"Nothing happened," Jordan admitted. "I just had a feeling. I was probably wrong."
"Jimmy Joe told us 'bout you knowing he was watching you. You weren't wrong that time..." T.J. said slowly. "Maybe you aren't this time, either."
"Maybe," Jordan said. "If I can get a name on that hit-and-run-driver I can at least check it against vehicle registrations. In the meantime..."
"If it was the same truck every time, that means it's been hanging around here since the first of the summer," T.J. pointed out. "Been careful to stay out of sight most of the time, too. Could be one of the Ewells. They've still got shirttail kin all over the area. Now that I know what to look for, I'll find it—if it's still around."
"Your first priority is watching after Sarah," Jordan reminded him. "If the truck's the right one, it will come after her again."
T.J.'s face sobered. "She's not going to like me baby-sitting."
Jordan grinned at the apprehensive look on T.J.'s face. It was his first smile since Sarah had left the cabin the afternoon before. He was surprised at how good he felt. Somehow, someway, everything was going to be all right. He had to believe that. First things first, he told himself.
"Take care, T.J. and keep Sarah safe," he pleaded. "I'll be back as soon as I find anything."
"I'll watch out for her," T.J. promised as Jordan turned to leave. "I'll find that truck too—if it's still around."
* * *
Sarah walked slowly down the winding driveway to the mailbox. This summer had been a disaster. Aunt Cinda's stubbornness. Caldwell's place being sold out from under T.J. Now her car's sudden breakdown. Luther said it would be another week before he could get the part he needed to fix it. And Jordan— There was always Jordan. Sarah kicked dejectedly at a stone lying in her path. Jordan made the other disasters pale by comparison.
He'd disappeared. Simply vanished. If he was anywhere in the vicinity, it would have been on the grapevine. But no one said a word. The family wouldn't, of course. They knew what had happened. At least part of it. She knew they were careful not to mention his name around her. But no one else knew. And no one had said a word about him. He hadn't been seen. That much was obvious. He was simply gone.
Wasn't that what you wanted? she asked herself. Her answer didn't make her feel any better. If he'd cared anything at all, he would have tried—at least once—to see her. Not, being right didn't make her feel one bit better.
She opened the mailbox, pulled out a large brown envelope and turned it over to examine the return address. Some kind of New York agency? It was addressed to her.
Without much curiosity she tore open the envelope, pulled out several photocopied pages and frowned. It wasn't an advertisement. It was then she saw the words at the top of the first page.
Sarah caught her breath, her eyes blurring. Still, she could make out the words "By Jordan D. Matthias." Her hands trembled as she flipped through the three pages. It was the story on Monte Ne. Quickly her eyes scanned the paragraphs, pausing here and there as a particular phrase caught her attention. She turned again to the last page, hoping to see a message, a note. There was nothing. Just the article.
She forced herself to start at the beginning, reading the words Jordan had written. He painted a canvas, his descriptions vivid. She could see Monte Ne alive again, alive in a way she'd been able to imagine but never put into words.
Then she came to the last three paragraphs. So, she thought, Jordan had successfully identified Monte Ne's historical importance as a forerunner of the planned community. She felt a moment of pride at his astuteness and allowed herself the satisfaction of knowing she had contributed to his project. Then she remembered that she'd never have the chance to tell him so.
With numb fingers she stuffed the pages back into the envelope and began the walk back to the farmhouse.
Would the misery of this summer never end?
Chapter 15
Do you realize you've been here for breakfast nearly every day this week?" Sarah asked, the accusation clearly audible in her voice. She placed the platter of sausage and eggs in front of her cousin. "You were never very subtle, T.J. I know what you're doing."
"What? Eating the best breakfast in Benton County? You bet."
Sarah shook her head. "I know you and Sam cooked this up between you. When are you going to admit you were wrong?"
"That you cook the best breakfast in the county? When I find a better one, I guess," T.J. said with a straight face. "Come on, Sarah, love. Stop glowering and have a cup of coffee. And maybe I'll tell you my news."
