Charon's Crossing (A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novel)

by Sandra Marton

  "There's so much I should tell you," she said, "but I can't. I'm already in over my head. I live in a high-tech world... a complex one, I mean. And I work in a complex field, but I never realized how many things I've just accepted on faith without really understanding them."

  "Like me," Matthew said softly. He put his arm around her shoulder and drew her close to his side. They lay quietly, not talking, just luxuriating in the simple joy of being together.

  "I feel like a man just awakened from a long sleep," he murmured after a while. "My head spins with questions."

  "Well, ask them. I'll do my best to answer."

  "I should like to know more about the war. My war. It ended honorably, you said."

  "Absolutely."

  "How long did it last? What were the decisive battles? Did the Prince of Wales remain Regent or did the English finally find the balls to rid themselves of their corrupt aristocracy? And what of Madison? Did he—"

  "Stop!" Kathryn flung out her arms and groaned in mock dismay. "I give up."

  Matthew grinned, rolled onto his belly, and traced the outline of her lips with the tip of his finger.

  "Too many questions at once?"

  "Too many questions I can't answer. I can see now that I should have paid more attention to my history textbooks."

  "I find it difficult to believe you weren't a good student."

  "Oh, I was." She smiled. "But not of history."

  He bent his head and kissed her gently. "I wish I had had more formal schooling. At least, I learned to master my letters."

  "How?"

  "The mate of my first ship had a theory about idle hands and idle minds. He taught me to read and figure." He grinned. "I admit, other than the Song of Solomon, I didn't get much out of the Good Book, but I did come to enjoy reading Tacitus, years later, and a bit of Virgil and Caesar, without the mate's cane to goad me." He bent his head and kissed her, slowly and deeply, until she sighed with pleasure. "What were you like, when you were a little girl?"

  Kathryn linked her hands behind his neck

  "Let's see... well, I suppose I was obedient. And quiet."

  "Mmm. That's certainly difficult to picture."

  She laughed. "You seem to have brought out another side of me, Captain."

  Matthew smiled. "And you didn't like history."

  "No." She tugged his hair, pulled his face to hers and kissed his mouth. "But that was before I met a bit of history, in the flesh."

  "Aye," he said. He moved over her, so that his warm, bare chest brushed against her. "Very much in the flesh, if you'd like some proof."

  Kathryn's breath caught. "You're trying to change the subject."

  "Nay, why would I? The subject interests me greatly. Tell me more."

  Smiling, she stroked his hair back from his face. "You tell me. What do you think I was like, when I was little?"

  "Well, I can't envision you locked away in a schoolroom with that pretty nose tucked inside a book."

  "What do you see me doing, then?"

  "Picking flowers in a meadow, perhaps. Gazing at the stars. Reading poetry. Listening to old tales." He smiled. "And dreaming about princes and princesses, and dragons and knights and damsels in distress."

  Kathryn blinked. For the second time in one afternoon, forgotten memories were surfacing. It was like looking into a kaleidoscope and seeing old, familiar shapes become brand new.

  "You know, you're right," she said, her voice soft with surprise. "I loved stories like that, until my father went away."

  "And then?"

  "And then, I decided that I'd be better off trusting math and science texts instead of..." She fell silent and turned her face away, but not quickly enough to keep Matthew from seeing the glint of tears that suddenly appeared on her lashes.

  "Sweetheart?"

  "It's nothing," she choked, "just that—that all of a sudden I find myself wanting to believe in princes and princesses and forever after all over again."

  Gently, he turned her face to his and looked down at her. He knew that it made no sense to let her hope—but to know something with your intellect, and to believe it with your heart, were not the same. He whispered her name and gathered her into his arms. He kissed her, again and again, until her lips were soft and clinging to his and their heartbeats mingled.

  "Love," he said softly, "you must know that you were right to give up believing in children's tales."

  "No." She caught her hands in his hair and drew his face down to hers. "Don't say that, please."

  "The time of princesses and princes, of dragons vanquished, is long gone, sweetheart. There are no 'happily ever afters,' not in your world or in mine."

