Sandra Steffen - The Trophy Wife p.02

"You weren't sure."

Amber felt that, under the circumstances, it was only fair to forgive him for using that tone of voice. "I've wondered. I mean, I've had boyfriends, and once or twice I thought…maybe…" She ducked her head. "Guess not."

He moved to his side. "You guess not?"

She hid a smile. It was so like Tripp to get angry at a time like this. Honestly, she felt glorious.

"You guess not!" he repeated.

"Now I'm sure."

His mouth dropped open. "You're a beautiful woman, and you've undoubtedly had countless opportunities. Yet you never…until tonight. With me."

She averted her gaze, suddenly feeling shy, weepy and giggly and teary-eyed all over again. She needed a moment to herself to restore her emotions and preserve her dignity. First she said, "I was saving it for someone special."

He opened his mouth to argue, but she shook her head, silencing him.

"When I look back on this, I want to remember it as infinitely precious. I didn't want it to be with some guy after my family's money." She scooted to one side of the bed. "I'll be right back."

Just before closing the bathroom door, she glanced over her shoulder. The sight of him, so masculine and virile, sexually spent, at once baffled and thoroughly ticked off, brought a smile to her lips. A look of shock crossed his face. And then, as if he couldn't help himself, he smiled at her in return.

* * *

"You okay?" Tripp asked when Amber returned from the bathroom ten minutes later.

Her smile was radiant, making her nod unnecessary. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she glanced at him, then quickly, shyly away. "Maybe I should ask you that question."

Tripp stopped fiddling with his watch. She was wearing her cream-colored dressing gown. She hadn't taken it in with her, which meant she'd thought ahead and had planned that, too. Curious, he asked, "Was there really a mix-up in the room reservations, Amber? Or was that your doing, too?"

She lifted the blankets and climbed into bed. It might have been an awkward moment, and yet she didn't appear uncomfortable. When she was settled on the pillows, she turned her head and looked at him, her eyes large and green and clear. "I was hoping for this." With a sweep of her hand, she gestured to the bed, and what had gone on a short time before. "I really had requested rooms ten and twelve because they had a connecting door. This attic room," she said, with another sweep of her hand, "must have been the work of divine intervention." She gave him a moment to digest the information, then asked, "Do you believe me?"

He stared at her long and hard. When he nodded, something ignited inside Amber, something far deeper than her skin. Love swelled in her chest. She longed to hear him say he loved her in return. Knowing he believed her was almost as precious.

He must have switched the table lamp off and the light on his side of the bed on while she'd been freshening up. He was propped up on pillows, half in the shadow of her bedside lamp, the sheet and duvet pulled up to his waist. She turned onto her side, facing him, tucking the sheet under her arms.

"Now," he said in a tone of voice men used when they wanted answers, and they wanted them now. "Why don't you tell me how a woman as smart and beautiful as you, a woman who's had three real marriage proposals could have gone this long without making love."

She'd been expecting the question, and yet she still wasn't sure how to explain. She owed it to him to try. "Let's just say that if the proposals were accompanied by love, it was for my family's money."

"Did you love any of them?"

"I liked them. One in particular. But in the end, it was all about what my father's money could buy for him. Cars, boats, gifts, vacations."

"Positions in medical practices?"

She shook her head earnestly. "This is different. You don't even want that position. You're only doing it to help the poor. Believe me, the only poor my last boyfriend wanted to help was himself. He wanted a trip to Paris. My participation was optional. Believe me, you're the only man who's ever wanted more from me than my father's money."

"Poor little rich girl."

"I don't want your pity."

"You're too smart and conniving and headstrong for me to pity."

She grinned. A lot of people had told her she was beautiful. Perhaps some of them had even meant it. But no one's praise had ever meant more to her. She loved him. Lord, she was happy. "Tripp?"

"Hmm?"

"I don't really feel like talking anymore."

His hair was tousled, his face lean and chiseled. There were shadows beneath his eyes, an appreciative glint in them. His chin was just beginning to bear the evidence of a beard. His shoulders were broad, his chest muscled, the hair sparse. He started to move, as if to turn out her light. She reached up with one hand, halting him.

"I don't really feel like sleeping, yet, either."

He lowered his arm as if in slow motion. "You don't."

It wasn't a question. She shook her head ever so slightly anyway. "Until tonight, I never knew real passion, how it felt, how it sounded, tasted. I brought more than one, um, er, package of protection."

"How many more?"

"The whole box."

His gaze left her face, trailing to her neck and shoulders, and finally back to her eyes. "That's a tall order."

She went up on one elbow. "Then you're up for the challenge?"

He rolled her underneath him without warning. "What do you think?"

"I think…" Her voice trailed away on a sigh. "Oh, my…"

The mattress creaked beneath their shifting weight. His hand slipped between their bodies. He covered her breast with his palm, and her lips with his.

"This time," he said when the kiss ended, "we're going to do this my way. Nice and slow."

She made an acquiescent sound in the back of her throat.

He slid his hand along her neck, and slowly down all the way to her navel. Her breath hitched in her throat as she said, "Whatever you say, Doctor. Whatever you say."

"That's more like it."

He repeated the caress. And the time for talking came to an end once again.




Ten

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join Jennifer and David in holy matrimony…"

Still winded, Amber and Tripp breathed a sigh of relief. They'd made it. Barely. They'd slipped into their seats next to two women wearing big hats mere seconds before the first bridesmaid started down the makeshift aisle. The breeze meandered across the expansive lawns, ruffling the dog-eared pages of the reverend's prayer book. That same breeze fluttered the hems of the bridesmaids' satin dresses, gently billowing through all the yards of delicate tooling that comprised the bride's breathtakingly elegant veil.

Amber sighed. The setting was beautiful and timeless, the stuff fairy tales were made of. The large, sweeping lawns were immaculately groomed. Even the hundred-year-old oaks were dressed for the occasion, their moss-laden branches spread wide and proud. Magnolia and wisteria, pink and white roses, dogwoods, azaleas and black-eyed Susans bowed in the wind, lending their natural beauty to the joyous occasion. The sky overhead was sunny. It seemed that even the gray clouds in the west were standing at attention far away from the garden wedding.

"Do you, David James Perkins, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded…"

Songbirds twittered. Harp music wafted softly in the background.

"…to love and to cherish…"

Amber smoothed her hands over the goose bumps on her arms. It might be eighty-eight degrees in the shade, but Amber always shivered at weddings.

She loved weddings. All her life she'd dreamed of hers. Now she was certain there was only one man in all the world she wanted as her groom. Oh, she wished—She didn't allow herself to finish the thought. Wishes like that were risky. She knew it was too soon but she also knew she was completely in love with the man sitting next to her.

Tripp wasn't exactly averse to her, either. Oh, he hadn't said it in so many words, but she'd always been a firm believer that actions spoke louder than words anyway. And Tripp had proven to be a man of inventive and breathtaking action.

The breeze picked up, fluttering the streamers on the end of every row, lifting the collar of her silk suit, blowing her hair across her face. She tucked the loose strands behind her ear, then crossed her legs, the action drawing her attention to a slight tenderness that called to mind the most delightful activities.

She'd studied her face in the mirror earlier, wondering if she looked any different today. Luckily, her sage-green suit covered the whisker burn on her shoulder. Surely, nothing could conceal the dewy look in her eyes. She didn't want to conceal it. She wanted to whisper her love for Tripp, shout it, write it in the sky.

