Sam, her heart cried and her mind responded. She was running again. Only this time she was running away from love, the one thing she had sworn that when she found it she would never let it go. She held her head with shaking hands, willing the ache to go away.
But she had no choice. Her heart had almost broken when she had quietly packed her bags and called the cab this morning. Against her better judgment, she had tiptoed in to see Sam once more, fighting the desire to kiss his forehead. He had been in a deep sleep, his arm still stretched out as if she was there. She couldn't make up her mind then whether to laugh or cry. He looked like the perfect choice for a hero until his cheeks dimpled from a funny thought or dream—then he looked like a little boy about to do some delightful mischief. It was almost her undoing.
But she steeled herself to leave, knowing that to stay would eventually kill his love. How could he still love her, really love her and not feel pity, when he knew all about her background?
And she needed time to think. Time to sort out the mess she had made of her life and see if she could pull herself back together. Sam would help, she knew, but then she might never learn what was really important to her and where her priorities should lie.
This way was better. Better for him. Although she didn't know if she could really believe that this hurt would make her a better person. She sniffed. Character-building? She almost choked on that one. She'd had enough happen to her in the past to build enough character for ten!
Not like Sam, though. He had built his own character, and it was firm where she was brittle, his was soft where she had none, his was tender when she didn't know what it was like. He was so vulnerable, and she was afraid of hurting him more by staying than by leaving. He was so good. So very, very good. And he made her feel that way, too. While she had been with him she had felt good and honest and wanted and needed… and happier than she had ever been before.
So why did she leave? She couldn't answer the question entirely. She was all mixed up and she couldn't seem to put her thoughts into any proper order. All she knew was that she would contaminate him by asking for his help with the problems she had created.
She knew she deeply loved Sam. And Sam wasn't the type to love forever—his past history had proven that. He would want to have a good stable relationship for a while, then move on to another girl, another toothbrush and another answering service. Oh, she knew about the phone calls that came in for Sam. He must have had an entire stable of girls after him constantly if his phone calls were anything to go by!
And that was not the kind of man who could change into a husband overnight.
The toothbrushes. In her quick flight this morning, she had still taken time to round up those damn toothbrushes and dump them all in the kitchen garbage can. She could have flogged herself for doing that! Would he see them and realize that even though she was leaving, she couldn't stand the thought of someone else taking her place? Would he know that although she couldn't have him, she cared so much that she couldn't allow someone else to have him, either? She prayed he wouldn't see the evidence of her folly.
Finally her thoughts and dreams stopped scurrying around like mice in the dark, and she slept. But her last thought was that she wished Sam were there to hold her close and tell her everything would be all right.
12
Sam unlocked the door to his house and walked in, his feet dragging as he made his way to the kitchen and a quick shot of tequila. He should drink the whole damn bottle, taking a shot for every one of the ten days that Catherine had been gone, but his mouth already puckered at the thought. He just wasn't a good enough drunkard to lose himself in booze.
He had tried everything. He had contacted Jace and April, Catherine's agent, the movie studio and even contacted that bastard of a stepfather. God knows how many hours he had spent in that house in the canyons, hoping—no praying—that she would return for some of her things. But she hadn't. And no one knew or was telling where she was. He had even sat down and dialed enough hotels to give his fingers blisters, but none had given him her room. She had covered her tracks well.
At first Sam had believed that Catherine only wanted to be chased. Once he'd found her she would fall into his arms and declare her love for him. He would smile and hold her soft, wonderful body close and tell her that she was his and he would never let go. Then she would smile up at him like she used to. His fist crashed down on the counter. Dammit! He knew she loved him! She had done everything but say so!
He had even found the toothbrushes. Catherine had carefully taken every one out of the cabinet and thrown them into the trash in the kitchen: It was stupid, but it was the only thing he had to hold on to. A woman who didn't care for her lover and wanted to call off their relationship wouldn't bother wondering what toothbrush her replacement would use. It was the only hope he had.
Slowly, with the help of the others he had contacted, he had pieced together more of her life. The parts she had left out. The private investigator had helped there. It read like a tragedy that no one wanted to admit to. Or a movie that couldn't quite get that old B rating because some of it was so corny and unbelievable. And he marveled at the strength of character that had made her into the warm, wonderful human that she was. It amazed him.
Her life had revealed a pattern to him. She was running away from him because she had been too happy. He was sure of that, as stupid as it sounded. All her life, despite her push for success, she had felt that she didn't deserve to reap the rewards her career brought her. She was as much afraid of success and happiness as she craved it. She was like a child who believed that if the gods above saw she was content, they would take away that contentment. As long as she wasn't entirely happy, then she could have the small snatches she came across… then run.
That also explained the two women he always thought she was. One of them was the Catherine everyone knew, especially the press. The other was the little girl who grew into Kitty Slovak, the one who felt she deserved little happiness and knew so very much pain. He now knew why she had left home, such as it was, and her stepfather behind. And why she was so frightened of a dirty old man who believed that he was owed the world. It was revealing to him that she had signed her note with that name, Kitty Slovak. She had been so vulnerable at the time and so very ready to chase those gods away from him so he could live in the peace she so desperately craved.
