Stranger on the Shore (22 page)

Exasperated, Sarah threw up her hands. "You just won't listen. It doesn't matter why he's still here. Jordan isn't trying to hurt me. Nobody is. Don't you think I'd know it if someone was?"

"Don't try arguing that with me, missy. I know you can't see what's going to happen to you. When it comes to that, you stumble along like the rest of us."

"I might not know, Sam, but I get a warning."

"Only when you can do something about it. And then, half the time, you don't pay attention anyway."

"This whole conversation is ridiculous and only because Jordan is an outsider," Sarah protested. "You're too distrustful. No one has any reason to harm me. No one. And especially not a man who risked his life to save mine."

"Maybe it weren't that much of a risk—him going into that corral that way. You ever think of that? As a matter of fact, it weren't hardly no risk at all."

"No risk? To enter a pen with a rogue bull?"

"Aha. So you do realize that being in that pen last night was dangerous."

"Of course it was dangerous. It was dangerous for me. And that was an accident. It was dangerous for Jordan, too. Only he chose to go in—to help me. Even if you do believe someone put me in that pen on purpose, I don't see how you can possibly think it was Jordan. That makes no sense at all." The look on Sam's face told Sarah that somehow she'd played right into his hands.

"From everything I hear, that writer fellow knew what he was doing in the pen. In fact, he admitted to one of the rodeo rowdies that he worked the bulls in South America. As I said, for him—used to working with bullfight stock—it weren't that much of a risk. All he had to do was make it look good. Then no one would suspect a thing."

"Sam—"

The tone of her voice must have warned him he was trespassing on dangerous ground. "I'm sorry, Sarah, love. I don't mean to make you mad, but something's going on. I might not have your sight, but I've got better than thirty years experience chasing the bad guys. I know when something ain't right. Last night, for the third time this summer, you were at your last prayers. First, there was Bald Mountain; second, the accident at the ruins; and then last night at the rodeo. One time I might believe. Maybe even two. But not three. And that writer fellow's been close by every time."

"T.J. was with me at Bald Mountain."

"But you'd just left that fellow at Indian Bluff. And he was with you both of the other times."

"I wish I'd never told you about the accident at the ruins," Sarah said heatedly. She studied the face of her friend. It was easy to see that he was worried, and it was more than his usual suspicion of outsiders. But this time, he was wrong.

She'd admit it was unusual to have three accidents so close together. But her warning system had warned her at Monte Ne and the other two had worked out all right.

"We both know lightning can strike twice in the same place, Sam, regardless of old wives tales," she told him gently. "A tourist who didn't realize the dangers coming down a mountain too fast. A piece of concrete underwater for decades breaking loose from its supports and tumbling down the hill after being exposed to air. Being accidently tipped over a rail when a shoving crowd suddenly panics. All those are understandable accidents."

"Or deliberately made to look like accidents," the sheriff said stubbornly. "The tourist picked the one day in the last year you happened to be crossing Bald Mountain. The bench that broke loose just happened to be the one directly above where you were resting. And, with thirty or so people milling around that bullpen, you were the one who ended up inside. All in less than six weeks. Damn it, girl, that ain't lightnin'. Lightnin' don't pick favorites. Someone is watching you and picking his times."

Sarah sighed. "I've got no special protection against random accidents, but I'm not going to convince you, am I?"

"Not in this lifetime. I know you can't see a thing about yourself. That's what's got me so worried. I tell you right now, I'm going to be checking out that writer fellow."

Sarah started to protest, but Sam ignored her sputtered remark.

"Now, I ain't saying he's the one, mind you, even if he is the best horse in the race. I'll be checking on the whereabouts of all the Ewell clan, too, although we ain't had any problems out of them in years. Be lookin' at anything else I can scratch up too, but I want you to be very careful, Sarah. You hear me? You spend time with that fellow, you let someone know. I'm going to let him know I'm suspicious, too. That way, if I'm right, he'll think twice afore he tries to pull anything."

Sarah stared down at her coffee cup. She knew that nothing she could say would change Sam's mind. A native distrust of outsiders was bred into his being. If it hadn't been for her support of Jordan in the community circle, he would have been frozen out a long time before this.

She watched the sheriff drain his last swig of coffee. Sam didn't really have to worry about Jordan, and particularly not if he carried out his plan and accused him. Jordan wouldn't be around much longer. He'd already stayed longer than she expected. Sam's accusations would give him good reason to move on.

Sam pushed his chair away from the table. As Sarah moved to follow him, he waved her back. "Finish your coffee. I reckon I can let myself out. You just remember what I told you. You take care."

As she watched Sam leave, Sarah reluctantly admitted that perhaps it was best. She'd known from the beginning that, much like Monte Ne, Jordan was out of time and place in her life. Her hands tightened around the coffee cup as her mind came to grips with the inevitable. Sooner or later, Jordan would leave. Intellectually, she could accept it. Her heart was going to be more difficult to convince.

* * *

Jordan parked the car in front of the farmhouse and sat for a moment, examining his options. His talk with the sheriff had been encouraging in a perverse sort of way. Sam, too, recognized patterns. He, too, was convinced that Sarah's so-called accidents were more than coincidence. So did T.J. But according to both of them, Sarah was unconcerned. Jordan found his position at the top of the sheriff's list of suspects uncomfortable, but understandable. He was the stranger in town. At least Bascomb was looking for answers.

So what was he going to do now? The need to confess to Sarah why he'd come here grew greater each minute he spent in her company. But if he told her now, she'd be angry and hurt. Mostly hurt. And she'd send him away.

