A Woman's Choice

by Rita Clay Estrada

  That damn man! Catherine fumed all the way to the house. She was exhausted, angry and frustrated, and all because of him.

  Who did he think he was? Her shining start Fat chancel Her lover? Not on a bet! She wouldn't stand in line for anyone. Her friend? Hardly! A friend didn't put you in line for loving, but gave it freely when you needed it.

  That thought led to another that almost jolted her out of her seat. Was she going crazy? She had never had friends! Friends were people who asked you for things, who knew too much about you and turned on you when it came down to the wire. She put friends in the same category as she put family—both should be shared by someone else. But not her. Never her.

  A bitter taste entered her mouth. She must have been under a spell these past few days or she never would have succumbed to Sam's charms. Exhausted she was, but crazy she wasn't. Her relationship with Sam would wind up quickly; as soon as they found the thief who was breaking into her house and destroying her peace of mind. Until then she would use him. After that, she didn't care if he lived or died as long as he wasn't taking up space in her backyard. The old toughness was returning. She'd make it and she'd make it on her own. She didn't need anyone's help, especially a woman-chasing attorney who probably needed another notch on his bedpost just to keep up his morale! And especially one who placed the blame on an innocent woman! Poor April. If Sam was her best friend, she was in deeper trouble than she knew!

  They began ascending the canyon road and her thoughts turned away from Sam to the house she had rented. Last night had been the most terrifying night of her life.

  When her necklace had been stolen there was the possibility that she had left the door unlocked. But last night she knew the house had been locked and bolted. There was no accidental latch left undone, no window left open for ventilation. She had triple checked everything before going out.

  Someone had the key.

  But who? She had told Sam about her mother, but even in her deepest fear she hadn't really believed it was her. Besides, she paid the hospital bills and her accountant kept track of everything for her, so he would have known if her mother had left the sanitarium and when.

  Her mother.

  She hadn't even been that terrified when she'd watched her mother and stepfather stumble and curse their anger at the injustices of life and then finally pass out from cheap liquor bought by the case, thanks to their daughter's paycheck as a sweeper and cleaner at the local hairdresser's. That hadn't been terror in those days, it had been disgust and fear of the future.

  This was different. Who would write those horrid things about her? True, they were the same things her mother used to throw into the air in a fit of temper, but whoever wrote these things had an inbred hate for her. She might not be anyone's idea of the perfect woman, but she certainly had not deserved those awful insults.

  She tensed, realizing just how close they were coming to the driveway that read Castaways on the burnt wood sign. Something, some faraway thought in the back of her mind tickled her memory, but she couldn't bring it forward. That was almost as frightening as the robbery.

  As they pulled into the driveway, Sam's hand came across the seat and covered hers, giving a light squeeze. She turned her head sharply, surprised at his thoughtfulness after the thoughts she'd been having earlier.

  "It'll be all right, Catherine. The police are there," he said reassuringly.

  "I know," she answered, wishing her voice wouldn't sound so shaky. One year ago she would have sounded cool no matter what had happened, but her extreme exhaustion and mental state weren't conducive to cool voice and even cooler thoughts. She felt scattered, indecisive, unable to cope with everything at once.

  The police photos had already been taken and the mirrors erased, thank goodness. And only the uniformed officers were there. They sat in the living room smoking cigarettes and lounging in the chairs as they awaited their superior officer.

  As Catherine and Sam walked in, Sam gave her hand another squeeze, telling her once more that she wasn't alone. She squeezed back, unwilling to analyze why she felt so comforted by his presence.

  "Miss Sinclair, if you like, you have time to freshen up before Sergeant Donovan returns. He said he'd be back within the hour," the younger man said, his eyes staring admiringly at the small, but very feminine, blonde in front of him.

  She smiled. This man, like most, she could handle. "Thank you. Why doesn't someone put on a pot of coffee? I'm sure you could use a little refreshment."

  His grin widened even more as he ambled past her toward the kitchen. As he reached the door he turned to take one more look at her, and, with an audacity that reminded her of earlier days, she winked.

  He blushed, then winked back before practically swaggering through the doorway.

  Sam's hand dropped hers as if it were on fire. She ignored him even though the tension flowed from his body to enfold her like a sticky cocoon. Dammit! He had no right to tie her up as if she were a package to be placed under his Christmas tree. He had no right! She had to show him that she wasn't a man's possession. She held no strings on him and certainly didn't want strings attached to her.

  "Excuse me," she murmured as she turned toward the staircase and began the ascent to her room.

  Sam's voice interrupted her path. "Don't forget to pack a suitcase of whatever you'll need at my house… darling," he said with an intimate note in his voice.

  She bristled. Stopping on the fifth step and looking down her nose autocratically, because she was taller than he was, she frowned. "I'll think about your generous offer of a room, Mr. Lewis. I haven't made up my mind, yet."

  "Oh, yes you have, darling. Don't play games in front of the police. They already know you've been with me since the robbery and will be with me until this is solved." This time his voice was laced with a promise…probably to beat her if she didn't play his way!