  Her smile was sweet and tremulous, and it shot straight as an arrow into his heart.

  "My dream was a fairy tale," she said, "that you were my lover, that we were together, like this, here at Charon's Crossing."

  "Aye. And we will live that dream, for a while."

  "No. Not just for a while, Matthew. I lo-..."

  His fingers fell across her lips. "You don't," he said roughly, and rose to his feet. He stood staring out to sea, ramrod straight, eyes dark. "It is a happy infatuation, nothing more."

  Kathryn stood up and laid her hand lightly on Iris arm.

  "Is that what you feel for me?" she asked. "Infatuation?"

  "Yes," he said quickly.

  Too quickly. The truth was there, in his voice. She could hear it.

  She stepped out in front of him. "I don't believe you," she said.

  "What must I do to convince you?"

  She smiled. "Kiss me," she said softly. "And then say, 'Kathryn, this is nothing but infatuation.' "

  "Very well." He put his hands on her shoulders. "Kathryn, this is nothing but—"

  "You have to kiss me, first."

  "Nay. Nay, I cannot." His eyes swept her face and then he groaned and pulled her into his arms. "God forgive me, but I cannot lie. I love you, Kathryn. I've loved you from the instant I first crossed from my world and saw you. I wish I had the courage to pretend that you haven't stolen my heart and made it your own, but I do not."

  Her smile was like the glow of a beacon on a dark night, leading a ship to home and safety, and he knew he would remember this moment, that it would add to the pain throughout the dark, emptiness of the eternity that awaited him... and yet, he would not have given it up for anything.

  "I love you with all my heart," she whispered.

  "As I love you, sweet Kathryn. I adore you, with all that I am or ever was."

  She took his hand, carried it to her lips and pressed a kiss into his hard, work-roughened palm. Then she laid her head against his chest.

  "We'll find a way," she said. "I know we will."

  Matthew shut his eyes and pressed his lips to her shining, sweet-scented hair. His arms tightened around her and they stood locked together, as alone as if they had been the last man and woman on the face of the earth.

  Chapter 17

  Early Thursday morning, Kathryn was at the wheel of the old VW, rattling along the road to town. The windows were down, the radio was on, and she was warbling along with Linda Ronstadt at the top of her lungs.

  She grinned, swooped her hair back behind her ear as the warm breeze tried to tug it free, and wondered what Linda would say if she knew what a talented soprano was singing harmony.

  Kathryn laughed. "Forget it, Linda," she said. "You've got nothing to worry about."

  The truth was, she'd never been able to sing anything on key.

  "Kathryn," her sixth grade music teacher had said kindly, "we need someone to keep the scores organized. Would you be willing to give up being in the chorus in order to help me with something so important?"

  It had been a relief to say yes and she'd never willingly opened her mouth to sing a note since, except—on very, very rare occasions—in the shower, when the sudden sound of her own awful voice would make her wince.

  But this morning was different. This morning, by God, it wasn'
t enough to listen to the birds belting their little hearts out. She needed to do the same thing, to sing at She top of her lungs because there was no other way to let some of the happiness out and if she didn't...

  If she didn't, she felt as if she might burst.

  Linda gave way to a lush orchestration of "Stardust."

  Kathryn sighed, hummed along softly, and tried to imagine what Matthew was doing just about now.

  Had he awakened yet? She smiled as she remembered what she'd asked him late last night, as she lay in his arms.

  "Matthew?" she'd whispered drowsily. "Do ghosts really need to sleep?"

  He'd laughed softly and drawn her closer against his heart.

  "I don't know," he'd whispered back. "I just know that I need to sleep with you."

  This morning, she'd lain alongside him, watching him as he slept. The hard angles and planes of his face seemed softened in sleep. His hair, tousled on his forehead, gave him a look of vulnerability that tugged at her heart.

  "I love you," she'd whispered softly, and then she'd kissed him, not enough to waken him but just enough to bring a soft curve to his mouth. Then, moving quietly and carefully, she'd risen from the bed, gathered her clothes and slipped from the room.

