Charon's Crossing (A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novel) (38 page)

"No, that's okay. I'll clean up with you and then head for the tub—assuming the water heater cooperates, that is."

Both women sighed with pleasure as they stepped into the comparative coolness of the house.

"Heater givin' you trouble?" Elvira asked.

"All the time. It's probably going to be number one on Hiram's fix-it list."

"Well, a cool shower would do the trick, too, on a day like this." Elvira emptied her bucket, then Kathryn's, and put them away under the sink. "Though the temperature'll be droppin' off, soon enough."

Kathryn smiled. She took a pitcher of iced tea from the refrigerator, filled two glasses and handed one to Elvira.

"You know something the weatherman doesn't? According to him, this heat wave's going to last through the weekend."

"Weatherman's wrong." The older woman took a long sip of tea as she peered out the window at the sky. "A storm's comin' in, goin' to blow the heat clear back to Grenada."

Kathryn looked out the window, too. She saw a blazing sun, a placid sky, and one puffy, Norman Rockwell cloud.

"Wishful thinking."

"You'll see. Storm'll be here by tonight."

"Well, I'd like to think you're right, but this morning's forecast was for at least another day of the same misery."

"Sure. But I've been livin' on this island all my life, listenin' to what it wants to tell me. And it tells me that if you're wise, you'll close this house up good and tight before you go to bed." Elvira finished the last of her tea and put the glass in the sink. "You might even want to come into town for the night."

"My money's on the weatherman. Besides, even if he's wrong, I'm not afraid of a little rain." A slight flush rose on Kathryn's cheeks. "I admit, it upset me last time, but I wasn't used to this house then."

"I wasn't thinkin' of that, Kathryn, I was thinkin' that this storm's goin' to be a lot more than rain."

Kathryn patted the older woman's arm. "I'll be fine," she said. "Really, don't worry about me."

* * *

By early evening, it was obvious she'd put her money on the wrong forecaster.

Elvira was right. A storm was brewing. The signs were right out there, easy to read even if you were a city person who never noticed much beyond whether or not it was raining.

Kathryn had managed enough hot water for a shower, not a bath, and then she'd made herself a light early supper of fruit, cheese and coffee and taken it out to the terrace.

By the time she'd finished eating, the weather was beginning to change.

The sky had turned a metallic shade of blue that exaggerated the bright glare of a sun so orange it was harsh enough to hurt the eyes. When she walked around to the front of the house and looked down at the sea, she noticed that it had taken on a glassy sheen. Light swells moved with lazy ease towards the beach while grey clouds clustered like a dirty ruff on the distant horizon.

The melancholy cry of a sea gull pierced the silence. Kathryn lifted her head and followed the bird's flight. It was heading inland, and for an uneasy couple of seconds she thought about Elvira's suggestion that she do the same.

But why? She'd already survived a storm at Charon's Crossing, and this one would be easier to endure. Hiram had secured the shutters so she wouldn't have to jump at the sound of them banging, should the wind pick up. And she wasn't about to get hysterical if the lights went out this time, now that she knew that her "intruder" was a ghost who'd decided to make himself scarce.

Where was he? Not that she really cared. It was just natural curiosity, that was all. As far as she was concerned if she never saw Matthew McDowell again, it would be too soon!

A gust of hot, humid wind slapped at Kathryn's cheeks. It had an unpleasant, clammy feel to it. She made a face, went back to the house, and switched on the shortwave radio while she poured herself more coffee.

"...latest update. Moderate winds and seas are expected and a small crafts advisory has been issued. Persons living in low-lying shore areas might want to take precautions but there is no cause for alarm."

The wind chose that moment to rattle the house like a giant castanet.

Kathryn laughed. "Of course not," she said.

Well, it wouldn't hurt to be prepared. She dug out the candles and matches, checked to be sure the flashlight still worked and made a circuit of the house to be certain the shutters were all secured.

Just before dusk, she turned the radio on again. It seemed to her that the wind had grown a lot stronger but with the shutters closed, she couldn't see the sky or the sea.

"...upgraded to severe," the impersonal voice on the radio said. "Persons in low-lying locations are advised to move to higher ground and..."

Kathryn licked her lips. Was there anything to worry about? No. She was already on higher ground, up here on| the cliff. Besides, how bad could a storm be? Hurricane season was over.

She hesitated, and then she picked up the flashlight and went to the front door. She could hear the wind just beyond it and the door was hard to open, as if something were trying to shoulder it closed...

Dear God!

It was like walking into another world.

The sky was the color of charcoal, the clouds so thick and low Kathryn had the uneasy feeling she could almost reach up and touch them. The wind whistled through the trees and whipped at her hair.

She had never seen a storm like this, never imagined it was possible for nature to be so raw and powerful.

What would the sea look like, under this dark and primitive sky? How tall were the wind-driven waves that must be crashing wildly against the beach?

The logical thing to do was go back to the shelter of the house... But the sea would be a magnificent sight, something she'd never forget. Kathryn took a breath, ducked her head and fought her way to the edge of the cliff for one quick, quick look...

Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw.

The placid blue Caribbean she knew, the one that had sighed gently against a crescent of white, glistening sand, was gone. The sea was black as ink, tipped with sharp white claws that had already surged over the beach and were tearing at the cliff she stood on. The pound of the waves was like the beat of a heart and now she could hear something else, too, as if a freight train were fast approaching...

It was the wind, tearing across the water like a howling beast determined to drive everything out of its path.

Run, Kathryn. Turn for the house and run!

