The Trophy Wife. Sandra Steffen

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      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      One

      Amber Colton stared at her bare feet. Her nail polish was chipped on the big toenail of her left foot. She sighed. She checked her fingernails and sighed again. There had to be more to life than nail polish.

      If she listened hard enough, she could hear the ocean. She could smell it on the air, too, but she couldn’t feel it. Whether it had been due to luck or planning, this portion of the garden was protected from the cool wind that could blow in off the ocean at a moment’s notice no matter what the season.

      Looping one arm around her bent knees, she shaded her eyes and studied the cotton-candy clouds in the sky. There was a time when finding clouds shaped like elephants, mushrooms and all sorts of other objects had kept her and her brothers and sisters busy for hours at a time. Back then, the patio surrounding the pool had been wet constantly from so many children splashing, and voices, sometimes a dozen at a time, rang through the courtyard.

      And Amber had never been bored.

      She pushed a shock of her strawberry-blond hair away from her face and rose to her feet. She never should have come home in this mood. She should have taken her friends up on their invitation to go to the Cayman Islands with them. But she just couldn’t muster up enough enthusiasm to brave the airsickness that inevitably plagued her when she flew, just to watch the sun go down from another hemisphere.

      It was the same sun. The same life. The same feeling of restlessness that threatened to drive her to tears. No, not to tears. Amber Colton didn’t cry, not anymore.

      At twenty-six she was far too young for boredom and restlessness to become a permanent condition. It would pass. She shouldn’t have taken today off, that’s all. But lately despite the fact that her work at the Hopechest Foundation was meaningful and worthwhile, she felt as if something was missing, and had been for a long time. She’d had vacation time to use up and she’d been missing her dad something awful, so she’d driven out from Fort Bragg to her childhood home in Prosperino to visit him. Still, Amber felt terribly alone. And bored. God, yes, she was bored.

      She’d been bored last night, too. Her friend Claire Davis must have heard it in her voice when Amber had called her last night. Claire had shown up at the ranch at five this morning. Amber glanced at the woman who was sleeping soundly in the shade on the other side of the pool. Claire was a good friend. Amber sighed. A good friend who just happened to be nocturnal.

      She didn’t know what prompted her to peer into the backyard. A tiny bit of color caught her eye. For lack of any clear plan, she meandered to the edge of the formal-looking path.

      Other than the ornamental and showy variety, there weren’t many flowers in the garden anymore. Once upon a time, her mother had spent hours on end filling the garden with lush green foliage and flowering plants native to California. For the past ten years, the gardening had been another of poor Marco’s responsibilities. He managed to keep it fairly neat and tidy, but the riot of beautiful yet casual colorful flowers was but a memory these days.

      Amber bent down. The tiny pink blossoms nearly hidden from view were more than a mere memory. Somehow, the plants had survived all these years of neglect. Curiosity sent Amber to her knees. From there, it was easy to get down on all fours and stretch out until she could reach the weeds growing behind the ornamental shrubs СКАЧАТЬ