Charon's Crossing (A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novel) (41 page)

He shook his head laid his hand over hers. He knew what he should do. What was it the surgeon who had tended
Atropos
's casualties had said, just before he'd applied a red-hot blade to a sailor's wound that would not stop bleeding?

"Don't flinch," he'd muttered. "The best way to deal with pain is to accept it." Then, whether or not the rum or the laudanum had taken effect, he'd jammed the hot blade against the man's flesh and let him scream.

That was the way to handle this. A man of honor would not flinch. He'd send Kathryn back to her world before she became any more deeply involved in his. He'd lie and say, Kathryn, this was pleasant but now it is over.

He took a deep breath. His hand tightened on hers. With the words on his lips, he turned and faced her.

The morning sunlight was caught in her hair, surrounding her beautiful face with a soft, golden glow. She was smiling, though it was a worried smile, and her eyes, those deep blue pools, were filled with concern as they focused on his.

"Kathryn," he said. "Kathryn, sweetheart..."

He tried to tell himself it was she who moved first, that he would have done what he'd intended otherwise, but in his heart he knew that they moved as one so that suddenly he was in his arms. He kissed her and tasted tears on her lips, either his or hers, and what was the difference?

He would take what a malevolent, laughing Fate had sent him and cherish it, one day, one night, at a time.

He rocked her gently in his arms, his lips against her hair, his hand stroking the length of her back.

"I know what you're thinking," she whispered.

His arms tightened around her. "Do you?"

"You're thinking that there's no future in this for us."

Matthew sighed and did what he could to lighten the moment.

"Women have grown too clever by far," he said.

She made a sound that was half sob and half laugh.

"Women have always been clever. Men just never noticed."

"You're right." He smiled. "Things have not changed that much, then?"

"No."

"Good." He gave her a quick kiss. "In that case, I expect you to march back into that kitchen and make me a huge breakfast."

She laughed and swiped her hands over her wet eyes. She had asked him to tell her what had put that stricken expression on his face and he hadn't, but she knew. She knew.

Now, he was deliberately trying to lighten the moment. He was right to do it. There were only so many days and nights left. Why waste them in tears? Not that she was ready to admit defeat. There had to be a way for them to be together. They had bridged their two worlds now, hadn't they? There had to be an answer.

"Well? Do I get a meal, or do I just keep listening to my stomach telling me it's empty?"

"Tell your stomach help is on the way," Kathryn said briskly. "I'll do the bacon and eggs, you do the toast."

"Do the toast?"

"Yes."

Matthew's expression suggested she had just asked him to fly to the moon.

"You want
me
to make toast?"

"Right. I want you to take the bread and butter from the fridge, pop the bread into the toaster, push down that lever right there... see? It's not very complicated."

"Well, I'm sure it isn't. But I don't cook."

Kathryn smiled sweetly. "You do, if you want to eat."

She was arranging strips of bacon in a pan, humming softly to herself and paying him no attention. With a shrug, he took the bread and butter from the contraption she called a refrigerator, then gave the metal box that toasted the bread the benefit of his full attention.

It worked with amazing speed and so did he, consuming one slice for every two he toasted and buttered. By the time he had six slices piled on a plate, Kathryn was cracking eggs into a bowl.

"How do you like your eggs?"

"Whatever way you make them is fine, just as long as the bacon's crisp."

"Speaking of the bacon... see if it needs turning, would you?"

Matthew peered into the pan of sizzling bacon, "Nay, it's fine."

"Good. Just keep an eye on it, please. So you can turn it when it's ready."

"Me?" he said in horror.

"Yes."

"Kathryn, I am not a cook."

"No?"

He drew himself up in as dignified a fashion as a man could when he was chewing a mouthful of toast.

"No," he said. "I am a sea captain."

"Ah," she said with a sweetness that he knew boded ill, "of course. How silly of me. I suppose you had a seafaring Julia Child to prepare your meals."

"A what?"

"A chef. You know, white toque, white apron,
haute cuisine."

Matthew thought of every ship's cook he'd known. They'd all been grizzled old sailors with missing teeth, blackened fingernails, and a nasty propensity for not always picking the weevils out of the biscuits before they served them.

"I would not call a ship's cook a chef, Kathryn."

"Perhaps not, but you'll agree they're all men?"

He laughed even harder, imagining a woman in the galley of a ship.

"Indeed. But on shore—"

"Don't tell me," Kathryn said with wide-eyed innocence. "On shore, cooks are always female."

"Certainly."

She laughed. "Well, we've done away with all those separate gender distinctions."

"Separate gender...? What sort of humbug is that?"

"It's not humbug at all," Kathryn said, bristling. "There's no such thing as men's work and women's work anymore." She watched him as he buttered another piece of toast. There was something incongruous and wonderfully sexy about the sight of all that bare male skin and muscle. Her mouth softened. "Of course," she said demurely, "not all men could possibly look as handsome doing kitchen duty as you."

Two streaks of crimson swept across his high cheekbones.

"Why, Matthew," she said in delight, "you're blushing!"

"Don't be silly. Men don't blush."

"Oh, but they do." Her smile took on a wicked edge. "They've learned to get in touch with their feminine side."

Matthew's eyebrows shot towards his hairline. "What feminine side? Men don't have—"

"Of course they do." She turned her back to him and chewed on her lip to keep from laughing. "Oh, it's wonderful, how men today let their feelings out. You know, share their emotions. It's all part of learning to nurture one's inner child."

"Whose child?" Matthew demanded. "I have no—"

"Everybody has an inner child, unless they're mired in self-denial."

