Stranger on the Shore (28 page)

"And that's why you came here. You came here to investigate me—personally. I asked you before—did I measure up?"

"You're not a fraud." He took a deep breath, then stepped toward her. "You're real, Sarah, the realest, most important person I've ever met. I'll be forever sorry you learned about those stories the way you did. My fault. If you'd found out any other way... if I'd told you, explained, it wouldn't have mattered. It doesn't really matter. In a little while, it won't matter. Not to us. Trust me...."

"I... I can't." She gave him an anguished look and slipped out the door, all but running toward the road.

"Sarah," Jordan called, starting after her. He reached the edge of the porch, but then, seeing the panicked look she threw over her shoulder, he stopped. His pain nearly doubled him over as he watched her jerk open the door of the truck. He remained where he was, in plain sight, until he was sure she saw him, saw that he wasn't trying to follow her.

"Think about it, Sarah. Please. I won't follow you now," he called after her. "But this isn't the end. I'll be back."

His shoulders sagged as he turned to go back into the cabin. He couldn't afford to chase her, couldn't have her driving panic-stricken on these curving mountain roads trying to get away from him. He'd give her a few minutes head start, then follow at a discreet distance. He had to make sure she arrived home safely. And he'd give her a little time to work things out by herself before he tried to see her again. He wasn't giving up. She'd understand. She had to understand. Didn't she know she was his whole life?

* * *

Jordan avoided stopping at the Shield's farmhouse. He spotted the tailgate of T.J.'s battered pickup by the larger barn and parked the SUV on the side of the driveway outside the double gate. He wasn't particularly looking forward to this confrontation, but he had no choice. T.J. was the only one who could do the job. If, he reminded himself, he could get him to listen.

T.J had evidently heard him arrive. He met Jordan at the door of the barn. "Get out of here, Matthias. I've got nothing to say to you. Better, in fact, if you just get out of town. There's nothing for you here."

It was the type of greeting Jordan had been expecting. Still, he had to try. "I'm going to talk to you. And like it or not , you're going to listen. Then I'll leave," he told the angry man. "I can't get near Sarah. She won't listen to me anyway. So you're elected. Someone has to stay on guard."

T.J. stabbed his pitchfork into the ground. "We'll take care of Sarah. It's nothing to you. Aren't you satisfied yet? Haven't you hurt her enough?"

Jordan grimaced. He'd never intended for Sarah to discover his original reason for finding her the way she had, but that hadn't lessened her feelings of betrayal. The argument wasn't one likely to impress her cousin, either. "I never meant to hurt Sarah, whatever you think."

"You could have fooled me. Anything for a story, right, Mr. Matthias?"

"It wasn't like that," Jordan protested.

"Can't say as I can tell the difference. Sarah, either. You hurt her. Hurt her in the one place where we can't give her much help. Maybe you didn't do it deliberately. But around here we say the road to hell's paved with good intentions. I reckon it just got a new coat of asphalt. Get out of here, Matthias, before I forget I promised Sarah I wouldn't tear you limb from limb."

Sarah had interceded to keep T.J. from attacking him? Jordan experienced a surge of hope, then realized she was probably hoping to protect her cousin, not him. "I'm not writing a story about Sarah," he said.

"That don't forgive the intent."

"Look, T.J., this isn't getting us anywhere. Inadvertently, I hurt Sarah. That's something she and I have to deal with—something we'll have to work out together. But even as mixed-up and hurt as she is now, she doesn't accuse me of trying to harm her physically. I didn't push that concrete block down on top of her. And I didn't throw her into a corral with a mad bull. Someone did. Or do you think they were simple accidents?"

Jordan could see some of the belligerence fading from T.J.'s face. He forced himself to stay quiet, to wait for the man to speak.

"No. I don't think they were accidents. Not that crazy tourist, either. Not now."

"Tourist? What crazy—? Damn it, has something else happened? Is Sarah all right?"

"I'm talking about the trip over Bald Mountain the day I came after her, when you and she were on the bluff. Didn't she tell you about it?"

