Separate Beds Read Online Free PDF Page A

She snorted derisively. “Don't flatter yourself, Forrester! It may surprise you to learn that not every girl who finds herself pregnant wants to marry the man. I made one mistake last July, but that doesn't mean I'm going to make a second by forcing you to marry me.”
    “If you're innocent, tell me just how in the hell your old man knew who to come to. Somebody pointed him in my direction.”
    “I did not point!”
    “Then how did he choose me to come after?”
    She suddenly clammed up, turned her back on him and walked around the car, saying, “I believe I will take a ride home after all.” And she got in.
    He got in, too, leaving one foot out on the gravel so the light would remain on while he grilled her.
    “Don't avoid the issue,” he demanded. “How?”
    “I did not give him your name. I refused to tell him anything!”
    “I don't believe you. How did he find out then?” Clay saw how she worried her lower lip between her teeth, refusing to look at him.
    Catherine willed her mouth to stop forming explanations for his benefit, but she was not the cunning woman he thought, and it galled her to be accused this way.
    “How?” he repeated, waiting.
    Her nostrils flared, she stared straight out over the dash, but finally divulged, “I keep a diary.” Her tone was quieter and her eyelids flickered slightly.
    “You what?”
    “You heard me,” she said to the window on her side.
    “Yes, I heard, but I'm not sure I understand. You mean he found it?” It was beginning to dawn on Clay just what kind of unscrupulous bastard her father really was.
    “Leave me alone. I've already said more than I wanted to.”
    “There's a lot at stake here. I deserve to know the truth if that baby is really mine. Now answer me. Did he find it?”
    “Not exactly.”
    “What then?”
    She sighed, laid her head back against the seat but continued staring out the window away from him. Then from the side he saw her eyelids slide shut wearily, almost resignedly. Her voice lost much of its agitation.
    “Listen, none of this has anything to do with you. Leave it be. What he is and what he did was never supposed to enter into it. I only wanted to keep your parents from paying his demands. That's why I came along.”
    “Don't change the subject, Catherine. He found the diary and found my name, right?”
    She swallowed. “Right,” she whispered.
    “How did he find it?”
    “Oh, for God's sake, Clay, I've kept a diary since I was in pinafores! He knew it was there someplace. He didn't just find it, he ripped my room apart until he found the evidence he was always accusing me of. You wanted the truth, there it is.”
    Something coiled in Clay's gut. His voice softened. “Didn't anybody try to stop him?”
    “I wasn't there. My mother wouldn't try to stop him if she could. She's scared of her own shadow, to say nothing of him. You don't know my old man. There's no stopping him when he gets something in his head. The man's insane.”
    Clay pulled his foot inside and slammed the car door. He sat brooding, putting it all together, then cradled the steering wheel in both arms, clasping a wrist behind it. At last he looked back over his shoulder at her. “I'm almost afraid to ask . . . what was in it?”
    “Everything.”
    With a small moan he lowered his forehead to the steering wheel. “Oh, God . . .”
    “Yes,” she repeated quietly. “Oh, God . . .”
    “I take it you remembered that night more clearly than I did?” he asked, embarrassed now himself.
    “I'm no different than any other girl. It was my first time. I'm afraid I was quite explicit about my feelings and the events of that night.”
    The silence lengthened and Catherine's composure slipped. It was far more disconcerting having him even remotely sympathetic than having him angry. After some time he sank back against his seat, shuddering a sigh, leaning an elbow high on the window ledge and rolling his face aside to knead the bridge of his nose. The long,