Dakota Love (38 page)

“Oh.” Mark’s breath added additional heat to the back of her neck as her body knocked into his sturdy chest. He gently set her down on the sidewalk. “Are you all right?” He panted the words.

“Yes.” Sarah’s left leg was bent, and her right leg stuck straight out.

Members of the group she’d been walking with turned around when they heard the commotion. As a small crowd began to gather around her, humiliation stirred the embers of her anger into full-fledged flames. “Just help me up,” she snapped.

“Not until I make sure you are okay.”

Mark’s terse tone turned her anger into rage. She struggled to get up, but her body wouldn’t cooperate.

“You aren’t going anywhere until the on-site paramedics check you out.” Mark’s firm grip held her in place.

She turned her head and glared at him. “Help me up.”

His hazel eyes glared back at her. He clenched his teeth. “It’s the walk’s rules. I’ll help you up after they check to make sure you aren’t hurt.” He tightened his hold on her arms. “If you’re hurt, they’ll take you to the hospital. If you’re not, I’m taking you home.”

Sarah started to retort when two paramedics broke through the small crowd of people. After they shooed the people on, they went through a series of limb-movement checks. All they found was a cement burn on her left leg from her having grazed the cement on her way down.

After the paramedics cleaned then applied antiseptic to the abrasion, they set her in a wheelchair and suggested she let Mark push her for the rest of the walk. Sarah’s humiliation deepened.

What a nightmare! She wanted out of this horrible chair. Why of all times had the weather heated up so early in the season and brought her such misery?

Mark sat in the grass beside the wheelchair and allowed the paramedics to clean the scrape that ran the length of his calf. Since the paramedics had first arrived, she’d avoided his gaze, but now she stole a glance his way. His face showed no emotion, and he laughed when the paramedic made a joke about the rescuer’s injuries being worse than the rescuee’s.

She should reach out, squeeze Mark’s hand, and thank him for his help. After all, it was the second time he’d saved her from severe injury. But if she did it would seem like she’d be admitting defeat, especially after his change of attitude toward her active lifestyle. Mark stood and shook hands with the paramedics then turned to Sarah. “Where’s your cell phone?”

His question confused her. Had he lost or broken his in the fall? “My backpack. Why?” She dug through the small area where she stowed her keys then held out her cell.

He shook his head. “Call someone—your mom, your friend, anyone, and tell them to meet us at your house.”

“What?” Sarah’s voice showed her surprise.

“We’re not having a repeat of last time. You need someone at your house until you can get your MS under control. They need to make sure that you rest.”

“I’m fine. It’s just the heat.” Sarah started to put the cell phone away.

Mark snatched it from her. “I’ll do it, then. Who do you want me to call—your mom or Karla? It’s not just the heat, Sarah. You have to scale back your activities. The long days at the office, followed by church committee meetings—they’re adding to your misery.”

“Give me my phone.” Sarah reached in Mark’s direction. He handed her the phone.

“And unfortunately, I’ve added to your stress, too, letting you help me in the store. I’m sorry for that. I knew better, and it won’t happen again.”

Bitter tears burned in Sarah’s eyes. How could he take away the one thing she really liked, helping at the fabric store? “But I was just rescuing you those days, like you just did me.”

Mark pursed his lips and shook his head. “Not the same, Sarah. Please make the call so I can get you home.”

“What if I don’t want to go home? What if I want to stay for the entire walk?” She jutted her chin out in defiance.

“Fine, but you’re spending it in the wheelchair.” Mark positioned his stocky frame in front of her as if to block her escape. Right now, making a break for it seemed like a great idea.

Her gasp sounded far away and faint, like the last echo bouncing back to its caller. The sad reality snuck in. It didn’t matter what her mind or spirit wanted—her body bound her to the wheelchair, holding her captive.

Her anger, instant and intense, caused her hands to tremble. She had no choice. Today she was dependent on Mark and whomever she decided to call. Why had this happened to her?

