“How could he convince her to join him and hitch her buggy to a star when she was bound and determined to hitch it to a sodbuster's plow?”

“Lady Kathryn de Réméré understood where her duty lay. She did—truly. The hitch, though, the tricky part, the really twisty trouble was . . . . Well, she was actually having a difficult time convincing herself that her duty was to do her duty.”

“Hitch your wagon to a star.”

“When she squeezed his arm and told him she had two pies in her buggy, he thought he'd died and gone to heaven.”

“He knew her, and she knew him. He had no idea if the images he saw came from past or future, or both, but he knew her. Their souls were bound, had always been bound, and always would be. They were two with one soul between them, perfectly joined, perfectly fitted.”

“It was over. He knew, but she did not. He could tell by the way she nuzzled him, how her body relaxed in his embrace, how she sighed when he kissed the top of her head. She was still hopeful, he thought, and that made her beautiful. Suddenly he could not bear to imagine a life without her.”