The Trophy Wife Page 3

  Amber crept closer on tiptoe. Tripp was sitting on the edge of a bed, in a room at the end of the hall. Nestled in one arm was a pudgy tan puppy. A little boy with curly brown hair, a bandage on the side of his head and a cast on one arm stared straight ahead.

  "What's wrong with him?" Amber whispered.

  "He got banged up pretty bad, but mostly he's mad. He's four years old and he wants his mama."

  "Where is she?"

  "She died in the accident."

  Both of Amber's hands came up, covering her mouth. "What about his father?"

  "Nobody knows where he is. P.J.'s been here a week. There's a good chance he'll be okay, but his arm got cut up, and he's gonna have to work to get full use back. He hasn't exactly been responsive or cooperative. Yesterday Doc Calhoun noticed him watching a television show about a dog. And my girlfriend's dog had a litter of pups, and well…"

  Amber's eyebrows raised a fraction. "Your girlfriend?"

  Fredrico started to nod. Realizing his faux pas, he simply shrugged.

  The puppy yipped again. All at once it wiggled out of Tripp's hands, landing in the boy's lap. The little boy looked down dazedly. And then, as if in slow motion, he reached out, tentatively touching the puppy's fur. It was all the invitation the dog needed. Tail wagging, the pudgy little puppy licked P.J.'s face. P.J. blinked, smiled and let loose a belly laugh.

  "Folks sure are gonna miss that man around here."

  Amber cast a questioning look at Fredrico, but he was already starting to move away from her and didn't see. "If I don't get these charts over to OB, Proctor'll send out a search party. If she hasn't already."

  Amber whispered, "Goodbye, then, and thanks." Her gaze returned to the man and child in the room up ahead. Tripp was so engrossed in the boy, he didn't seem to know she was watching. Her breath caught just below the little hollow at the base of her throat. With his stubby ponytail and earring, he still looked like the street-smart kid he'd been years ago. She was beginning to realize that he was so much more than that.

  His voice was a low murmur, his touch gentle as he showed P.J. how to pet the puppy. Mesmerized, Amber acknowledged the fact that this wasn't simply a case of no longer being bored. This was something else, something she couldn't name but wanted to explore.

  Tripp chose that moment to glance into the hall. Their gazes locked, and awareness fluttered around the walls of her chest. He didn't smile, but she felt the heat in his gaze just the same.

  P.J. said something, and Tripp turned his attention back to the boy. Shaken, and touched, Amber smoothed her hands down her slacks, her fingers tracing the outline of the watch in her pocket. Her heart beat wildly. Unwilling to intrude on the doctor-patient moment, she wrenched herself away, and retraced her footsteps to the elevator.

  What was happening to her?

  She wanted more than ever to talk to Tripp. She considered waiting in the lobby, but the thought of being scrutinized by Nurse Proctor was less than appealing. If only she had something more constructive to do here.

  She looked around. Some people hated hospitals. Not Amber. She dealt with them on a weekly basis in her work for the Hopechest Foundation, an organization her mother had founded years ago. Today, the foundation funded centers for children in need all across the country. Among them were day-care centers for children who were HIV positive, and after-school programs, and sporting events for city kids confined to housing projects.

  Amber looked around again, recalling the children she'd seen working in the fields during her drive from Prosperino. Needy kids weren't confined to housing projects or large cities. They were everywhere.

  Striding to the nurse's station she'd passed earlier, she introduced herself. At her mention of her affiliation with the Hopechest Foundation, the other woman was all ears.

  "I was wondering if you might direct me to the person in charge of special programs to help children in need."

  The young nurse beamed her approval. "Directions won't do. I'll take you there myself."

  Now this, Amber thought, was more like it. By the time she left the hospital administrator's office, the scent of hospital food wafted on the air. The meeting had taken longer than she'd expected. Wondering if Tripp was still in the building, she followed the exit signs through a labyrinth of hallways. She must have taken a wrong turn, because she didn't recognize this wing. Sure enough, she came to the stairs, not the elevators.

