Stranger on the Shore (24 page)

Their arrival in Eureka Springs shortly before noon began as planned. Sarah led the way through the downtown area, Jordan automatically taking the side along the curb, placing himself as a buffer between her and the traffic-clogged streets. They wandered hand in hand past the nineteenth century's buildings clinging tenaciously to the side of the mountain.

When they stopped in front of a gallery window containing a wood carving display, Jordan moved directly behind her. Half a block later, at a gallery specializing in stained glass, he found himself intently watching the reflection of the street scene behind them in the polished glass of the shop window. By the time they stopped to rest at one of Eureka Springs' numerous sidewalk pocket parks, he was consciously searching faces in the crowds for anything out of the ordinary.

"What's wrong, Jordan?" Sarah asked. "What are you looking for?"

"Nothing's wrong," he answered, but apparently, the smile accompanying his words was unconvincing. Sarah frowned, her skepticism apparent in her eyes.

He let his gaze move beyond the crowd to the street. Bumper-to-bumper traffic traveled slowly along the winding roadway. None of the vehicles seemed particularly noticeable. They were mostly a collection of the station wagons, pickup trucks and family-size sedans, with an occasional small sporty model sandwiched in between the larger vehicles. For a moment, his gaze rested on a rusty, battered pickup.

Beside him, Sarah tugged at his arm, drawing his attention back to her. "What is it?" she demanded again.

"I thought I saw someone I knew," he told her, wishing she hadn't noticed his preoccupation. Although hunches were supposed to be her field, not his, he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching them.

He stole another quick look at the street. The pickup caught his attention again as it moved out of sight. Had he seen it before? Probably, he thought, answering his own question and managing to produce a small laugh. Eureka Spring's main thoroughfare meandered up and down the steep hillsides, never crossing another street. Most of the traffic in the downtown area seemed to be moving in circles—looking for nonexistent parking places.

He turned to Sarah again. "I'm glad you suggested parking on the outskirts and catching the trolley downtown. It's nice to have a personal tour guide." He pulled her to her feet, bent to deliver a quick kiss to her cheek, and then tucked her hand securely in the crook of his elbow.

Sarah smiled, her mood seemingly lightened and he was surprised to discover his had too.

"Where now?" he asked, trying to control his voice under the onslaught of emotions triggered by her smile.

"Did you know the Basin Park Hotel was built into the side of the mountain so that each story has a street entrance?" she asked. "I've always wanted to go in the first floor, out the second, in the third, all the way to the top."

Jordan grinned. "Sounds like fun. You lead the way." He said, realizing that, as an added bonus, they would also be out of sight part of the time. Moving up the mountain inside a building was a good diversionary tactic.

They exited onto the street from the seventh floor just in time for Jordan to see a rusty pickup moving slowly past the entrance. Was it the same one he'd seen earlier? Had he seen it before today? If so, where? He watched as the vehicle disappear as his mind registering the truck's Oklahoma plates. Unconsciously he placed a protective arm around Sarah's shoulders. He suddenly wished they'd never come to Eureka Springs.

He tried valiantly to recapture the lighthearted mood they'd enjoyed earlier in the day. They inspected the town's quaint craft shops, toured the Gay Nineties Museum and the Queen Anne mansion and mingled with the tourists enjoying impromptu sidewalk concerts. Only at Hatchet Hall did the shadows seem to fade, and that was because the tour of temperance leader Carrie Nation's last home reminded them both of the story of Great-grandfather Wilson and his cornfields.

Even the elegant surroundings of the Basin Park Hotel, where they shared a late dinner, failed to diminish the restrained atmosphere between them. It was completely dark before they arrived at the cabin.

Bathed in moonlight, the cabin's weathered logs gave an impression of having been part of the landscape since time began. On closer inspection, Sarah recognized it as one of the prefabricated log houses popular in the area as vacation homes. It blended unobtrusively into the wooded surroundings on a hill overlooking a quiet stretch of the Kings River.

