Stranger on the Shore

by Carol Duncan Perry

  "Okay. You're the expert. What would you suggest?"

  She considered her next move carefully. She'd already agreed to help, but how far should she go? Could she trust this man? He was an outsider. She didn't get involved with outsiders, at least not any more than necessary, and certainly not on her home turf.

  "Don't be ridiculous," she told herself. He was only interested in Monte Ne. That was a lie, of course. She could see it in his eyes. Was this what Eve had felt when first confronted with the forbidden fruit? She couldn't let herself think about trusting him.

  "What you need is a guided tour of what remains of Monte Ne and one of my hour lectures on local history." The words fell unbidden from her lips. Had she meant to say that? No matter. It was done. She was committed. "Do you have transportation?"

  "Yes, but—"

  "I mean a truck or a rough-terrain vehicle?"

  "I have a four-wheel-drive Sports Utility Vehicle. Will that do?"

  "It should do just fine," she said, anxious to leave now that her decision was made. "Let's go."

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, following her instructions, Jordan shifted the SUV into low gear and eased his vehicle off the road and onto a faintly marked trail between two twisted oaks. The vehicle tilted crazily as the wheels slid over boulders embedded in the dirt, then bounced out of a series of deep ruts.

  Sarah sat as far away from Jordan as the seat belt and the jolting ride allowed. She was anxious to keep as much space between them as possible. But it was too little, too late. She should never have agreed to this, even if his motives were exactly what he said they were. She couldn't understand why this man affected her so, why she was attracted to him when every instinct told her to run.

  The quick look she sneaked at him from the corner of her eye did nothing to reassure her. In profile, his features were strong and clean. High cheekbones, classic straight nose, well-defined cleft in a strong chin. Her eyes returned to his mouth. Would his lips demand or beguile? Seize or share? She shivered inwardly, astonished at the direction of her thoughts, and jerked her mind back to her surroundings.

  "Pull in under those trees so it will be easier to turn around," Sarah said when they finally reached the crest of the ridge. "We're here."

  She remained silent as Jordan looked around the flat ridge top in disbelief. Jagged sandstone outcrops were only marginally softened by the tangle of weeds and wildflowers that grew around their bases or clung tenaciously to small soil filled hollows in the rock surfaces. The summer heat had dried the wild grasses to yellow straw. Even the glossy, saber-shaped leaves of the bamboo-like Johnson grass were wilting in the afternoon sun.

  "This is Monte Ne?" he asked, his skepticism evident in the tone of his voice.

  "Of course not!" Sarah laughed. "But we can see the original outlines of Monte Ne from the top of the bluff."

  The trailing yellow dust kicked up by the wheels of the SUV was still settling back to earth as she jumped unassisted from the vehicle's seat and waited for him to join her. "Come on," she said, moving across the small clearing. "Watch out for the poison ivy. It's especially bad in dry weather."

  Sarah pushed her way through the tangled underbrush, Jordan following close behind. She heard his quick intake of breath when they arrived at the edge of a thicket and stepped out onto the rock bluff. With her feet firmly planted on the jagged sandstone outcropping, Sarah looked across the valley, paying no attention to the void that lay below her. In the distance was Beaver Lake's curving shoreline, and above it the steep, rugged slopes of the Ozarks.

  "People around here say 'Our mountains ain't so high, but our valleys sure are deep,'" Sarah said quietly. "When you stand here, you know exactly what they mean."

  Jordan said nothing, apparently engrossed by the scene stretched out beneath his feet. Then, when she moved her feet, several loosened pebbles fell into the void below them, and Sarah was suddenly jerked into his arms and held firmly against his chest.

  The touch of her body against his seared into her consciousness. It was a feeling she didn't fully understand and couldn't have defined. She held herself rigid as his arms tightened around her, then allowed herself to relax slightly when he loosened his hold without releasing her from the confining circle of his arms.

  "I'm sorry," he told her. "I'm not usually a grabber. I thought you were going over the edge."

  Sarah was fighting a battle with the sensations evoked by his touch. In the dim recesses of her mind, she recognized her reaction to this man's closeness. It was reminiscent of a time she had tried to bury. But this feeling was stronger, more compelling, more frightening. Even more puzzling, she found she was enjoying it.

  She forced a small laugh and tried to remove herself from the protective circle of his arms. "I've been climbing these hills since I first learned to walk," she told him. "The edge of the bluff is stable. I was perfectly safe."

  Jordan's arms finally released her. "I didn't mean to startle you," he explained. "It's just that after the trouble I had finding you, I don't want to lose you so soon."

  Sarah recognized his attempt to turn his reaction into a joke.

