The Trophy Wife

Inez didn’t believe in feeling sorry for herself, and she didn’t allow those around her to wallow in self-pity, either. Placing her hands on hips that had rounded over the years, she lowered her chin and raised her eyebrows. “If you would get serious about finding a husband and having babies, you would be too tired to be bored.”

Amber rubbed the dirt from her hands then brushed a blade of grass off her thigh. Finding a man and making babies was Inez’s answer to every problem. “Men are after two things, Inez: Sex and money, not necessarily in that order.”

Inez crossed herself, her lips moving in silent prayer. Amber couldn’t be certain whether she did it for Inez and Marco’s two beautiful daughters, Maya, who had recently had a beautiful baby girl, and Lana, who had been distracted lately, or for Amber. “Not all men,” she said when her litany was completed.

Amber reached for another weed. “Name one.”

“My Marco. And your father and brothers are good men.”

Amber shook her head. “Okay. Now name one man who fits that description and also isn’t married or related to me.”

As far as Amber was concerned, Inez’s silence spoke volumes. Recalling the sound she’d heard a while ago when a car had pulled into the driveway on the other side of the sprawling estate, she asked, “Who’s here, Inez?”

If she’d been looking, she might have noticed the change that had come over the older woman’s features. She certainly would have seen the sudden glint in those dark brown eyes and been suspicious of the way the wheels suddenly seemed to start turning behind them.

“Oh,” Inez said casually, “someone to see your father.”

Before Amber could question further, the older woman was hurrying toward the wide French doors that led into the house. Sighing again, Amber turned her attention back to the weeds.

Tripp Calhoun’s footsteps echoed on the gleaming tile floors inside the Coltons’ spacious home, the sound changing to a muted thud as he stepped onto a richly colored rug. He stopped before a massive stone fireplace and viewed the leather sofas and large armoire that undoubtedly cost more than he made in a month. Not a thing was out of place in the entire room—except maybe him.

Memories had washed over him when he’d pulled through the wrought-iron gates leading to Joe and Meredith Colton’s estate. He’d been fifteen when he’d first set foot on the grounds, angry, rebellious and scared to death, though he’d hidden the fear well, the way he’d learned to hide most emotions back then.

Meredith Colton had seen right through him. To this day, he didn’t know how she’d done it.

He fiddled with the clasp on his watch, slipped the band over his hand. Starting to pace again, he looped the watch over a finger and twirled it in a nervous gesture. He didn’t remember the room being so austere. Hell, he could have been looking at a picture in one of the dog-eared magazines in his waiting room.

They called this place Hacienda de Alegria. House of Joy. There didn’t appear to be much joy in it anymore.

Tripp hadn’t been back often over the years. It wasn’t as if he’d been one of Joe and Meredith’s real kids, or even one of their adopted children. He’d been a foster child. Not that he wasn’t thankful. Joe and Meredith had saved him from the streets of L.A., given him a home for one life-altering summer. Where he was today and who he’d become was due to their influence. They’d put up a good share of the money for college and med school. Tripp owed them, big-time and he’d worked his tail off to make them proud.

Pausing at a marble-topped table, he picked up a photograph. The two young boys in the picture looked to be about eight and ten. They were the youngest Colton children. He’d only seen them a couple of times, so it wasn’t surprising that they didn’t look familiar. Their mother, Meredith Colton sure should have looked more familiar, though. And yet, she didn’t. Oh, she was as beautiful as ever, but the image he’d carried in his mind of the woman who’d taken him in was in sharp contrast to the cool, brittle woman in the photograph. Something had happened to this family years ago, and no one had been able to fix it.

The heavy thud of footsteps behind him drew him around. Inez Ramirez smiled as she approached, muttering that Joe was going to be tied up on the phone for some time yet. Tripp expected Inez to suggest he come back another time. Instead, she bustled over, retrieved the photograph from his hand, and, returning it to the table, said, “Everyone is fidgety today. Go. Wait out by the pool. Get some sun and fresh air.”

Inez had aged during the seventeen years since Tripp had stayed here. Her black hair now had a wide streak of gray that started at her forehead and disappeared in the bun at her nape. She ushered him through the living room and into the courtyard. “You wait out there. You relax.”

She was still as bossy as ever.

“I’m thirty-two years old, Inez. Not six.”

“Thirty-two is a good age, I think.”

