Stranger on the Shore (18 page)

Chapter 9

Sarah and her grandmother had started cooking as the first rooster announced the morning. The sun was now ten-o'clock high. When vehicles began arriving at the farm an hour before, she had shooed her grandmother from the kitchen to meet their guests and finished the chicken herself.

Now, with a sense of accomplishment, she removed the last two pieces of golden fried chicken from the frying pan and onto an already heaping platter. Covering the platter with a clean white cloth, she set it on the harvest table beside several similar platters.

The logistics necessary in preparing for the Lutteral clan's annual Fourth of July picnic would have horrified a professional caterer, but over the years the family had devised a system that functioned almost automatically. Each branch of the sprawling family made itself responsible for a particular favorite at the yearly feast. Sarah had mastered Grandmother Lutteral's specialty, a buttermilk-batter fried chicken, while still in her teens.

Sarah slipped her functional apron from around her neck and stepped onto the back porch for a moment of fresh air, lifting the damp hair from the back of her neck to let the slight breeze cool her. Her eyes scanned the large expanse of lawn, now mushrooming with picnic tables made from sawhorses and raw lumber. If the early-morning crowd was any indication, this year's family reunion would be one of the largest in years.

Her eyes shifted to the long driveway that was already lined with various parked vehicles. Jordan's blue SUV was not yet among them. Her lips curved into a smile as she remembered the look on his face when she'd issued both invitation and warning. "Be prepared with evasive answers," she told him. "The great-aunts are notorious for considering the younger generation's love lives, or lack of it, community property. Any unattached single is fair game."

Unbidden, her mind slipped back to their time in the gazebo the afternoon before. She couldn't be sorry it happened, although she realized the significance of those magic moments were more hers than his. Jordan had been unusually pensive when they'd parted the night before.

Sarah drew a deep breath as a sudden dark thought crossed her mind. She hoped he didn't regret it. It had been her choice—her decision. From the moment she'd moved into his arms, she'd known that. They had been a fire ready to burn from the time Jordan returned to Mountain Springs, but Sarah had known the first time she'd taken him to the gazebo, that she was the one who held the match.

Yesterday she had wanted Jordan, needed him. She also knew he wanted her and the togetherness they'd shared was something she'd never believed possible for her. Was it wrong of her to have taken, to have accepted, those few moments of magic? The family would have said so. Most of them, anyway. Would Aunt Cinda?

For some reason, despite all evidence to the contrary, Sarah didn't think so. She and Aunt Cinda were different in the same way. Sarah had known for years that the bonding between people like her grandparents, or the kind of love her parents had shared was impossible for her. True, Aunt Cinda had married and raised a large family. Sarah didn't remember her Great-Uncle Udall at all, but families talked. Sarah knew that Great-Aunt Cinda and her husband had never shared that kind of love.

No, she didn't think Aunt Cinda would criticize or condemn. For a short time Sarah had experienced a bonding that went beyond physical desire. Aunt Cinda wouldn't blame her for grabbing it while she could.

She told herself she wasn't building impossible fantasies. Not really. She knew that sometime soon Jordan would be ready to move on. She promised herself she'd be strong enough to let him go. She frowned at the thought and turned to go inside, already regretting that she and Jordan wouldn't have a moment alone today. Not with the family watching their every move. They'd also promised to take Jimmy Joe to the Springdale Rodeo tonight to watch T.J. compete. For this day, at least, they would again be friends, not lovers. Everything else would have to wait

* * *

Jordan had traveled the distance between the cabin and Mountain Springs so often in the last few weeks that he now drove the road almost automatically. Today the scenery zipping past the windshield was noticed even less. His thoughts were elsewhere.

How had he allowed the intimacy of the previous afternoon to happen? He grinned ruefully to himself. Allowed? He was not, after all, Superman. Sarah had haunted his dreams for weeks. The reality of her had exposed those dreams as pale shadows. Never before had he experienced such complete harmony of body and soul. Her natural, untutored responses to his caresses enthralled, electrified, completely captivated him.

He was no longer the same man who'd driven this road twenty-four hours before. Everything had changed. He was unsure about what happened next. He knew only that nothing could be the same as before.

His brow knit in concentration. Once again he felt vaguely uneasy as he tried to remember their strange parting. They'd been walking through the woodlot and Sarah had said something that disturbed him. Then she'd walked ahead, giving him no chance to comment.

Jordan unconsciously tightened his hands on the steering wheel as he forced his mind to replay the walk from the farmhouse. She'd been trying to explain why she kept her talent secret. He'd seen her tremble, had touched her shoulder. He'd asked a question.

Her small, tired voice replayed in his mind.

"Exposure. Publicity. Threats. If I'm careful..."

Threats? That was the word she hadn't explained. What threats? Why? Those were the questions he needed to ask.

He was used to dealing with questions and answers. He wouldn't waste his time on idle speculation about what she'd meant now, but sometime soon he'd find the opportunity to ask his questions. He wasn't sure why, but he knew they were important.

Although Sarah had warned him that her family was a large one, when he turned into the long, winding driveway leading to the farmhouse the number of vehicles already parked was a surprise. Jordan stopped his vehicle behind the last parked car and climbed to the ground. Jimmy Joe's tousled red head appeared beside him before he'd taken more than a dozen steps.

In one long breath the boy informed him that Sarah had told him to watch for Jordan, that she was waiting for him at the house, and would Jordan please, please, be his partner in the three-legged race just before lunch.