"No, she never mentioned it. What happened?," Jordan demanded.

"Someone tried to run us off the side of the mountain. At the time I thought it was just some damn fool tourist. It was only after... after the other incidents that I..."

Jordan nodded. "I know. One mishap—an accident. Two? Maybe coincidence. But the last one, that couldn't have been accidental. And that makes the others suspect."

"Yeah, that's the way I see it." T.J. studied the dusty scuffed toe of his boot for a minute, the frown on his face an obvious sign of indecision. When he looked back up, Jordan was relieved to see that the animosity in his eyes had faded a little.

"So," he drawled, "what do you plan to do now?"

Jordan let out a slow sigh of relief. "I'm going to Tulsa. You'll have to keep a close eye on Sarah. If you can arrange it, don't let her off the farm by herself. Talk to Sam. He'll cooperate with you. I think he's finally convinced I'm not the villain of the piece. At least not that particular villain. But I can't protect her twenty-four hours a day. The family can."

T.J.'s eyes narrowed. "Tulsa? Sarah ran into trouble there several years ago."

"I know. That's why I'm going. I tried a few long-distance questions. Didn't get the answers I needed."

"Don't go digging around and hurt her any more than she already has been."

Jordan gave him a keen look, recognizing that he had once again aroused T.J.'s distrust. "Do you know what happened?"

"Not the details," T.J. admitted. "There was a man. The newspapers got hold of her. I think it's all mixed together. It knocked the props out from under her. One week she was happy. A couple of weeks later she came home—injured. It was almost as bad as this time," he added, not bothering to disguise his antagonism.

Jordan winced, then reminded himself that what was done was done. The job now was to repair the damage. And to protect Sarah. "Did she tell you about the threats?"

Surprise was on his side this time. He watched the color drain from T.J's face.

"Threats? In Tulsa? Blast it! She never said a thing about threats. Sam should have told us, if she didn't."

"Sam doesn't know. Or at least he doesn't know Sarah has an idea who made them. Evidently she goes through this kind of thing every time she's exposed. I promised her I wouldn't tell Sam." He gave T.J. a speculative look. "The threats were involved somehow with publicity about a hit-and-run accident. I don't know if there was any connection or if there's any connection now. Apparently she didn't tell anyone, not even the police, because she said it was just an idea. She had no proof. It's pretty slim, but at least I can find out if the man's still in jail. And if anything happens while I'm gone..."

Jordan hesitated. If Sarah found out he'd discussed this with T.J. would she consider it another breach of faith? He'd already betrayed her once, but he'd told T.J. too much not to continue. If Sarah added this to his list of crimes, he'd have to deal with that later. Someone had to know. T.J. was the logical one. Besides, he doubted if anything could make his relationship with Sarah any worse than it was now.

"Look, T.J. I promised Sarah I wouldn't tell Sam about the threats. But you didn't. Tell him about the threats and the hit and run driver. He'll have to get the rest out of Sarah."

T.J. gave Jordan a hard look. "It's a pretty slim lead, isn't it?"

Jordan nodded. "Yes. The Ewells sound more likely to me. But Sam's checking that out."

"If any of them are around here, they're staying well out of sight," T.J. said. "'Course, they know this country like the back of their hands. But if one of them is hanging around here, one of us will spot him soon enough."

"I wouldn't know a Ewell if I tripped over him," Jordan said. "That's why I'm going to Tulsa. At least I'll be doing something, even if it's only eliminating possibilities. I keep remembering how Sarah looked when she talked about the threats. Then I remember that damn truck. Since both are Oklahoma connected, maybe..." He shrugged his shoulders and raised his hands, palms up. "It's not much to go on, but I can't stand just waiting around."

"Wait a minute," T.J. said. "What'd you mean?

"I said it's not much to go on—"

"No, not that. About a truck? What'd you mean?"

Jordan shrugged. "Probably nothing. I've seen an old truck around a couple of times. I can't be sure it was the same one every time. There was a pickup with Oklahoma plates at the ruins that day of the accident. It took me a while to remember that. And that was because I kept seeing it, or one similar to it, when we were in Eureka Springs."

