Stranger on the Shore

by Carol Duncan Perry

  She resisted the urge to run and rolled herself into a tight ball as the rumbling sounds drew nearer. Small rocks and chips of concrete rained down about her. The thunder came closer. Again, she thought she heard the sound of her name, but the thunder was now above her, around her. She coughed once, choking in a cloud of dust. It was the last thing she remembered.

  Chapter 6

  From high on the other side of the amphitheater, Jordan watched in horror as a massive concrete slab tumbled end-over-end down the side of the hill. The falling slab gathered momentum as it fell, striking other bench seats, knocking loose chunks of concrete and stone, letting nothing deflect it from its destructive path.

  "Sarah!" His call was both warning and petition as he scrambled over benches toward her. His only answer was his own voice, reverberating among the rows of deserted benches. "Sarah," he called again, the sound feeble in comparison to the thunderous roar of the tumbling debris.

  With a speed that looked deceptive in its ponderous slow-motion movement, the tumbling concrete slab ricocheted its way down the hillside, finally coming to rest in front of what remained of the stage. Only seconds later, Jordan reached the area where he'd last seen Sarah.

  "Sarah," he called again as the echo of the falling rubble faded away, leaving only an eerie silence to answer. Then he saw her lying quiet and still beneath the bench. He dropped to his knees, reaching for her instinctively before caution could intervene. He ignored the trembling of his hands and felt for the pulse point on the side of her neck, breathing an audible sigh of relief when he located the steady beat with his fingers.

  Unconsciously, he caressed her cheek with his hand as he pondered his next move. The massive bench above her head had held, though it's surface now bore fresh scars. Cautiously he ran his hands through her hair, feeling for a bump, a cut, anything that would indicate a blow to the head. He found nothing.

  He forced down the fear boiling up in his throat and tried to remember the rudiments of first aid. He shouldn't move her, not until he could identify injuries. Carefully, trying to recall the instructions he'd received in a first aid class years ago, he checked for broken bones, running his hands along her arms, down the slim length of her legs, gently probing her rib cage. Again, he allowed himself a breath of relief when he found no indication of a break.

  Should he move her? There was always the possibility of a neck or back injury, but instinct told him it was unlikely. She had protected herself by ducking under the bench. Momentum carried the rubble over the bench and on down the hillside. He reached for her, wanting her out of the dust and dirt.

  "Sarah?" He called her name again. His reward was a flickering of her eyelashes. "Please, Sarah. Tell me you're all right."

  His voice was her first reality—his voice calling to her, anxiety and concern in every word. Then she felt his hand against her forehead, soothing, comforting. She tried to open her eyes. Again, she heard her name. This time she was able to respond. She opened her eyes.

  "Sarah! Thank God you're awake. No, don't try to move. Not yet. You may be injured.

  Sarah lay still, trying to remember. The last of the gray fog melted away. She turned her head to focus on his face. He was on his knees, halfway under the bench where she lay. When her eyes locked with his, she saw the color begin to seep back into his white face.

  "Were you hit?"

  She shook her head slowly. I don't think so. I don't remember being hit."

  Jordan, moving awkwardly in the confined space, helping her from beneath the bench. "Careful now. Don't hit your head on the bottom of the bench seat."

  "I'm all right, Jordan. Really. I shouldn't be such a coward."

  Jordan pulled her to her feet. Then, as if to reassure himself that she was undamaged, he gently moved his hands down her body

  Sarah took a deep breath and willed her racing pulse to slow. He was only checking her for injuries, she told herself. It wasn't personal. Why, then, was the touch of his hands chasing coherent thought from her mind?

  "I wouldn't call you a coward," Jordan told her as he finished his inventory, his hands lingering for a moment at her waist. "If I'd seen that bench tumbling toward me I would probably have frozen. You had the presence of mind to instantly identify your best chance for safety."

  Sarah's little laugh echoed in the quiet air. "That wasn't presence of mind. That was instinct. Faced with danger, I always hide—one way or another. This time I fainted, just went away."

