Stranger on the Shore (15 page)

His grin turned into a full-fledged laugh. "I like your family," he said.

"Sometimes they can be a pain in the... the..."

"Derriere?"

"Well, yes," she said.

"As I remember, it's a very pretty derriere.

"Jordan," she protested, looking quickly toward the open door between the kitchen and the dining room.

"It's all right. They've all adjourned to the front porch. Besides, I was choosing my words very carefully."

Sarah found the teasing banter relaxing. "They like you, too. Grandpa says, for a city boy you do pretty well on a tractor seat. Believe me, that's high praise."

"I was at home on a tractor seat long before I became a city boy, Sarah."

Jordan regarded her with solemn eyes. "I think there's a lot about each other we don't know. I hope—"

"You hope what?"

Jordan caught his breath.
So many things,
he thought.
I hope you'll forgive me if you learn why I came back. I hope I'll discover what it is that draws me to you, to this place.
He refused to follow the thoughts any farther, afraid of what he might find. Instead, he smiled. "I hope we have a chance to learn about each other."

"Most of the time I think people help make their own chances," Sarah said.

Jordan's eyes met and held hers. It was too much to ask of any man. She'd avoided being alone with him for days.
Didn't she realize that was like denying water to a man in the desert? Didn't she know it was part of the male psyche to accept a dare? Wasn't she was aware that she was challenging him to make his own chance?
He withdrew his hands from the dishwater, drying them on the towel tucked into his waistband, his gaze never wavering, never allowing hers to drop. Then he reached for her.

Sarah stood as she was, mesmerized by the compelling look in his eyes. She knew she should say something, do something. She saw him reach for her, tried to step back, discovered she couldn't move. She felt his hand warm on her shoulder, breathed the fresh smell of the lemon scented detergent mixing with the clean male scent of his skin. He bent his head, and his lips brushed, then claimed, hers with a gentle sweetness that spread through her limbs, weakening her knees.

This kiss was unlike the explosion on the riverbank, that searing blue-white blaze of wanting she'd been unable to forget. This was a carefully controlled flame, smoldering banked coals, no less intense in heat and no less compelling in nature. Sarah felt her resistance fading, felt her body swaying toward him, melting into his only one small glimmer of reason remained. She knew that if she didn't move away she'd be lost, consumed in the fire of her wanting. It was self-preservation that made her try to retreat.

Jordan felt her sudden resistance and reluctantly raised his mouth from hers. "Ah, Sarah," he whispered against her lips, "Chance is sometimes a risky business." He continued to hold her for a second. Then, glancing toward the open doorway, he turned back to the sink and plunged his hands into the dishwater. If he was right, the kitchen was about to be invaded. "Start drying, Sarah," he hissed under his breath, "Someone's coming."

His warning preceded T.J.'s entrance by seconds. Jordan turned toward the man, his movement blocking Sarah from sight, giving her another moment to collect herself.

"You here to help supervise or chaperone?" he asked, not bothering to disguise his good humor.

T. J. ignored him. "You'd better come, Sarah," he said. "Dad and Aunt Gertie are into it about Grandmother again."

"Not again," Sarah cried. Throwing the towel at T.J. and all but running out the door.

"Well, I guess I know what she wants me to do," T.J. said cheerfully, reaching for a dish on the drain board.

Jordan eyed him curiously. "Family crisis? No, never mind. It's none of my business." He rinsed the last cup and set it in the drainer, then leaned against the counter as T.J. finished drying the few remaining items.

"It's no big secret," T.J. told him. "My grandmother is getting old. Her home's on the mountain above Hogscald Hollow. The family thinks she should move down to the valley, and everyone takes sides when they start talkin' about how they're going to get her off the mountain. None of their talk amounts to a to a hill of beans anyway, 'cause Grandmother says she's fine where she is, and she don't plan to move."

Jordan tried not to smile at the look of disgust on T.J.'s face. "So why'd you run to Sarah?" Jordan asked, trying to untangle the complex family relationships. "If I understand it right, Sarah's grandmother and your grandmother are sisters. That makes Sarah a—what? Great-niece? Surely that's not as close a relationship as either her sister or your dad, who's her son. Right?"

"Yeah. But Sarah's the only one that can keep the peace, 'cause everyone knows she's the only one who has a chance of talking Grandmother into leaving that mountain. They're both—I mean, Grandmother and Sarah are special close. Always have been."

Both what? Jordan knew T.J. had started to say something else but had changed his mind. He didn't push. He didn't need to get involved in her family affairs, but he was beginning to understand what Sarah meant when she talked about family obligations.

T.J. hung the damp dishtowel on the back of the cabinet and moved toward the doorway, gesturing for Jordan to follow him. "I think we can go on out to the porch now. Sarah should have had time to calm everybody down."

Jordan grinned wryly as he followed. Sarah might be a calming influence on her family, but nothing about her had a calming effect on him.

Chapter 8

The sun dried Sarah's hair on their walk from the swimming hole. It lay in soft waves, framing her face with the same pink champagne cloud that had so intrigued Jordan during their first meeting.

As they turned off the road and into the long, winding driveway, Jordan allowed himself to drop a step or two behind Sarah. Her slender hips, clad in the worn denim cut-off jeans she'd pulled over her damp bathing suit, swayed under the tail of her outsize man's shirt. She moved with a natural grace, accepting her sensuality without thought.