"The same truck? Describe it."

Jordan was a bit surprised, then cautiously optimistic at the sound of repressed anticipation in T.J.'s voice.

"Older model. Battered. Rusty. Pretty beat-up, in fact. I'm not even sure I can tell you the original color, except it was dark. There was nothing particular to distinguish it from half a dozen of others I've seen around here, not even the Oklahoma plates—except that it was a little older than most and still running. That's why I think it might have been the same one. Why? Does it mean anything to you?"

T.J. nodded. "It might. That crazy tourist, I thought he was driving an old pickup. But he went by so fast I couldn't tell for sure. What happened in Eureka Springs? Sarah didn't s ayanything. Why'd you notice it?"

"Nothing happened," Jordan admitted. "I just had a feeling. I was probably wrong."

"Jimmy Joe told us 'bout you knowing he was watching you. You weren't wrong that time..." T.J. said slowly. "Maybe you aren't this time, either."

"Maybe," Jordan said. "If I can get a name on that hit-and-run-driver I can at least check it against vehicle registrations. In the meantime..."

"If it was the same truck every time, that means it's been hanging around here since the first of the summer," T.J. pointed out. "Been careful to stay out of sight most of the time, too. Could be one of the Ewells. They've still got shirttail kin all over the area. Now that I know what to look for, I'll find it—if it's still around."

"Your first priority is watching after Sarah," Jordan reminded him. "If the truck's the right one, it will come after her again."

T.J.'s face sobered. "She's not going to like me baby-sitting."

Jordan grinned at the apprehensive look on T.J.'s face. It was his first smile since Sarah had left the cabin the afternoon before. He was surprised at how good he felt. Somehow, someway, everything was going to be all right. He had to believe that. First things first, he told himself.

"Take care, T.J. and keep Sarah safe," he pleaded. "I'll be back as soon as I find anything."

"I'll watch out for her," T.J. promised as Jordan turned to leave. "I'll find that truck too—if it's still around."

* * *

Sarah walked slowly down the winding driveway to the mailbox. This summer had been a disaster. Aunt Cinda's stubbornness. Caldwell's place being sold out from under T.J. Now her car's sudden breakdown. Luther said it would be another week before he could get the part he needed to fix it. And Jordan— There was always Jordan. Sarah kicked dejectedly at a stone lying in her path. Jordan made the other disasters pale by comparison.

He'd disappeared. Simply vanished. If he was anywhere in the vicinity, it would have been on the grapevine. But no one said a word. The family wouldn't, of course. They knew what had happened. At least part of it. She knew they were careful not to mention his name around her. But no one else knew. And no one had said a word about him. He hadn't been seen. That much was obvious. He was simply gone.

Wasn't that what you wanted?
she asked herself. Her answer didn't make her feel any better. If he'd cared anything at all, he would have tried—at least once—to see her. Not, being right didn't make her feel one bit better.

She opened the mailbox, pulled out a large brown envelope and turned it over to examine the return address. Some kind of New York agency? It was addressed to her.

Without much curiosity she tore open the envelope, pulled out several photocopied pages and frowned. It wasn't an advertisement. It was then she saw the words at the top of the first page.

Sarah caught her breath, her eyes blurring. Still, she could make out the words "By Jordan D. Matthias." Her hands trembled as she flipped through the three pages. It was the story on Monte Ne. Quickly her eyes scanned the paragraphs, pausing here and there as a particular phrase caught her attention. She turned again to the last page, hoping to see a message, a note. There was nothing. Just the article.

She forced herself to start at the beginning, reading the words Jordan had written. He painted a canvas, his descriptions vivid. She could see Monte Ne alive again, alive in a way she'd been able to imagine but never put into words.

Then she came to the last three paragraphs. So, she thought, Jordan had successfully identified Monte Ne's historical importance as a forerunner of the planned community. She felt a moment of pride at his astuteness and allowed herself the satisfaction of knowing she had contributed to his project. Then she remembered that she'd never have the chance to tell him so.