The urgent slap of sneakers on the cement drew Mark’s attention from Sarah and gave him a second to compose himself. Her wounded expression twisted his heart in pain. He hated being stern with Sarah, but she obviously didn’t comprehend the effects of MS on her body.

“Sarah, are you all right?” As she ran, the woman’s purse swayed from her elbow then slapped into Mark’s chest as she bumped into him when she squatted down in front of the wheelchair.

Sarah’s lip quivered, but she squared her chin again.

“Did someone knock you down?” The woman grasped Sarah’s hand.

Sarah’s slight head shake removed the panicked concern from the woman’s face. The woman’s eyes narrowed, and Sarah took a sudden interest in her backpack.

Mark cleared his throat. “She fell.”

The woman stood and raked her eyes over Mark. “Are you Mark?”

“Yes.” Mark stuck his hand out.

“Karla.” She clasped the hand he offered.

“I think Sarah was just about to call you.”

They both turned to Sarah. She sighed and looked from Mark to Karla.

“My MS is really bothering me
today
.” Her annoyance showed on the last word. “Mark feels that someone should stay with me for a while. Would you be able to spend a couple of hours at my house?”

“So you don’t want to stay for the walk?” Mark wanted to verify her intention, since a few minutes ago she wanted to finish the walk.

Sarah yawned. “No. I want Karla to take me home.” She flashed an indignant look at Mark.

“Um…” Karla looked at Mark and then Sarah. “I have to pick up my dog from the groomer in twenty minutes, but after that I’d be happy to take you home and stay with you.”

Like a half-burned candle melting in a votive cup, Sarah dissolved in the depth of the wheelchair. She needed to get out of the hot, humid weather.

Mark frowned. “I’ll take you home and wait until Karla can get there.”

“Okay.” Her meek voice revealed her reluctance to be dependent on others.

Mark hated seeing Sarah like this, probably just as much as she hated being in this situation. How could he make her see that some of her misery was self-inflicted?

Karla again kneeled in front of Sarah. “I’ll stop at my house and pack a bag. We’ll have a sleepover, just like old times. I’ll pick up some lunch and treats. Is there anything special you’d like?”

Sarah dug through her backpack. She pulled out a pill bottle. “Can you stop and pick up my refill?”

“Sure.” Karla took the bottle and put it in her own purse as she stood. “I’m leaving now. I’ll see you at your house.”

Mark watched Sarah pull a bottle of water from her backpack and struggle to remove the cap.

“I can do that for you.” Mark reached for the bottle but backed off at the look Sarah shot him. “Let’s get you home, then.”

For once it paid for Mark to get to the walk site early. His pickup wasn’t parked far from the starting point. He pushed the chair to the truck and angled it so he could open the passenger door.

In the second it took Mark to swing the door wide, Sarah had stood. “I don’t think so.” Mark admired Sarah’s independent spirit, but ever since she’d fallen down, he’d wanted to scoop her into a tight embrace. The two quick steps it took Mark to get to Sarah seemed endless. He lifted her as if he would carry her across a threshold.

To his surprise she wrapped her arms around his neck, buried her face in his shoulder, and began to cry. Mark instinctively tightened his hold around her waist.

“Oh Sarah.” He managed to choke out the words around the lump in his throat before kissing the top of her head.

Sarah stiffened. Her hands pushed against his chest as she tried to sit erect in his arms. “Don’t. Pity. Me.” Each word held a drip of venom like the fangs of a coiled rattlesnake.

What just happened? Mark searched Sarah’s face. Though her eyes were red rimmed there was no mistaking the lick of angry flames flashing in her coal-colored eyes. “Sarah, I—”

“Put me in the truck.” Even through clenched teeth, Sarah’s words were loud and clear. She’d set her features as if she’d been etched in stone.

Mark obliged by lifting her onto the truck seat. He moved forward to assist in adjusting her to a more comfortable position.

“I’ve got it.”

Mark wanted to help her. To defend himself. To protect her.

