-raiser was scheduled for the middle of August, two weeks away.
She had an idea.
By the time she pulled into her driveway in Fort Bragg, she had a full-scale plan. She had two weeks to work out the details.
Come hell or high water, she was going to show one Tripp Calhoun that he'd picked the wrong girl to put up on a shelf.
Thirteen
"Relax, Calhoun. And smile. This is a fund-raiser, not a funeral."
Tripp slid a finger between his neck and the starched collar of his white shirt and scowled at his friend. "Look who's talking."
It was true. Gavin Cooper was every bit as edgy as Tripp, and had been for days. Both men's unease stemmed from members of the opposite sex. The woman giving Coop trouble was the journalist from the local newspaper, who had arrived at the cotillion an hour ago.
> Tripp gritted his teeth. Who heard of cotillions in this day and age? The fund-raiser was supposed to be a casual dance, dammit, and had been until Amber had gotten involved in the preparations. Suddenly, it had become a cotillion, complete with formal invitations and media coverage that reached all the way to San Francisco.
Several of Tripp's patients had been interviewed, but none had captured the media's attention like little P.J. Pattison, the curly-haired boy whose arm had been injured in the car accident that had claimed his mother's life. Now in foster care, continuing his rehab, and still a patient at the clinic, P.J. had become the Mill Creek Medical Clinic's poster child. His picture, along with his new puppy, compliments of Fred the orderly, had graced the papers and was tacked on lampposts and telephone poles in every small town and large city in northern California. Due to the publicity, there was now a long list of loving couples who wanted to adopt the little boy. Which was all fine and good.
What wasn't fine and good was the publicity Tripp had received. A normal man didn't get this famous unless he died, got arrested or won the lottery. Not even then.
He couldn't blame Amber for that, though God knew he'd tried. Somehow, a nosy journalist had gotten wind of Coop's and Tripp's confrontation with that wife batterer. A veritable media frenzy had ensued. He and Coop had been dubbed the heroes of Ukiah County General in general, and Mill Creek Medical Clinic in particular. Donations were pouring in from all over the state. So far, Tripp had received four marriage proposals from women he'd never even met, Coop, five. The journalist who'd covered the story, however, whom Coop was openly pursuing, would have nothing to do with him.
Coop shook his head, his gaze following the short, dark-haired woman's progress across the room. "Jenna Maria Tribiano. A woman with three names always spells trouble." Coop remained quiet for a time, then said, "Okay, I know what my problem is. What's yours?"
There was a question, Tripp thought. But the truth was, he didn't know what the hell was wrong with him.
He took a deep breath. And smelled Amber's perfume. His mind shut down and his heart sped up. Her scent had been haunting him for two weeks. Since there wasn't an heiress with golden hair nearby, he brought his wrist closer to his nose and took a whiff. It seemed her scent had indelibly permeated the expensive fibers.
It was everywhere he went, lingering in the corridors and in the elevator at Ukiah County General and in the waiting room at the clinic. He'd told her to stay away from the clinic. That woman didn't take orders well. Oh, she'd made certain their paths didn't cross, volunteering at the clinic only when he was on duty at the hospital, then coming to the hospital when he was at the clinic. Other than the glimpse he'd caught of her shiny red sports car leaving the hospital parking lot as he was pulling up, he hadn't seen her in two weeks. Not quite seeing her, yet knowing he might at any given moment, was driving him to distraction.
"Red alert at two o'clock," Coop said under his breath. "Check out that dress!"
A buzz went through the crowd as every man between eighteen and eighty did exactly that. Amber stood beneath the arch at one end of the pavilion, fashionably late, probably by design. Her hair was a tumble of curls around her neck and shoulders, her dress the stuff fantasies were made of. X-rated fantasies.
"Who's the guy she's with?" Coop asked.
Forcing his fingers out of the fists they'd automatically made at his sides, Tripp wondered that himself.
"That's some red dress," Coop said. "What it covers is almost as intriguing as what it doesn't."
"I thought you were madly in love with your journalist."
The man touted as the Don Juan of County General gave Tripp a sidelong glance. "Since when did being in love keep a man from looking at other women?"
Which probably had something to do with the reason the journalist was having nothing to do with Coop. Music wafted from the bandstand near the pavilion. The city of Ukiah had graciously offered to host the cotillion in the city park. The sun was going down, the million or so white lights someone had strung through the trees and under the eaves of several buildings, including the open structure where people were dancing, were starting to twinkle elegantly.
On the other side of the pavilion, Amber took a deep breath. Nerves fluttered in her stomach. She'd attended events such as this one all her life. Therefore, her nerves had to be coming from some other source. She nodded at something her date said, and glanced around the structure. Her gaze collided with Tripp's, then held. No wonder she was nervous. He was looking at her. No, glaring was more accurate.