Glancing up at him, she wondered if men bore any physical evidence of such things, or if they simply forgot about making love as soon as it was over. She tugged the hem of her skirt down, and noticed that his gaze followed the movement. Looking closer at him, she saw a vein pulsing in his neck. As far as clues went, it was very telling. She hid a smile.

The area surrounding her heart grew warm, and it had nothing to do with the heat and humidity. She combed her fingers through the hair being mussed by the wind, then, trying not to fidget, folded her hands in her lap.

She hadn't planned to wear her hair down. Actually, she'd been in the process of putting it up when Tripp had walked up behind her with other ideas. She had no other frame of reference, but surely other men didn't have his stamina.

She smiled to herself. His stamina had nearly made them late.

Organ music drew her from her musings. The ceremony was over and David was kissing his bride.

The ladies with the big hats drew Amber and Tripp into a conversation about Southern architectural restoration. Amber was doing most of the talking; therefore, she didn't pay much attention when Olivia Babcock walked past, alone.

Tripp noticed. He noticed Steven Gentry and Winston Harris conversing with Derek Spencer in hushed earnestness on the other side of the receiving line a few minutes later, too. Tripp was always on edge where Derek was concerned. He figured that if the Creator had given the man scruples, Derek had offered them back—for a fee, of course.

After making their way through the receiving line, Tripp and Amber strolled toward a rose-laden arch marking the entrance to the area of the garden where the reception was to be held. They hadn't gotten far when Steven Gentry and Winston Harris materialized out of a small crowd.

"Dr. Calhoun."

Tripp's eyebrows lifted slightly. Today it was Dr. Calhoun; last night it had been Tripp. "Yes?"

Both older doctors squared off directly in front of him. "On behalf of Montgomery and Cornelia, and Jennifer and David, we feel…that is…" Gentry's voice trailed away.

Tripp found himself standing up straighter, on red alert. Amber must have sensed something, too, for she went perfectly still at his side. "Yes?" he said again.

Harris took his turn. "Under the circumstances, we feel it would be best if you left."

"Under what circumstances?"

A movement to the right drew Tripp's attention. For the first time that day, he saw Derek Spencer in plain view. His biggest adversary was as impeccably groomed as always. The black eye, however, was brand-new.

"As we were saying," Steven Gentry said. "Under the circumstances, it would be best if you left quietly."

Amber spoke for the first time. "Why would that be best?"

Gentry and Harris shared a look.

Derek strode a little closer. "That's a hell of a right hook you have, Calhoun. I thought you gave up fighting after college."

"Exactly what are you implying?" Tripp asked, his voice carefully controlled.

Derek shook his head, and made a tsk, tsk, tsk sound.

"You told them that Tripp hit you?" Amber asked, her voice rising an octave.

In lieu of a reply, Derek gingerly patted his swollen eye.

"You lying sack of—"

"Please," Gentry said. "Save the street talk."

Derek spoke then. "Guess you can take the kid off the street, but you can't take the street out of the kid."

Tripp took an ominous step in Derek's direction. The other man took a hurried step back. As far as acts went, it looked very convincing. Sickeningly so.

Amber turned to Dr. Harris and Dr. Gentry, imploring them with her look. "I was with Tripp all evening. He didn't blacken Dr. Spencer's eye."

All three men made a point of staring at the scuffed knuckle on the hand Tripp had automatically made into a fist. Tripp glanced at his hand, too, and then at the man who had been like slivers under his fingernails, "You told Perkins I hit you?"

There was a boastful glint in Derek's eye when he said, "No. I told Montgomery I had a little run-in with a door after dark. Today is his son's wedding. I didn't see any point in spoiling it for him."

Tripp just bet. He could picture the scenario in his mind. And it was all beginning to make sense. Derek had witnessed Tripp scrape his hand on the railing when he and Amber had been leaving the restaurant last night. Spencer always did have a nose for opportunity.

Cramming his hands on his hips, Tripp said, "Rather than run to Montgomery with your story, you told his two associates."

"He came to us, yes," Steven Gentry said, anger in his voice.

Winston Harris said, "Derek insists he doesn't want to press charges. We disagree, but he says the two of you go back a long way, therefore he's willing to let bygones be bygones. We'll tell Montgomery you've had a change of heart. You'll want to put your regrets in a formal letter."

A thin chill hung in the air as Tripp looked at Spencer. "You know I didn't lay a finger on you."

Spencer said, "I understand that you have to say that. Come on, Tripp, what else are you going to say under the circumstances?"

Amber bristled at Tripp's side. Turning to Harris and Gentry, she said, "It's Tripp's word against Derek's."

Gentry shook his head. "If that were true, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"What do you mean?"

"Derek had a witness," Harris said.

"Who?" Amber asked in a choked whisper.

Just when Tripp thought things couldn't get any worse, Olivia materialized out of nowhere. Taking a dainty step in his direction, she said, "May I have a word alone with you, Tripp?"

Tripp sensed Amber's reluctance to step aside, but she did so without a word. Olivia threaded her fingers through Tripp's, leading him to a shaded area several feet away, out of hearing range of everyone else.

"You know I didn't hit your boyfriend, Olivia."

"I know what really happened, yes."

"Then you'll—"

She touched her finger to his lips to quiet him. Placing her other hand on his arm, she squeezed provocatively. She had a strong grip for someone with hands so small. She always had.

"That depends on you, darling."

A primitive warning sounded in Tripp's brain. He waited, staring at that perfect skin, those perfect teeth and nose and chin.

"Your hair looks incredible," she said, her voice a breathy whisper. "I liked it long, but this is even better. Now a woman has to look closer to see the warrior underneath."

Once, her smile had sneaked up on him, her open pursuit of him had been flattering. Today she left him cold.

"You have the opportunity to do the right thing, Olivia. Tell Gentry and Harris the truth."

"All right."

He drew his first easy breath in several minutes.

"On one condition."

That easy breath was choked off at the halfway point. "What condition?"

She pouted. "So much anger."

"What condition, Olivia?"

"I'll tell Steven and Winston what really happened." She paused, wetting her lips. "But there's something I want in return."

What Tripp saw in the eyes gazing up at him repulsed him. "What do you want?"

"I want another chance."

For the life of him, he couldn't understand how someone with everything could have so little. "Another chance at what?"

"Don't be obtuse. It doesn't become you. Do you really want me to spell it out for you?"

"You want another chance with me."

Her smile was victorious. "Yes."

"No."

Her face showed her surprise. Just like that, her eyes iced over and her smile disappeared. The flush that crept up her neck clashed with her periwinkle dress. "What do you mean, no?"

"If you don't understand the concept, look it up."

A brittle silence followed.

She took a sharp breath, and finally said, "You're making a mistake."

"I don't see it that way. If you knew me at all, you'd know I don't lie."

On the other side of the magnolia bushes, Amber placed her hand over her mouth to hold in all the murmurs and heartfelt sighs trying to slip out. The groom's grandfather had taken Spencer, Harris and Gentry to speak with someone elsewhere in the garden. Amber had seized the opportunity and slipped into the bushes. She wished there was something she could do to help Tripp, as she had when they were kids.

She'd known she was in love with him last week. Last night she'd fallen a little further and a lot deeper. Suddenly she understood why people said love had no bounds. She wanted to shout for joy, do a cartwheel, gloat.

Olivia was still talking. And Tripp seemed to be handling the situation on his own.