Only he had no peace. Catherine Sinclair, Kitty Slovak: combined, they were both the woman he loved and he was going to get her back if he had to go into a caveman routine and pull her home by her long blond hair!
He downed another tequila.
Somehow Jace had to have the answer. He had to know something, anything about Catherine and her whereabouts. He had to!
He downed another tequila.
Certainly she would get in touch with Jace. He was her friend and she needed to talk to someone. Why not me, his heart cried out, but he didn't have the answer.
He downed another tequila.
"Jace, ol' buddy. You're gonna sing!" He chuckled at his words, only his eyes were almost closed with pain. Picking up the bottle, he walked, swaying slightly, toward the front door. He'd just pay a call to ol' Jace and get some straight answers!
That called for another shot of tequila.
When April opened the front door, Sam stumbled in. The bottle was nearly empty and his head was filled with thoughts that made no sense. Except the part that concerned Catherine.
"My God!" she murmured, practically pulling him into the living room. "You're a mess and you smell like a Mexican brewery!"
"Tequila," he slurred. "Jes' a little. Get Jace. I need to talk to Jace."
"He'll be here in a little while, Sam. Meanwhile, go lie down in the guest room and I'll tell you when he comes." Her hands were on her hips, a smile on her face, but concern was deep in her eyes. She had never seen Sam drunk before, and the thought really frightened her.
With April's help, he made it down the wide, tiled hallway to the bedroom,
plopping on the bed with a groan and a hand to his head. No matter how hard she tried, April couldn't get one of his feet off the floor and onto the mattress.
"Need it there to steady me," he finally muttered and she left him alone.
Much later he heard voices. Opening his eyes, he saw three Jaces swimming around the room. Damn man wouldn't hold still. Even for a friend! He only heard snatches of conversation.
"Do you think I should call her? She certainly didn't think this would happen!"
"Do you know where she is?"
"Yes, she called yesterday. She's as mixed up as he is." Jace's voice was laden with irony. "She just wanted to know if he was all right."
April's voice murmured something Sam couldn't catch and he was too tired to open his mouth and ask her to repeat it.
Then Jace spoke. "And I don't know if I can talk any sense into either of them. But I'll try. Starting with Catherine."
Sam nodded his head sagely, not realizing it looked as if he was bobbing for apples. His mouth still wouldn't work and all that came out was a muffled groan. But his mind answered. You tell her, Jace! Go to it! He turned, groaned and cuddled the pillow to him.
April shook her head as she stared down at Sam. "And to think I once said I wanted to be around when he was finally snared in the net of love. I really thought it'd be fun to have the last laugh," she murmured.
Catherine dried her tears for the umpteenth time and walked to the door of her bungalow. The knock had been unexpected until she remembered that starting today she had ordered all her meals to be brought at a certain time each day. For more than a week she had gone into the restaurant only sporadically. That wasn't a proper diet. The kitchen and bellboy were ahead of schedule but at least they were here. A small part of her craved to be back in Sam's kitchen where she could concoct new recipes to her heart's delight, but she shoved that thought away.
Her heart did a flip-flop when she answered the door. "Jace!"
His face was stern with lines, his brown eyes seeking hers to make sure she was all right. Then he noticed the tears that glistened in her eyes and knew that she had been crying again. She wiped them quickly away as if ashamed.
"You're in no better shape than Sam is," he said bluntly.
"Oh? And what shape is that?" She turned her back to him, leaving him standing in the doorway. He came in and shut the door with a quiet, definite sound.
"He's at my house, in my guest bedroom, passed out."
She turned quickly. "Drunk?"
"Yes."
"Oh, my God!" she whispered. "He never drinks much! Not even those terrible margaritas he's always making!"
"I know. But he is dead drunk. He's called everyone he can think of to try and find you." Jace came up and held her shoulders, making her look at him. "Please see him, Kitty. He loves you."
"I know," she sniffled, dropping her head to touch his chest. "I know, but it won't work."
"Then tell him so, but at least see him."
"I can't." She shook her head back and forth, and her blond hair spilled on his hands.
"Why not?" he asked, totally exasperated. "For heaven's sake, why not?"
Suddenly her head snapped up and her blue eyes shot sparks. "You wouldn't understand! He's not for me! I'm not good for him!"
"Oh, Catherine, don't go all dramatic on me! This is real life, not some soap opera!"
"Right! And this 'real life' says that it wouldn't work and it's better cutting it off now than attempting to later!" Her hands splayed on his chest. "Please, Jace. Don't make this harder."
He ran a hand through his dark hair. "All right. I don't understand, but I do know that you two have to work it all out yourselves. April and I did, and you will, too, eventually."
"I don't think so."
He gave a hard laugh. "Then you don't know Sam Lewis."
She turned and walked to the back of the small bungalow, her hands over her stomach. "I think I'm going to have a baby, Jace. Sam's baby."
The tension stretched into unbearable silence and she faced him once again, only to catch his expression of pain. "Oh, Lord," he muttered. "Oh, good Lord."