Jordan unlocked the door, reached inside and flipped a light switch, then stood aside as Sarah stepped into the mountain hideaway. The soft glow from the single burning lamp gave the interior a warm golden hue. Country-casual furniture formed a conversation grouping in front of a freestanding fireplace at one end of the room. Cotton rag rugs covered the wood-pegged floors. The room radiated a sense of peace.

Sarah collapsed into the nearest cushioned chair, pulled her sandals from her feet and began massaging an instep. "I should have worn hiking boots," she said wearily. "Now you know why they call Eureka Springs Little Switzerland."

"Sarah—"

She shook her head and, refusing to look at him, leaned back in the chair, her eyes closed. "Give me a minute," she begged. "Right now I'm too tired even to talk." Even with her eyes closed, she knew his eyes were on her. She could feel his gaze. She forced her breathing to remain slow and steady while her mind raced in confusing circles.

Sarah had welcomed the plans for a weekend away with hat-over-the-moon expectations. It was the forbidden apple, the brass ring, the ultimate fantasy getaway. Now, faced with the reality of her and Jordan alone without the restraining presence of others around them, she felt her euphoria dissolving. The beginning of their tour of Eureka Springs had been perfect. They'd been like two kids unexpectedly let out of school. Then something happened. Sarah didn't know what. Had she made a mistake in coming here with him? What did he expect of her now?

Jordan watched her from across the room, his gut twisting in response to the look he now saw on her face. Quietly he picked up her overnight case and went down the hall, knowing if he didn't leave the room, he'd be carrying her to his bed in another moment. She needed time, peace and safety. Most of all, safety.

He needed her. He felt his body tense at the thought. It was going to be like walking a tightrope, giving her what she needed and denying himself, but that was the way it had to be until she was safe. At least he had her close.

"Sarah, are you awake?" he asked softly when he returned to the front room. As far as he could tell, she hadn't moved since he left.

"I'm awake," she muttered, her eyes still closed. "Just tired." And hiding, she added silently. As long as she could keep her eyes closed she could pretend nothing was wrong.

"I put your overnight case in the back bedroom. It's farther down the hall from the bath than the other guest room, but it has a bed instead of bunks."

Sarah's eyes fluttered open. The back bedroom? Relief mingled with disappointment. Just what had she expected? Jordan had made it plain he didn't expect her to share his bed before she'd agreed to this trip. So, she shouldn't have been surprised. Especially after he'd become so quiet and pensive this evening. Why, then, did she feel so discontented? She was confused by his attack-and-withdraw tactics and bewildered by her own seesawing emotions. She knew something of her thoughts must have showed on her face when she heard Jordan groan under his breath.

"Damn it, Sarah, don't look at me like that."

She flinched, pressing herself back into the cushions of the chair.

"Oh, hell," Jordan muttered. "I'm sorry. Look, it's been a long day—a long two days. You're exhausted, and I guess I am, too. I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's all right. I think I was just startled and half-asleep. You didn't scare me. Not really."

Jordan stuffed his hands deep in his pants pockets and turned away from her, staring blindly out the window into the darkness outside.

"Jordan? What's wrong?"

He turned around and shook his head. "Nothing's wrong," he said. "We're both tired, and it's late. I think we should say goodnight. Go to bed, Sarah. We'll talk tomorrow."

She walked across the room then paused by the door to the hallway. With the length of the room between them, she allowed herself to turn and face him, saw the muscles in his jaw tighten.

"Bathroom's the first door on the left, and your bedroom's at the end of the hall. I turned on the lights."

She stood for a moment, and then finally nodded. "I'll find them. Thank you, Jordan. Good night."

"Good night, Sarah. Sleep well."

Jordan watched her disappear down the hallway, then quietly eased open the door and went out onto the front porch.

