There, lying on the pillow next to hers, was a single pink rose, the kind that grew in such profusion over the arched trellis at Charon's Crossing.
* * *
Matthew was real.
He was real!
How could she have convinced herself of anything else?
She was shaking as she threw on her clothes. She had to stop them from razing the ruins of the mansion. If it was gone... if it was gone, Matthew would be gone forever.
Just before she left the house, she tried calling Amos, then Olive, then Hiram and anyone else she could think of on Elizabeth Island but she got only squawks and buzzes.
"Dammit," she said, slamming down the phone.
It was business as usual on the island... except that after today, Matthew would... he would...
No. She couldn't let herself think that way. She wouldn't let herself think that way and she didn't, not through the endless ride to the airport or the charter flight to the island.
"Hurry," she whispered as the plane wobbled to a touchdown. "Hurry," she demanded as the surprised gentleman who was on duty in the tin hangar handed over the keys to his Jeep after she'd shoved a one-hundred-dollar bill under his nose. "Hurry," she pleaded, as she jammed her foot to the floor and urged the Jeep to speeds undreamed of by its maker.
But it had all been for nothing.
She knew it as soon as she barreled through the gates and whipped the Jeep up the drive towards the house. She had arrived too late. She knew it with a sense of dread as cold and heavy as the fog that was rolling in from the sea.
A pair of huge bulldozers stood where there had once been a garden. And all that remained of Charon's Crossing was a heap of dusty stone.
Kathryn stopped the Jeep and lifted her hand to her mouth. Her eyes filled with tears as she climbed from the Jeep and walked slowly towards the chalky rubble. There were men working nearby. They looked up as she approached, their faces curious.
"Lady?" one called. "Lady, hey, watch your step, okay?"
Kathryn didn't hear him. She couldn't see anything but the terrible ruin of what had once been a proud house where love had flourished.
"Matthew," she whispered, "my love, how could I have doubted? How could I have abandoned..."
Her breath caught in her throat.
A man emerged from the fog. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and the sea breeze blew his shoulder-length fair hair back from his sculpted face. He was wearing... "Oh God!"...he was wearing a T-shirt with a sailboat emblazoned across the chest, faded Levi's and, incongruously enough, a pair of knee-high black leather boots.
"Matthew?" Kathryn's sobs turned to laughter. "Matthew?"
He smiled and opened his arms, and she cried out his name again and flew to him.
He held her for long, long moments, his heart thudding against hers, his tears mingling with her tears, and then he kissed her.
"Kathryn," he whispered, "Kathryn, my beloved."
She drew back in his embrace, clasped his face in her hands and searched his eyes with hers.
"Are you really here?"
He laughed. "Aye, sweetheart. I am really here, and so are you."
"But I thought... the house burned..."
He nodded. "It did, yes."
"Then, how did you escape?"
"It is beyond me to explain. I know only that I awakened in a cold, dark place, more alone than I had ever been, and longing for your arms. And then, one day or perhaps one night, for there was no meaning to time, I heard your sweet voice calling to me."
He drew her close and kissed her again. When the kiss ended, he cupped her face in his hands.
"You must know that I caused the explosion, Kathryn."
"I know." She shuddered. "You should never have done it. We might have lost each other forever."
"Aye." He put his arm around her waist and they began walking away from the ruins of the mansion. "But it was the only way I knew to set you free."
Kathryn leaned her head against his shoulder. "You stubborn man," she said gently, "didn't I tell you that men couldn't make decisions for women anymore?"
He smiled and kissed the top of her head. "I suspect it will take you years to change me, sweetheart."
Suddenly, she stopped and turned towards him.
"I just realized... if Charon's Crossing is gone and you're here, what does it—?"
The blast of a horn drowned out her words. A pickup truck filled with construction workers was trying to edge past the Jeep Kathryn had abandoned in the driveway. The driver leaned out his window and pointed at Matthew.
"Hey, mister," he yelled, "you want to move this thing?"
Kathryn looked at Matthew. "Did you hear what he said?" she whispered.
"Come on, pal. Do us a favor, okay?"
"Hey," Kathryn yelled, "can you really see this man?"
The men in the truck grinned slyly at each other. "Why?" said the driver. "Is he supposed to be a ghost?"
Kathryn laughed. "Is he supposed to be a ghost..." She laughed harder, and Matthew began laughing, too. "Is he supposed..." Tears rose in her eyes. "Matthew, did you hear what he said?"
"Aye, love. I did."