  Pausing to get her bearings, she turned and started back the way she'd come. She'd taken only three steps when the low murmur of voices carried to her ears from an open door a few feet away.

  "People around here are going to miss you, Calhoun."

  She stopped in her tracks. People were going to miss Tripp? Now that she thought about it, Fredrico had implied the same thing. Where was Tripp going?

  She turned again. Striding to the door, she raised her hand, prepared to knock. The voices started again, and Amber's hand remained suspended in midair.

  * * *

  "But if you insist on leaving, I'm putting dibs on your office."

  Tripp looked at the man sitting on the other side of his desk. Aside from their chosen professions and their affiliation with this hospital, he and Gavin Cooper were complete opposites and unlikely friends. With his blond hair and blue eyes, Coop looked more like a beach bum than a brilliant doctor. He was laid-back and easygoing. Dubbed the Don Juan of County General, he wore the perpetual, slightly bedraggled, contented look of a man who'd recently crawled out of a woman's bed. Even now, slouched in a chair, his arms folded, his feet on Tripp's desk, ankles crossed, he made a science out of relaxing.

  Not Tripp.

  He shot out of his chair, slid his hands into his pockets and jangled his keys. "I haven't gotten the position yet, Coop."

  He found himself standing at his window, his back to his friend. He had a great view of the mountains from here. It wasn't the Mendocino Ridges that drew his gaze, but the parking lot below. The lot contained the usual assortment of vans and family sedans. The candy-apple-red Porsche stuck out like a sore thumb. He'd seen that vehicle parked in the driveway at Hacienda de Alegria that very afternoon.

  It belonged to Amber Colton.

  When he'd happened to glance into the hall outside P.J.'s room an hour ago, he'd thought he was seeing things. Amber had stood so still, she could have been a mirage, and he, a thirsty man in the desert.

  Her hair had been long and loose around her tanned shoulders, her body, lean and svelte beneath formfitting slacks. A bolt of sexual attraction had come out of nowhere. If he hadn't been sitting down, it would have knocked him off his feet. He couldn't afford that kind of attraction. He'd already been down that road once: The poor street kid made good and the bored, rich heiress. It hadn't been pretty.

  "It's only a matter of time. After all, who better than you…" Coop's voice droned on in the background.

  Tripp ran a hand down his face, scrubbing it over the stubble on his jaw and on down the front of his wrinkled shirt. That red sports car in the parking lot was no mirage. What was Amber doing at County General?

  "Calhoun, are you even listening?"

  "I heard you. It so happens I received a letter from Montgomery Perkins in Santa Rosa yesterday. The field has been narrowed to two."

  "Who's your contender? Anybody I know?"

  His back to Coop, Tripp said, "Does the name Spencer ring a bell?"

  "First or last?"

  "Last."

  "Spencer? As in, Derek Spencer?"

  The next time Tripp looked, Coop was sitting up straighter.

  "The one and only."

  A succinct and unbecoming but fitting word spewed out of Cooper's mouth about the same time his feet hit the floor. "I still can't believe he became a pediatrician. I always figured Spencer for the type to specialize in plastic surgery, not so he could repair cleft palates and facial scars, but so he could do nose jobs and boob implants for wannabe starlets down in Hollywood. What would he want with a position in a priva
te practice in Santa Rosa?"

  "It gets worse."

  "How could it get any worse than competing with your backstabbing rival from med school?"

  "It seems Derek's gotten himself engaged."

  "Who's the unlucky woman?"

  Any other time, Tripp would have appreciated his friend's sarcasm. "Olivia."

  "Your Olivia?"

  Tripp didn't bother to remind Coop that Olivia wasn't his anymore, if she ever had been. Olivia Babcock's father was an influential man in the medical field, capable of pulling very impressive strings. It didn't look good for Tripp. It didn't look good at all.

  "Does this mean I won't be getting first dibs on this office?" Coop asked.

  "I'm not giving up that easily."