"What in heaven's name are you talking about?"

Laughter burst from her throat. "Basically," she said, "I guess I'm talking about you taking this fork and dealing with the bacon."

He looked at her, smiled, and took the fork. "Why do I get the feeling I'm being mocked, madam?"

She watched as he began turning the strips of bacon with an expertise that suggested he'd been teasing her almost as much as she'd been teasing him. Emotion welled up within her, constricting her throat with its impact, and she turned all her concentration on the eggs, beating them with much more force than they deserved.

"Actually," she said, pouring the beaten eggs into the skillet, "you're lucky there's bacon to cook."

"I would have thought your cold chest would keep it well."

"Oh, it does." She reached for the salt and pepper and shook some of each over the frothy eggs. "But, like most people, I hardly ever keep the stuff in the house, except for special occ-..."

She bit her lip, but it was too late. Matthew smiled.

"Meaning, you purchased it for Jason." He reached out and touched his hand gently to her cheek. "It doesn't bother me to hear his name, sweetheart, not when I can remember how quickly you sent him away."

"I didn't." Their eyes met and Kathryn sighed. "All right, I suppose I did."

"You did," he said smugly, "and it was because of me." He shook his head dramatically as he lifted the strips of bacon from the pan and placed them on the paper towels Kathryn had laid on the sink. "Where is Elvira, by the way? Doesn't she usually come to help you try and tame this monster of a house?"

Kathryn blushed. "I phoned and told her not to bother coming."

Matthew grinned. "Got rid of her, too, did you?"

"Get that self-satisfied look off your face, Captain! I just figured it would be easier than having you whisk around under our feet while we worked."

"And why would you think I'd do such a thing, madam?"

"Well... well, considering..." She swallowed. "I mean, I just thought..."

"You mean," Matthew said, whirling her into his arms and laughing, "that you didn't want to miss an opportunity to make wild, passionate love with me."

She shot him an indignant glare. "What an ego you have! Do you really think I'd..."

"Yes." His laughter faded. "Yes, sweetheart, and I wouldn't want it any other way."

They smiled at each other, kissed gently, and then Kathryn sighed and eased out of his arms.

"We wouldn't want the eggs to burn."

Matthew smiled. "No. We wouldn't. You go and sit down, then, and I'll serve."

In the end, they worked together, then sat opposite each other over a breakfast so enormous Kathryn was sure she'd have to toss most of it out, but Matthew was as good as his word, eating every bit she put on his plate.

"You're a fine cook, Kathryn," he said, after he'd devoured another slice of buttered toast thickly spread with marmalade.

She smiled, pushed aside her plate, propped her elbows on the table and leaned her chin on her hands.

"Well, I can do a pretty mean lamb stew. And people have been known to swoon over my chocolate soufflé. Not that I have much time to cook, though."

"Why?"

"Why, what?"

"Why don't you have time? Here, aren't you going to finish those eggs?"

She laughed. "Don't tell me you want them!"

Matthew took her plate, tipped her eggs onto his, and smiled at her. "So tell me," he said, "why haven't you time to do much cooking?"

"Well, my job keeps me busy."

"Ah. Another sign of gender equality, hmm?"

"Uh huh. Most women work today."

"At what?"

"At everything. Some are waitresses, some work in offices. There are women lawyers and doctors..."

"Doctors? Female doctors? Do they have men as patients?" When Kathryn nodded, Matthew grimaced and pushed his empty plate aside. "I don't know if I approve of such a thing."

She laughed. "I'm sure my internist—my doctor—will be heartbroken to hear that."

"Is that what you are?" he asked warily. "A physician?"

"Would it upset you if I were?"

Matthew sighed. He rose from the table, got the coffee pot and filled their cups.

"Aye," he admitted, "I suppose it would. The thought of you touching another man..." He sighed again. "But, I suppose, if that is the way of your time..."

Kathryn reached across the table and linked her fingers through his. All her feminist leanings told her that his jealousy was wrong, but her heart enjoyed everything about it.

"I would never touch another man as I've touched you," she said softly.

Her words were like fire in his blood. The promise was all he could ever wish for, but he could not accept it from her. There would be someone else for her, there would have to be, for she could not be his and both of them knew it.

"Nay," he said, forcing a smile to his lips, "I would surely not permit you to saw off a limb of mine or dose me with salts."

Kathryn laughed. "You'll be happy to know the practice of medicine's changed quite a lot, over the centuries—and even happier to know I'm not a physician. I'm in computers."

"In what?"

"Comp..." She took a breath, then blew it out. "Computers are machines. People use them to do all kinds, of stuff."

"What kinds of 'stuff'?"

"Writing letters and books. Working out mathematical problems. Drawing up plans for buildings. And for ships, I suppose. Anything you can think of, really. What I do is create programs for stock brokerage firms and..." She looked at his puzzled face. "Are you sure you want to listen to all this? It's going to take a long time to explain."

He smiled, but his eyes were narrowed above the smile. "I am capable of comprehending whatever you tell me."

"Oh, Matthew, I didn't mean—"

"Nay," he said, leaning forward and clasping her hand, "nor did I. Forgive me, sweetheart, I don't mean to be sharp-tongued. It's just, well, I see that the world has changed more than I'd realized." His hand tightened on hers. "Kathryn? We did win the war, did we not?"

He'd asked the question in an almost casual way, but the look in his eyes guaranteed that that wasn't how he felt. Her heart went out to him. How awful it had to be, to wake up in a world you didn't know.