Читать книгу The Trophy Wife - Sandra Steffen, Sandra Steffen - Страница 8

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.