She remembered another time a week or so ago when he'd insisted he didn't lie. She was inordinately pleased that he didn't tell Olivia that lies were like dogs, seemingly harmless to your face, only to turn on you the instant you let down your guard. He saved the really good material for Amber. Was it any wonder she loved him?

"Don't expect me to believe your quickie engagement to that Colton wench is the real thing."

"Watch it, Olivia."

"What? Did I strike a nerve? I didn't think you were the type to lose your head over a pair of C cups."

It was a good thing Amber's hand was over her mouth. It was probably a good thing she wasn't closer, too. She would have been tempted to slap Olivia.

"Actually, you're right," Tripp said. "I'm more attracted to integrity and honor. You might want to look those up, too."

Amber was wiping a tear from her eye when Olivia stormed away. Before someone asked what she was doing in the magnolia bushes, she stepped out of them, brushing at the leaves clinging to her skirt. Deciding there was nothing she could do about the run in her stocking, she strolled around to the other side.

She and Tripp were alone in this portion of the garden. Eyeing the leaves sticking to her jacket and the twig tangled in her hair, he said, "You were eavesdropping again?"

If she'd had the time, she would have explained that she hadn't eavesdropped in years. Actually, she only seemed to listen in on conversations where Tripp was concerned. But she didn't have the time, so she simply nodded truthfully, and said, "What are you going to do?"

His shoulders were squared, his jaw set, his lips thinned with irritation. He looked past two old men who were staring at the sky, to the garden where the wedding reception was getting under way, and then in the opposite direction where a wide, sweeping flagstone path led to the front of the house. Through clenched teeth, he said, "I guess it's time to hail a cab."

Her mind whirled at his dry response. "If we leave, they win."

"They've already won."

"But—"

"Derek provided Gentry and Harris with exactly what they ultimately wanted. They'd made up their minds weeks ago. Not only do they have leverage, now they have the ammunition, too, along with the muscle to back up their narrow-minded decision."

"But—"

"If we stay, it'll only make a scene, and I'd rather not be responsible for ruining Jennifer and David's wedding." He started up the slope to the side of the sprawling antebellum house.

She absolutely refused to say "but" again. "There must be something we can do," she called, holding her ground.

He turned. "Do you want me to lower myself to Derek and Olivia's level?"

She shook her head slowly, because no position was worth that. She hated situations like these. But he was right. There was little that they could do that wouldn't involve ruining the day for Montgomery, as well as for David and Jennifer. Perhaps they could do something to cause Harris and Gentry to doubt Spencer's word. But there was nothing more they could do today.

Amber and Tripp reached the driveway in silence. They were striding past one expensive American-made and imported car after another when thunder rumbled. "Oh, no," Amber said, racing to a waiting taxicab. "What else could go wrong?"

The sky opened up, and it started to rain.

* * *

It was foggy and nearly dark by the time they passed the city-limit sign in Fort Bragg. At least it wasn't raining back home in California.

Since neither of the landing strips in Fort Bragg had towers or runways long enough for jets, Amber and Tripp had flown in and out of Mendocino. From there, it was only a ten-mile drive to Amber's house.

Tripp had been pensive throughout the trip from Mississippi. Unfortunately, Amber's medication had made her groggy, and no matter how hard she'd tried to stay awake, she'd slept most of the way home.

She stirred when he pulled into her driveway. Secretly, she was worried. Since it looked as if he wasn't going to be chosen for that position down in Santa Rosa, would he convince himself that there was no need to continue their relationship?

He'd opened his door, popped the trunk and had half of her bags in his hands when she joined him at the back of his car. Dragging a few cases into her own arms, she said, "Did you spend the entire trip home thinking about Spencer's victory?"

Tripp shrugged. Actually, he'd thought about money problems and bills and the high cost of medicine. And her. Damned if he knew what he was going to do about any of those things.

She maneuvered the key out of her purse without dropping anything. Once the door was opened, he followed her inside, then lowered the bags to the floor in her foyer. She glanced at him. He looked at her. It was strangely awkward. "I should be going."

Slowly, she placed the bags she'd carried in on the floor in the next room. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay awhile?"

"I wouldn't be good company. And I'm in no mood to talk."

"What I have in mind doesn't require talking."

His gaze settled on her mouth. His thoughts slowed, his body heated.

"Actually," she said, talking as she switched on a lamp in the living room. "I know of two activities that would take your mind off your troubles."

"Two?"

His voice had lowered. Her knowing smile didn't help in the least.

"Meditation." She plugged in a tabletop fountain and instantly water gurgled softly. With a press of a button, mood music surrounded them. "Meditation, and what you're thinking. I vote for the second activity, too."

The enchantress grinned.

His heart hammered away at a steady beat. "Anybody ever tell you you're a brat?"

"Only you."

He stared deep into her eyes, and was nearly lost all over again. He hadn't realized he'd left the foyer. Since she was still standing near the lamp she'd switched on, he must have been the one who had moved. In some far corner of his mind, he knew he should resist. He didn't want to resist. When she reached up on tiptoe and kissed him, he couldn't help himself. He kissed her back.

His arms wound around her back, molding her to him. He'd memorized every curve, every hollow, every inch of her body last night. Suddenly he had to discover her all over again.

He touched her through her clothing and she through his, but they couldn't get close enough. Their sighs and groans mingled with the sound of water gurgling over rocks in the tabletop fountain. Meadowlarks sang harmony to piano and a lone stringed instrument. It was supposed to be relaxing music. It did cover the quiet, but it sure as hell didn't quiet his sudden burning desire. He needed more. More closeness. More passion. More of everything she had.

He maneuvered her backward until her back was against the wall. Taking her face in his hands, he kissed her again, long and deep. All the while, his body pressed into hers. Closer. Closer.

Still not close enough.

She was the one who broke the kiss. She was the one who deftly unbuttoned his shirt. Next, she undid her own. Finally, they were skin to skin, chest to chest, man to woman. A shudder went through him. This still wasn't close enough.

"We can do this standing up," he said, his voice a low growl in his own ears. "Or you can take me to your bed. It's your choice."

She kissed him once more and then she stepped out of his arms and started toward a dark hallway. He followed her into her room, then stood and watched as she turned back the covers. "Is this what you had in mind?" she asked.

Her voice was like the wind after midnight, a deep sigh, a gentle mooning, a slow sweep across his senses. He was reaching for her again when a sound, like a small explosion, tore through the room.

He whirled around without thinking, placing himself between her and the window. He braced himself, his eyes wide, his breathing ragged.

His eyes were just beginning to focus again when it occurred to him that a car had backfired out on the street. This wasn't the streets in L.A. And he wasn't a kid living and fighting and sometimes nearly dying on them.

A bell jangled, and he jumped all over again. When it sounded again, he turned around and swore under his breath.

Amber was looking at the phone on her nightstand. That was what was ringing. Understanding dawned.

"The answering machine will get it," she whispered, pressing a kiss into his shoulder.

Tripp's heart slowed down, then sped up when the answering machine clicked on. "Amber, this is Rand. I need to talk to you. If you're there, pick up, would you?"

She went perfectly still, her indecision palpable. "Rand never calls me. Something must be wrong."

Since Tripp was closer to the phone, he scooped it up and handed it to her. The lingering smile she gave him as she placed the phone to her ear warmed him in ways that made it damned difficult to move.

"Rand, how are you?"

Tripp took a deep breath. Raking a hand through his hair, he walked to a bookcase on the far side of the room.

"Yes, I was in Mississippi. How did you…" She listened for a moment. "In Jackson, yes…but how…" Tripp felt her eyes on him as she murmured, "Mm-hmm. You remember Tripp Calhoun…"

There was another stretch of silence.

