Stranger on the Shore

by Carol Duncan Perry

  Yes, she could. The answer was there—her wariness, her hesitation, the humiliation in her voice. He'd been the one to pull away.

  There were many reasons for his actions, although he'd been thinking of none of them at the time. Certainly not that one. Not a lack of desire. He had wanted her with an intensity still throbbing in his veins, a desire that still held his body on the threshold of pain. He knew it was important that she understand that.

  "Sarah, listen to me," he said, unable to control the husky rasping of his voice. "I've never wanted anyone more than I wanted—want—you. I want to make you part of me, to make me part of you. I want to lose myself in your incredible magic." His voice trailed off. He shook his head, like a prizefighter, trying to clear his muddled senses. "There are reasons. Don't you understand? With you, it wouldn't be enough."

  Sarah caught her breath. She wanted to believe him, but even if she could, it would make no difference. "Jordan, don't...," she pleaded.

  He turned at the sound of pain in her voice, saw the shadows in the depth of her mysterious eyes.

  "Do you understand, Sarah?" he said again, unable to hide the strain in the hushed tones of his voice. "Shared attraction, shared liking, mutual physical pleasures—it's always been enough before. But not this time."

  He drew a long, slow breath, consciously unclenching his fists in an attempt to unleash the tension in his body. "Damn it all, Sarah, I couldn't share that with you and then walk away. When it came time for me to move on, I'd leave bits and pieces of me here. I'd walk away wounded, un-whole. His voice turned bitter. "It's too high a price to pay for temporary pleasure."

  Sarah took a ragged breath.

  "You belong here," he added in a bleak, controlled voice. "You're part of this place, its people—one of its unexpected flowers, growing protected amid the rocks and hills. I'm restless. I can pause and appreciate the beauty, but then I move on. I only travel through."

  Sarah blinked in an effort to control the moisture threatening to escape her eyes. "I'm sorry." Her voice was still husky, but it was no longer trembling. When she raised her eyes to meet his, there was acceptance in their depths.

  Jordan beat back the instincts that told him to take her in his arms again. She was so damned open. She wanted him. God knew he wanted her, but he was walking a tight wire with his conscience now. She didn't know why he was here. If she did, she wouldn't have come with him today. He would never have held her in his arms, never have kissed her, never—

  Jordan's body uncoiled from his seat on the blanket like a tense spring. He moved quickly toward the river, praying all the while that the water was as cold as he remembered.

  He swam relentlessly toward the waterfall, flipping his body underwater in the deep pool at the bottom of the fall, surfacing to return without losing rhythm, stroking powerfully to his starting point, then turning to repeat the process.

  She watched as he made the journey, twice, three times. Slowly the strength crept back into her limbs. She pulled her jeans and shirt over her swimsuit.

  By the time she'd tied her shoes, Jordan had abandoned the water and slipped into his own clothing. She shook out the quilt and folded it in her arms. Jordan reached for the picnic basket. With one last look at the quiet pool they began the climb out of the glen.

  Sarah led the way through the woods, then across the pasture to the road, speaking only occasionally. Jordan followed close behind, careful not to touch her.

  They walked up the winding driveway to her grandparents' farmhouse, and Jordan stopped beside his vehicle. He handed her the basket.

  "You're leaving here now."

  "Yes." His mouth twisted into a wry grin. "It's best I go."

  Sarah nodded, her eyes searching his face. "I understand," she said quietly.

  "Somehow I doubt that. I don't understand it myself," he told her, hoping the expression on his face belied the churning emotions beneath the surface. What in the hell was he doing walking away like this? He wasn't finished here. He'd never walked away from an investigation in his life. However, this time every instinct screamed for him to go.

  "What about your article?"

  Her question slammed into him like a left hook to the solar plexus. It took him a moment to realize that she was referring to his story on Monte Ne, not his investigation into her psychic activities.

  He saw the puzzled look on her face, saw her reach out to touch his arm, and realize he'd flinched. She'd dropped her hand without completing the motion. Jordan tasted the bitter bile of regret in the back of his throat and desperately hoped she wasn't reading his mind this time.