  "I'm sorry I frightened you," she said, breathing easier now that she was no longer in his arms. "I'll be careful, I promise." She looked around for a moment, then, selected a rock protrusion several feet from the edge of the overhanging bluff for a seat. She motioned to Jordan to join her, trying all the while to bring her emotions under control.

  Determined to ignore the way she'd felt in his arms, she waited for him to seat himself and draw a small notebook from his shirt pocket.

  "If you look carefully toward the other side of the lake, you can see a crescent-shaped strip of darker water curving around the contours of that hillside," she said, carefully disciplining her voice. "Do you see it?"

  Jordan bent forward, his head almost touching her shoulder, his breath fanning her cheek. "I don't—"

  "Not right along the shoreline," she said, moving slightly away to escape his closeness. "Start at the water's edge, then move your eyes toward the center of the lake. About a third of the way out, the water gets deeper. It's darker in color than the water along the shoreline."

  Jordan followed her instructions, slowly moving his eyes across the surface of the lake. "Now I see it," he said.

  "You are looking at the famous Monte Ne lagoon. Before the dam was built and the lake filled, that crescent-shaped channel was the water that created Monte Ne."

  "What's that tall concrete tower on the shore? Was it part of Monte Ne?"

  "That's the south tower of Oklahoma Row," she explained. "Another hotel called Missouri Row was very similar. They were separated by a large landscaped lawn and were famous for their rustic exteriors and elegant interiors."

  "I found a pamphlet in the library about that, but honestly I couldn't imagine it," Jordan said quietly. "Crystal chandeliers, string orchestras, singing gondoliers—it sounded like a Hollywood stage set. I don't see how anyone even found the place. It's hard enough now. There couldn't have been many paved roads back then."

  "No, there weren't. Not many cars, either," she agreed. "But Harvey knew how isolated the area was. He planned his resort, and built a railroad spur into Monte Ne. Visitors arriving on the Monte Ne Railroad rode from the train station at the head of the lagoon to the hotels in a real Venice gondola decked with flowers and complete with a singing gondolier."

  "It simply doesn't fit."

  Sarah laughed. "You're right. Monte Ne wasn't exactly the typical Ozark community. The name was borrowed from the Spanish and a tribe of area Indians. It means something like 'Mountain Waters.' The name may have been apt, but Monte Ne itself was out of time and place. In fact, today you would probably say it was ahead of its time."

  "How's that?"

  "That's your mystery to solve."

  "Its place in the greater scheme of history?"

  "That's right," Sarah told him."It's not hard to find, not if you're any kind of researcher. It's
just that I've never seen the connection in print before. I don't think even Coin Harvey knew what he was doing."

  Sarah lowered her eyes, watching as Jordan hurriedly scribbled in his notebook.

  "You said Monte Ne was Harvey's dream. What kind of man was he?"

  "You can find material about Harvey." she told him. "He was a published author and considered a financial expert of his times. That's where he got the nickname 'Coin.' He was also an associate and supporter of William Jennings Bryant. He campaigned for Bryant during the 1896 presidential campaign. In fact, Harvey always claimed he discovered the Ozarks on the campaign trail."

  "So," Jordan said slowly, "Harvey built himself a resort hotel."

  "Three hotels." Sarah corrected. "Plus a bank, a newspaper and a golf course. There was also an indoor swimming pool called the 'plunge bath,' a casino, a dance pavilion, an auditorium, a bowling alley, and an outdoor amphitheater." She grinned. "As I said, not exactly your typical Ozark mountain community, especially in the early nineteen hundreds."

  Jordan returned her grin. She waited, anticipating his next question. He didn't disappoint her. "What happened? Why did Monte Ne die?"

  "The world intruded," Sarah said softly. "The first World War. People weren't interested or able to travel halfway across the continent just for a vacation. The railroad shut down. The bank closed. The newspaper stopped publishing. Monte Ne, at least as a national attraction, was all but dead by the end of the war." The crash on Wall Street in 1929 finished the job."

  Sarah turned to face him. "And that about concludes my first hour lecture on local history," she said.

  Jordan tried to remember why he was here, but the reason escaped him. All he could see was the little smile on her lips and the sadness in her eyes. All he wanted to do was chase away the shadows.

  He leaned forward, pulled like a string puppet. His notebook fell unobserved to the ground. He ignored the tiny voice in the back of his mind that was registering its dissent. He paused for a moment, saw her start to protest, but it was already too late. He gave way to the incredible temptation in front of him, and with a quiet groan, lowered his head until his lips found hers.

  The kiss, which began as the mere brushing of his lips against hers, captured and held Jordan with a strength that was deceptive in its gentleness. He sensed her initial shock, then the melting resistance and finally the fluttering feminine response emerging under his touch. Without conscious direction, his arms moved to pull her closer, to feel the sweet heat of her body against his, to capture and hold her elusive scent of honeysuckle.

  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 ba
re 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.