Stranger on the Shore (3 page)

Jordan had waited in barely concealed anticipation for the mysterious cousin to emerge from her hiding place. The possibility that this cousin with
the sight
might be the woman he was looking for was more than he dared hope. Although he wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, it certainly wasn't this slip of a girl now standing in front of him.

She was small—actually not much taller than the boy. And shy. She was careful to keep her gaze lowered. From what he could see of her averted face, there wasn't a lot of family resemblance between them. Of course, both were sunburned, which suggested the same fair skin. Then, there was the matter of the red hair—not that the two shades of red were anything alike. Jimmy Joe's was that deep flame color often described by writers, but rarely seen. The girl's wasn't really red. It was more of a sun-streaked rose-gold.

Sarah shifted uneasily under his intense scrutiny and placed one foot slightly behind the other. Copying a gesture she had seen Jimmy Joe make earlier, she deliberately dug her toe into the dirt.

"I told you I weren't dressed for strangers," she said to Jimmy Joe, "and you weren't supposed to tell about Scarface." She tried to sound petulant, but not too angry. She couldn't overact, or Jimmy Joe would give her away.

"I'm sorry, Cissie. I just—"

He looked so woebegone, Sarah had to steel herself to keep from giving him a reassuring smile and a hug. It wasn't the first time she was thankful that Jimmy Joe still called her by the nickname he'd given her when he was a baby. Besides, she wouldn't have minded his call for help if it hadn't been this man. And that certainly was not Jimmy Joe's fault.

"It's all right," she said. "This one time, anyway. Go find some worms and I'll help you prove it to his face."

Jimmy Joe's grin lit his face. "I'll find some," he called over his shoulder, already running down the shoreline.

"Well, Cissie," the man standing beside her said quietly, "what do we do now?"

Sarah kept her head carefully lowered. "Wait for Jimmy Joe to find some worms."

"And then?" he asked, his voice both coaxing and demanding. If his motive had been for her to look at him, this time it worked. Instinctively she glanced up. Again, his gaze locked with hers, a heated probing look so intense it seemed to burn the air from her lungs. "And then," she said, her voice coming out almost breathlessly as she again lowered her eyes, "I'll feed that old fish."

Jordan was confused. Jimmy Joe's cousin looked to be about sixteen, small and gawky to the point of awkwardness. But his second glimpse of those mysterious green-blue eyes had strengthened his first impression. They didn't belong on a sixteen-year-old girl. A wood nymph, perhaps. Or a Lorelei.

He shook his head to dispel his fanciful thoughts and studied the girl again. Her hair was parted in the middle and loosely tied with pieces of yarn on either side of her head above her ears. It was a style reminiscent of pigtails but without the confinement of braids. The way she held her shoulders and her finely formed head said she was young and shy.

Yes, Cissie was exactly what she seemed at first glance, he assured himself—a somewhat shy teenager, nervous around strangers and completely chagrined at being caught in her berry-picking clothes. But God help the male sex when she was a little older. Those eyes would have to be classified as lethal weapons.

"I got 'em, Cissie," Jimmy Joe yelled, running back along the shoreline toward them. "I got three good worms. Think they'll be enough?"

"Yep," Sarah drawled, reaching out with one hand and accepting the squirming creatures from the boy.

"So, what's next?" Jordan asked.

This time, Sarah didn't look up. "Now I feed Scarface," she answered matter-of-factly. Still holding the worms in one hand, she waded from the shoreline into the lake, heading toward deeper water. Jordan followed, stepping more carefully as the water depth increased. Jimmy Joe was right behind him.

"If you want to see him, you'll have to come closer," she called over her shoulder, "but you've got to stay behind me so he doesn't see your shadow." Somehow she still managed not to look him in the face.

Jordan continued to follow carefully, Jimmy Joe behind him, as Cissie moved farther into the lake. She didn't stop until the water was swirling just above her knees. "It ought to be deep enough about here." She hunkered down in the cold water, ignoring the wet backside of her jeans and the flapping shirttail.

"Be quiet now," she cautioned him as she picked up a rock with her free hand and tapped it against a small underwater boulder. She sat still for a moment, then tapped the rocks together again.

Jordan held his breath as he stared down into the lake. The water was so clear, he could distinguish the individual pebbles on the lake bottom. He found himself anticipating, but still not ready to believe his eyes when a shadow, then the graceful swimming form of an eighteen-inch largemouth bass, brushed by the girl's leg.

Sarah stretched out her hand, dangling one of the worms just below the surface of the water. In the sunlight, Jordan could see the distinctive black stripe on the side of the old bass. His flexible body bore the marks and scars of many years. Most pronounced was a misshapen dorsal fin and a large scar across the snout, as if the bass has rammed his head into a jar, neatly removing skin and scales in a perfect arc.

The fish nudged the girl's leg again, then moved back toward her hand and took a dainty nibble of the worm dangling in the water. He nibbled again before pulling the rest of the worm from her hand.

As the bass repeated the sequence, the girl calmly fed it the other two earthworms. The fish nudged her empty hand once more before flipping his tail and gliding silently out of sight.

Still keeping her back to Jordan, Sarah stood and wiped her hands on her shirttail. The she turned to the boy. "Okay, Jimmy Joe?"

Even Jimmy Joe's eyes seemed to grin as he nodded.

"Grandmother's waiting on the berries," she reminded the boy. "We gotta go home now." Without even looking back at Jordan, she waded toward the shore, ignoring the water streaming off her wet jeans and down her legs.