“A good age for what?”

Her smile was smug. It put him on edge, because a smile like that always meant that a woman had something up her sleeve.

She slapped something into his hand. “A good age to feel young. Enjoy the sunshine.” With that, she turned on her heel and disappeared.

Tripp knew better than to argue with a woman like Inez Ramirez. And he wanted to talk to Joe. He supposed he could wait out here as well as inside.

The hand he smoothed over his shirt did little to erase the wrinkles it’d gotten as a result of the hour of sleep he’d caught at the hospital. Wandering to a table near the pool, he noticed a tray containing glasses and a tall pitcher of iced tea. Next, he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. Well, well, well. He wasn’t alone in the courtyard.

One woman appeared to be sleeping, fully clothed, on a chaise lounge on the other side of the pool. Another woman clad in a pale lavender swimsuit was on all fours near the center of the garden. He couldn’t see her face, but this angle awarded him a view of long legs and the nicest rear end he’d seen in a long time.

“Lose something?” he called.

The woman swung around in surprise. Shading her eyes with one hand, a smile spread slowly across her face. “Why, Tripp Calhoun! I didn’t know you were here.”

“Amber Colton. It’s been a while.”

She placed a finger to her lips. “Shh. Claire’s sleeping.”

He cast a cursory glance at the other woman, who hadn’t so much as moved a muscle, then walked a little closer to Amber. From this position he could see the tan line along the inner swells of her breasts. It wasn’t easy not to stare. She certainly had curves in all the right places. Her hips flared just enough to entice a man’s imagination and her legs were long.

“You’re probably thinking I remind you of my mother.”

His eyebrows arched before he could stop them. That wasn’t what he’d been thinking at all. “I don’t recall ever seeing your mother pull weeds wearing a purple bikini.”

As if she was suddenly aware of the view she was inadvertently awarding him, she rose almost shyly to her feet. Amber Colton, shy?

She glanced at the bottle of sunscreen in his hand. “Did Inez send you out with that?”

Inez. Ah. So this was what she’d had up her sleeve. “That woman is trying to start something.”

“With you?” Amber asked.

He nodded.

No, Amber Colton definitely wasn’t shy. She was very blond, extremely pretty. He’d wondered how tall she was. Now that she was standing he’d put her at close to five-six. A leggy five-six.

He jerked his gaze away before he got caught looking. “Very funny. Obviously, Inez doesn’t know that I’m not the type to have a tête-à-tête with a rich little heiress out by the mansion’s pool.”

A blind man would have caught the haughty lift of Amber’s chin. Tripp figured he probably deserved the scathing comment that was certain to follow. After all, he hadn’t exactly been nice. Truthful, but not nice.

There was a terse silence. But the scathing comment never came. She didn’t accept the bottle of sunscreen from his outstretched hand, either. Instead, she strolled to an ornate bench and reached for a white cover-up. When she’d fastened the last big button, she said, “I still say your name should be Chip, not Tripp, to go with the mountain-sized chip you carry around on your shoulder.”

They stared at each other, unmoving.

A memory swirled over Tripp, and he smiled, a rarity for him. “That was the first thing you said to me the summer I stayed here.” She’d been what, nine or ten? That would make her twenty-six or seven now. “You’ve grown up, Amber.”

Amber found herself gazing into Tripp’s dark brown eyes, and wondering… Oh, no she didn’t. After that last comment of his, she wasn’t about to give in to the curious swooping sensation tugging at her insides.

Stark and white, his smile did crazy things to her heart rate. She dragged her gaze away. It was bad enough that his look sent a tingling to the pit of her stomach. She would be darned if she would let him know it.

She remembered the first time she saw him. He’d been fifteen, lean and belligerent and street-smart. He was still lean today, but his shoulders were wider, his chest thicker. His jet-black hair wasn’t as long as hers anymore, but it was still too long to be considered reputable. There was more than a hint of Latino in his features, passed on to him from one of his grandfathers, who had immigrated to America when still a boy. The first time she’d laid eyes on Tripp, she’d thought he looked like Zorro, the legendary superhero her brothers used to pretend to be when they were kids.

With his looks, he could have acted on one of those medical dramas or police-detective shows. Tripp was a pediatrician now. Her gaze caught on the gold stud in his ear; he certainly didn’t look like the pediatricians she’d visited as a child.