"How did you know? Rand, what's going on? You never call me. And what were you doing in Jackson?"

Amber glanced at Tripp. He was buttoning his shirt. She started toward him, then stopped, torn. "Rand, would you hold for a minute?"

She laid the phone down. "Tripp?" The expression on his face made her feel as if she was walking on eggshells. "Are you leaving?" she whispered.

He tucked his shirt in while he answered. "That call sounds important."

His gaze strayed to the skin exposed by her open shirt. She hoped that was a good sign. "You're right." She kept her voice quiet so her brother wouldn't hear. "Rand never calls unless it's important. But that doesn't mean you have to go."

"It's been a long weekend."

What pride she had left, she swallowed. "I thought it was a wonderful weekend. What are you going to do now? About your clinic, I mean?"

"I don't know. I'll figure something out."

Giving him a thorough once-over, she said, "I'd like to see it." She held her breath.

"You would?"

"You could show me yours, and I could show you mine."

Tripp felt sideswiped by her smile. "Are we still talking about work?"

"If you say so."

Her eyes were dark green tonight. He knew for a fact that they could flash with insolence one second, tease the next.

Tripp was a man who lived by a code that was dictated by ethics and gut instinct. Something was bothering the back of his mind. He didn't know what it was. He only knew he wouldn't be able to figure out what it was if he stayed here and finished what they'd started. He had to leave.

First, there was something he had to do.

He reached her in three long strides, grasped her by the shoulders and kissed her, swift and sure. Setting her away from him, he said, "If you stop by the hospital after work tomorrow, I'll give you a guided tour of my clinic."

"All right." She sounded breathless.

A brand-new rush of desire flooded into him. Fighting the impulse to say to hell with whatever was bothering the back of his mind, he nodded once and left her to her telephone call.

Amber took a deep breath. She didn't breathe again until after she heard her front door click shut. Picking up the phone, she said, "Yes, Rand. I'm still here."

An unwelcome tension had settled to her stomach and she realized just how precarious her ties to Tripp were. He wanted her, physically. He'd made that perfectly clear.

She listened to her brother, but all the while a tiny voice in her head insisted that there was more to Tripp's feelings for her than desire. She didn't know why he'd suddenly decided to leave. She wished he hadn't.

She was seeing him again tomorrow night. Hopefully, she would know more then. Who was it who said knowing was half the battle? Unfortunately, it wasn't always the most difficult half. Not when she was dealing with a man as complicated as Tripp.

"What? Of course I'm listening…Yes, I'm fine, really. Rand? Just how difficult did Lucy make things for you early in your relationship?"

Her big brother said something to the effect that it was hell, but most of that was his doing, not Lucy's, then asked about Sophie and River and little Meggie. Amber answered truthfully. "Sophie's fine. They're all fine. But what did you do to secure your relationship with—What? Drake? I haven't talked to him in a while, but I think he's all right…Liza and Jackson, too. We still haven't heard from Emily. And I'm worried."

He interrupted her again.

She flopped down on the bed. "Dad stays away a lot. And Mother, well, you know how she is…"

The fountain gurgled in the next room, and the mood music changed from a mountain meadow to an ocean's whisper. Now that Tripp had gone, it looked as if she was going to have to meditate to relax. First, she wanted to have a heart-to-heart talk with her oldest brother. Instead, it was twenty questions.

Why was it that guys were so willing to ask questions, and so unwilling to answer them?

She sighed. Men.




Eleven

"I'm the one who risked life and limb today, Calhoun. Why are you the one who's pacing?"

Tripp released all his breath before turning around, his back to the window. Coop was sitting in his usual chair, his feet propped on Tripp's desk in the usual way. He was right. Compared to Coop's day, Tripp's had been uneventful. Which only meant that his unease didn't stem from work. But he'd known that.

The small county hospital had been buzzing for hours with talk about the battered wife who'd stumbled into the E.R. only to collapse at Dr. Gavin Cooper's feet. Normally, Coop was pretty unflappable, but this one had gotten to him.

"You okay?" Tripp asked.

For once, Coop's grin wasn't very convincing. "I should be used to having women fall at my feet."

"I heard she filed a police report. She's pressing charges against her husband this time."

Several seconds passed before Coop answered. "He broke two of her ribs, dislocated her shoulder, bloodied her nose and blackened her eye. After that he stopped being nice."

Tripp remained quiet, letting his friend vent.

"She said she should have known it was coming. Hell, she was trying her damnedest to blame herself. He fits the wife-beater MO to a T. Rich or poor, they're all alike. He talked her into quitting her job when the kids started coming. Guys like that need a woman to be completely dependent on them. That way, when his temper blows, the little woman is a sitting duck, with no choice but to take it."

Coop's terminology raised the hair on the back of Tripp's neck. A sitting duck? That phrase was imbedded in the back of his mind. He couldn't place why.

"She has a choice now, Coop."

Gavin Cooper raked his fingers through his hair. "Guess you're right. She and her kids are hidden away at a shelter, safe for now. Maybe after the cops pick up the bastard, they'll stay that way."

"You did a good thing today."

Coop uncrossed his ankles and lowered his feet tiredly to the floor. Running a hand through his hair, he scowled. "Look at me. My brow's furrowed, my teeth are clenched, my jaw set. Fred just accused me of taking lessons from you."

"Be thankful he didn't accuse you of taking lessons from Proctor."

The ploy worked. Coop grinned for about a second. "I'm due at the clinic in ten minutes. Guess I'd better get out of here."

"I can take your shift at the clinic tonight."

"Nah. I'd rather keep busy. When I'm finished there, I think I'll call a leggy blonde, brunette or redhead. A good roll between the sheets would go a long way in relieving my stress."

A soft knock sounded at the door. Both men looked up, and there was Amber, a vision in cream and gold, her eyes wide, her smile tentative.

"Just what the doctor ordered," Coop said.

She eyed both men dubiously. "May I come in?"

Tripp said, "Enter at your own risk."

When Amber smiled, Tripp felt a tightening in his throat and a chugging in his chest. He was either having a heart attack or there was something worse wrong with him.

He took a deep breath and caught a whiff of the same exotic, flowery perfume she'd been wearing Saturday night. Forget Coop's mention of a leggy brunette or redhead. Tripp wanted another night of lovemaking with a certain blonde. But whatever had been bothering him last night was still bothering him today. He'd lost count of how many times a distant, out-of-focus memory had swirled into his brain. Every time he came close to bringing it in clearly, the memory of Amber, in the throes of a strong passion, heated his thoughts and turned his attention elsewhere.

It was happening now. Oh, no it wasn't. He gave himself a mental shake and forced his thoughts into a semblance of order. He saw Coop rise slowly to his feet.

Eyeing his scrubs, Amber said to Coop, "Nice outfit."

"If you ask real nice, I'll take 'em off. If you ask real nice, I'll take anything you want off."

"I don't know how women refuse such a sincere offer," she said on a smile. Then the grin faltered. "Is that blood on your shoe?"

He glanced down. "Don't worry, it isn't mine."

Amber stared deep into Coop's eyes. She knew his type. A player, and handsome in his own right, he had blue eyes, a grain of goodness and a lazy, seductive grin that had left a trail of broken hearts in its wake.

Her heart was taken, therefore, she was immune. "Bad day?"

"Forget about today. Why don't you ditch the Lone Ranger there and run away with me?"