  "Between the research I did over the weekend and today's tour, I think I can finish it," he said. "I'd like to thank you for the help. I'll make sure you receive a copy when it's published." His words sounded callous, even to his own ears.

  Sarah stepped back, feeling as if she'd just been slapped. "I was glad to help," she said quietly, tilting her chin as pride came to her rescue. She stood for a moment, looking at him, asking herself why she should be surprised. She'd known from the beginning that he was just passing through.

  Jordan returned her look, his expression hard, his eyes veiled. Then he turned abruptly, opened the car door and swung himself into position behind the steering wheel.

  Sarah took another step backward. "Goodbye, Jordan," she said quietly.

  The slight sound of her voice resounded like thunder in his ears. Jordan raised his head and tried to form his mouth into a smile. Defeated, he turned his attention to starting the motor.

  He knew he was leaving with his job only half finished. He didn't know how he was going to explain the defection to his agent, and he hoped the story on Sarah hadn't already been sold on speculation. He'd write other stories—even other stories about psychics. But not this one. Not one on Sarah. He had to go. The price of staying was simply too high.

  He managed to raise his arm in a farewell gesture and turned toward the highway. Unable to resist one last look, he let his eyes stray to the side view mirror. She was standing as he'd left her, alone, her hands tightly clutching the picnic basket.

  Chapter 7

  Sarah's life slipped back into the pattern of Mountain Springs. If she was quieter and more withdrawn, than usual, the family didn't question it. They gave her space and silent but loving support. The first day passed, slipped unnoticed into the second and then the third. A week went by before Sarah stopped and allowed herself to think about Jordan Matthias.

  Her first reaction was anger—anger with herself for believing one day couldn't make a difference. But mostly, she felt alone. It seemed a familiar state of affairs. She'd always been alone—surrounded but apart. This was no different, except perhaps that now she knew the void in the center of her life would never be filled.

  What will come, comes, she reminded herself, and stoically moved through the motions of day-to-day living, coping with the exhausting energy of one young boy cousin, worrying about the future of one stubborn great-aunt and assisting her family when and where she could. Almost unnoticed, the second week slipped by.

  When she heard the rattling pickup pull into the yard, Sarah dried her hands and stepped onto the screened back porch to welcome her cousin.

  "Got a glass of lemonade for a thirsty farmer?" T.J. yelled, climbing out of the truck. "Can't remember it ever being so hot in June. I'm already dreading August."

  "Come on in, T.J.," Sarah told him. "I can probably find a sandwich of some kind, too. What are you doing over here this time of day? All the cows go on vacation?"

  "Don't I wish," T.J. pulled off his straw hat and plopped it on the counter, then rinsed his hands under the kitchen faucet. "I've been checking Dad's stock in Canfield's east pasture. We may have to move them."

  "So, they finally sold the place."

  "Not yet, but if they do, we'll have to move fast. They only let us run this summer on a week-to-week lease."

  Sarah hesitated a moment. She hated to ask, but knew she had to. "Is ther
e any way you could make them a offer?"

  T.J. shook his head. "No chance. Not until late fall, probably not even then. If they'd held off one more year before putting it on the market—" He shrugged his shoulders. "But they didn't." He pulled one of the straight-backed chairs out from under the scarred harvest table and sat down.

  "Oh, T.J., I'm sorry. What about your horses?"

  He shrugged. "I'll find somewhere for them. There'll be other places up for sale come spring. Always somebody wanting to sell after winter. If I'm not able to buy, I can always lease. For now, I've shifted them back to Dad's place. He said he didn't feel up to nursing a bunch of calves through the winter anyway. We'll winter the horses there instead." T.J. took a long, slow sip from the tall glass of iced lemonade Sarah placed in front of him.

  It doesn't seem right. The place's been sitting there for years. And now, just before you're ready to move, they decide to sell." Sarah added a slice of tomato to the ham sandwich she was making, then plopped the sandwich on a place and set it in front of him.