  "We'll see," she murmured as she continued on upstairs. His nerve was worse than her own. How dare he embarrass her that way. How dare he push her into situations she neither made nor wanted. The pig! The male chauvinist pig! She slammed her bedroom door, sending him her message with sound. He was probably laughing at her with those policemen right now. He was probably telling them…

  Common sense came to the fore. No, he wasn't. Sam might be a lot of things, but he certainly wasn't vindictive. She had served him and his suggestion on a platter, and he had just served it back.

  The anger drained as quickly as it had come. Next came a small giggle as she remembered his jealousy with the policeman. Sam had been downright angry! But anger wasn't the reason for his announcing their living arrangement. Trying to put him in his place had made him stand up to her. He might be a bit possessive, but he wasn't ordinarily rude. If she hadn't pushed, he wouldn't have shoved back. And she knew it.

  She entered the bathroom and began washing her hands and face, letting the cool water soothe her skin.

  Ever since she had met the man, Sam had been an enigma. He was so honest and open in his emotions, so earnest in his approach. She had been the one playing games. Suddenly the smile left her face. She had always been the one playing games: dreaming, wishing, manipulating others. And she had been the one who had gotten hurt. A bad taste of the past entered her mouth and she quickly swallowed.

  She grabbed a towel from the rack and patted her face dry. She didn't want to think of all the things she had done wrong. She didn't want to feel those guilt feelings pile up until she could hardly breathe or look another person in the face. When that happened, she could hardly cope…

  The click of the door told her that Sam was standing there, watching, her. She ignored him although she could hardly disregard the racing of her pulse and her quickened breathing.

  Placing the towel back on the rack, she began fumbling in her makeup drawer. The only sound was the clink of bottles being moved about. Still he said nothing.

  She didn't glance at him, but her peripheral vision told her that he was lounged against the doorjamb, arms
crossed. He looked totally relaxed but she knew it wasn't so, for tension still emanated from him.

  Finally she couldn't take it any longer. "Did you want something?" she asked with distinct disinterest as she lightly stroked a pencil on her brow.

  "Yes."

  "What?"

  "You."

  A shiver went down her spine with the meaning of that one word. She placed the pencil carefully on the counter and turned to look at him for the first time. She raised one brow, her mouth curving into the semblance of a mocking smile. "Really? That doesn't make you special, Sam," she said softly but with threaded steel underneath.

  "Oh, but it does," he answered, equally softly. His eyes narrowed as he gave her the same hint of a smile she had given him. Her spine stiffened. She was on dangerous ground, only she wasn't sure why.

  "How so?"

  "Because you've never been with a man like me before, and you know it."

  This time her brows raised in honest surprise. She had underestimated his ego. And she had underestimated her own reaction to him. But she bluffed, anyway. "And what makes you so special? Your money? Your position? Your expertise as a lover?" Her voice was derisive.

  "Because I take you as you are: a bitchy, sometimes nice, sometimes scared, sometimes lonely woman. I've seen parts of your personality that no one else has seen. I've seen you at your best… and at your worst."

  "And what makes you the expert?" She turned back to the mirror to place blush on her now white cheeks. Her hand shook slightly as she held the large, fluffy, sable brush.

  "Far more women in my life than men in yours. You're a quick learner, Catherine. If there had been more men in your life for you to learn from, you'd know what I know about the opposite sex." His tone had turned conversational, his smile more relaxed.

  "I've learned enough," she snapped, dropping the brush on the counter. "At least enough to know that you're a pompous ass to think you can read my thoughts and my emotions!" Her temper was ripe now. Was he so stupid that he couldn't understand her anger?

  Not a muscle in Sam's face tightened. In fact, if anything, he was smiling wider. "Don't underestimate me, Catherine. I'm easygoing and relaxed most of the time. I enjoy the banter that can only come between two people who can connect on more than one level, such as you and I can. But I have a tenacity that matches yours, otherwise neither of us would be where we are right now. Start thinking of me as a fan and I'll know you're less bright than I've given you credit for."

  He was laughing at her! Heat filled her body, charging through her head until she could barely see. No one laughed at her! No one! Without being conscious of what she was doing, she slapped his face, the sharp sound echoing around the tiled room.

  Sam didn't move a muscle; he just watched her through narrowed lids as she began trembling.

  "I'm sorry," she whispered, fear snaking through her body. Tears pierced the corners of her eyes.

  "I'm not," he said in a low voice. "You wouldn't have gotten so upset if I hadn't pushed you." His hands reached out and grasped her shoulders as he continued to stare into her eyes. "But I will never stand still for you to slap me again. Remember that." His fingers tightened their hold. "I said that I'd spank you if you ever did that again. Well, I've got a better idea."

  With lightning quick movement his head lowered and he claimed her lips, ruthlessly searching her mouth for the truth of her reactions. She answered just as fervently as he questioned, her arms wrapping around his neck to draw him even closer to her, hugging him like a talisman to ward off evil spirits. Tears coursed down her cheeks as she gave him back kiss for kiss, touch for touch. Her hands frantically searched his hair, his neck, his shoulders for purchase.