Jordan watched her she climb the clay bank, still not quite able to accept the evidence of his own eyes.

"Come along now, Jimmy Joe. You hear?" she called from the top of the bank.

"Just a minute, Cissie. Please?"

"All right," she told him. "But hurry up. Grandmother's waiting."

"You gonna be fishing here anymore, mister?"

Jimmy Joe's question jerked Jordan's attention back to the boy. "I planned to spend another couple of days in the area. However, I think I need a new fishing spot." He grinned at the boy. "I don't believe I'll catch much here."

Jimmy Joe beamed, unable to hide his look of satisfaction.

"There's a good hole 'bout half a mile up the shore," he offered. "An old snag hangs out over the water."

"Would you mind if I tried it?"

Jimmy Joe shook his head.

"Then I might try it tomorrow. Do you want to fish with me?" he asked.

Jimmy Joe shook his head again. "Ain't Friday. But I might come by and visit a spell."

"Do you only fish on Fridays?"

This time Jimmy Joe nodded his head. "Grandmother fixes fish on Fridays."

"Every Friday?"

"Uh-huh."

"What happens if you don't catch enough?"

"I always do," Jimmy Joe assured him.

Jordan grinned again, amused by the boy's supreme confidence.

"I gotta go now," the boy told him."

Jordan nodded. "Maybe I'll see you tomorrow, then," he said. "And Jimmy Joe, thank you, and thank your cousin, too, for showing me Scarface."

"That's okay."

Jordan watched Jimmy Joe scramble up the clay bank to where his cousin was waiting. The boy turned to wave before they both disappeared into the thicket.

He began collecting his fishing gear, his mind busy sorting through his impressions. The children, the lake, the countryside, its people—everything about this place intrigued him. Rural settings weren't new to him. The small farms, nestled like green emeralds in tiny valleys, reminded him of the home he'd known as a boy. But something about this place was different. It called to him, fascinated him, seduced him.

Beaver Lake was another contradiction—behaving at times like a wild river as it moved north, collecting waters from deep gorges, and in other places, lazily lapping the shoreline, like a complacent lover.

Then there was the woman—the one he'd come to find. For a moment, when the boy first mentioned his cousin with
the sight
, he'd hoped his search was about to end. He should have known it wasn't going to be that easy. Three days ago, he'd been almost ready to abandon his hunt. Then he'd discovered Sarah Wilson's name in the county tax records. But even that was strange. The deeds were part of old Monte Ne—a resort now buried under the waters of Beaver Lake.

Jordan wondered if he should backtrack to St. Louis and try a new path. No, damn it. The woman was here. He was sure of it. He'd keep looking and eventually, he'd find her.

Besides, he wasn't ready to leave. Something held him here. This was a place of enchantment—a place where children tamed lake bass.

His eyes moved once again to the place where he'd last seen the boy and girl. Jimmy Joe was a lovable imp. It had taken a lot of character for the boy to refrain from saying
"I told you so."

Jordan's thoughts switched then to the girl. Mysterious eyes and the ability to charm the fish in the lake.

Absolutely unbelievable.

Chapter 2

Sarah wasn't surprised at the message awaiting her when she and Jimmy Joe returned to her grandparents' farm.

"Your Aunt Cinda wants to see you," her grandmother told her. "T.J. brought the message."

"Did he say why?"

Sarah's grandmother shook her head. "She said you would know."

Yes, she knew. She had refused to acknowledge the situation since the stranger first appeared in the valley. She'd tried to avoid him, but their meeting by the lake destroyed the last of her defenses. It was too late to alter events now.

Sarah sighed. Then, when she saw the concerned look on her grandmother's face, forced a smile. The strange ability she shared with her grandmother's oldest sister was one that was accepted but never discussed by the family. Neither was it understood. Sarah wasn't sure she understood it herself, nor the bond it created between them.

Why hadn't Aunt Cinda's daughter, or even her granddaughter, received the gift? She knew it could skip a generation, and in her case, it had. Aunt Cinda was the only one of that generation, just as Sarah was the only one of her generation of cousins who possessed it. In the generation between, there had been no one. Perhaps that was just as well. The bond between the two of them was frightening at times. She wasn't sure she could cope with another one.

Sarah redirected her thoughts. "Don't worry, Grandmother. I'm sure it's nothing. Maybe she's just feeling lonely. It's been several days since I was at Hogscald."

"Maybe, Cissie," her grandmother said, obviously not convinced. "I wish you could talk her into moving to Mountain Springs. Lord knows I've tried often enough. She's so far away, and there's no phone up the hollow. She gets around all right inside and around the cabin, but she couldn't see to come down the mountain, even if she could walk that far."

"I'll see what I can do, Grandmother. I think she knows she'll have to move down before winter. T.J., or one of the other boys, stop in every day now, but when winter comes they might not be able to get up there so often."

She smiled at her grandmother's frown. "It will be all right. Really it will."

"Are you going now, or will you wait until morning?"

Sarah hesitated. When Aunt Cinda went to the trouble to send a messenger, as well as— "I think I had better go after supper. There'll be plenty of daylight left. And if I don't, she might start fretting."

Her grandmother nodded.

Shortly before sundown Sarah stepped onto Aunt Cinda's front porch and peered in the open door. She'd parked her car at the end of the road and hiked the last half mile up the trail to the cabin high on the mountainside overlooking Hogscald Hollow.