  "Buck up, Sarah. There's always the possibility nobody else wants it. If they do, it's not the end of the world. You just don't want to lose your favorite swimming hole."

  Sarah ignored the sharp pain his casual remark provoked. Despite the unseasonably hot weather, she hadn't been swimming in two weeks. She made up her mind to go this afternoon. It was time to reclaim her happy memories of lazy afternoons spent at there.

  "You're right, I don't." She gave him a wry grin. "But I also hate to think of strangers buying it. With Grandpa on this side and Uncle Hiram on the other, it just seems it ought to be family."

  "Cheer up, cousin. Things will work out one way or the other. Speaking of family, have you been able to make any progress getting my grandmother off the mountain?"

  Sarah made a small grimace. "I thought you said cheer up. Thinking about moving Aunt Cinda is hardly a cheerful subject."

  "That bad, huh? Haven't you made any progress at all?" T.J. asked.

  "None. You're more than welcome to try your luck. The last time I mentioned it, she told me there was only one way to get her off the mountain short of carrying her off feet first."

  "One way? T.J. looked relieved. "Well, what is it?"

  "She wouldn't say. And I can't read her." Sarah's voice reflected her frustration.

  The relief on his face disappeared. He finished his sandwich, drained the last of the lemonade and pushed back his chair. "You'll figure it out," he said. "We can always count on you."

  "I wish I had your confidence. I was thinking, T.J., if you could get your horse ranch established, find a place with a little house on it, maybe we could say you needed someone to look after you. I have a little in the bank, if that will help, and—"

  "Hold it right there, Sarah Jane Wilson. I love Grandmother dearly. But have her take care of me? She'd drive me crazy in a week. She'd drive you crazy in a week, too, and she's closer to you than anyone. It won't work. What we need is a small place near some of us so she can be independent and still close enough to somebody to get to her if she needs help."

  T.J. rescued his hat from the countertop, and Sarah followed him out onto the porch. "You're right, of course," she told him. "Maybe I can find a small place for rent."

  "I think your time would be better spent finding out what one reason will bring her off the mountain. Then the rest will fall into place."

  Sarah made a face at him. "I could use a little help. Why don't you try to find out?"

  T.J. laughed. "She's being mysterious. You know that's your department." He took the two porch steps in a single stride. "Thanks for lunch." He started to climb into the truck cab, then stopped and turned to face her again.

  "By the way, you want to see that writer fellow? You know, the one who was around here a while back?"

  Sarah went very still. She opened her mouth to answer, closed it without uttering a sound, and then tried again. "He's gone."

  Her cousin shook his head. "He's back. Saw his vehicle on the square this morning."

  "There are lot of blue SUVs around," she said carefully. "If it is him, he's probably double—checking a few facts for that article he's writing."

  "Sometimes you can be awful dense, Sarah Jane. I saw the way he looked at you. Like an ice-cream cone on a hot day."

  When Sarah started to protest, he quieted her with a gesture. "That's none of my business. Just tell me if you want to see him or not. I'm heading to the Co-op now. If he's still in town, I can manage to run into him. If he asks, I can tell him how to reach you. Otherwise, you'll be top item on the valley grapevine again. He'll be asking all over town—like the last time."

  Sarah's thoughts tumbled. Was he really back? And was T.J. right? Would he want to see her again? When he said good-bye, it had sounded final to her.

  T.J.'s drawl interrupted her thoughts. "Well, what's the answer? Do you or don't you?"

  She took a deep breath. "If Mr. Matthias is back in town and wants to see me, he knows where to find me. He came out to the farm once." Her voice was cool and noncommittal as she could make it.

  "I didn't know that, Sarah Jane. Guess you don't need my help after all. If I see him, I'll just say hi." T.J.'s face broke into a wide grin.

  "Don't you be volunteering anything. You hear me, Timothy James? You let things be."

  T.J. just laughed and gave her a jaunty goodbye wave.

  * * *

  Sarah dumped the last of the green beans into the pan, then stretched to ease her stiff back. She'd sat on the porch for the last two hours, one ear listening for the phone, one eye on the driveway, while her hands automatically snapped beans. Her busy hands had done little to distract her chaotic thoughts.