  Her movements were slowed by his own. He took her hands in his and held one to his chest to feel his beating heart, while the other he held close to his jaw. He needed her touch as much as she needed his presence. Were they both casting spells to ward off ghosts or were they really becoming necessary to each other? Catherine didn't know. But the beat of his heart against the palm of her hand was like a lullaby to her nerves. Sam was here, Sam was here.

  "Oh, Catherine, you're going to come to me without those walls. Soon. I can feel it," he muttered brokenly, finally resting his forehead against hers as his lips teased the tip of her nose. His hips delved gently into hers, swaying from side to side with a mesmerizing rhythm. "Feel that. That's what you do to me day and night. All you have to do is walk across the room and I'm dying inside to touch you like this, hold you against me."

  His confession echoed the hunger in her stomach and she swayed toward him, feeling his need build with just a few motions.

  "Do you even begin to understand just how much we need each other?" he questioned, his breath now stirring the tendrils of her hair.

  She leaned back to gaze up at him. His eyes were half closed and there was such a look of vulnerability about him. But she steeled herself to say what she had to say. "No, Sam. There's a big difference between need and want. I want you, I can't hide that fact. But I don't need you. I don't need anyone." She stood taller, forcing her body to pull away from his. Her blue eyes stared up at him, daring him to challenge her. "I will never, ever need anyone."

  Her voice held so much conviction that Sam was momentarily shaken. Then slowly he relaxed, forcing his breath to come more evenly. "You'll need me, Catherine Sinclair. Before this is all over, you'll need me." His voice held the promise of that threat, and she cringed at the thought of being dependent on anyone again. The words seemed to hover about her before Sam's hands dropped to his side and he turned and walked away, leaving her terribly alone in the now empty room.

  She waited fifteen minutes before she finally moved toward the staircase to go through the ordeal of the interview with the police. Trying to focus all her concentration on the interrogation ahead was harder than anything she had done. Sam's face, his heavy-lidded eyes filled with tenderness and need kept bursting into her brain. Feelings that were so confused she couldn't separate them into compartments filled her with more conflicting emotions. Everything was so complicated!

  Sam met her at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes searching hers before he took her hand and led her into the living room. They sat on the couch and faced the officer in charge, Catherine quietly answering the questions as best she could.

  It didn't take more than half an hour and it was over. Sam, confirming with the officer that all locks would be changed and new locks placed on the windows, hastily packed her suitcase himself and ushered her out to the car.

  She leaned against the headrest and closed her eyes, wishing herself on a desert island. The questions had brought back all the fear of last night when she'd walked in the house and had seen the scrawlings on the mirror. It trembled through her like wind through an aspen, leaving her shivering and shaking. It also confirmed another fear: the one that said she wasn't strong enough to hold her own. Would she ever be again?

  "They know the entry wasn't forced. There wasn't a mark anywhere on the doors or windows. Because it's a rental house, they'll have to find out how many people had the key to it. Since it's been rented so often and the locks haven't been changed in over three years, it will take time." Sam's voice cut into her thoughts and brought her back to the present.

  "I know," she answered tiredly, opening her eyes but not moving her head.

  "You're safe now, Catherine. It's all over as far as you're concerned."

  She nodded, too exhausted to argue with him. If it was over then why didn't she feel better? Why this dark cloud of dread that seemed to permeate her very skin? Was it because she was tired and rundown? Was it because she felt so very, very fragile? She gave a sigh. She didn't know and couldn't find answers that would put to rest those haunting questions.

  As Sam pulled the car into his driveway, he glanced at her. Her face was white, her eyes shadowed with a fear that only she knew the reason for. Visions of her lost to him crept into his thoughts, and he felt upset at his inability to he
lp her overcome her reaction to this mess.

  He took the keys from the ignition, but neither of them made a move to leave the close confines of the car. He turned in his seat, his head just inches from hers.

  "Catherine?"

  She stared at him, her head still relaxed against the headrest. "Hmm?"

  He smiled. "Nothing. Just… Catherine."

  "Sam," she breathed quietly.

  "Hmm?"

  "Nothing. Just… Sam."

  When his lips first touched hers they were so gentle they could have been a mere breeze. One, two, three times he kissed her to reassure her of his presence, and three times she allowed him to give her sustenance.

  Her hand came up and cradled the side of his jaw, her long nails touching the outline, the pads of her fingers feeling the tight strength of his flesh. It was the most intimate caress he had ever felt.

  He looked into her sky-blue eyes and saw himself. And his feelings for Catherine suddenly crystalized. He loved her. It was wonderful and awe-inspiring. It was the most frightening and depressing thing he had ever experienced. With that thought came another. He would make her love him. He would force her to see that they needed each other to complete their lives.

  God couldn't have made him capable of loving so deeply and then take away the one he loved. He couldn't! All Sam had to do was be patient with Catherine while he made her realize that he was the only man she would ever need or want.

  Why did he suddenly feel like a mountain climber without a safety rope?

  7

  Curled up in Sam's bed, sleep came easily to Catherine, just like it used to when she was a young girl. Whenever she had been depressed or lonely she would fall into a deep sleep, only wandering in and out of the real world long enough to eat and shower before going back into the dream world of oblivion. Now was no exception.