She laughed in spite of herself. "Is that what they call him? The Lone Ranger? I hadn't heard that. But I have heard people call you the Don Juan of County General. Why do I get the feeling you aren't proposing marriage?"

"Hell, if a marriage proposal would do it, I could arrange one."

She nudged Coop with her shoulder and said drolly, "Do you always hit on your friend's dates?"

Amber wasn't at all comfortable with the surprise on Coop's face. "Sorry. I didn't realize you were still—I thought—" He scowled. "Look, I'm having an off day. There's a lot of that going around here."

Certain he was referring to Tripp, Amber gave him her full attention. There were lines beside his dark eyes and shadows underneath them. His slacks were wrinkled and hung slightly below his waist. She wondered if he'd eaten or slept. His white shirt needed ironing; his tie was loosened. This smoldering, appealing man could curl her toes and spark her temper. He was closing himself off from her an inch at a time.

Why?

Tamping down a dull ache of foreboding, she asked Tripp, "Ready to show me your clinic?"

He nodded. Again, Amber wondered what he was thinking.

"I'm heading that way, too," Coop said.

They started down the corridor, three astride, Amber in the middle. If Coop hadn't asked a dozen questions about the wedding, the silence would have been palpable.

When they reached the elevator, Amber looked at Tripp. "Have you heard from Montgomery?"

"He called this morning."

"And?" It was like pulling teeth. The elevator started down, and Amber held on to her stomach.

"He thinks the reason he didn't see me at the reception was because things got chaotic after the downpour. He said he spoke with Gentry and Harris, who passed on my decision to remain at County General. He thanked me for attending the wedding and wished me well. The man doesn't have a clue he's being completely manipulated."

"You're not going to tell him?"

Tripp shook his head. "I wouldn't know how. And even if I did, I'm not sure he would believe me. It could get ugly, and I've learned to choose my battles."

"Any idea what you're going to do now to fund the clinic?"

The doors slid open and three sets of feet shuffled out. Halfway through the nearly empty lobby, Coop said, "The hospital is hosting a fund-raiser. 'Course, that's like putting a Band-Aid on an amputation."

Amber was the first to reach the fresh outdoors. Behind her, Tripp said, "Your imagery could use a little work today, Cooper."

"At least I didn't say bloody stump."

Amber's laughter floated up, rich and clear. If any one of them had walked in the other direction, they would have noticed a movement between two vans. If they'd been closer, they might have gotten a whiff of engine grease and sweat and cheap whiskey. Perhaps that would have explained why the hair on the back of Tripp's neck suddenly prickled. It wouldn't have explained the reason for Amber's unease.

Hers was all tied up with Tripp. He hadn't so much as touched her. He'd barely looked at her. Any second now she was going to work up the courage to ask where Coop had gotten the impression that she and Tripp were no longer seeing each other. What did Coop think—that they were just friends? As far as Amber was concerned, they weren't just anything.

She got in Tripp's car; Cooper unlocked his. Nobody paid much attention when a rusty van with a broken taillight pulled out of the parking lot and headed west.

Amber's thoughts were elsewhere. Although she could have asked a dozen questions, she remained quiet during the drive. Tripp put on his sunglasses. She lowered the visor, watching the houses go by.

The Mill Creek Medical Clinic was located on the outskirts of town, six or seven blocks from the hospital. She already knew Tripp had paid the city a dollar for an abandoned building that had once housed workers in the logging industry around the turn of the last century. Evidently, the building had been in total disrepair, with boarded-up windows and bats living in the attic and skunks under the rotting porches. She'd gotten a lot of her information from nurses and orderlies at the hospital. Someone—she thought it was Fred—had told her that the clinic was staffed almost completely with volunteers. Nurse Proctor of all people had said that Tripp had cleaned out his savings account to purchase the medical equipment, and he spent most of his wages keeping it running.

Tripp slowed down, pulling into a gravel parking lot in front of the building. She didn't know what she'd expected, but it wasn't the vastness of the house on the hill. She suspended her worries and exclaimed, "It's lovely!"

Amber's simple praise touched Tripp in ways he hadn't expected. Staring out her window, he tried to see it from her perspective. He wouldn't call it lovely, or even majestic. The building couldn't hold a candle to the meticulously restored, ornate Victorian houses lining many of the streets of Ukiah, but as far as he was concerned, his clinic served a more important purpose.

It was sprawling, but well-built and rock solid. He'd patched the roof himself, replaced glass in broken windows, shored up the porches, sanded floors and given the entire building a coat of paint, inside and out.

"No wonder you saw its potential, Tripp. There must be ten rooms on the first floor."

"Eleven."

Her smile was artful and serene. It was as if she approved. It occurred to him that he wanted her approval. A man didn't worry about someone's approval unless he valued that person's opinion. He valued Amber's. He valued her.

It made him as nervous as a schoolboy. But Tripp Calhoun had never been a nervous schoolboy. He'd been rebellious, yes, not to mention a stubborn, arrogant, belligerent, egotistical, troublemaker. But never nervous.

He wanted…

What? Someone to talk to? Sleep with? More?

Whoa. All he was going to do was show her the clinic. The clinic was his top priority, and had to remain that way.

There were only a handful of cars in the gravel lot. Strangely, a rusty van with a broken taillight was blocking both reserved parking spaces. He pulled into an empty spot nearby and was cutting the engine when the van's door opened and a man he'd never seen before got out.

Every nerve in Tripp's body went on red alert. "Amber, stay in the car."

"What? Why?"

"Just do as I say. And lock the doors." He eased his door open and got out.

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, sacrificing 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.

Although she and Tripp hadn't exchanged words of love, he had been a caring lover in Mississippi. He'd been ardent and passionate at her place right after, too. And then, in a flash, something had changed.

What?

She glanced at the phone, and then at her cluttered desk full of work waiting for her undivided attention. It seemed unlikely that Tripp was going to call. And she couldn't concentrate on work anyway. Perhaps it was time she paid him a little visit and demanded a few answers.

"Going someplace?" Jackson asked as she passed his open door, a sheaf of papers in her hand.

"Darn right I am. It's high time somebody makes a certain stubborn doctor see reason."

Jackson said something encouraging that Amber didn't stick around long enough to hear.

* * *

"Oh, señorita! You must be my replacement! Thank goodness you are here."

Amber looked around. There were several patients in the waiting room. The heavyset woman with the thick Spanish accent appeared to be talking to her.

"Come," she called. "I will tell you what to do."

Amber closed the door and sauntered closer. Tripp hadn't been at the hospital. Fred, the flirtatious orderly, had been pretty sure he was at his clinic this afternoon.

She'd hurried over, and sure enough, his car was among the handful of vehicles in the lot. She'd decided to take that as a good sign. She wasn't certain what to think about the Spanish woman behind the counter who was talking a mile a minute.

"Thank goodness you are early. My granddaughter is sick and I must go home. Come. I will explain what to do. Do not worry. It is a piece of cake."

The woman rattled off instructions regarding the phone, an antiquated filing system and a roomful of patients. "Do you have any questions?"

Amber peered toward the hallway leading to several closed doors. "Is Dr. Calhoun on duty?"

"Sí. He is a gift, that one."

"A gift horse," Amber muttered under her breath.

"Pardon?"

"Oh, it was nothing. Never mind. Goodbye. And good luck with your granddaughter."

Huffing slightly, the woman, whose name was still unknown to Amber, reached for her purse and hurried out the door, her loose-fitting dress fluttering as she went.