Instead, he backed away and closed the pickup door. He pulled the wheelchair back to the sidewalk, stopping by the driver’s side. The weather was too hot for Sarah to wait in the vehicle while he returned the wheelchair to the paramedics.

He flicked the door handle and inserted his key in the ignition. A quick turn and the truck engine roared its start. He pressed the air-conditioning button and turned the fan to high. Sarah might not take care of herself to reduce her MS symptoms, but he could. He sneaked a glance Sarah’s way. She wiggled herself back into the seat and snapped the safety belt.

“I’ll be right back.”

A snort of air was Sarah’s indignant reply.

Mark shut the truck door, grabbed the wheelchair handles, and then hurried along the sidewalk, dodging other walkers, reporters, and onlookers. He’d envisioned this day much differently. A hand-holding, romantic stroll from start to finish, ending with a heart-to-heart talk over dinner, hoping he read her signals correctly and that she, too, wanted to take their relationship to a more serious level.

Obviously, he’d misread those signals. Why was he surprised? Didn’t he recently find out that he’d broken many hearts along the dating path? Was the pain ripping into his heart right now payback for all the suffering he’d caused other women?

Mark handed off the wheelchair and thanked the paramedics for their help before turning back toward the parking lot.

Caroline’s opinion about him being more like Walter than his father had hushed the warning voices inside Mark, causing him to let his guard down. Sarah’s immediate rejection to his words of comfort separated the false happiness he held in his heart from the stark reality. He was a Sanders man. They didn’t win in love.

The click of the pickup door roused Sarah from her quick nap. She lifted her sleep-laden lids, saw it was Mark, and then turned her head toward the side window and closed her eyes.

The low volume of the radio and Sarah’s even breathing supplied white noise for Mark’s thoughts as he drove across town to Sarah’s house.

Her self-inflicted exhaustion and misdirected use of her meds had obviously caught up to her. Perhaps that drove her attitude today, mistaking his comfort for pity. His mom’s MS fatigue made her cranky but not vehement. Something drove Sarah to overdo. But what? And more importantly, why?

Mark pulled into Sarah’s driveway. They’d beaten Karla. He pushed the gearshift into P
ARK
, killed the engine, and still Sarah didn’t stir.

He knew she’d deprived herself of rest, so he wanted her to sleep as long as she could. Carefully he slid the backpack from her lap. Quietly he exited his vehicle, searched for her house keys, and unlocked the door.

Sarah’s head still tilted sideways, her forehead resting against the side-window glass. He lifted the door latch and cracked the opening. He stuck his arm through the small space, held Sarah’s shoulder, and then opened the door wide.

His touch startled her awake.

“You’re home,” Mark whispered. The softness of Sarah’s skin invited his hand to stay put on her shoulder even as she straightened her head.

Sarah blinked several times like a sleepy child. The last blink uncovered the deepened anger that shone from her eyes. She’d gotten her bearings.

Her left hand swatted Mark’s hand from her shoulder. “I think I can do this on my own.” Sarah turned her frame until her legs dangled in the open doorway.

“Let me help you.” Mark hovered at the edge of the pickup door, on alert for the first sign that a limb might inhibit her movement and knock her off balance.

“I don’t need help.” Sarah’s voice shook as she spit out the words. She eased herself to the sidewalk and, holding on to the edge of the pickup bed, stood clear of the door.

Mark gave it a push, and the latch clicked its closure.

Sarah braced herself against the body of the four-wheel drive with her left hand and slowly took a step.

Walking a few feet to her side, Mark noted the slide of her right foot versus an actual step, but it was better mobility than she’d had at the MS walk. Her right arm, however, stayed stationary at her side. When she made her way around the vehicle, she stopped. There was about three feet between his bumper and the stair railing to her door.

Tentatively she took a step and wobbled. Her stubborn I-can-do-this attitude had gone on long enough. Mark wrapped her arm around him. “Lean in to me.”