  "Not before you'd protected yourself. Call it what you want, I call it pretty good instinct, lady."

  Jordan let his eyes sweep the hillside as he speculated on the cause of the accident. The obvious reason hit him at the same time as the realization that more than one of the massive concrete slabs might be in the same condition. Years of immersion underwater had probably weakened the mortared joints holding the massive benches in place. He had to get Sarah out of here.

  Before she could realize his intention, he swept her into his arms, cradling her against his chest and burying his face against her neck.

  "I'm all right, Jordan. I'm not hurt. I can walk. Jordan, put me down!"

  "Please, Sarah, I need to hold you." He stopped and looked down into her eyes. "Humor me. Hurt or not, you've had a shock. So have I. I want to get us out of this sun."

  She was helpless before the pleading light in his eyes. Slowly she nodded her agreement. Then she leaned her head against his reassuring strength. Her arm moved around his shoulder, her fingers unconsciously tangling in the clipped hair at the nape of his neck.

  In an effort to redistribute her slight weight, Jordan shifted her position in his arms, trying to ignore the sensation of pleasure evoked by the softness of her body against the harder planes of his.

  "Are you sure you're all right?" he asked, hoping that she wouldn't detect the slight husky note in his voice. "No pain? No headache?"

  "I'm fine. Really I am, Jordan. I told you, I'm perfectly capable of walking." Sarah carefully controlled her voice, trying not to betray how much she was enjoying the feel of his arms around her. If she were sensible, she'd insist on walking, she told herself, ignoring her own warning and snuggling closer against him.

  "Spend the rest of the day with me, Sarah. Please?"

  She looked up, her eyes wide with surprise. Jordan chose that moment to drop a quick peck of a kiss on her forehead.

  "I think we've both had enough ruins for the day," he said, rushing his words before she could protest. "But we can stop by the store at the junction and collect supplies for a picnic. You must know dozens of good picnic sites. Share one with me."

  Sarah avoided looking at him as she turned the idea over in her mind. She could feel his gaze on her face as he waited for her answer.

  "We can collect Jimmy Joe, if you like. He'd enjoy it. And I'd like to see the little scamp again," Jordan added, trying to lend additional force to his request.

  Sarah shook her head. Grandpa took Jimmy to the auction barn in Bentonville today." The idea of a picnic, of an afternoon with Jordan, was inviting. She knew what she wanted. Hadn't she already decided there was no harm in spending the day with him? She had half a day to go.

  "I'd like that," she said finally. "Do you have a pair of swimming trunks?"

  Jordan nodded.

  "Then I have a better idea. Let's collect your swimming gear and my car, then drive out to the farm. I'll pack us a picnic lunch and introduce you to my favorite swimming hole."

  * * *

  The sound of birds singing in the berry thicket on the side of the hill supplied a melody to the accompaniment of falling water as the river wound its way through the rocks and boulders at the top of the ravine. The waters slowed, spreading into a quiet pool at the bottom of the gorge, as if resting to gather strength before rushing on down the mountain.

  Jordan rolled onto his stomach and propped his head on one hand. "It's beautiful," he said, watching Sarah pack the remains of their picnic lunch into the basket. "A perfect sylvan glen. No
wonder it's your favorite swimming hole."

  She set the basket to one side and lay back on the blanket spread beneath the twisted oak. With Jordan by her side, she could see the place with fresh eyes. Diamonds of sunlight, filtered through the canopy of leaves, dancing across the blanket. "When I was a little girl I was going to live here always—in a house on that high flat next to the old orchard. Then, every morning, I could pick an apple for breakfast, run down the hill and jump into the river."

  "Maybe you will someday."

  A cloud passed over her face. "Probably not. My uncle has leased this property for years. There's about eighty acres of good pasture here. But the owners recently put it on the market. And Uncle Hiram's not in a position to buy it." She shrugged her shoulders, then forced a grin. "Besides, when the apples are ripe, it's too late in the fall to swim."

  Jordan's fingers feathered lightly along her cheekbone.

  "Thank you for bringing me here, for sharing it with me."

