Charon's Crossing

"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."