When Sarah made no move to join him, he cocked his head to one side. "It's about the Caldwell place," he said teasingly.
"You're not going to get around me that easily, Timothy James. I know they've stated clearing a building site down by the road."
"Well, I didn't reckon you'd suddenly gone blind," he returned huffily. "'Course I knew you'd seen the bulldozers. Heck. You can even hear them from here. This is something else."
"All right," Sarah said, pouring herself a cup of coffee. "Go on and tell me what you heard, but you're not changing my mind. Your flypaper act is getting a little old."
T.J. grinned like a magician about to pull a rabbit out of a hat. "Not something I heard, Sarah, but something I did. I've bought the Caldwell place—signed the papers yesterday."
If T.J. had wanted his announcement to be a bombshell, he'd succeeded. She slammed her coffee mug down on the table, choking on the sip of liquid trying to enter her esophagus via her windpipe. Her cousin was behind her chair in a second, administering assistance in the form of several heavy pats on the back.
Weakly she waved him away. "Your cure's worse that the ailment," she said between gasps for breath.
"I'm sorry, Sarah," he said, his voice contrite, as she fought to regain control of hers. "I didn't mean to—"
"Surprise me? Or pound me to death? She gave him a grin. "It's okay. I just don't understand how... I mean, I thought the place was sold." She gasped suddenly. "You're not building—"
"Of course not," he interjected. "I'm buying on a lease-option, everything but the building site by the road and one other."
He hesitated for a moment. "Sarah, I'm sorry, but they're also cutting out another five-acre parcel. It's the old home site between the orchard and the river. And access to reach it, of course."
"If anyone was going to buy eighty acres for a building site, it's only good sense to pick the best one on the property," she said. "Of course it would be the old home site. What I don't understand is how you managed to get the rest."
"On a silver platter," T.J. told her. "Honest. Right out of the blue this lawyer in Rogers calls me. Said the bulk of the property was going to be resold and he'd been instructed to offer it to me before putting it on the open market. I thought it was a joke, but it wasn't. I've got a lease for five years with an option to buy that can be exercised anytime within the lease period for a minimum down payment. And eighty percent of the lease payments apply to the purchase price."
"But who owns it, T.J. He doesn't sound too smart to me. Are you sure it's legal?"
T.J. laughed. "I wondered the same thing. I think that lawyer in Bentonville does too, at least the part about his client not being too smart. But he said he was under instructions. And it's all legal. I had Dad's lawyer look over the papers before I signed." He shook his head. "I don't know who the owner is. A land company holds actual title. I wondered if..."
"You think you know who it is, don't you?"
T.J. grinned sheepishly. "I've got one wild idea."
"Who?"
"I'm not telling you. If I'm right, we'll all know soon enough. If I'm wrong, then nobody can call me a fool. Anyway, according to the lease, I have full and unrestricted use of the land until the building site is surveyed, staked and fenced off from the rest of the property. That means you can go swimming at the river again. Legally, I mean. I'm giving you permission."
Sarah looked up indignantly. "You know I haven't be
en to the river since it was sold. I wouldn't go trespassing on someone else's land unless I—"
"Knew who you were trespassing on."
"I was going to say unless I had permission."
"So now you've got permission. What do you plan to do today? Everyone else is gone, aren't they?"
"Yes. I thought I'd drive into Fayetteville, this afternoon. Grandpa said I could use his car. I need to do a little shopping."
"Wait until tomorrow and I'll go with you."
"That's what I meant earlier, T.J. I can't step off the farm without you playing watchdog. It's got to stop."
"I need to go to Fayetteville, too, Sarah. Honest. And your Grandfather's car is air-conditioned. Are you saying I can't come with you?" He gave her a hurt little-boy look reminiscent of Jimmy Joe's.
"You're a poor liar and an even worse actor," she told him. "You don't need to go to Fayetteville."
"And neither do you. So, are you going to stay home like a good girl? Just a little longer, Sarah. Until we're sure."
