Stranger on the Shore (14 page)

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.

"What... what is it?" he managed to ask.

"Depends on who's talking. The family calls it Gertie's Gazebo. Everyone else calls it The Folly. Grandpa built it for my grandmother as a first-anniversary present. It's modeled after one they saw in New Orleans on their honeymoon. Grandpa even duplicated the fancy fretwork that supports the roof.

"But why in the middle of a cow pasture?"

"The original, the one in New Orleans, was by the side of a small lake. According to Grandmother, there were ducks and swans swimming back and forth and water lilies blooming in the water."

She moved aside to allow Jordan through the narrow gate, stiffening when his hand casually brushed against her arm. His touch was as breath stealing as she remembered. She walked to the corner of the enclosure and waited for him to join her.

"See that shallow ravine down the hill? Grandpa planned to dam up the ravine to create a stock pond in there. But a gazebo too close to a stock pond wouldn't be exactly romantic. So he built the gazebo up here to overlook the pond. Then he discovered a problem. Evidently, there's a fault in the bedrock. The ravine won't hold water. So here it sits, Gertie's Gazebo, high and dry on the side of a hill pasture."

Jordan followed Sarah up the steps into the hexagon-shaped structure. The open-air building, enclosed with latticework to a four-foot height on the sides and covered by a cone-shaped roof, provided a circular view of the surrounding hillsides.

"I don't think Grandmother minded about the pond," Sarah said, her voice soft and hushed. She and Grandpa still come out here often. They say it's the best place on the farm to see the Milky Way."

"No, I don't think she would," Jordan agreed. "This is one of those cases where it's the thought that counts."

Sarah took a seat on one of the cushioned benches built along five sides of the structure. Jordan selected a bench opposite her. "Anyway," she added, "I thought it would be a good place for us to talk. At the house we run the risk of being interrupted every few minutes."

Jordan nodded, shifted restlessly on the bench and unconsciously raked his hand through his hair. He looked across the small space separating them, wondering how to start. Sarah beat him to it.

"Why are you back?" she asked, her eye meeting, probing his.

He fought to control his breathing. "I had to come." Although he knew his voice sounded brisk, matter-of-fact, he'd had no control over the words. How did she do that to him? A feeling of disquiet, something akin to anger, stirred in his body. He stood abruptly, took a quick step toward her. Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he turned away and looked out over the countryside.

"Look, Sarah, I don't know if I can explain it, but I need to try. I once told you I was a rover, occasionally resting in strange places for a while, but eventually moving on. I've never found a place where I thought I could stay. But this time, when I left, it was different. It called me back. I couldn't get it out of my mind."

He turned toward her again, forcing her to meet his eyes. "I couldn't get you out of my mind." He watched her face for a moment, as if waiting for a reaction.

Sarah clutched her hands together in her lap, forcing them to be still, hoping he hadn't noticed her agitation. Her mind swam dizzily, caught between separate reactions of hope and fear. She stared at him mutely, wondering if he was waiting for her to say something, wondering what she should say. But before she could gather her thoughts, he continued speaking.

"I got to thinking, what if I'm not like the wind? What if I'm not a leaf or a piece of flotsam, but a seed caught in the current, blown around, looking for a place to land? What if this is the place where I could settle, could grow roots? Do you understand, Sarah? I don't know if it is. All I know is, I want to find out."

Sarah tried to think. The implications of what he was saying and her own emotions mingled in a chaotic jumble of reason and desire. "What are you asking, Jordan? What do you want? What do you want from me?"

His response was immediate. "I want to stay here, for a while at least. I want a chance to taste life as one who might belong, as more than a passing visitor."

She didn't realize she was holding her breath until he paused. He took a step toward her, then abruptly stopped and thrust his hands into his pockets again.

"I don't want to hurt you, Sarah. And I'm not masochistic. I was being truthful before. We could hurt each other. It would only take a spark. I'm not asking for that. I want a chance to get to know you, you and this place. But under the circumstances, I won't stay if you don't want me to. Do you, Sarah? If I stay, can you be my friend?"

Sarah sat silently for a moment, almost afraid to believe what she'd heard. It was as perfect an answer to her problems as she could hope to find in an imperfect world. He was asking for time—time for him to get to know her and for her to get to know him. Could she give that to him? Could she not? First friendship, then, later, perhaps...
What will come, comes,
she reminded herself.

Jordan stood waiting, wondering if he should have approached her differently, if he could have won her agreement more easily. He held his breath as she finally raised her eyes from the floor and looked into his face. He began to hope when he saw her smile.

"How much of a purist are you?" she asked in a breathless voice.

Her question threw him into total confusion, again. "Purist?"

"I know you'd personally never bait a fishhook with a worm, but how do you feel about eating a fish someone else has caught that way?" Her eyes teased gently. "You can stay for supper tonight, if you like. But it's Friday. Jimmy Joe provides the fish."

* * *

Over the next few days Sarah inserted Jordan into the midst of summer farming activities, introducing him to members of her family, watching in fascination as her relatives' natural wariness of strangers was replaced by acceptance and friendship.

Although Jordan was house-sitting a colleague's home near Eureka Springs, each day he drove through the throngs of tourists, arriving at the farm, ready for the activities of the day. Sarah carefully arranged her schedule so that at least one member of her family of chaperons was always nearby.

But she couldn't prevent her eyes from following his tall lean frame whenever he was in sight. Nor could she escape the fluttering sensations she felt each time his eyes purposely sought hers. Although she'd carefully avoided any physical contact between them, she knew that her obvious restrain was causing raised eyebrows and knowing grins from certain of her kinsmen.

It was only a matter of time until her well-meaning relatives intervened "on her behalf" and rearranged her carefully laid plans. But even knowing that, she was unprepared to feel Jordan's hands at her waist, hands lifting her from her position in front of the suds-filled kitchen sink and gently depositing her to one side.

"It will be faster if I wash and you dry," he said. "You know where things go."

"You're going to wash dishes? But Grandmother—"

"Your grandmother is taking a well-deserved rest in a rocking chair on the front porch," he told her. "What's the matter? Don't you think I know how to wash dishes?" His voice held a soft, teasing sound. He lifted a towel from the stack next to the sink and tied it around his waist. "It's been a while, I'll admit, but I washed my first stack of dishes standing on an apple crate so I could reach the sink. It's like riding a bicycle. Once you learn, you never forget."

Sarah watched, afraid to trust her voice, as he expertly washed and rinsed three plates, setting them on the drain board in front of her. The white suds clinging to his arms emphasized the golden hue of his skin.

`"You couldn't keep avoiding me forever, you know. Your cousins are already taking bets—" He grinned when she raised shocked eyes to his face. "Better grab a towel. You're getting behind."

"They wouldn't dare—" she protested as she automatically began drying the dishes. Then: "Yes, they would," she admitted in a resigned voice.