The extravaganza had begun at seven. She'd heard it was already a resounding success. That pleased her. But it wasn't the only reason she'd gone to so much trouble these past two weeks. She was going to open Tripp's eyes, or die trying. She introduced her date to the chairman of the board of the hospital, then accepted an invitation to dance. When someone else asked her, she accepted that as well.
She noticed that Tripp seemed to be filling his time watching her. Finally, Jan Sprague, a nurse from OB, practically dragged him onto the dance floor. When the song ended, he and Jan danced another one, this one more lively. Jan excused herself before he asked her for a third dance. Amber found herself shoulder to shoulder with Tripp along the floor's edge.
"I thought ladies didn't wear red."
She'd rehearsed several scenarios in her mind. In them, Tripp had been distant, quiet, sulky or aloof. His anger surprised her.
"Does my dress bother you?" she asked. The way his mouth was set indicated that he'd passed bothered awhile ago. "I believe what I said was that a woman whose fiancée, pretend or otherwise, was trying to secure a position in an upscale medical practice should appear demure and charming, and shouldn't try to outshine the head pediatrician's wife."
Tripp didn't bother replying. Obviously, there was nothing wrong with her memory. There was nothing wrong with his, either, dammit. He was trying hard not to remember how she'd felt in his arms, how her skin had felt, tasted, how her sighs had sounded, how her pleasure had become his.
"Care to dance with somebody who knows how it's done, Amber?" a young man said close to her ear.
She smiled affectionately and placed her hand in the crook of Fred's arm. Tripp remained rooted to the spot, seething. When the song ended, Fred returned her where he'd found her, then ambled on to his next conquest.
Tripp said, "You're robbing the cradle, aren't you?"
With a lift of her chin, she stuck her nose in the air and breezed away. Obviously, she knew her etiquette, but she only took civility so far.
She was trouble. He'd known it the first time he'd laid eyes on her a month ago when she'd been wearing that damned purple bikini. Still, he had something to say to her, and he didn't appreciate her cold shoulder.
She'd helped herself to a glass of punch. Easing closer, he did the same.
"The fund-raiser for your clinic seems to be a resounding success."
There was no sense wondering how she'd known he was behind her. "At least you still think of it as my clinic."
She turned slightly, the lift of her left eyebrow the only indication she gave that she'd heard the sarcasm in his voice. It was his clinic, dammit. He should have a say in who volunteered there. But no. She breezed in whenever she pleased, just as she'd breezed into his fund-raiser, just as she continuously invaded his dreams.
"You look tired, Tripp."
He scowled. Of course he looked tired. He was getting no sleep and even less satisfaction.
"I've given what you said careful consideration." It was his turn to look perplexed. So she clarified. "Regarding the type of man I should marry."
"And?" he prodded.
"And, I've accepted lunch dates with a few different men these past two weeks."
"How many is a few?" He clamped his mouth shut and jerked his gaze away before he could glimpse the knowing smile she was trying valiantly to keep off her face.
"Three actually. The first was a plastic surgeon from Boston."
&n
bsp; "Sounds perfect for you."
"In many ways he probably was."
Tripp picked up on the "was" right away.
"He's wealthy and has a pedigree you wouldn't believe. He received his education in England, loves opera and Shakespeare."
"Have you set a date?"
The roll of her eyes was hardly proper. "He bored me silly. But I will say this for him. He taught me something about myself."
They must have started walking when they'd started talking, because the music wafting on the warm, moist air was coming from a distance, and people moving about at the gala blurred slightly beneath the relative darkness of the little white lights.
"And what's that?" Tripp feigned nonchalance.
"I don't want to spend my life with a man who makes a fortune giving rich women plastic boobs and perfect noses," she replied. "It turns out the second man is a friend of Fred's. I know, I know." She held up a hand before he could say anything. "I, too, would prefer if the man I marry were old enough to vote. Of course, if I truly loved him, that wouldn't matter."
Tripp conceded the point. "And the third?"
"A biker with hair longer than yours used to be and a tattoo of a cobra covering his entire back."
"Are you crazy? Don't you know how dangerous that could be?"
Tripp never saw the stomp she gave his foot coming. Pain shot up his leg, vibrating inside his shoe.
"He's a nice guy who happens to like long hair and doesn't mind pain. He works at the animal shelter and cries when they play the national anthem. But that isn't the point."
Tripp wasn't altogether sure he was going to like her point, but if she didn't get to it pretty soon, he was going to haul her into his arms and kiss her. The thought came out of nowhere, heating his blood. And ticking him off. So he said, "I'm sure he loves his mother, too. Do you know how many men on death row profess to love their mothers, Amber? What about the guy you're with tonight?"
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