"I'm sure now." She sighed. "Oh, all right. Maybe I'll go swimming."
"That should be all right. Want to go out to dinner tonight? Maybe catch a movie?"
Sarah shook her head.
"I'll stop by later. Maybe you'll change your mind," T.J. said.
"You mean you'll check on me later."
He grinned. "That's what I said." He picked up the now empty plate and walked around the table to lay it in the sink. Then, unexpectedly, swooped down to give her a peck on the cheek. "You do fix the best breakfast in Benton County," he said. "Only don't tell Mom I said so. I'll have to deny it."
Sarah couldn't help smiling back. She shook her head as she watched him drive down the hill.
* * *
Jordan had been awake for almost forty-eight hours, but his mind refused to acknowledge his exhaustion. He had only one thought. Get to Sarah. Make sure she's safe.
The frustration he'd felt when he'd finally pieced together the story in Tulsa drained from him as he neared his destination. But even at the height of his anger he'd never believed she'd deceived him intentionally. She was such an innocent. She simply hadn't realized what was going on.
From now on she'd tell him everything. No more ignoring threats or warnings of any kind. She wouldn't have to deal with them. All she had to do was tell him. From now on he'd take care of anything like this.
Turning onto the main street of Mountain Springs, Jordan briefly enjoyed the unfamiliar feeling of homecoming. Not yet, but soon, he promised himself, steering the SUV into a side street and parking next to town hall.
As he entered the sheriff's office, Sam looked up from his desk, a dark frown immediately replacing his usual benign expression.
"Where's Sarah? Is she all right?"
"No reason she shouldn't be," Sam returned curtly. "Thought you'd left town.
"I'm back," Jordan said, forcing himself to be calm. He'd get no help from the sheriff if he lost his temper now. Besides, it wasn't Sam's fault. He hadn't known either.
Jordan laid two sheets of paper on the desk. "Here's the fellow you should be frowning at. He's the one after Sarah."
Sam reached for the papers.
"His name's Billy Clyde Jackson. Sarah gave Tulsa police the license number of his car three years ago. He spent twenty-two months in jail on hit-and-run charges and was released on parole last May. He jumped parole.
"Three years ago? That's about the time she came home hurt and scared as an abandoned kitten." Sam sighed. "It was a bad time, but no reason to think it has anything to do with Sarah's 'accidents.'"
"There is if you know the man's a nut case. And know he threatened her. Right in the courtroom."
"Threatened her? She never told me that." Sam's frown turned into a full-fledged scowl. "Why wasn't she warned before he was released? Why wasn't she called into the parole hearing? That's standard procedure with threats."
"They didn't notify her because no one knew she'd been threatened. No one but Sarah, and she chose to ignore it."
"He threatened her in court and nobody knew it? Damnation, Matthias, you're not making any sense."
Jordan felt sorry for the man. "Sorry, Sheriff. I'll try a little harder." Jordan dragged his hand through his hair.
Sam seemed to look at him for the first time. "You look exhausted," he said, not unkindly. "Well, don't just stand there. Sit down before you fall down and tell me what the hell's going on." He kicked at the leg of the empty chair by his desk.
Gratefully Jordan sank into it. At least Sam seemed willing to listen to him. He'd even offered him a chair. "Sarah gave police the license number of the hit-and-run car. Then their only witness gave them the same number under hypnosis. The matching numbers—that's the story that leaked to the press and caused the publicity," Jordan explained.
Sam nodded. "She didn't tell me much about it. It was all over by the time she came home. I didn't press her. She was in pretty bad shape."
This time it was Jordan who nodded. "I don't know why Sarah went to the arraignment. Jackson originally reported the car stolen, so maybe she wanted to be sure they had the right man. Anyway, she was there. Jackson may have seen and recognized her. There were a couple of photographs in one of the papers. Maybe he didn't see her. But something set him off. He went completely crazy. They had to drag him out of the courtroom.