  "Yeah? In that case, listen up. People don't mind if an E.R. doctor is a player, but parents like their kids' pediatricians to be family men, so if I were you, I'd find myself a woman with a couple of kids. Better yet, find one with relatives as influential as Olivia's, too. Stat."

  Tripp was in the process of scowling when he heard a noise in the hallway outside his office door. He caught a whiff of expensive, exotic perfume a millisecond before Amber Colton breezed in. There wasn't a wrinkle in her sage-green pantsuit. He didn't know how rich people did that.

  Tripp wasn't surprised at the change that came over Coop. The man went on testosterone alert every time a woman came within ten yards of him. But Amber wasn't paying him any attention. She was looking at Tripp.

  "Hello," she murmured, her voice just sultry enough to sound seductive. Reaching into her pocket, she drew out his watch. Easing closer, she said, "I thought you might want this back before tonight."

  She had to know how that sounded. Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled at Coop and said, "Does he leave his things lying around the hospital, too?"

  Tripp had to force his gaping mouth shut.

  Amber appeared completely nonplussed. With a flutter of eyelashes and the sureness that the rich seemed to be born with, she extended her hand toward Coop. "Hello. I'm Amber Colton."

  Coop's voice lowered, softened, mellowed. "Gavin Cooper, head of E.R. Colton? Any relation to Joseph Colton?"

  "You know my father?"

  Coop chuckled. "Not personally." Rising languidly to his feet, he released Amber's hand. He looked Tripp in the eye and said, "I underestimated you, my friend. I see you're already on it. You show up at that dinner party this weekend with a woman like Amber on your arm, and you'll be a shoe-in for the position in Santa Rosa. At the very least you'll give good old Spencer a run for his money. I'll leave you two alone."

  Still grinning, Coop left, closing the door behind him.

  Amber stared up at Tripp. The room, all at once, was very quiet. Maybe too quiet. Something was wrong.

  Tripp's eyes had narrowed. Hers were wide open. His breathing was deep, hers, shallow. In the tight space so near him, she thought of a dozen questions. What position? What does it have to do with Santa Rosa? What rival? Who was Olivia?

  Three separate times, she opened her mouth to voice one of them. Her gaze caught on Tripp's mouth. He really had a marvelous mouth, the bottom lip fuller than the top. Right now, both were set in a straight line.

  "Is something wrong?"

  The question seemed to bring him to his senses. He took a deep breath, let it all out and paced to the other side of the cluttered office. "Coop thinks we're lovers. What on earth could possibly be wrong? And what are you doing here, besides charming the socks off every male you meet?"

  Amber recognized an attack when she was under one. She didn't understand the reason for it. "I repeat. What's wrong?"

  "Nothing."

  "Bull."

  That got his attention. "Do you make a habit of eavesdropping?"

  "The door was open," she said quietly.

  He glanced over her shoulder, and so did she. The door was closed now. And they were alone. Tripp took a backward step, putting more distance between them.

  "Coop can hold his own," he said, "but the orderly I saw you with earlier is still a boy. It was like watching the bored, pampered house cat play with a poor defenseless mouse."

  Poor defenseless mouse? For long seconds, Amber could only stare at him, stunned. Finally, she said, "Fredrico is about as defenseless as an octopus."

  "Fredrico?"

  She'd been prepared for several questions. That wasn't one of them. "He helped you smuggle that puppy into the hospital. Surely you know his name."

  "I know Fred's name. Everybody does."

  She was getting a bad feeling about this. Now that she thought about it, Nurse Proctor had called the boy Fred. "I see."

  Tripp was on a roll. "Good, because Don and Mary Smith might have named their son Frederick, but definitely not Fredrico."

  All right, already. The boy had pulled one over on her. That didn't explain the reason for Tripp's bad mood, or what he and Cooper had been talking about. "Let's talk about positions, shall we?"

  Tripp's pulses leapt. "I beg your pardon?"

  "Didn't I overhear something about a position you're hoping to gain down in Santa Rosa?"

  Ah. She was referring to the position he'd applied for at an exclusive, private practice in Santa Rosa, not, er, the position for another activity completely unrelated to medicine. He cleared his throat. Clearing his mind of the mental picture that had sprung straight out of his imagination was more difficult to accomplish.