Even as he listened to the chattering boy, Jordan was aware of the curious glances cast their way by small clusters of people as they walked up the driveway. He had met most of Sarah's close relatives—or at least he'd thought he had. The old joke about going home to meet the family had suddenly taken on new dimensions.

He glanced uneasily around him. He couldn't help wondering if they would approve and was amazed to discover that he cared. Trying to ignore the friendly but questioning looks being cast in his direction, he turned his attention to the boy.

"I'll be glad to be your partner, but I might not be very good," he warned Jimmy Joe. "I don't think I've been in a three-legged race before."

"You gotta be better than Cissie," Jimmy Joe said earnestly. "Last year she got the giggles so bad, we fell down."

"Sarah? Giggles?" He'd seen her gay and solemn, light-hearted and pensive, but in the weeks since they'd met, he'd never once seen her giggle. Jordan looked at Jimmy Joe, one eyebrow cocked in disbelief.

"Honest," Jimmy Joe said defensively. "She was giggling so hard, we fell flat on our faces right in the middle of the race. We were beatin' T.J. and Sally, too. Till we fell."

"I believe you, partner. It's just—I've never seen Sarah giggle."

"Well, she don't do it much, not like a lot of girls," Jimmy Joe admitted, "but it weren't no time to start. Not in the middle of a race."

"Okay," Jordan told him, smiling. If you want me to be your partner, I'll do my best. And I promise I'll try not to giggle."

"Then be careful not to get behind my cousin Mabel and her husband," Sarah's quiet voice whispered in his ear.

Jordan turned quickly, drinking in the sight of her. God, she was beautiful. Her smile was soft and welcoming, her eyes that deep blue-green that spoke of mystery and promise. Only a faint shadow of unease lurked in their depths. He stood there, just looking at her, unable to say what he wanted to say, not sure he could trust his voice if he opened his mouth. The space between them seemed alive with an energy, an electricity, that was probably obvious to anyone in sight.

It was Jimmy Joe who broke the spell.

"Here he is, Cissie. I found him like you said. And he says he'll be my partner in the race, so you won't have to."

Jimmy Joe hesitated a moment, as if he was afraid of giving offense.

That's all right, isn't it, Cissie? I mean, you didn't want to race this year, did you?"

"It's perfect, Jimmy Joe." Sarah's voice and smile reassured him. "I'd much rather cheer you on."

"Okay." Relief was apparent in the boy's voice. "Aunt Cinda said she wanted to see you. She's under the big oak tree. I'm gonna go throw horseshoes with Bobby Wade now, if that's okay," he told Sarah. "You don't need me for nothin' else, do you?"

"Not until just before lunch. You go on and play." She stood watching for a moment as the boy disappeared in his direction of the farmhouse, then turned slowly toward Jordan.

"Good morning, Sarah," he said softly and watched as a faint pink blush tinged her cheeks.

"Good morning, Jordan," she answered, her eyes downcast. "How are you today?"

"I survived the gauntlet. It was worth it."

Sarah's eyes came up, wide and concerned. They searched the crowd over his shoulder, sweeping the groups of people clustered around the large yard. "Did anyone—?"

Jordan smiled and shook his head. "I haven't had time to speak to anyone yet. But I can see the questions in their eyes." He forced himself to remain still, retaining the distance between them, wanting to ignore the curious glances being cast in their direction. If he took two steps forward, two small steps, he would be able to sweep her into his arms.

She gave him an understanding look. "We don't usually bring outsiders to the picnic. Too imitating. Nearly everyone here will be family, engaged or married to family or, in the case of a few, a significant other. Once my cousin Sue brought a date. She didn't particularly like him, but she said he kept pestering her for a date, so she finally invited him to the picnic."

Jordan smiled wryly. He couldn't help feeling a little sympathy for the hapless fellow. "Did it work?"

Sarah nodded. "Sue said he never bothered her again."

"Is that why you invited me?"

The shocked look on Sarah's face was a eloquent a denial as her answer. "Oh, no, Jordan. I warned you."

"Yes you did," he said, looking into her face, feeling both tender and fierce. Ignoring the prying eyes of those around them, he moved to her side and managed to content himself with casually draping an arm around her waist. "I meant what I said. It was worth it.

"I don't know, Jordan. You've hardly started," she warned him. Her hesitation was evident, but she didn't move away. "I have to take you to meet Aunt Cinda now."

"She really came down from her mountain?"

Sarah nodded. "This is the first time she's attended the picnic in years. I'm not sure why..."

"Don't be coy, Sarah. She wants to meet me." He took her hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry so about it. I've been told I'm very good with sweet old ladies."

"Don't expect Aunt Cinda to be your typical sweet old lady," Sarah cautioned.

"I'm expecting a wise old woman who cares a great deal about you. How could I not like her? Now, which way to the royal oak?"

Jordan had seen the dried apple-head dolls in various native craft and tourist shops in the area and had always considered them whimsical caricature creations. His first sight of the old woman sitting regally in the shade of the spreading oak tree made him reevaluate his opinion.

She was small, even smaller than Sarah, so tiny, in fact, that the lawn chair she was sitting in seemed to dwarf her. Her crisp cotton dress, its high neck and long sleeves edged in white lace, gave the impression of coolness in spite of the day's heat. White wisps of hair peeked from under the wide rim of her old-fashioned poke bonnet.