"I talked to one of the officers who was there. He said Jackson was screaming and yelling and calling down vengeance on the devil's disciples who interfered in his work for the Almighty. But no one realized it was directed at Sarah, because no one knew that she'd been receiving threatening phone calls and crank letters about her 'devil's work.' I had to drag it out of her, and then only a little bit of it. I didn't even get his name from her. That's why it's taken me so long to get back."
"She told you this guy threatened her? She never told me." Sam's expression was growing darker by the moment. "Neither did you. If I'd known, I could have checked it out a long time ago. Damn it. She nearly had me convinced she was right and I was wrong."
"I'm sorry, Sam. Once, when we were talking, she mentioned threats. After what happened at the rodeo I made her tell me more. I promised her I wouldn't tell you because she insisted it wasn't important. Said you'd just be off on another wild-goose chase. I think she really believes it isn't important. And I thought it was a long shot, too. The Ewells sounded like better prospects."
Jordan shut his eyes for a moment, struggling to keep his frustration under control. "But now I'm convinced he's the one. I talked to a couple of the inmates, too. He was still muttering threats when he was released. It all fits."
"Damn it all. She needs a keeper."
"She's got one."
Sam's head snapped up. Jordan met his eyes without flinching. After a long moment Sam slowly nodded his head, then turned his attention to the set of mug shots.
"I don't think I've seen him around. Stands to reason he'd keep out of sight, though."
"I understand he's about sixty pounds heavier. Prison must have agreed with him."
"Then maybe we'd just better see he goes back." Sam studied the pictures again. "Heavier. Fuller cheeks, jowls. Maybe..." He pushed back his chair and stood, the paper still in his hand. "I'll find him. What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to find Sarah and wring her foolish little neck. Then I'm going to marry her, if I can convince her to have me."
"Now see here, Matthias—" Sam protested.
"And you'd better start calling me Jordan. I'm going to be around a lot."
Both men were still staring at each other when the office slammed open. Jordan turned as T.J. stepped into the room.
"Thought that was your SUV," he said, nodding at Jordan. "You're just in time. I think I've found the pickup."
"What pickup?" Sam demanded.
"The truck I think nearly ran Sarah and me off Bald Mountain. The one Jordan may have seen at the ruins. Maybe the same one that followed him and Sarah to Eureka Springs,
" T.J. said smugly.
"Stop showing off," Jordan told him. "Where'd you see it?"
"Luther just towed it in to his place with a broken axle. The guy driving it is there, too."
Jordan grabbed the paper from Sam's hands and thrust it at T.J. "Is this the man? He'll be a little heavier now."
"What's his name" Sam asked at the same time.
"Name's Jackson. Lenny Jackson," T.J. said, studying the mug shots. "These look something like him, but I don't think it's the same man. The guy at Luther's is younger."
"Younger brother," Jordan said explosively. "Lenny is Billie Clyde's baby brother. Billy Clyde won't be far away." He turned his attention to T.J. "Where's Sarah?"
"At the farm. I put her car out of commission. She may be at the river. She said she might go swimming."
"Alone?"
"Sure. It's almost part of the farm. Why? What's going on?" Jordan was already halfway out the door.
"Jordan, wait," Sam yelled after him. "Take T.J. with you. I'll take care of Lenny and meet you at the farm. Go on, T.J. He can tell you what's happening."
* * *
Sarah gave her wet hair one last wring, flipped it over her shoulders, then picked up her towel and the basket containing her empty thermos and her half-eaten sandwich. She glanced around the grove one more time. Her swim had cooled her off but had done little to refresh her spirits.
What did she expect? she asked herself. Everything reminded her of Jordan. The shady oak where they'd spread the quilt, the old tree snag that had marked her starting point the time he'd challenged her to a race. Even the river. Everywhere she looked she could see Jordan.
She remembered the way he'd tossed his head, scattering droplets of water that caught the sun like shining diamonds. She remembered the effortless way his body cut through the water, swimmer's muscles rippling under the skin. She could see the long lean length of him stretched beside her on the quilt, his eyes alight with laughter, his lips tender and inviting.
Stranger on the Shore Page 20