  Once downstairs, she had dressed quickly, set up the coffee pot and left a note on the kitchen table, telling Matthew she'd had to run into town for groceries. It was true, in a way; they'd run out of everything over the last couple of days and both the pantry and the refrigerator needed replenishing. But there were other things she wanted to pick up in Hawkins Bay, gifts for Matthew that would surely please him.

  Kathryn smiled and tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. The Beatles were giving their all to "Hey, Jude" and they needed all the help they could get.

  "...take an old song, and make it be-heh-heh-terrr," she sang, and she stepped harder on the gas pedal because the sooner she got to town, the sooner she could get home again, to Matthew.

  * * *

  The storm had done more damage in town than it had at Charon's Crossing.

  A small sailboat with a gaping hole near the bow was beached near the quay. Two or three others were heeled over and listing alarmingly at their moorings. Several palm trees had lost their leafy heads and stood like blinded sentinels just where the road turned into Front Street.

  Nothing else seemed to have been damaged. The narrow sidewalks and the street itself were crowded with cars, mini-vans and pedestrians. The shops were open and doing their usual brisk business.

  Kathryn made a slow circuit of both main streets. Finally, she gave up. The only clothing store in town, unless she'd missed something, was the one right next to Amos Carter's law office.

  Not that it mattered where she made her purchases. It was nobody's affair what she did. With a shrug of her shoulders, she headed for Front Street again, drove slowly up and down its length twice, and got lucky. A red minivan left the curb just as she came by the third time. She pulled into the space, got out of the VW and made her way past Amos's darkened office to Ada's Ladies and Gents Fine Apparel shop.

  A bell jangled above the door as Kathryn opened it. The shop was long, narrow, and jammed with racks and shelves of clothing. A young salesclerk was unpacking some boxes and she looked up and smiled, but before either she or Kathryn could say anything, Ada yoo-hooed from behind the counter where she was waiting on a couple of teenaged boys.

  "Kathryn! How nice to see you again. Remember me? We met your first time in town."

  "Of course." Kathryn smiled. "How are you?"

  "Fine, thank you. Are you in a hurry?"

  "Well..."

  "Good, good." Ada beamed. "You just look around, then, while I finish up here and then I'll wait on you myself."

  Kathryn sighed as Ada turned her attention to the boys. Given a choice, she'd have preferred to deal with the young clerk who was doing all that unpacking.

  "Don't rush on my account," she called. Maybe, if she were lucky, she could select the things she wanted before Ada finished with the boys.

  The shop was cool after the midday heat of the street, and pleasant. The ceiling was old-fashioned, made of stamped tin, and the floors were wide-planked and dark with age, but the clothing jammed on the racks nearest the door was up-to-date and trendy. Bikinis fought for space with cropped tops and hot pants; wildly patterned men's shorts competed with Spandex swimsuits in shades of neon pink, hot orange and a chartreuse bright enough to make you blink.

  Kathryn paused and fingered a bikini that was little more than three triangles of black and white leaves. It was beautiful and sexy—and she'd never worn anything like it in her life.

  "See the matchin' sarong?"

  She jumped. Ada had come up just behind her and was leaning over her shoulder.

  "Right there, you see? You can wear it as a skirt or tied over one shoulder like those old-timey Roman ladies used to do. Pretty outfit, isn't it?"

  Kathryn tucked the bikini back into the rack. "Very. But I don't need a swim suit today."

  "No woman ever needs a suit like that, unless she's determined to make a man find her sweeter than a stalk of sugar cane." Ada chuckled. "It's good to see you, Kathryn. How did you weather the storm?"

  "Oh, no problems. It looks as if the town bore the brunt of it."

  "Yes. It wasn't bad at all, though, considerin' how these things sometimes go. Can I offer you some tea?"

  Kathryn shook her head. "No thanks."

  "Coffee? A soft drink, maybe?"

  "No, really. I just need to pick up some things."

  "Well, we have whatever you might need, everythin' from undies to dresses and shoes."

  Kathryn cleared her throat. "Well, actually..."