  "There's an opening in pediatrics there. The practice is affiliated with the oldest, most prestigious hospital in Santa Rosa. It's larger than Ukiah County General, and wealthier by far. I would receive a higher salary, and ultimately, I could reach a lot more kids."

  "Then I don't see the problem. I'll do it."

  She stared up at him with luminous green eyes so large it was easy to get lost in their depths. "What exactly are you proposing?"

  He didn't have much mind capacity left at this point, but even he had enough to appreciate the effort she put forth to keep from rolling her eyes. "Your rival is going to be there with his fiancée, right? I'll go with you. Then you and your rival will be starting on even ground."

  He stared at her for several seconds. She looked happy, as if she was enjoying herself. Again, he thought of a pampered house cat. Olivia used to look like that, too. It was a sobering thought.

  "What are you doing here, Amber?"

  Her eyes delved into his. She really had very expressive eyes. He imagined they would look this way, large and luminous, in the dark. Whoa. That kind of thinking could be dangerous to a man who was trying to keep his wits about him.

  She reached out, touching the watch she'd placed in his hand minutes earlier. "Inez discovered this in the living room at Hacienda de Alegria. You were right. About Inez, I mean. She was matchmaking, just as you said. It would have been apparent even without all the advice she gave me along with directions to the hospital here in Ukiah. Don't worry. I have no intention of allowing Inez to manipulate me."

  It was true, Amber thought. She didn't allow many people to push her around. Besides, she didn't need anybody to play matchmaker for her. The three marriage proposals she'd received these past five years spoke for themselves. Amber Colton knew how to get a man. She was beginning to doubt she would ever find one to love, however. There had been a strong attraction between her and Tripp in the garden earlier that day. Though it wasn't love, it had been fun.

  "You want this position. I'd like to help you get it."

  "What's in it for you?" he asked.

  "What makes you think there has to be something in it for me?"

  The sound he made in the back of his throat spoke volumes. There was arrogance and belligerence in the lift of that chiseled chin. In that instant, he reminded her of how he'd looked after she'd stood up for him to her father all those years ago.

  "All right," she said. "We were friends when we were kids. I'm hoping we can be friends again. Friends help each other. If acting as your fiancée for one evening helps you
gain a position you want, so be it."

  "I don't like lying. Lies are like dogs. They seem harmless to your face, but the minute you turn your back, they go straight for the seat of your pants."

  "Pretending isn't the same as lying. If you need—"

  He shook his head. "I want to do this on my own, without the help of a bored heiress in need of a project."

  Her mouth fell open. She snapped it closed. Finally she said, "Of all the condescending…" But words failed her. She swung around in a huff and reached the door in three brisk strides. "If you ever decide to come down off your high horse, give me a call."

  She slammed the door.

  She hadn't gone far when she heard Tripp being paged to the ICU.

  He reached the elevator seconds after her. They entered in single file. She punched the button for the lobby, he the second floor.

  When the door closed, he said, "I suppose I owe you an apology."

  She stared straight ahead. "That didn't sound very convincing, Tripp. Unless you're sincere, forget it."

  They rode in silence.

  "If you'll excuse me," he said when the elevator stopped on two.

  She stepped aside without comment.

  He started to get off, then paused in midstride. Finally, he resumed his exit.

  He turned around to look at her just as the door began to close. She stared at him for a moment, then looked away. An instant later, the door closed and the elevator jerked into motion.

  Friends? she thought clutching the rail.

  Ha! She'd received friendlier goodbyes from the man who read her electric meter every month.

  If this was friendship, they were off to one heck of a start.

  Three

  Tripp placed the stethoscope on his young patient's chest. After listening intently to her heartbeat, he moved it around and listened to her lungs. Most of his patients giggled when he did this.

  It was all eight-year-old Sierra Rodriguez could do to smile.

  "Still not feeling so good?" He spoke in Spanish. The shake of her head was a universal language.