* * *

Shafts of silver moonlight slanted through the open window, relieving the darkness of the room. Sarah stirred, gripped by a restlessness that nudged her from sleep into a state of awareness. In the quiet dark, the plaintive call of a whippoorwill echoed across the hills. She forced herself to relax, waiting for the expected insight that would dispel the mists of uncertainty swirling behind her closed eyelids.

The veil moved, shadowed and indistinct, a silhouette of light and dark too vague to interpret. She remained still, waiting. The mists moved again, turning, swirling into an unwavering curtain of gray. The past was unfinished, the future as yet undetermined. And the present? It was as nebulous as the intersecting patterns of yesterday and tomorrow—a stage awaiting a performance by players who would complete the designs of the past and determine those of the future.

A slight breeze, carrying a trace of moisture from the nearby river, ruffled the curtains at the open window. Outside, a chorus of tree frogs added their shrill voices to the symphony of night sounds.

Sarah forced herself to take slow, deep breaths as she tried to interpret the meaning of the dream—if dream it was. She'd been uncertain before, not always knowing if her waking nightmares were imaginary visions, subconscious fears or incidents of her special gift.

Her episodes of sight often appeared unheralded and unexpected, but the images were usually precise and clear. Sometimes it was a single scene, a moment frozen in time like an album snapshot. Sometimes the pictures unfolded in sequence, like action caught on slow-motion film. Commentary was never included. What came before or after, or even when, was always open to interpretation. She was always part of the scene, not as herself, but as one of the players.

She drew another breath, tense and disturbed. This one was different. The images were unclear, as if she were watching a screen obscured by a veil of gauze. She was also definitely a part of it, as herself, not as someone else. Jordan was there, too, his features shadowed, half in darkness, half in light, but the reality of him as clearly defined as her own. Just as definite was the absence of signposts for her to follow. This time she was on her own.

She focused on the shaft of moonlight streaming through her window and deliberately tried to clear her tumbling thoughts. The vague images and jumbled sounds offered no help and made little sense. Instead, she heard the strong voice of Aunt Cinda echoing in her mind.
Times come when you don't know. That's when you have to take a chance and don't go worrying about it. Just listen to your own self.

Moonbeams shimmered in the air, a night breeze disturbed the curtains and shifted the leaves outside the window. The room was suddenly too close, too confining.

Sarah pulled her white terry-cloth robe over her shortie nightgown and quietly opened the bedroom door. She tiptoed past Jordan's bedroom, her bare feet making no noise on the polished wood floor, then eased the latch from the front door and stepped onto the porch.

Fireflies, each provided by nature with its own luminescent lantern, danced across the clearing, their silent mating calls flickering like tiny jewels in the night. From the distant ridge behind the cabin, the whippoorwill's wistful song sounded again. A second call floated on the night air, this time from the far side of the river.

A soft sigh escaped Sarah's lips. Nature's order. How simple and uncomplicated. She signals, he responds; he calls, she answers, natural selection, uncluttered by reason or doubt. The fireflies, the birds of the night, they both knew instinctively how to identify their mates. If only she could be as sure—

"Sarah?"

The sound of her name came from the darkness behind her. Sarah turned slowly, not sure if she'd heard or imagined the call. Jordan stepped from the deep shadows at the end of the porch into the moonlight. Still caught in her thoughts, she took a step toward him.

Jordan closed the distance, his arms reaching for her. He rested his hands lightly on her shoulders. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

She trembled under his touch, trying to deny the enchantment of the moment, to ignore the call drawing her relentlessly forward. Silently she shook her head. "No," she said softly, "nothing's wrong. I just came out for a breath of fresh air. I didn't mean to disturb you."

"You didn't," he said. "I was enjoying the night too." He dropped his hands from her shoulders and moved back.

She stood straight and stiff, braced against the feeling of desolation as he stepped away. "Did you hear the whippoorwill?" she asked suddenly. "He's down by the river. Listen."