Stranger on the Shore (21 page)

The bull stood stiff-legged, body quivering, and muscles bunching—readying for attack.

"Come on, you miserable—" Jordan yelled. The bull lowered his head and charged. Eyes narrowed, Jordan stood his ground, shifting his weight from foot-to-foot as the creature's hooves chewed up the ground between them.

It seemed as if the bull was less than an arm's length away when Jordan finally moved. He threw the jacket over Thunder's head, throwing his body to the bull's left at the same time. He hit the ground rolling in the direction of the fence and safety. Clutching hands grabbed an arm and a leg and pulled him under the fence. For a second he lay still, flat on his back, gulping deep breaths of night air and allowing the adrenaline to drain from his tight muscles. His mind cleared.

"Sarah!" He called her name aloud as he jack-knifed into a sitting position. Once again, he felt helping hands, this time assisting him to his feet.

"The lady's okay," he heard someone say. "The other fellow got her out."

"Where is she?"

"I think someone said they took her to one of the trailers."

A small dark cowboy pushed his way through the crowd to Jordan's side. He was dressed in the usual wrangler gear, with the addition of a bright orange vest, it's back boldly emblazoned with Butler, the name of the rodeo's stock contractor.

"Sarah?" he asked again.

"The lady's fine, mister. She's at the boss's caravan with the other man and the boy. I'll show you the way."

Jordan let the cowboy lead him through the throng of people, acknowledging their gestures of congratulation with the nod of the head, as he moved.

"Been in the arena a couple of times, haven't you?" the cowboy asked as they reached a pasture where the lights of several trailers blazed in the dark night.

"Lord, no," Jordan said. "I played with some bull calves once or twice when I was in South America. You know, the little fellows, seven or eight hundred pounds. No horns," he added. "Tonight was the first time I ever faced a real bull. I hope it's the last."

The cowboy nodded. "Must have been good calve, then. You did it just right."

"I was lucky."

They stopped by the door of the second trailer. "Here you are. Your lady's inside."

His lady!

Jordan gave a quick knock on the door, then without waiting for an answer, jerked it open and stepped inside. He absorbed the scene in a single all-encompassing glance.

Sarah sat behind a table on the end of a built-in-bench, her hands closed around a cup of liquid with steam rising above its rim. Wisps of sawdust still clung to her hair. Her face was white and strained, and her eyes were large and scared. Jimmy Joe was tucked in close to her side, his face also blanched except for his freckles. His cheeks were smudged with dirt and streaked from recent tears. T.J. stood by Sarah's side, one hand resting on his shoulder.

"Sarah."
Jordan breathed her name, took a step forward and saw the sudden light in her eyes. Then, she was in his arms.

They were, at once, surrounded by a group of people, most of whom he hadn't noticed in the room. Hands reached out to deliver pats on the back. The rumble of unfamiliar voices rose and fell around them. Jordan ignored them all, his full attention, his entire being, centered on the reality that Sarah was safe. And in his arms.

He held her securely, his arms tight around her, felt the tension drain from her body, felt her relax against him. Slowly he loosened his hold and looked down into her upturned face. "Are you all right? Were you were hurt?"

"Oh, Jordan, I was so afraid for you."

Jordan's arm automatically tightened around her. "Ssh... Everything's all right now. You're safe and I'm fine."

Suddenly conscious of the eyes watching them, he reluctantly let her go and moved with her back to the table. Jimmy Joe wiggled into the corner of the booth, and after Sarah slid in, Jordan took the space at the end of the bench. Someone thrust a cold beer into his hand.

A large older man, wearing an orange "Butler" vest like the cowboy's, slid into the seat opposite them. "Lord, Mr. Matthias, that was some—"

Jordan shook his head, warning him not to discuss the subject. He didn't want to upset Sarah anymore. The man's voice faltered.

"I just wanted you to know we'll take care of the bull."

"Take him home and turn him out to pasture," Jordan said. "He'll be fine in a while."

The man hesitated. "You mean you don't want—I thought you'd want him put down."

"Why?" Jordan asked. "He was just being a bull. We invaded his territory."

He turned his attention to the woman sitting by his side.

"What happened, Sarah? How did you end up inside the pen?"

Sarah shook her head. Her eyes looked dazed. "I don't know. One minute the crowd was pushing me. I felt hands at my waist. Then, suddenly, I was flying through the air. I don't remember anything else, not until T.J. grabbed hold of me. Then I saw the bull almost on top of you."

What little color that had returned to her face since Jordan entered the trailer now drained away. He drew a sharp breath. "Someone threw you into—" He bit off the words and turned to T.J., trying to ignore the nausea rising from his stomach. Aunt Cinda had warned him to take care. He'd almost failed.

"They had to have, Jordan. Up and over." T.J.'s voice spoke quietly in his ear. "The gate locks were slipped, but the enclosure gate was never opened."

"I don't know how it happened, but it had to be an accident," Sarah said, not hearing the exchange.

Jordan exchanged a meaningful look with T.J. Then, as if they had come to a mutual decision, they moved as one.

"Come on, Jimmy Joe. I think you've had your share of excitement for the day." T.J. said. "Let's go load the horses. Then I'll get you home." T.J. stood to one side, waiting for Jordan and Sarah to release the boy from his corner in the booth.

