Stranger on the Shore (8 page)

No longer fully in control, his body yielded to an unconscious knowledge that directed his actions. His hands moved over her back, memorizing the shape of her body as his lips played over her mouth. His tongue gently traced her lips, teasing, testing, tasting, absorbing the promise they held.

In the split second before Jordan's lips touched hers, Sarah found herself anticipating the contact. Instinctively, she lifted her face to meet his caress. Reality, she decided moments later, was even more delicious than fantasy. Fantasy could not have produced that gentle, shimmering fire suddenly igniting deep within her. Like a new plant opening its leaves to catch the warmth of the sun, Sarah moved closer to the source of this pleasure.

Find this man. He is important.
Sarah remembered Aunt Cinda's words in the moment before her world spun out of control. As Jordan's lips moved over hers, conscious thought was lost in a whirlwind of sensation.

What manner of magic was this? The titillation of his touch erased all memory of previous kisses, previous caresses. This was a new pleasure, fueled by the knowledge that it was hers to enjoy.

She fought the surprise and wonder of it—the touch of his hands, the feel of his lips, the sun-warmed smell of heat and woods and man—before accepting the turmoil of her senses.

Slowly, reluctantly, Sarah was pulled back into the real world—to the rasping call of the crow, to the drumming beat of her own pulse, to the persistent summons of a horn disturbing the drowsy complacency of the summer afternoon.

Jordan, too, must have heard it. "What the devil—?"

"It's a car horn," Sarah said, still reeling from the kiss. She moved away from him, bereft, recognizing that she might never again experience that particular brand of magic. The honking continued from the clearing behind them. "It's a horn," she repeated. "Someone followed us here.

Chapter 4

Sarah scrambled through the underbrush to the edge of the clearing as the horn continued blaring. When she spotted the dust-covered pickup parked conspicuously on the flat, the brash beeping stopped abruptly.

"T.J.!" she called. "What on earth are you doing?"

The young man lounged casually against the side of the truck, his arm still extended through the window to reach the horn. "It's about time, Sarah. I've been signaling you forever. Sheriff's looking for you."

Sarah tensed, searching for the familiar stab of intuition. Nothing. Heart sinking, she forced herself to ask, "What's wrong?"

"The young Shelton boy's gone missing."

She stood stiffly, her thoughts turned inward, her mind still searching but still finding nothing.

"Sarah?"

Jordan's voice shattered her concentration, shifting her awareness back to the man now at her side. She felt her pulse jump. How much had he heard? Would he make a connection between the sheriff's summons and Jimmy Joe's talk about her "sight"? She dared a quick glance at his face, found it impassive and allowed herself to relax slightly.

"I'm sorry, Jordan, but I have to go," she told him, trying to keep her voice and manner detached. "It's— Oh, I forgot. Jordan, this is T.J. Shields. T.J., Jordan Matthias. Mr. Matthias is doing some research on Monte Ne."

"Nice to meet you," T.J. said. "It took me a while to catch up with you." T.J. added, shifting his attention back to her. "We need to go."

Sarah nodded, reluctant to leave, yet knowing she must.

Jordan pulled her aside. "Why does the sheriff want you to help look for the boy and how did he find us? I don't understand."

Sarah's shoulders tensed as T.J. shifted his weight from one foot to the other. She gave him a quick look and was rewarded by his tight-lipped silence.

"I'll explain later," she told Jordan quickly. "There's a little boy missing." She hesitated, searching for a possible explanation. "I'm a friend of the boy's mother," she said finally. "I guess the sheriff thinks my being there will help her stay calmer."

T.J cleared his throat. "I'll turn the truck around," he said, backing toward the vehicle. "It was nice to meet you, Jordan. Maybe we'll see each other again."

"I'm sorry, Jordan, but I really do have to go."

Jordan nodded, his lips still in a tight line. "Is there anything I can do to help? I could come with you. Join the search team or... or whatever."

Sarah shook her head. "You don't know the territory. T.J. will drive me. But thank you for offering."

She walked toward the truck, her thoughts occupied with the child. She couldn't sense anything unusual, and that made her uncomfortable.

"Sarah? When can I see you again?" Jordan asked.

Once again, his voice scattered her thoughts. "What? Oh, see me again." She wrinkled her forehead when she realized she wouldn't have a moment to herself until after the weekend. "I'm busy the rest of the week," she finally told him. "Why don't you check out the historical museum in Rogers for information on Monte Ne. The Shiloh Museum in Springdale has a good collection of old photos, too. Monday I'll give you a guided tour of the ruins. I'll meet you at your fishing camp about ten."

"It won't be any trouble? To meet me, I mean. I could come for you, if I knew where—"

"Trouble?" she repeated vaguely, still trying to concentrate on the missing boy. "Oh, no. It won't be any trouble. I'll meet you at ten o'clock."

She continued toward the waiting pickup, Jordan keeping pace. Placing his hand under her elbow, he boosted her into the high seat. His touch all but sizzled on her bare skin, reminding her that the real danger lay in the hot physical attraction between them. She pulled away and ducked her head to keep him from seeing the turmoil in her eyes. As soon as the door slammed shut and she settled into the seat, T.J stepped on the gas.

Jordan stood, his hands on his hips, staring at the dust cloud raised by the retreating vehicle. He swallowed the disappointment in his throat, not sure whether to blame his frustration on the way she'd dismissed him without apparent thought or on his missed opportunity to see her psychic talents in action.