  "What size would you be? Ten? Eight?" Ada eyed Kathryn's cut-down denims. "If you're lookin' for some nice shorts, we just got some in I think you'd like."

  "Actually, I'm, ah, I'm looking for men's clothes."

  Ada's eyebrows soared. "Men's clothes'?"

  "Yes."

  In New York, that one word, "yes," delivered with such determination, would have been enough to squelch any further questions. But this wasn't New York, and Ada Truman's curiosity wasn't easily squelched.

  "What on earth for?"

  Kathryn ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. Go ahead, she told herself, come up with an answer for that.

  "Well," she said, "well..."

  "Surely you're not like me," Ada said, "preferrin' men's clothes to work around in!"

  Just in the nick of time, Kathryn thought giddily, and smiled.

  "That's exactly right. I mean, men's stuff is so much more—"

  "Comfortable."

  "Right."

  "It's cut looser. Gives a person more room to move."

  Kathryn offered up her best and brightest smile. "Uh huh."

  "Couldn't agree more," Ada said, "though I figured that was my personal preference." She chuckled. "Because there's so much of me, you see."

  "Oh, I'm sure there are lots of women who feel the same way."

  "Well, you just tell me what you need and I'll get it for you."

  "Jeans," Kathryn said, following on Ada's heels as the shop owner wove her way between the crowded racks towards the rear of the store. "And shorts. Cut-offs, if you have them."

  "Certainly."

  "Shirts, too. And shoes."

  Ada paused alongside a display of Levi jeans. "Here are the men's jeans and such, but shoes... well, of course, you wouldn't want men's sizes there, would you? But I only carry men's shoes, you see, sneakers and sandals mostly. You'll find fine shoes for ladies up the street, at Allenby's."

  Kathryn stared at Ada. Now what? she thought helplessly.

  "Well... well, actually... the thing is..."

  "Miss Ada?"

  Ada made a face and looked towards the front of the shop. "Yes?"

  The young salesclerk was hidden by the racks but there was no mistaking the nervous apology in her voice.

  "I don't know w
here you want these things."

  "Lord have mercy," Ada muttered. "Figure it out, Mary," she shouted. "It's not very difficult."

  "Well, it is. These shirts marked 'unisex.' Where do I put them? And there's stuff missin', I think. Accordin' to the invoice, we were supposed to get a dozen of these red scarves but I only see eight."

  Ada sighed dramatically. "Kathryn, you're going to have to excuse me for a few minutes."

  It was difficult not to sigh with relief.

  "That's okay."

  "I'll be back soon as I can. Honestly, the help you get these days..."

  "You just take your time, Ada..."...enough time so she could find what she needed without the shopkeeper watching. Ada headed for the other end of the store and Kathryn whirled into action.

  "Levi's," she muttered, "Levi's..."

  What size would Matthew wear? That narrow waist. The trim hips. The neat little backside and those long, oh so masculine legs...

  Heat rose in her belly. She made a face, told herself to stop being silly, leafed through the rack and picked out a pair of jeans that looked just about right.

  Denim cut-offs were easier. They were displayed on a nearby table and she didn't have to try and figure out what length the legs ought to be.

  T-shirts took a moment's consideration. Medium? Large? Matthew was lean but he was muscular, not in the silly-looking way of men who looked like walking advertisements for trendy gyms and even trendier drugs but in the way of a man who'd earned his muscles the hard way, through work and sweat.

  Large, definitely. And in half a dozen colors, ranging from navy to butter yellow to pink, although she could just imagine his reaction to pink.

  Ada was still giving her clerk a firm but gentle tongue-lashing. Kathryn offered a silent apology to the gods for hoping the poor girl would have to endure just another few minutes worth of whatever lecture it was. She moved on towards a display of shoes, snatching up white crew socks and a woven leather belt on the way.

  Shoes were going to be tough. Kathryn poked her tongue out between her teeth. What size would he wear? She didn't have a clue. Who ever paid attention to feet? Shoulders, yes. Waists and hips, sure. Height and weight and whether legs were long or short, okay. But feet?