The phone rang the instant the door closed. A girl who looked too young to have a baby of her own stared at Amber over the top of an infant's dark head. Chubby-cheeked twins cried from their father's lap, while two other children fought over a toy in the corner. An old man glared at Amber as if the ringing phone and all the noise was somehow her fault.

She didn't know what to do about the rest, but she knew how to put an end to the ringing. She grabbed up the phone. "Mill Creek Medical Clinic."

Winging it, she scanned the appointment book, jotted information. The phone rang again seconds later. She held a baby, fished a toy from behind a row of chairs and struck up a conversation with the crotchety old man. She'd never been in such dire need of more hands. She was still determined that her confrontation with Tripp was going to take place. In the meantime, there was plenty of work to do.

* * *

Amber's hair was tumbling out of its clasp, a corner of her blouse was untucked and one shoulder was wet with one of the twins' drool by the time she instructed the last patient to go on through to the examination rooms. The phones had finally stopped ringing and nearly everyone had gone home. She used the relative quiet to organize the desk and tried to decide what she would say to Tripp.

She had nearly finished straightening the waiting area and was reading the flyer on the wall, advertising the fund-raising dance being hosted by the hospital in a couple of weeks, when she heard a sound behind her. She turned slowly. Tripp stood at the other end of the room. Everything about him was dark, his hair, pants, even his eyes, darkened by an unreadable emotion. Amber's heart fluttered twice, then rose up to her throat.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

She'd had warmer welcomes at Macy's. She gestured to the magazines she'd been straightening. "I'm working."

"You don't work here."

"You know what they say about being in the right place at the right time."

Apparently, he failed to see the humor. "Where's Rosa?"

So that was the woman's name. "She had to leave. Her granddaughter was sick."

The last patient of the day came out into the waiting room, her six-month-old baby asleep on her shoulder. Anna Garcia smiled tiredly. Closer to sixteen than twenty-one, the single mother patted her baby's small back. "Thank you, Dr. Calhoun."

Hearing his mother's voice, the baby opened his eyes and began to suck his little thumb. Content and secure, his eyes fluttered closed once again. Amber thought Anna looked equally as tired. She always wished there were more she could do to help in situations like these.

The girl dug into the pocket of her baggy jeans. Placing several coins on the counter, she started for the door. Amber opened her mouth to call her back, but Tripp silenced her with a stern look.

The door closed. And she and Tripp were alone. At last.

His mouth set in annoyance. Obviously he wasn't as happy about that as she was. And yet she swore his eyes were drinking her up.

"It's been a long day," he said. "And I have rounds to make at the hospital."

Subtle, he wasn't. Amber strode to the checkout area, where she counted three dollars and eighty-six cents in loose change. Dropping the coins into the drawer, she said, "This isn't enough money to buy bandages for the clinic, but it would have been enough to buy a loaf of bread or a gallon of milk for Anna and her baby."

An unwelcome tension coiled tighter in Tripp's stomach. He hadn't paid much attention when four-year-old Jose Martinez mentioned a golden angel in the waiting room. It wasn't until an hour later, when old Samuel DeWitt described the new volunteer that Tripp realized they were talking about Amber. His breathing had been unsteady ever since.

Eyeing the loose tendrils of her hair and the mascara smudges under her eyes, he finally said, "Anna's proud. By paying what she felt she could afford, this isn't charity."

"Then it's a matter of pride?"

He glanced around the room. He was pretty sure he knew what Amber was asking, and uncertain how to reply. He'd tried to put an end to this a week ago. He didn't want to hurt her, but he didn't think there was any other way to ensure that she took no for an answer.

"I appreciate everything you've tried to do for me, Amber."

For about a millisecond, he saw hope in her eyes. Leaning down, she retrieved her large purse from the floor near the filing cabinet, then busied herself riffling through a sheaf of papers inside.

"But it isn't a good idea for you to come here."

She straightened, her green eyes delving his, her throat convulsing as her hope gave way to something a lot less pleasant. He was getting through to her. It would have been nice if he didn't feel like something he'd stepped in. He had damn good reasons for ending this. He cursed his body for wanting something it had no business wanting.

She glanced down at a newspaper clipping attached to the top of a sheaf of papers. "You probably don't read the society pages. It seems that Olivia Babcock and Derek Spencer have set a date."

Being careful not to touch her, he accepted the papers from her. "What's all this?" he asked.

"It's everything you'll need to apply for a grant from the Hopechest Foundation. There's an application in the packet, along with specific guidelines. Follow them to the letter. You'll need to supply a statement of need, your financial information, earnings, wages, expenses, as well as documentation on how the clinic will positively affect the people in the area. It will have to be reviewed by the board, and there are no guarantees, but I see no reason for them not to offer some assistance."

He stood perfectly still. "You don't have to do this, Amber. Not for me."

She met his gaze bravely, but he wasn't fooled.

"I'm doing it for Jose and Anna and Manuel and hundreds of others like them."

Tripp had never come across a woman he understood less and who drew him more. He was trying to make it clear to her that what they'd shared was over and she was still offering her family's money. "You're an amazing woman."

If the situation weren't so serious, the face she made would have been comical.

He ran a hand through his hair. It was short now, only one of the things that had changed this past month. He had changed, too, but reality hadn't. That episode with the wife-beater had driven that fact home.

"One of these days," he said, "you're going to make some lucky man very happy."

Amber stared at Tripp for several seconds while her heart cracked open a little further. She refused to whimper. Some lucky man? Gee. What a sweet thing to say. And so original.

Her temper flared, a definite improvement over despair. "What type of man should I be looking for? In your knowledgeable opinion, I mean."

Surely, her sarcasm wasn't lost on him, but he didn't get angry as she'd expected. Instead, he almost smiled. It nearly broke her heart the rest of the way.

"Someone like you. Someone good and smart and funny and kind. A man of wealth and culture. He's going to need patience. And stamina." When he spoke again, his voice was huskier. "And he'd better know how to argue, because you'd get bored with someone who can't hold his own in any discussion."

He knew her so well. She could have cried. This was it. He was ending it. He didn't want her. Or at least he wasn't going to allow himself to have her, or anyone like her. Curious, she said, "What about you? What sort of woman would you look for?"

"Coop said it pretty well when he called me a loner. If I ever do decide to search for a wife, it will most likely be someone of Latino descent. Someone who will fit in in my world."

"There's only one planet, one world, Tripp, and we're already both living in it."

"Are we?" The shutters came down over his eyes again. "In the future, I would appreciate it if you would stay away from places where danger could be lurking."

Something about that last statement lodged in her mind. He didn't want her anywhere near danger. She recalled the way he'd reacted when that car had backfired moments before Rand had called last Sunday. Now that she thought about it, it wasn't the phone call that had interrupted their lovemaking. It had been that sudden, loud noise. It had sounded a little like a gunshot.

Watching as he locked cabinets, she was close to putting it all together. He turned out more lights, bolted the back door and the windows.

"Thank you again for all your help, Amber. Give my best to your father."

Amber didn't know what to say. She'd come for answers, but she was being dismissed. She sensed that he cared about her, but she couldn't get through to him. What else could she do to change his mind? Beaten, she settled her purse under her arm and started for the door.

"Amber?"

Hope surged. "Yes?"

"I'd like your word that you'll stay away from the clinic."

She stared at him for interminable seconds, not moving, not blinking, not breathing. Finally, she drew herself up to her full height and turned on her heel. Instead of giving him her word, she gave the door a loud slam.

