Authors: Sandra Marton
A Romantic Suspense Novel
USA Today Bestselling Author
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Copyright © 1996, 2011, 2012 by Sandra Myles. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Formerly published as
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For My Husband, With Love
For All Our Yesterdays and
All Our Tomorrows.
Oh yes, definitely an 'E' ticket!
It was very early on a cold January morning, a day for burrowing deeper into down quilts, and that seemed to be what everyone in Greenwich Village was doing. The narrow streets were silent and deserted, except for the dog walkers and joggers.
In her brownstone apartment five stories above a tiny, winterkilled garden, Kathryn Russell was debating whether or not to do some burrowing of her own. Her single, dark braid was dangling over her shoulder, as she scrunched herself up on her elbows, yawned, blinked the sleep from her eyes, and looked at the face of the old-fashioned alarm clock on her night table.
Kathryn groaned, fell back onto the pillows, and flung her arm across her eyes.
6:05. Fifteen minutes until the alarm went off, but what good were fifteen minutes when she felt as if she hadn't slept a wink?
What a night! First she'd been wide-eyed, trying desperately to fall asleep but stopped every time by the realization
she'd finally agreed to marry Jason. Not that she wasn't happy about it. Jason was perfect for her, she'd known that for weeks.
It was just that she'd surprised herself with that sudden yes almost as much as she'd surprised him.
Then, after she'd finally managed to drift off to sleep there'd been those dreams about her father and how things had been years ago, before her parents' divorce, and then about Charon's Crossing, the house in the middle of nowhere that he'd left her—the house that was sure to be just another infuriating reminder of the way her father had spent his life, tilting at windmills.
Sighing, Kathryn snuggled deeper into the blankets. Maybe Jason was right. Maybe she should have waited until summer, when he could take some time off and go to Charon's Crossing with her. Maybe...
No. There was no point in waiting. The time to sell the house was now, during the height of tourist season. It was just that her father's attorney insisted it needed repairs before it could go on the market.
"If you wish, I can authorize them for you," Amos Carter had said, his accent crisp and very properly British.
Kathryn didn't doubt the man's honesty but only a fool would agree to an unnamed expenditure of funds without seeing first-hand what needed to be done. She wasn't about to drop dollar after dollar into a bottomless well.