Sobbing, terrified, she obeyed the voice in her head but it was impossible to outrun the wind. It hit her like a fist, first driving the breath from her lungs, then curled around her like the unseen hand of some ancient behemoth determined to snatch her up and hurl her down into the raging torrent below.

A scream broke from her throat.

"Matthew," she cried, "Matthew, help me!"

Strong arms closed around her and lifted her off her feet.

"Hang on to me, Kathryn," Matthew shouted.

Sobbing, she wound her arms around his neck. He raced for the house while the wind screamed and howled and clawed, fought the door open and half-carried, half-dragged Kathryn inside. She clung to him as he kicked the door shut, slid home the bolt and the lock.

"Oh God," she sobbed, "Matthew..."

Gently, he lowered her to her feet, wrapped his arms around her and held her tight.

"Shh," he murmured, "it's all right now."

They stood that way while the rain pelted the roof and the wind shrieked at the siding, taking comfort in the heat of each other's bodies and the beat of each other's hearts. Then Matthew grabbed Kathryn by the shoulders and shoved her to arm's length.

"You damned little fool," he snarled, "what in bloody hell were you trying to do? You almost got yourself killed." He snapped his hands from her shoulders and raked his fingers through his hair. "Lord, woman, don't you ever stop to think?"

"Now, just a minute—"

"You were almost swept off that bloody cliff!"

"Dammit, Matthew, it wasn't as if I—"

"As if you what? Took two minutes to think?" He thrust his face towards hers, his eyes flashing with anger. "Nay, Kathryn, why would you do something so foolish as give a moment's thought to anything?"

Kathryn lifted her chin and glared at him in defiance.

"Listen here, Captain McDowell, I'm grateful for your assistance, but—"

"My assistance?" Matthew threw his hands on his hips, tossed back his head, and laughed. "You mean, you're grateful I was there to save your damned fool neck!"

"You did not save my neck. And I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't punctuate every other word with an obscenity."

"Your thinking processes are the obscenity," he snarled, this time punctuating each word by jabbing his forefinger into her chest. Kathryn staggered back and he stalked after her until her shoulders hit the wall. "What in hell were you doing? Playing some kind of bloody game? That's a hurricane out there, madam, or hadn't you noticed?"

His words sent a chill racing up her spine but it was too late now to give an inch.

"That storm?" Kathryn tossed her head. "Hah! Don't make me laugh. It's a bad storm, but a hurricane? It's nothing of the sort."

"Are you now an expert on weather?"

"I don't have to be an expert to know that hurricane season is over!"

Matthew's lips drew back from his teeth. "Be certain to so inform any crew that's sailed these waters in midwinter."

"Very well." Kathryn's voice was cold. "I'll bow to your expertise in these matters, Captain. But I don't have to take your insults."

"You still haven't answered my question, dammit. What were you doing out there?"

"I haven't answered it because it's stupid! What do you think I was doing? Looking out at the sea."

" 'Looking out at the sea,' " Matthew said in cruel parody. "What's the matter, madam? Didn't you have anything better to do to occupy your time?"

Kathryn glared at him. "I've had enough," she snapped, and pushed past him towards the stairs.

"Kathryn!" His voice roared after her. "Where in hell do you think you're going?"

"It's none of your business."

"Damn you, don't turn your back on me!"

She stopped on the second step and spun towards him in a rage.

"What's the problem, Captain? Did I drag you out of some nice, cozy corner where you've been curled up like the egotistical bully you are, getting your kicks by wondering if I'd miss you? Well, I didn't. Not one damned bit."

Matthew thought of the damnable attic, of how he despised its dark corners and walls that imprisoned him as if it were a dungeon, of how he'd been pacing it like a trapped beast until something had drawn him to the window and to that sight he'd never forget, Kathryn fighting for her life against that wicked predator of a sea.

Bloody hell! How could one woman be so infuriating? It was all he could do to keep from turning her over his knee and whaling the daylights out of her.

"I am relieved to hear that you did not miss me," he said coldly, "for I did not miss you, either... which is surely a good thing since you spent all of five minutes searching for me in this misery of a house!"

He hadn't meant to say that. What did he care, how long she'd bothered to look for him? Unfortunately, it was too late to call back the ill-chosen words, especially since Kathryn's temper was already rising to the challenge.

"Five minutes?" she said. Her eyes turned flinty. "What do you mean, five minutes?" She came down a step and slammed her fist on the banister. "I spent hours looking for you, you stupid fool!"

Matthew's face whitened. "Be careful with what you call me, madam."

"Don't tell me what I can and can't call you, dammit! Not that I really gave a damn if I found you or not! Not that I cared a fig for where you'd gone or what you were doing. It's just that I was furious that you'd run out on me before I could tell you that I—that I..."

"That you what?" Matthew said in a tightly controlled voice.

She stared at him, at that stern, handsome face, the angry green eyes and the unforgiving mouth.

"I wanted to tell you that—that I hate you, Matthew, that I..."

The rushed words ended on a broken sob. Kathryn swung away, but not in time. Matthew had already glimpsed the telltale shimmer of tears in her eyes.

All his anger and rage drained away. What was the sense in pretending? His blind fury had nothing to do with Kathryn and everything to do with the knowledge that he had almost lost her.

He choked out her name and she turned towards him, her eyes dark and enormous in her beautiful face. He said something, though he would never know what, but it must have been the right thing because the next instant, she was in his arms.

"Where were you?" she said, between kisses. "Why did you leave me?"

"I was right here all the time, sweetheart, playing at being noble."

"Noble?" She drew back in his arms. "I don't understand."