* * *

Silas "Snake Eyes" Pike stepped quietly from the shadows on Main Street in Keyhole, Wyoming. His hand shook as he patted the empty pocket where he normally kept a flask for emergencies. Ever since that witch, Meredith Colton had cut off his money supply, he'd been forced to remain sober.

Being careful of his step, he ambled across the street toward Summer's Autumn Antiques. What a one-horse town this had turned out to be. None of the bars would let him run up a tab. He hadn't even been able to hire a hooker to take the edge off his shakes.

Things were looking up, though. He'd tried watching that young punk Sheriff Toby Atkins. The man led the life of a monk. After a couple of days keeping the lily-hearted sheriff under surveillance, Silas had decided to scope out Wyatt and Annie Russell. The Russells, Wyatt in particular, had connections to the Colton family. Silas didn't trust him as far as he could throw him.

He'd heard from one of his drinking buddies that the Russells had befriended a girl with hair an unusual shade of red. Chestnut colored, he'd called it. It so happened Emily Blair had chestnut-colored hair. Silas was playing a hunch that the Russells were somehow involved with Emily's sudden and untimely disappearance.

He'd bet his next drink that they knew where she was hiding. It was up to Silas to get one of them to spill the beans. He'd been watching the place for three days. Who better to spill the beans than the pair of red-haired boys who took their huge monster of a black dog for a walk to the corner every day when they got home from the nursery school or kindergarten or wherever the hell they spent the morning?

Today, Silas was ready for them. He ambled out of one of many tourist traps lining Main Street just as the boys neared. Peering through the wire-rimmed bifocals he'd lifted off an unsuspecting old man yesterday, Silas smiled at the boys. "Mornin', fellers. Oh, looky there. Guess it's afternoon, huh?"

The boys were identical, right down to their cowlicks and suspicious stares. Their big black dog bared his teeth.

"That's a big dog you have there. What's his name?"

The children each placed a hand on the dog's broad back. The boy on the right said, "His name's Chopper. Are you a stranger? Cuz we're not s'posed to talk to strangers."

Silas tugged at the waistband of the polyester pants he'd gotten in the Dumpster behind the Salvation Army store. "I guess that depends. I'm a grandpaw. Are grand-paws strangers?"

The boys conferred the point over the top of the dog's broad back. "Guess not," the designated talker of the two declared.

Silas commended himself on his brilliant disguise. He'd had to shave off his Fu-Manchu style mustache, and he'd taken white shoe polish to his hair and eyebrows. The mustache would grow back and the shoe polish would wash out. It had been worth it. The boys fell for it hook, line and sinker. The dog was another matter. That was okay. Silas didn't need the dog to trust him. He only needed to get the kids talking.

"Me'n Noah don't have a grandpa. We have a new dad, though."

Silas knew all about the boys' new father. Wyatt Russell, the fancy-ass attorney from D.C. had proven to be a thorn in his side.

Reaching a hand into his pocket, Silas brought out a tattered photo. The step he took toward the boys was cut short by their dog's low, menacing growl. "That's a good watchdog you have there. This here's my granddaughter…" Silas had to think fast. "…Penny."

"She looks just like Emily," the quieter of the boys exclaimed.

"Who?" Silas asked, all false innocence.

"Our friend, Emily."

He'd purposefully chosen an old photograph of Emily Blair. "This here's Penny. She's fifteen. Best darn granddaughter in the world. She and her mama moved to Texas a while back."

"Emily moved, too."

"You don't say? She move to Texas, too?"

"Nope. To Montana."

"Yeah?" Silas said, getting dizzy from looking through the bifocals. "I went to Montana once." Making certain the photo faced out, he tucked it back into his pocket. His hand shook. He really needed a drink. Both boys seemed to be mesmerized by his movements. "Were 'bouts does she live in Montana?"

"She lives in Red—"

"Noah! Alex!"

The children turned around at the sound of their mother's voice. Silas slipped inside the sporting goods store, and quietly out the back door.

Life was a crapshoot, no doubt about that. They didn't call him Snake Eyes for nothing. Course, rolling a pair of ones wasn't easy, unless the dice were weighted, that is. Then, it was almost as easy as getting information out of a couple of snot-nosed red-haired little boys.

Silas stuffed the floppy-rimmed fishing cap and bifocals into the first trash can he came to. Cutting through another back alley, he made his way back to the room he was renting by the day. He had packing to do. Emily Blair was in Montana, in a town called Red-something.

Silas "Snake Eyes" Pike was as good as on his way.

* * *

Patsy let the door slam as she rushed through it. "Teddy! Joey!" She shaded her eyes with her hand, searching the gardens for her darlings. The boys were nowhere in sight. But Amber was sitting out by the pool, talking to her father. Sulking.

Patsy shuddered with distaste. "Joe!" she said to the man she'd pretended to be married to for ten long years. "Where have the boys run off to this time? They had better not be mucking out stalls in the barns!"

The boys, eight and ten years old, came running out of the house, Joe, Jr. in the lead, his younger brother in hot pursuit. Patsy beamed as they each did a cannonball into the pool. Her darlings were right here in the garden. If only she could find the baby she lost all those years ago, her life would be nearly complete. There was still the issue of getting rid of Joe and that pesky Emily, but one thing at a time.

Two days ago, she'd received word from the private investigator that a baby girl fitting her baby's description had been involved in a black-market adoption, handled by a shady doctor in Stockton. The records indicated that the baby had gone to live with a couple in Ohio. Patsy had been trying to get that child back all her life. She'd urged the investigator to continue the search.

She wondered what her child, a grown woman now, would look like. Surely, Patsy thought, her eyes narrowing, her lip curling, she wouldn't act anything like either of Meredith's grown daughters, who were both so sickeningly sweet it was all Patsy could do not to retch when she saw them.

"Joe, I need to talk to you."

He spoke to Amber and, laying a hand on her shoulder, rose to his feet and started toward Patsy. His eyes iced over the closer he came. She bet there hadn't been coldness in his eyes when he'd been talking to that simpering Amber. Oh, the things she'd been forced to endure.

"What is she doing here?"

Joe Colton studied the woman his beautiful Meredith had become. If it wasn't for Joe, Jr. and Teddy, he would have left his beloved home a long time ago. Hacienda de Alegria, House of Joy, was a lie, one that was growing increasingly difficult to live. "She's our daughter. This is her home."

"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."

"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?"

She poked a finger into his chest hard enough to rival the pain in his foot. "Philip happens to already be engaged. To my friend, Claire."

"Then why did you bring him with you?"

"To prove a point, you big lummox. I can take care of myself. None of those men can keep me safe any more than you can." At his dumbfounded expression, she said, "That's right. You can't keep me safe. And guess what? I can't keep you safe, either. Almost twenty years ago, my brother was killed riding his bike in the safest neighborhood in the country. Tragedy can happen anywhere, and does, all right?"

"You don't understand, Amber."

"Oh, don't you dare tell me that. I understand plenty, no thanks to you. You closed yourself off to me and any explanations as to your peculiar behavior."

"Pecu—"

"I'm not finished. You can refuse to work with me. You can even refuse to see me. But you can't keep me safe. And since we're on the subject, I've had it with trying to earn people's love and acceptance. From now on, I'm going to do what I want. I've received more satisfaction volunteering in the clinic these past two weeks than I've received doing anything my entire life." She paused a moment. "Well, almost anything. What do you say about that?"