Send him away? Ha! Her family would ride him out of town on a rail. He was violating their face-to-face philosophy.
This was a
fine kettle of fish,
as Jimmy Joe would say. He couldn't tell her because he couldn't leave. He didn't even try to convince himself that it was because he wanted to find out what was going on. No, he knew he had to stay had to make sure she was safe. The story no longer mattered. He didn't plan to write it, although that problem still had to be resolved with his agent.

Keeping Sarah safe wouldn't be simple either, not if she kept insisting she was in no danger. Sam didn't realize how much Jordan knew about Sarah's sight, but T.J. did. Her cousin also insisted that Sarah had no talent for self-preservation. But even under Jordan's probing, T.J. had been unable to suggest any reason for Sarah to be in danger. The fact that Sam was convinced Jordan was the villain suggested that the sheriff, too, had few ideas.

That left Jordan with only one choice. He had to question Sarah about the threats she'd mentioned. He had to poke and probe, to lay bare even more of her secrets while still hiding his own. Even though he knew how painful it would be for her, it had to be done because the answers had to be somewhere.

Slowly he opened the car door. Take it in order, he told himself. First step, uncover the danger. Second step, confess and hope she understands. Third— For now, he refused to think about step number three. He wasn't yet sure if accommodations could be made to adjust his life to hers or hers to his. Step three would have to wait the outcome of the first two.

As Jordan approached the farmhouse, he deliberately forced himself to relax. If neither T.J. nor her old friend, the sheriff, were able to convince Sarah that someone was threatening her, it was unlikely he would be able to do so. Perhaps he could accomplish his purpose more easily by taking a more casual approach.

He took one look at Sarah's tense face, at the pain reflected in her shadowed eyes and immediately abandoned that strategy.

"What's wrong, Sarah?" he asked. "Has something else happened?"

Sarah burrowed into his arms.

"Talk to me," he demanded. "Please. Tell me what's wrong."

Sarah freed herself from his embrace and walked across the room. She stood, her back to him, looking out the window. "It's Sam," she finally said. "He insists last night's accident wasn't an accident."

"I agree," Jordan said. "I'm afraid I can't imagine a scenario that could have put you in that pen with that bull accidentally."

Sarah whirled around. "But you don't understand, Jordan. He—he suspects you."

"Of course he does. I would be furious if he didn't. After all, I'm the stranger in town. I've already talked to him this morning. At least he's doing something. And, as you can see, I'm still walking around free."

As a look of complete confusion crossed her face, Jordan moved swiftly across the room toward her. "Is that what's bothering you? That your friend has named me top suspect on his list of possible villains? If I were in his shoes, I would probably do the same. I'm the unknown factor in the community right now. I'm just thankful he recognizes that someone is trying to harm you. We need answers. I'm hoping the sheriff will be able to find them."

Sarah sighed. "You're as bad as he is. It was just an accident. There's no reason for anyone to want to harm me."

Jordan shook his head. "I wish I could think you were right, Sarah, but I can't. The bench breaking loose could have been an accident. Wrong time, wrong place. Last night? That throws a new perspective on the situation. That had to be deliberate. Hanging on to the idea it was an accidents is denial. And the fact of the second lends credence to the suspicion that the Monte Ne incident was not an accident either. You told me yourself, that you don't
see
your own future."

Sarah hesitated, bewildered by both Sam's and Jordan's insistence that she was in danger. T.J.'s, too. Although she probably wouldn't know if she was being threatened, not until the last minute, anyway, she should have had a vague uneasiness, and she didn't. Not at the rodeo. Not now. Besides, Aunt Cinda should have picked up something, even if she hadn't.

Jordan mentioned only two of the three incidents that had Sam and T.J. so worried. Obviously, he didn't know about the narrow escape on Bald Mountain. Well, she wasn't going to be the one to tell him. It would simply reinforce his opinion. He wasn't upset about Sam's accusations, either. So let the three of them run around looking for villains who weren't there. The important thing was, Jordan wasn't leaving. Sarah realized she felt much better.

"I thought you'd be upset, about Sam and—"

Jordan shook his head. "Not about that. I'll admit I don't like being suspected by people who care about you, but it's understandable. It's always best to eliminate the obvious first. That's what Sam's doing. He'll check me out, then move on to other possibilities. Is that really what has you so upset? That your friend suspects me?"

Sarah nodded.

"We have a lot to learn about each other yet, don't we?" he asked. He took another step forward, erasing the remaining distance between them, and enfolded her in his arms.

She gave herself up to the heady feeling of complete rightness she'd come to know in his arms. Jordan had come into her life such a short time before, but now it seemed as if he'd always been a part of her. In the dim recesses of her mind she knew that one day she'd be alone again. For now, however, she refused to think about it. She'd enjoy what she had today. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

She felt his embrace tighten around her, felt his lips brush her forehead. Then, his hold on her eased.

"For a moment I forgot this kitchen is Grand Central Station," Jordan said. "If you noticed, I have a tendency to forget where I am when you're with me."

Sarah understood perfectly. She found herself suffering from the same malady. There was no doubt in her mind that her family knew what was going on between them—at least most of it. Thus far, they'd remained strangely quiet on the subject and she appreciated their restraint. Today she couldn't help the giddy feeling that washed over her. He wasn't leaving. Not yet, anyway. She suddenly had the most incredible feeling. She wanted to grab hold of him and hang on tight. They'd had so little time alone. She wanted to be with him—just the two of them.

"Let's take a picnic lunch to the creek," she said impulsively. "I feel like being lazy today."

"Sarah..."

She caught the note of hesitation in his voice. "You have something else to do," she said, unable to hide her disappointment.

"No. I mean yes." Jordan signed. "A picnic by the creek sounds wonderful, but I—we—need to talk about something else first."

Sarah needed none of her special talents to detect his uneasiness. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"Probably not, but I have to ask. It's something you said the other day when we were talking about your talent—and your past.