He still wasn't convinced they existed, but at least some people thought so. The town sheriff was one of them, at least according to Hoyston. That was probably the real reason for her summons. But she'd neatly sidestepped his question about the sheriff's message. She also refused to let him go with her.

Hoyston was right. Sarah Wilson guarded her privacy very carefully. He'd just spent several hours in her company and he knew only a little more about her than he had before the meeting. He'd found her in Mountain Springs, but she was so well protected by the community that she could have stayed hidden indefinitely if she had chosen to do so. And, he realized, he had no idea where to find her again. Would she really meet him on Monday?

He kicked irritably at a dirt clod, his thoughts turning to that interrupted kiss. He hadn't anticipated that complication. Admittedly, she was attractive, and yes, he was definitely attracted. If he read the signs right, the feeling was mutual. But, assuming the episode on the bluff was a barometer, involvement with schoolteacher-psychic Sarah Wilson would not be a casual affair. It would be an exploding conflagration likely to burn them both. In retrospect, perhaps the cavalry had arrived just in time. Besides, it was never a good idea to get personally involved with a person he was investigating.

Jordan's thoughts shifted to the sheriff's messenger. T.J. Shields's proprietary attitude, the casual way he'd laid his arm across Sarah's shoulder, disturbed, but didn't surprise him. He was the stranger here. He'd already had a taste of how the natives regarded outsiders. What he really wanted to know was how T.J. had located them in this out-of-the-way spot, apparently with little effort.

Maybe he'd have a chance to find out when he saw Sarah again, but he'd have to wait until Monday for answers. In the meantime, perhaps he'd better do a little research on that old resort. She was a schoolteacher, after all, and as he recalled, schoolteachers loved homework and surprise quizzes.

* * *

Unconsciously rubbing the spot where Jordan had held her arm, Sarah looked over her shoulder for a last glimpse of him. Chagrined, she tried to deny those last few minutes. How had she let her libido override her logic? That kiss made time and place disappear. Those few moments when she'd felt her—

The lurching clunk of the truck, as it bounced into and out of a rut, effectively jerked her forward to the limit of her seatbelt, then dropped her soundly back into the present. She grabbed for the edge of the seat with one hand, bracing her other hand against the dashboard and looked toward her cousin.

"Okay, T.J., tell me what's happened to young Jerry."

"Heck, Sarah, if I knew that, the sheriff wouldn't have called for you."

"T.J., I'm warning you..."

"Okay, I was teasing. Since you didn't ask immediately, I figured he's really all right."

She nodded. "I think so. I don't see anything."

"Both Clyde and Sheriff Bascomb think he's just wandered out of hollering distance. He didn't come in for lunch. Trouble is, there were a couple of strangers by this morning and Millie's convinced they took him. So I guess the sheriff decided to call you, just in case."

Sarah sat quietly for another moment. "I don't see anything. He's probably all right. But we'd better go on and make sure. Millie shouldn't be so jumpy. It's the summer season. The lake and Eureka Springs always attracts tourists. Now, if it was winter—that might be different." For all her logic, Sarah couldn't dispel the feeling that maybe she was afraid to see, afraid to know.

"That's about what I thought," T.J. said, "but I told the sheriff I'd see if I could find you. Do you want to go back into Mountain Springs and then out Highway 12 or just take the old road across Bald Ridge? It's rough, but it'll be faster."

"Bald Ridge," Sarah said, bracing herself for the jolting ride to continue. Neither of them spoke as T.J. steered the truck onto the seldom-used logging road up the side of the mountain.

"What were you doing out on the bluff with that stranger anyway?" T.J. asked. "You ought to be more careful, Sarah. That bluff's awful isolated and he is a stranger."

A stranger indeed.
Sarah heard disapproval of Jordan in his voice. "Being a stranger doesn't make him an ax murderer, T.J. How'd you know where we were, anyway?"

"Betsy heard you talking about Monte Ne. Then Luther saw the two of you take the south fork at the junction. I figured you were heading toward the bluff. It's the best spot around to see what's left of the old place. But honest, Sarah, you need to be more careful. You don't know beans about that man."

This time Sarah refused to answer. When the rutted road demanded T.J.'s full attention, she allowed herself a few moments of reflection. She supposed riding off with Jordan wasn't the wisest move she'd ever made. But what harm had it done? He had turned out to be... interesting. That moment on the bluff, the moment she realized he regarded her as more than a research assistant, she hadn't resisted.

As the truck approached the top of the mountain and started down the other side, T.J. increased his speed.

Sarah saw him glance up at the rearview mirror. "That fellow wouldn't try to follow us, would he?" he asked suddenly.

"I don't think so. Why?"

"There's someone else coming over the mountain. I caught a glimpse of his dust trail before we turned into that last switchback. From the looks of it, he's traveling at a pretty fast clip."

"We're not the only ones who know this shortcut."

"No, I guess not," T.J. said, but Sarah noticed that he kept checking the rearview mirror.

"Damn fool," he muttered a few moments later. "He's coming off the mountain too fast."

Sarah glanced over her shoulder. She couldn't see anything, but the tension in her cousin's voice was making her nervous.

With another muttered oath, T.J. suddenly increased speed again.

"What are you doing? Slow down, T.J."

"He's coming down too fast. He's going to come barreling around one of these blind curves in a minute and be up my tail pipe before he has a chance to brake. We've got to put some distance between us or get out of his way."

Sarah clung to her seat as T.J., gripping the steering wheel with grim determination, sent the truck careening down the mountain road.