The Trophy Wife. Sandra Steffen

miles, it was like her father always said: “Prosperino is near a lot of places, but you can’t get there from here.” Joe Colton compensated by flying whenever possible. Not Amber. She’d reached the brink of motion sickness negotiating the twenty-five mile stretch of Highway 101 that wound around cliffs and up and down hills over the coastal mountains. Flying would have done her in. Thank goodness the road that ran north and south on this side of the mountains was straighter and mostly four-lane.

      She took a shaky step, popped a breath mint into her mouth and peeled off her jacket. So this, she thought as she looked around, her heels clicking over the paved parking lot, was where Tripp worked. He was going to be so surprised to see her.

      The streets of Ukiah were lined with beautiful old Victorian houses. The sprawling hospital was old, too, but it looked as if it had been remodeled in recent years. Double doors slid open as she approached the building. Folding her jacket over one arm, she peered around the lobby trying to decide where to go from here.

      Across the waiting room, a short, heavyset nurse with broad shoulders and a hairstyle that resembled an army helmet stood behind a high counter.

      “Hello,” Amber said, sauntering closer.

      Clutching a pen between thick fingers, the gray-haired nurse looked at Amber over the tops of the reading glasses perched low on her broad nose. “May I help you?”

      Amber put on her friendliest smile. “I’d like to see Dr. Calhoun.”

      The only things that moved on the stern-faced nurse were the brown eyes giving Amber a thorough once-over. “He isn’t taking appointments this afternoon.”

      Amber eased closer and smiled conspiratorially. “That’s okay. I don’t have an appointment.”

      She knew the blunder for what it was the second it was out. Nurse Proctor—that was what her name badge said—turned her attention back to the chart. Amber was dismissed.

      Obviously, Nurse Proctor didn’t know that Amber wasn’t easily dismissed. “I won’t take up much of his time,” she said, trying on an even bigger smile.

      The nurse’s eyes remained fixed on the chart.

      Amber tried another tack. “I know he’s here because he told me he was coming here in answer to an emergency call.”

      “In that case you’ll understand why he can’t be disturbed.”

      Amber didn’t expect to pull him away from an emergency. That call had come hours ago. If he was still busy, fine. If not, what harm could there be in allowing her a moment or two to see him?

      “Is Tripp still in the building?”

      The nurse made a noncommittal reply without opening her mouth. Recognizing an impenetrable brick wall when she crashed into one, Amber moved away from the counter, as far out of range of Nurse Proctor’s peripheral vision as possible. She pretended a keen interest in her chipped manicure.

      The elevator dinged. The door opened, and a young man clad in green scrubs ambled into the lobby.

      “There you are, Fred!” The no-nonsense nurse motioned him to the desk. “They’re waiting for these charts up in OB.”

      With the jaunty walk of a guy who knew he looked good both coming and going, Fred took the charts and started back toward the elevator. Just then, a woman ran in from outside, yelling, “Somebody, help. I think my daughter’s ankle is broken!”

      Nurse Proctor rushed around the counter, grabbed a wheelchair and bustled toward the sliding doors. Amber slipped quietly into the elevator behind Fred.

      He punched a button. Leaving his hand hovering over the panel, he asked, “What floor?”

      She had no idea, but she said, “Three, I guess.”

      Brown eyes twinkled as he looked her up and down. “Looks like you’re going my way.”

      The door closed and the elevator slowly started to climb. Amber placed a hand to her stomach.

      “Are you afraid of heights?” he asked.

      She smiled wanly. “I get motion sick easily.”

      With a lift of his sandy-blond eyebrows, he grinned, his smile white and just crooked enough to look beguiling. “My sister swears by the ear patch. You need someone to take your mind off it. Lucky for you I’m here.” He looked her in the eye and smiled again. “My shift is almost over. We could grab a cup of coffee or a bite to eat or whatever…” His voice trailed off suggestively.

      The elevator continued to climb. “Look, Fred—”

      “Fredrico.”

      “But the nurse called you—”

      “Proctor calls me a lot of things. Trust me.”

      “Fredrico, I’m afraid there’s an age requirement any man I see must meet.”

      He eased closer. For a boy, he certainly knew his moves. “How old would I have to be?”

      “Old enough to vote.”

      “Too bad. You’re missing a great opportunity. If it’s true that men reach their sexual prime at seventeen, I hit that mark a mere two years ago. I may not be old enough to vote, but I can personally guarantee you that I haven’t even started to go downhill.”

      The elevator glided to a stop on the second floor. Leaning against the rail, Amber said, “You don’t say.”

      “I could prove it, if you’d like.”

      She held up one hand. “We’ll just consider it my loss. Could you tell me where I might find Dr. Calhoun?”

      “If you’ll tell me your phone number, we’ll make it an even exchange.”

      While Amber was chuckling, the door opened and a woman pushing a cumbersome cart got in. The door closed, taking the three occupants up to the next floor. The lady with the cart got off, and Fredrico said, “I know where Doc Calhoun is.”

      “You do?”

      “I’ll take you there, but you have to promise not to tell Proctor.”

      Amber grinned up at the sandy-haired young man. She’d felt strangely carefree ever since she’d talked to Tripp out in the garden, and she just couldn’t help responding to the secrecy in Fredrico’s expression. “Okay. I promise.”

      “He’s with a patient. This way.”

      They got off the elevator and strode through doors bearing a sign for authorized personnel only.

      At first, she couldn’t place the sound coming from someplace up ahead. Then it came again. Rounding a corner, she whispered, “Are dogs allowed in this hospital?”

      With a shake of his head, Fredrico pointed to a room up ahead. “It’s a little unconventional. Proctor can’t find out. There’s Doc Calhoun. See the little kid he’s with? His name’s P.J.”

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

      “What’s wrong with him?” Amber whispered.

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

      “Where is she?”

      “She died in the accident.”

      Both of Amber’s hands came up, covering her mouth. “What about his father?”

      “Nobody knows where he is. P.J.’s been here a week. There’s a good chance he’ll be okay, but his arm got cut up, and he’s gonna have to work to get full use back. He hasn’t exactly been responsive or cooperative. Yesterday Doc Calhoun noticed him watching a television show about