The Trophy Wife. Sandra Steffen

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 a dog. And my girlfriend’s dog had a litter of pups, and well…”

      Amber’s eyebrows raised a fraction. “Your girlfriend?”

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

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

      “Folks sure are gonna miss that man around here.”

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

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

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

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

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

      What was happening to her?

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

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

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

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

      “I was wondering if СКАЧАТЬ