  When the phone rang, she jumped like a scalded cat. It wasn't as if she were expecting a call, she told herself, then laughed at her foolishness. Not expecting, but hoping. And wondering. Considering the way he'd left, what could he possibly bring him back? She forced herself to be calm and picked up the phone.

  "Sarah? This is Jordan."

  "Hi, Jordan," Sarah said lightly, only her white knuckled grip on the receiver betraying her agitation. "T.J. said he thought he'd seen your car in town." There was a momentary silence on the other end of the line and what sounded suspiciously like a slowly released breath.

  "I saw him," Jordan told her. "He gave me your telephone number. I couldn't remember your grandparents' name."

  Sarah waited, afraid to speak, determined not to betray the havoc the sound of his voice was wreaking on her carefully controlled emotions.

  "I didn't know T.J. was your cousin," he added suddenly.

  A tiny laugh escaped Sarah's lips. "You didn't? I told you the whole town was kin."

  The voice on the other end of the phone relaxed. "Well, I didn't know. Tell me, is he blood kin or kissing kin?"

  Sarah laughed again. This time it was not a laugh of nerves. "Blood kin. Second cousin, in fact. Our grandmothers are sisters. Does it matter?" she asked teasingly.

  "It could," he answered, his voice suddenly solemn. "Sarah, I need to see you."

  Anticipation battled with caution. Sarah took a long, slow breath to give herself a moment to collect her thoughts. Should she see him again? She wanted to, but she didn't want to be hurt again. Inevitably, she bowed to desire. "Of course, Jordan. Are you having problems with the article?" She could only hope her voice sounded normal. With the hammering of her pulse in her ears, she couldn't be sure.

  "No, the article's fine. In fact, it's already sold and scheduled for publication in September."

  "Then why—"

  "Don't be dense, Sarah. May I come out and talk to you?"

  Although he phrased his request as a question, Sarah didn't fail to catch the determination in his voice. She was glad there was no one there to see the rush of blood to her cheeks.

  "I'd like that. When?" The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She heard a relieved laugh on the other end of the line.

 
"Now. If that's all right. I have a proposition for you?"

  "A proposition?" She was caught completely off guard, and her voice all but squeaked.

  This time she definitely heard the low rumble of his deep-throated laugh.

  "Don't worry. It's not that kind of proposition," he told her. "I'll drive out now. All right?"

  Sarah nodded, almost afraid to trust her voice, then realized he couldn't see her from the other end of the phone line. "Okay," she told him, a little breathlessly. "I'll see you in a little while."

  * * *

  Jordan put down the receiver, unsure if he was facing judgment day or had just won a last-minute reprieve. In fact, he wasn't sure of anything—especially not why he'd returned to Mountain Springs. But he was here. He'd found himself driving down the small town's main street at midmorning with only one thought in his mind. He had to see Sarah again.

  He considered the feasibility of telling her why he'd come, then summarily dismissed the idea. Later, maybe. But not now. If she knew that the reason he'd come to Mountain Springs was to research a story on her psychics abilities she'd refuse to see him. Then he'd never know what she was or why he was so drawn to her.

  It had to be this way, he told himself, refusing to give into the doubts created by his guilt over deceiving her.

  * * *

  Sarah barely had time to wash the green bean stains from her hands and change into a crisp cotton sundress before she heard Jordan's car in the driveway. Knowing her grandparents and Jimmy Joe were due back any minute, she met him at the door and suggested a walk.

  She didn't want to revisit the glen by the creek—not with Jordan—not until she knew exactly why he'd returned. Instead, she led him behind the barn, across the pasture and up a small hill. The conversation was casual. It was as if they had decided, both independent of the other, not to discuss anything personal until they reached a resting place.

  She couldn't quite suppress her grin as she bent to unlatch the gate to the small picket-fence enclosure. She knew Jordan would be standing behind her, looking in amazement at the white hexagon structure protected by the fence.