How could he have believed he'd be able to maintain a platonic friendship with her? Every hormone in his body was waving a white flag. In some ways, the tension between them had eased since the night they'd shared dish duty and a kiss in the kitchen of her grandparents' farmhouse, but Jordan had been careful not to push the relationship too far or too fast. He forced himself to be content with an occasional caress, a quick kiss, a casual touch.
Who was he kidding?
It took every bit of his control to keep him from rushing his fences like one of T.J.'s amorous stallions. At times, he convinced himself Sarah was completely unaware of how badly he wanted her. Then he'd catch her glancing at him and have to turn away to prevent himself from answering the unconscious promise reflected in her eyes.

Jordan clenched his hand, wanting to reach out and take her in his arms. He wanted to let his fingers twine through her silky hair, feel her smooth skin and gently rounded hips tremble under his caressing hands. He wanted to feel her move beneath him, giving herself and accepting him in return.

As they neared the farmhouse, he quickened his pace, reached out and grabbed her hand, holding it in that casual way friends did. He hoped the physical contact would exorcise his erotic fantasies."

Hand in hand, they approved the porch steps, stopping abruptly when Sarah caught sight of the unhappy barefoot boy sitting on the top step.

"What's wrong, Jimmy Joe? Why so sad?" she asked gently.

"Grandma's mad. I can't find my tennies." Jimmy Joe's words were interspersed between barely disguised sniffles. "We were going to Billy Hawkins's house. Only I can't find my shoes, and Grandma says if I can't find my tennis shoes I can't go."

"Couldn't you wear your other shoes?"

Jimmy Joe shook his head, his eyes bright with barely controlled tears. "Grandmother says we'd be sure to go wading in the creek, it being such a hot day and all. And if I have my Sunday shoes on, then I'll have to take them off. Then I'd probably cut my feet in the creek. So that's why I can't go if I can't find my tennis shoes. He paused for breath. A tear rolled unchecked down his freckled cheek. "I've looked everywhere, Cissie."

"She smiled gently and tousled his red curls. "Not everywhere, I'll bet."

Jordan watched as Sarah let her hand rest lightly on the top of his head for a moment. Then she frowned.

"You went down to the springhouse yesterday afternoon, didn't you? Grandpa killed a copperhead there the other day. I thought he told you to stay away until he checked for a nest."

Jordan drew a quick breath. Sarah had been with him yesterday afternoon? How'd she know Jimmy Joe had gone to the springhouse? Coincidence? Or something else?

Jimmy Joe looked up, guilt written all over his face. "It was so hot. It's cool in the springhouse. I was only there for a little bit."

"I know it's cool there, Jimmy Joe. So do the snakes. That's why Grandpa told you not to go. You're not to go again. Understand?"

The boy's eyes filled with tears. "But—but that's where I left my tennis. I just remembered."

Sarah sighed. "I know. I'll get them. You're barefooted. You wait right here." She disappeared around the side of the house.

Cissie's mad at me, ain't she?" Jimmy Joe asked.

"I think she's more worried than mad," Jordan told him. "Copperheads are nothing to laugh about. She doesn't want you to get hurt."

The boy hung his head.

Sarah returned minutes later, tennis shoes in hand.

Are you going to tell Grandpa?" the boy asked.

"Not this time, if you'll promise me you won't go back until it's safe? Promise? No matter how hot it gets?"

"I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die," he said, making the appropriate gesture. Then he threw his arms around her neck. "I'm sorry, Cissie. I didn't mean to scare you."

"I know," she told him, smiling. "Just remember your promise. Run along now. Grandmother is probably waiting."

The boy's face cleared instantly. "Thanks, Cissie. I'm sure glad you see so good." He cleared the three porch steps in a single leap and raced toward the back of the house.

Still smiling, Sarah shook her head and turned toward Jordan. Her smile faded when she was the expression on Jordan's face. How could she have forgotten? She took a quick breath, her smile faltering, her mind racing furiously. Could she bluff her way out of it? "All you have to do to keep track of an eight-year-old is figure out where he's not supposed to be," she began. Then, defeated, she let her voice trail off into silence.

"You know, don't you?" She had to force the words. That small voice clanged like a fire alarm in her ears.

Jordan nodded, his expression becoming concerned when he saw how upset she was. "About
the sight
? Jimmy Joe told me the first time we met. Remember? What I don't know is why you try so hard to hide it."

"There are reasons."

"Sarah..."

"You don't know—"

"No, I don't. That's why I should." Jordan took a step toward her, stopping when she matched his movement by backing away. "Sarah, we were going to get to know each other better." He spread his hands helplessly. "How can I know you if I don't know about something that's so obviously a part of who you are?"

Sarah squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. "You're right," she said finally.

"Then why can't we talk about it? Can't you share it with me?"

She couldn't bring herself to look into his face. As much as she'd tried to hide from it, this was the moment she'd dreaded since Jordan's return. She'd known from the beginning that he'd never understand. Only a few, most of them family, ever had.

Jordan watched the conflicting emotions cross her face. Suddenly he wished he'd never started this. "I'm not the Inquisition, Sarah," Jordan said softly. "If it upsets you this much, maybe—"

He stopped, not sure why he'd said that. This was part of the reason he'd come back to Mountain Springs. Now that she was finally ready to talk, why did he feel so rotten about it?

Sarah resisted his offer of escape. It would be so easy to pretend that nothing had changed. But it had. It didn't matter whether they talked about it now or later. She couldn't live a lie. Not with Jordan.