He captured her hand before she poked a hole through his chest. "I say that for a pampered heiress, you have a lot of spunk."

The eyes she raised to his were big and green and watery, her face, suddenly pale. Her lips quivered, and before he understood the reason, she said, "Go to hell, Tripp," then spun around and rushed away from him.

He had to hurry, limping, to catch up. "Amber, wait."

She shook off his hand, but at least she came to a stop. "I suppose I should thank you."

He noticed she didn't, though. "For what?"

Her eyes on something in the distance, she said, "I've discovered what true love is this summer." Her chin went up huffily. "Guess there's no accounting for taste after all."

Tripp figured he had that coming, and then some. "I could thank you, too."

"What for, pray tell?"

He gestured to the extravaganza. "For this. And for the grant. I've applied for a dozen others. And I received an interesting phone call from Montgomery Perkins." The older doctor had pledged an obscene amount of money, which Tripp had accepted graciously. But that wasn't what he was talking about. "It seems a waiter at the restaurant in Mississippi saw us leave the rehearsal dinner. He told Cornelia that I never laid a hand on Derek Spencer. Perkins called Spencer on the carpet over it. To make a long story short, Spencer's position has been revoked. He'll be lucky to get a job changing bedpans. Montgomery offered the position to me."

Amber's mouth dropped open, her eyes large as she whispered, "What did you tell him?"

"I turned him down."

"But—"

"I don't want to move to Santa Rosa."

"Why not?"

He shrugged. "Until about two minutes ago, I didn't know. Now I know. It's because you aren't there."

For a moment, he thought she was softening. But then her back and shoulders straightened. "I don't like what I do for a living. I only went into it to try to win my mother's approval, and I suppose in a sense, my father's, too. Well, I'm not going to do that anymore."

Tripp was still awestruck about his revelation concerning his feelings for her, and was trying to understand what she was trying to tell him. "What do you want to do, Amber?"

"I'm thinking about going back to school. Maybe I'll become a nurse practitioner, or perhaps a doctor. And you can't stop me. One way or another I'm going to do my life's work, maybe right here in Ukiah." She glanced at him, and then quickly away. "Well?" she finally whispered. "Aren't you going to try to talk me out of it?"

"I'd be wasting my breath."

She looked surprised, but not as surprised as she looked when he said, "I guess there's only one solution."

Her eyebrows drew down in consternation.

And he continued. "It looks as if you're going to make my life miserable one way or another. You might as well marry me."

She did a double take. "What?"

"I said I love you."

"No you didn't. That's not what you said at all."

He felt the strangest urge to grin. "It's what I should have said weeks ago."

"Really? You do? Love me, I mean?"

"I love you. I think I have since the beginning. Not when we were kids. The more recent beginning. I love you, and don't think that doesn't scare the hell out of me. But letting you walk out of my life scares me even more. So what do you think? And in case you're considering saying no, you should know that I've learned a thing or two this summer, too."

"What have you learned, Tripp?"

"I've learned not to take no for an answer." He touched his forehead to hers. "You were a great teacher. Now, what do you say?"

Amber didn't readily reply. She'd received four marriage proposals. This one wasn't the most romantic or the most original. It wasn't even the most eloquent. But it was the most heartfelt, and by far the most sincere. "You really love me?"

He nodded. "I truly love you. If you ask me to prove it, I'll spend the rest of my life doing just that." Slowly, he went down on one knee. Taking her hand in his, he looked up at her. "A woman like you deserves this done right."

"A woman like me?"

"Don't interrupt."

"My, you're bossy."

Under his breath, he muttered something about a pot calling the kettle black. She was more interested in what was coming next.

"You're perfect for me, Amber, inventive when I'm too much by the book, boisterous when I'm too serious, mouthy, well, most of the time. The truth is, I love that about you. I love most everything about you. Will you marry me, and live with me, and work with me if that's what you want to do? And love me? And have a family with me?"

Tears filled her eyes and her throat, but she nodded.

"Is that a yes?"

She wanted to smile, but couldn't. "Yes. This is a yes. To everything. I love you, Tripp."

He closed his eyes, and she wondered if he'd ever heard those words before. Slowly, he rose to his feet, and finally, he lowered his face to hers. Their lips met for the first time in two weeks. It felt like the first time ever. His mouth opened, hers softened. Breaths mingled, tongues touched, hearts joined.

It was heaven.

They were so different, physically. His lips were drier than hers, his body lean where hers was lush, flat where hers was curved, hard where hers wasn't. But inside, they shared the same beliefs, desires and philosophies. Amber loved that about him, but she loved the physical differences, too. They were perfectly delightful differences. She doubted she would ever tire of exploring them.

Music played in the background, and since the tree they were hiding behind didn't offer much privacy, they reined in their desire and kept the passion below the surface, where it simmered, waiting.

Waiting.

He loved her. Amber had hoped and prayed it was so. Her prayers had been answered.

"When?" he asked when the kiss finally broke.

Her mind swam as she tried to make sense of the question. "Pardon me?"

Tripp pulled her close to his side, an arm going around her waist. In the process, he got an eyeful of cleavage. She looked up at him and caught him looking. He had to clear his throat in order to speak. "When would you like to marry me?"

Amber smiled smugly. Tripp Calhoun wasn't a patient man. Looking out at the sky, now bright with stars and moonlight, she fit herself more comfortably in the crook under his arm. "How about tonight?" she asked.

He faced her. "You mean elope?" He was already shaking his head when he said, "A woman like you deserves a proper wedding."

She thought about the fairy-tale wedding she'd dreamed of all her life. In it, she'd imagined herself wearing a flowing white, beaded gown with a ten-foot train and a veil over her face. In her dreams, Emily was there, and her mother and father were deeply in love.

Amber gazed up at Tripp. This was reality. Suddenly, what mattered most was that she and Tripp were deeply in love. Tears filled her eyes. "I want to marry you. Tonight. Let's go to Vegas."

A smile of wonder found its way to his face. He reached for her hand. "Far be it from me to keep the lady from what she wants."

* * *

Two and a half hours later, Tripp placed a steadying hand on Amber's elbow. "You all right, Mrs. Calhoun?"

Still slightly groggy from her airsickness medicine, Amber nodded and peered at her dime-store wedding ring. "I'm wonderful."

"I'll buy you a decent ring," Tripp said, his voice husky with emotion. "Something with amber, or pearls, or anything you want."

"I have everything I want."

Hand in hand, they started down the steps of the bright pink wedding chapel where they'd just exchanged their vows and professed to love and cherish each other until death. Maybe even longer. In Amber's free hand, she carried the marriage certificate. In Tripp's was a Polaroid snapshot of him in his expensive black suit and her in her hussy-red dress with the slit up to here and the bodice down to there.

"You're a beautiful bride," he said.

"Thank you," she answered. She felt beautiful, and it had nothing to do with her dress.

A wolf whistle rent the air. From a car with its top down, a man called, "That's some trophy you got yourself, buddy."

"This isn't a trophy!" Tripp called. "This is my wife!"

He looked deep into Amber's eyes. It was true. He had something far better than a trophy wife. He had a woman as strong and stubborn as he was, a woman who was his equal.

Together, they started down the wide sidewalk. Amber had never felt so happy. Perhaps some day the remaining unsettling issues, such as her relationship with her mother, and Emily's disappearance, would be resolved. She prayed they would, but until then, and for always, she had the man she loved at her side. And he had her.

After all, love was the greatest trophy of all.




Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Sandra Steffen for her contribution to THE COLTONS series.