"And you, Sarah," Jordan said quietly, "are coming with me." He placed his arm protectively around her shoulder. He and Sarah followed her cousins, but before they reached the door, Sam Bascomb filled the opening.

Jordan had seen the gray-haired man around Mountain Springs on several occasion. Once or twice, they had exchanged nods in passing, but he'd never had the opportunity to meet the sheriff or study him. He knew this was the man who sent Sarah to Hoyston. The sheriff's eyes quickly swept the room, ignoring the fact that he was out of his home jurisdiction. They came to rest on Sarah, who was still white-faced and leaning against Jordan.

"What the hell? Sarah, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Sam. Just a little shaky."

The timbre of Sarah's voice reinforced Jordan's belief that this man was a special friend. He met the angry look in the sheriff's eyes with one of friendliness. Jordan too, felt indignant on her behalf. Indignant and scared to death. Something was going on here that he didn't understand. Who would want to harm Sarah? The one thing he didn't doubt was that someone did.

T.J. quickly filled Sam in with an edited version of the evening's events as Jordan stood by quietly, still supporting Sarah.

"And no one saw what happened? How she got inside the pen?" The sheriff looked directly at each person in the room, waiting for an answer but getting only negative shakes of the head.

"Who else was there?" he demanded. "Somebody had to see something."

"Good Lord, Sheriff. There were probably twenty, thirty people milling around outside that pen," said an unfamiliar voice. "I guess some of them will still be around the pens."

"Then that's where I'm going."

Jordan couldn't help smiling to himself. If the local authorities resented the sheriff's intrusion in their affairs, it would make no different to Sam.

"As for you, missy," the sheriff added, "you get on home. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Yes, Sam," Sarah answered meekly. "I think I'm ready. Come on, Jordan. Let's go home."

With his arm still around her, Sarah let Jordan lead her out the door of the trailer. Sam, T.J. and Jimmy Joe turned toward the back lots. Sarah and Jordan moved in the opposite direction, toward the rodeo grounds parking lot.

They walked in silence, Sarah reassured by the pressure of Jordan's arm around her waist. He was safe! The chilling, paralyzing fear she felt when she'd seen that bull charging him had been just that—fear. Not a psychic glimpse into the future.

On the heels of her relief came the realization of how much this man had come to mean to her. She had never meant for it to happen, never meant to allow him to become such a vital part of her life. If she'd been lonely before he'd entered her life, how much worse would it be when he left? Before, she's known only a nebulous feeling of incompleteness. Now she knew with devastating clarity the missing ingredient of her existence.

She must have given some indication of her disturbing train of thought because Jordan stopped in the shadow of the grandstand and moved in front of her. The moonlight played over his features as his eyes probed hers.

"Is something wrong? Are you sure you're all right? You weren't hurt?" His voice was soft, concern apparent in his tone. The sound settled around her, providing warmth and protection, like the comfort of a thick quilt against the chill of a winter wind.

"I'm fine. Really. It's just that my knees are still a little shaky."

Jordan gave her a tender smile, the corners of his mouth tilting upward. "I think that's allowed." He shook his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. "When I think what—" His voice stopped abruptly.

"Think what, Jordan?"

"Never mind now. You've had enough for one day. We'll talk about it tomorrow." He paused, then gave her another one of his little smiles, the kind that revealed so little and promised so much. "Do you realize this is the first time we've been alone all day."

Sarah looked quickly around her. The lights in the arena had been turned off. The pasture that served as a parking area for the rodeo grounds stretched before them, now almost empty of vehicles. In their immediate vicinity nothing disturbed the quiet isolation.

"So we are," she said, giving him a shuttered look from beneath her lashes. "What do you think we should do about it?"

"This," he said, his voice as soft as the butterfly touch of his lips against hers. He pulled her more tightly into his arms and rested his cheek on the top of her head, holding her for a long moment. Then he slowly relaxed his hold.

"I think it's time to get you home," he said. "All in all, it's been quite a Fourth of July."

Reluctantly Sarah moved from his arms. She couldn't help wondering if he, too, experienced the same fireworks she did every time they touched.

Chapter 11

Sarah set her cup carefully on the saucer and stared at the man on the other side of the kitchen table. T.J. had already come and gone this morning, after grilling her about last night's events. That Sam showed up on her doorstep before T.J drove out of sight and before she'd had a chance to drink her first cup of coffee was disturbing enough, but what he'd just said was unbelievable.

"You're wrong, Sam. Why would anyone want to hurt me? Last night was an accident."

"I'm not so sure, missy. You've had a few too many accidents and near accidents lately to suit me." Worry lines creased the sheriff's forehead. "And every one of them has happened since that stranger showed up looking for you. Damn it all anyhow, I warned you to be careful."

"Come on now, Sam," Sarah smiled indulgently. "I know you don't warm up strangers, but you can't suspect Jordan. He saved my life. T.J. says that if he hadn't gotten inside the pen as fast as he did, Thunder would have charged."

"What if you're wrong? You know you never see what's in front of your face. What's he doing still hanging around here, anyway? Ain't he supposed to be writin' a story on Monte Ne? Hell, he's been here long enough to rebuild the place."

"He finished his article, Sam. It's scheduled for publication in September. Now he's just on vacation."

"Man like him don't just go on vacation. He's here for something. Can't you see that, Sarah? And I'm betting it's for a no-good reason."