  His touch was doing strange things to her heartbeat. Sarah tried to tell herself to ignore it even as she fought to prevent herself from turning her head into the caress. She sat up abruptly. "Beauty should be shared to be appreciated—otherwise, we take it for granted. That's why I brought you here." She reached down to tug off her shoes. "Let's go swimming. Last one in is a rotten egg."

  She quickly stripped to the two-piece swimsuit she wore under her jeans and cotton shirt and entered the pool in a shallow dive. The shock of the cold water restored her equilibrium. She looked back toward the shore, laughing as she watched Jordan hopping up and down on one bare foot, trying to remove his boot from the other.

  "That was an unfair advantage," he protested, as he tugged the second boot free. "I wasn't ready."

  Sarah's musical laugh echoed in the glen. "All's fair in—" Her voice died. Sunlight danced across his shoulders and chest as he quickly shed his shirt.

  "So it's war." His eyes glittered wickedly as he took a menacing step toward the pool, his hands busy at the button flap of his jeans. Just be warned. Rotten eggs don't play fair."

  Sarah ducked her head under the water, hoping the cold water would reduce the heat in her face. She squeezed her eyes shut, an attempt to ignore the image of his all-but-perfect body clad in leaf-green boxer-style swim trunks.

  She surfaced in time to see him enter the pool in a graceful racing dive. He surfaced and with a casual toss of his head, scattered a shower of water droplets like a fist full of diamonds. "Race you to the waterfall and back. And I'll be fair. You can have a head start. Your arms are shorter."

  "How much of a head start?"

  Jordan answered her teasing grin with one of his own. "See the snag on the left bank. You can start from there."

  Sarah looked at the dead tree, which was approximately a third of the way to the waterfall. "You're on." She moved toward her starting point in a leisurely crawl, then turned to look back at him. "Don't kick too deep. The center channel's only about four feet deep, except right in front of the fall."

  As Jordan acknowledged her warning, she positioned herself in the water opposite the dead tree. "Go," he hollered, watching for another second as Sarah began swimming toward the waterfall in a well-controlled, fast-paced crawl. Then he began, his strokes unaffected by the slight upstream resistance as he followed her through the water. Each of his strokes reduced the distance between them.

  She was only a couple of arm lengths ahead of him when she reached the fall pool. He flipped out of his turn, pulled aside, slowed to give her a wicked wink, then pulled steadily ahead. He was standing at the starting point when Sarah, her chest heaving from her efforts, joined him, treading water while she tried to catch her breath.

  "Somehow I knew you were the kind of person to finish a race, even when you know you've lost."

  "I'm out of practice", she gasped, "but I don't think it would have made a difference. You're good."

  Jordan pulled her against him. "Here, rest against me. I'm tall enough to stand."

  "What are you? A former Olympian?"

  He gave her a mischievous grin. "Hardly, but I will admit to competitive swimming years ago. I try to keep in shape."

  "I should have known that when you gave me a head start," she said, letting her head fall forward and resting her cheek against his chest. The feel of his sun-warmed flesh against her skin further complicated her efforts to control her labored breathing. She knew she should move away, but the steady beating of his heart beneath her ear was hypnotic.

  Slowly her breathing returned to normal as she relaxed in his arms.

  "Better now?" he asked, easing her slightly away from him.

  Sarah nodded, afraid to trust her voice. His hand, casually stroking her back, seemed to be interfering with her vocal cords.

  "Good. Then I can claim the victor's prize." Before she realized his intention, he lowered his head to claim her lips.

  Sarah couldn't breathe, couldn't think. She found herself helpless, held fast, not by the arms that still cradled her gently but by his searing mouth. The heat exploded like a summer grass fire. She felt limbless in his embrace and unable to move even when he broke the contact and lifted his head.

  Jordan had intended only a brief kiss, a playful reward, a token of victory. But the moment his lips had touched hers, he knew his impulse had gone awry. He lifted his head to find his vision filled with the sight of flame burning in the depths of her eyes. With a moan, he recaptured her lips.