It was difficult for him to speak. Kathryn was weeping as well as laughing but she wasn't the only one. Matthew's eyes were wet, too, and the lump in his throat felt large enough to choke him. Tenderly, he gathered her into his arms and stroked her hair.
"I was afraid to believe it," he murmured, "but now I know it is true. I cannot walk through walls, Kathryn, though I have tried. And now this man sees me." He laughed and whirled her in a circle. "Sweetheart, I am real!"
"He's real," Kathryn sang, "he can't walk through walls and he's real." She threw back her head as they came to a dizzying stop. "Oh, isn't that wonderful news, world?"
The truck driver looked at the man seated beside him and tapped his forehead with his forefinger.
"Nuts," he mouthed, "the broad and the guy, too."
"Matthew? I almost forgot... What about Waring?"
"Gone, and without a trace."
"You're sure?"
"I would sense his presence, sweetheart, if he had survived."
Kathryn sighed and laid her palms flat against Matthew's chest. The beat of his heart was as solid and real as the rest of him.
"I have to admit, I don't understand any of this," she said softly.
"Nor do I, except to know that it was your love that freed me."
"No. No, it wasn't me. You freed yourself, Matthew. By believing in love, by giving your life for mine, you removed the curse."
"You gave me a love worth believing in, Kathryn."
He kissed her again and they clung to each other until another horn blast brought them back to reality.
"Listen, buddy," the truck driver said, "we just love seeing you havin' all this fun, you know what I mean? But maybe you and the lady could save the rest until you get that Jeep out of the way."
Kathryn laughed, dried her eyes, and clasped Matthew's hand in hers.
"How would you like to take your very first driving lesson, Captain? And then, maybe, how'd you like to take a ride in an airplane?"
Matthew laughed, too, but then his laughter failed and he looked deep into her eyes.
"I will love you forever, Kathryn," he said.
She rose on her toes and kissed him.
"Forever," she said softly.
Somebody in the pickup truck applauded. Kathryn grinned, waved her hand, and led Matthew to the Jeep.
He got behind the wheel and she scooted in beside him. She leaned towards him, her dark head nestled against his fair one. The men in the truck rolled their eyes as she pointed to the dashboard, then to the gear shift, then down towards his feet.
"This guy's somethin' else," one of the men said. "Doesn't he know how to drive a stick shift?" His voice rose. "Hey, lady, where's your boyfriend been all his life?"
Kathryn laughed, but her answer was for Matthew alone.
"He's been right h
ere," she said softly, "right here, waiting for me."
Matthew caught a handful of her hair in his hand, drew her close and kissed her soundly. Then, to a chorus of cheers, applause and whistles, he turned on the engine and coaxed the Jeep into a wobbling U-turn.
"Ready?" he said to Kathryn.
"Ready," she said.
The Jeep lurched down the drive. Then Matthew stepped hard on the gas and it shot out the gates of Charon's Crossing, carrying Kathryn and Matthew into a bright, new world.
The End
Page forward for a note from Sandra Marton
followed by an excerpt from
UNTIL YOU
A Romantic Suspense Novel
Dear Reader,
Now that you've come to the end of Charon's Crossing, do you feel as I did, when I finished writing this book?
It was so hard for me to let go of Kathryn and Matthew. I'm sure you know that leaving characters behind is always difficult for an author but in this case, it was especially painful.
I spent months with Kathryn and Matthew. They were as real to me as if they were flesh and blood.
The characters I create usually come to life slowly inside my head. Not this time. Matthew was there the instant I saw the house that became Charon's Crossing in my story. I could feel his anger and pain. Kathryn appeared just as quickly. She was so real that I could almost reach out and touch her.
As for Charon's Crossing... the abandoned mansion that inspired me was only a shell of its former self. Interior walls were missing and there was no furniture. Even the grounds were shapeless and completely overgrown.
But I could see the setting for Charon's Crossing as clearly as if it really existed. The peeling walls. The tumble of pink roses. The rusted gate. And the attic, where immortal evil waited in foul darkness to separate Matthew from the only woman he would ever love, the only woman who could save him...
But for those who truly love, there will always be a tomorrow.
With all my very warmest wishes,
Sandra Marton
Continue your journey with an excerpt from
Sandra Marton's
UNTIL YOU
A Romantic Suspense Novel
Excerpt from
Until You
A Romantic Suspense Novel
The Special Author's Cut Edition
by
Sandra Marton
USA Today Bestselling Author
Conor grasped the heavy brass doorknob and turned it. The door swung open and he stepped inside a small anteroom.