"And I can't go back to him, Jace. I have my reasons, strange though they may be. He certainly doesn't need me to nurse him back from a hangover, and tomorrow he'll think twice about needing or loving me. Next week he'll almost have forgotten, and by next year, he will hardly remember my name. But I have the future of a child to think of. Just like you do. I have to make sure this baby is loved and cared for, just like you must. I have to. And going back to Sam wouldn't help, it would only make things worse. Soon he'd grow to resent me, and I don't think I could stand that. He's never even mentioned marriage! Not once!"
She paused to take a deep breath before continuing. "Besides, there are things in my past that I don't think he needs to know, but he would if I stayed around. And then we could all sit and watch while he slowly turns against me, hating me more and more every day." She gave a bitter laugh. "Fun at Sam and Kitty's."
Jace looked more puzzled than ever, and she knew she would never be able to tell him that her greatest fear was that Sam would find out she was a big fraud, a nothing. Her stepfather and the writing on the walls could confirm that. And she didn't want to be there when it happened. "But, Kitty, those are all things that could be worked out."
"No." She shook her head, the blueness of her eyes showing the determination she felt. "Never in a million years, Jace. Never." She choked on the last words.
Jace took her in his arms, cradling her against the pain he knew she felt. "All right, Kitty. All right. I won't tell him where you are," he crooned as she cried again. Who knew whether or not she was right? He only knew he wanted to stop her hurt.
13
Catherine sat in the reception area of her agent's office, her legs crossed, her hands quietly in her lap. Her large-brimmed white hat hid half her face from the receptionist, but the young girl gave an envious glance every minute or so, anyway.
She had already been kept waiting five minutes, but it didn't matter. She had other, more important things to think about. She shifted her legs and recrossed them.
Now she knew for certain that she was pregnant. A child grew in her, depended upon her for life, and she had known it earlier with such a certainty that it was frightening. She had no experience with pregnancy, no vast knowledge to pull from, but she knew. According to her calculations she should be six weeks pregnant. An at-home test confirmed it and an appointment with a doctor tomorrow would establish it as fact.
She smiled. Never in her life had she taken such good care of herself as she had in the past few weeks. She took her vitamins regularly, ate three well-balanced meals a day and got a minimum of eight hours of sleep a night. She walked the grounds of the hotel for exercise and sometimes went into the hotel gym to ride their exercise bike. This baby was going to have the best start that she and God could give it.
These past weeks had also been a private, time. Time to withdraw, regroup and take a look at herself. Something she had never done properly before.
It was ironic in a way. For the past two weeks she had gone through such inner turmoil, forcing herself to see, really see, herself and the goals she wanted to strive for in life. She had finally blended Catherine Sinclair and Kitty Slovak together, and she was proud of herself and her accomplishments for the first time in her life. She had balanced her assets against her deficits, just like a bookkeeper, and realized that she was in the black. And now that she knew what she really wanted, she couldn't have it. The love she had for Sam was all that was important, but she found she couldn't go back to him because she was pregnant. The man she had fallen in love with was the perfect choice, but the time was wrong. She wasn't the perfect choice for him.
He would hate her for boxing him in this way. He was neither suited for nor had asked to be a father. No, it would be a forced marriage for him when marriage had never before been mentioned. She could have cornered him into doing the right thing becau
se he would have felt responsible enough for both of them.
She rested her hand on her stomach, thinking of the small baby there. This child was going to have all the love and time and attention she could lavish. She didn't know how, but she was going to be a model mother. She was going to give this child, their child, everything she had never had. Cookies and milk in the afternoon, lots of hugs and kisses and a sunny house that rang with laughter and love. It was her second chance to prove she was worth something.
And she had made another decision about her life-style and career. One that she would discuss with Tommy today.
"Miss Sinclair? Right this way," the young receptionist said as she ushered her toward the large, walnut-stained double doors. The receptionist appraised the jade-green silk suit and the crisp white blouse with a knowing eye, realizing it probably cost more than her own weekly salary. Some people had fortune and fame handed to them on a silver platter, while others had to work for it, she seemed to be thinking.
Catherine smiled knowingly. She'd seen that look before.
"Catherine, baby!" Tommy came around the desk and met her halfway across the room. His style was strictly Los Angeles, a pair of hand-tailored dark slacks with a dark silk shirt, and the required two heavy gold chains around his stubby neck. He was an almost attractive man who always looked as if he had just completed a huge meal and needed to unbuckle his belt before his stomach ached. "Good of you to come on such short notice."
"No problem, Tommy. I needed to talk with you, anyway," she said quietly, finally pulling her hand back from his damp grasp.
He showed her to the Morris chair, the seat of honor, and moved around the desk to sit in his own large executive chair. Giving a sigh of contentment, he folded his hands together and looked at her. A delightful beam seemed to light his eyes. "I've got a contract for you that will knock your socks off. Besides that, we've managed to get you an option on a new film. That means you're assured of doing two films and really getting your feet wet in the movies." He grinned even more. "A whole new career."
A Woman's Choice Page 17