  He gathered her closer, one hand splayed against the side of her face, and held her firmly against him as he raised his head and moved toward the bank. His lips sought hers again as he climbed from the water, breaking contact briefly as he knelt to lay her in the center of the quilt. Leaning over her, still on his knees, he cradled her face, cupping it in his hands as his lips moved softly against hers. His breath fanned against her cheek as he traced the contours of her face with his mouth, touching her eyelids, feathering her cheekbone, returning with unerring accuracy to the sweetness of her lips.

  Sarah felt his hands, so strong, so gentle, drift from her face. She gave an inarticulate cry and moved closer to him, wanting the caress of his fingers against her flesh. She released her hands from the back of his neck, running them, palms open, across his shoulders and down his bare back, as she gloried in the play of muscle and sinew beneath her touch.

  Jordan's lips mouth moved along the sensitive skin at the side of her neck, teasing her earlobe, capturing her fluttering pulse. He shifted, stretching out full-length beside her while his hands lightly skimmed her body. Everywhere flesh touched flesh, the contact burned like molten fire.

  Her hands slid along the strong column of his neck, tracing his collarbone with the tips of her fingers, caressing the hollow of his throat, moving downward to the fine hair that curled along his chest.

  A low moan escaped from the back of his throat. With a delicate touch, he molded the indentation at her waist and brushed his fingers across her naked midriff. Then his palms moved upwards until the weight of her breasts rested in them, his thumbs caressing her sensitized nipples through the silky material of her swimsuit.

  His touch added fuel to the flames flickering through her veins. His mouth swallowed the small moans of pleasure escaping her lips. He groaned again, then dipped his head to nuzzle aside the soft fabric of her swimsuit. Sarah gasped, arched closer and let herself float on a cushion of sensation. She was only vaguely aware of the shudder that rippled through Jordan's body when he pulled her against him.

  For a moment, he held her tightly, as a drowning man might grasp a buoy, then he was gone, leaving her shaking, confused and bereft. Dazed and uncomprehending, she looked to where he sat on the far side of the quilt, his arms hugging his legs, his head resting on his knees.

  Her fingers fumbled awkwardly in her effort to rearrange her halter. She and Jordan were strangers—more than strangers—they were opposites. Yet they had nearly... She had all but come apart in his arms. She shivered in spite of the
heat. She'd had no thoughts of caution, or even survival while in his arms—only the melting sensations and insatiable need for his touch.

  Against all reason, she would have given herself to him—if he had wanted her. Had something warned him that although she was willing, part of her was not ready? Something that even she couldn't define. Even if he didn't know what or why, he'd sensed something because he'd pulled away.

  Sarah felt a rush of shame and humiliation sweep over her.

  "I'm sorry, Sarah," Jordan said. "I had no intention of letting that happen." His voice was as ragged as her breathing.

  He turned his head toward her, recognized the wariness in her eyes, saw the trembling of her passion-swollen lips, and forced himself to look away. He drew a rasping breath, disgusted with himself. At first touch, he'd forgotten everything but the fact that she was in his arms. He had no defenses against her or against his desire for her. Never before had he felt so intense a longing for a woman. Yet, at the point of no return, he'd stopped.

  It was not a conscious decision. It wasn't—Jordan didn't know what it was, unless it was an inborn sense of survival.

  But for whom? Him or her?

  "Don't blame yourself, Jordan. I wasn't exactly discouraging you."

  Jordan heard the confusion in her voice. He frowned, trying to sort out his various impressions. No, she hadn't discouraged him. She'd melted under his touch, becoming a fire that consumed as it burned and he'd willingly jumped into the flames.

  He could understand her confusion. He, too, was confused. He could also accept and share her feeling of vulnerability. Never before had he felt so defenseless against the wants and needs of another, or against the demands of such a desire of his own body.

  But there was something else. Shame? No, not shame. Humiliation. Startled, he turned to look at her. She met his gaze, then cast her eyes downward and averted her face. She couldn't possibly think he'd rejected her because he didn't want her, could she?