"Good morning, sir."
The accent was English, the attire was formal. The butler, Conor thought, without question, and though the man's greeting was polite, the look on his face suggested it was certainly not a good morning if he was going to have to admit someone like this into the Winthrop presence.
Conor gave an inward sigh. He was used to it by now but it still amazed him to find that the toadies of the rich and powerful were often twice as smarmy as their masters.
"Mr. Winthrop will see you in a moment."
"Good," Conor said, at the same time moving forward into the foyer so that Jeeves or whoever the hell he was had no choice but to step aside. He shrugged off his Burberry and tossed it at the man. "Don't bother hanging my coat away," he said pleasantly. "I won't be staying long."
Jeeves inclined his head and draped the Burberry across the back of a chair with a tapestry seat and arms and legs that ended in claws. Conor half expected the chair to growl and chew the trenchcoat into pieces.
"As you wish, sir. If you'll wait here, please?"
The butler vanished noiselessly through a doorway that led into the bowels of the house. Conor undid the button on his Harris tweed jacket, tucked his hands into his pants pockets, and balanced forward and backward on the balls of his feet while he admired his surroundings.
The foyer was handsome. The walls were paneled in the sort of rich, old wood that bore the deep luster that comes of decades of patient care. He glanced down at the carpet beneath his feet. It was old, too. Persian, maybe, or Turkish.
He took his hand from his pocket, shot back his cuff and looked at his watch. Five minutes gone already. What in hell was taking Winthrop so long?
Impatiently, he paced the perimeter of the room. No doubt about it, it was certainly nice to be rich. Very, very nice. That had to be a Van Gogh on the wall. His dark brows lifted. And, unless he missed his bet, that was a Jasper Johns hanging right next to it...
Jesus.
Everything seemed to go still as his gaze fell on a painting that hung slightly apart from the others.
You didn't have to wear a paint-spattered smock to know that it wasn't the work of anybody whose name had ever rocked the art world. This was no Old Master, dark and glorious with age, and it wasn't an impressionist gem. It wasn't even something new, trendy, and outrageously clever. The painting's only claim to fame was its subject. And she made everything else that hung on these walls fade to insignificance.
Conor moved forward, his eyes never leaving the portrait. It was of a young woman standing in a garden, her face and body angled towards the viewer. She was wearing a demure, old-fashioned dress, white lace, maybe, with a high collar and long, full sleeves, and holding a wide-brimmed straw hat in her hand. Her hair, a waterfall of midnight silk, was drawn back from her high-cheekboned face and then left to spill, unhampered, over her shoulders. Her eyes were a shade of dark green that Conor knew couldn't be real but had to be the invention of the painter. Her mouth looked soft and inviting. It was color of a budding rose and bore the faintest suggestion of a smile.
The girl in the painting was beautiful, with the guileless innocence of youth.
Or was she? The longer he looked, the more he saw something else. The girl seemed to have both the purity of a Madonna and the sensuality of a Jezebel.
With heart-stopping swiftness, Conor felt his body harden with need.
"Hell," he muttered, under his breath.
The last time he'd reacted that way to a picture, he'd been a randy adolescent drooling over a copy of Playboy. What kind of nonsense was this? If you factored in the night he'd just spent in Mary Alice's bed, what was happening to him was damned near impossible.
But it was happening, just the same.
Until You
A Romantic Suspense Novel
The Special Author's Cut Edition
by
Susan Marton
~
To purchase
Until You
from your favorite eBook Retailer,
visit Sandra Marton's eBook Discovery Author Page
www.ebookdiscovery.com/SandraMarton
~
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Sandra Marton is a USA TODAY bestselling author. She’s written more than 85 novels and has approximately 35,000,000 (and counting!) books in print in twenty-plus languages. Sandra’s stories all feature the sexy, gorgeous, complex, tough on the outside but tender on the inside Alpha heroes she loves to create.
Sandra’s been a finalist for the Romance Writers of America prestigious RITA four times. She’s won eight Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Awards and was honored with their Career Achievement Award for Series Romance.
Table of Contents
Cover
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
A Note from Sandra Marton
Excerpt from UNTIL YOU – A Romantic Suspense Novel by Sandra Marton
Meet San
dra Marton
Table of Contents
Cover
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
A Note from Sandra Marton
Excerpt from UNTIL YOU – A Romantic Suspense Novel by Sandra Marton
Meet Sandra Marton
Charon's Crossing (A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novel) Page 36