Dakota Love (27 page)

“That’s good.” Sarah took the offered paper. “I have a personal interest in multiple sclerosis.”

“Me, too, but you already know that.” Mark smiled at Sarah.

“Do you mind if I ask you another question about your mom?” Sarah’s dangly earrings swayed with a slight tilt of her head.

“Not at all.” Mark put the envelope and box on the table. He crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels.

“How did MS affect your mom’s quality of life? Obviously, she worked.” Sarah looked around the room. “But did she work full-time?”

As soon as she asked the question, Sarah’s stance changed. Oddly, she looked braced, as if she expected Mark to deliver devastating news.

“Yes, she did. Mom stayed very active despite her symptoms. They didn’t have all the treatment options available then, either. She started a quilting circle at our church, was a room mother when I was in school, and was involved in a businesswoman’s association, in addition to running the house and business.” The more Mark talked the more elated Sarah appeared. She placed her hand over her heart and sighed. Her smile was so wide that it narrowed her eyes. Mark felt himself scowl at Sarah’s strange reaction to his answer.

She didn’t seem to notice. “That’s wonderful.” She looked at the ceiling and sighed again. “Just wonderful.” Then she closed her eyes.

Aware that his scowl deepened, Mark quickly relaxed his face before Sarah opened her eyes. The last thing he wanted to do was offend her.

When Sarah opened her eyes, serenity replaced the apprehension that had lurked in her features. “That really is very encouraging to hear.”

“Granny Bea and I did help her quite a bit, but she was very courageous handling her disease.”
Unlike the coward who left her alone to struggle
. Mark caught himself before he snorted to emphasize his thought. That might be hard to explain to Sarah.

“She was lucky to have you two.”

“Well”—Mark shrugged—“that’s what family does, I guess.”
Blood family, that is
. He hated thinking about the man that walked out on his mother when she needed him the most. It reminded him that he was a Sanders man and, if he was tested, might find out he had a yellow streak, too. A test Mark never planned to take.

“Are you okay?” Sarah’s smile faded.

Mark pushed the depressing truth from his mind. “Yes, it’s just that some memories are not always good ones.”

Sarah shook her head absently, her dangly earrings shimmering in the light. “I’m learning that.”

Great. He’d made her think of her recent breakup. He’d never understand why some guy would dump Sarah. This was an excellent opportunity for him to step in and start building her self-confidence. “Sarah, I had a nice time on Friday night, and I was wondering if you’d like to go out with me sometime.” The practiced words tumbled out as nervous tension kicked in. Why had that happened? Nerves never came into play when he asked a lady out, because he never took it personally if she turned him down.

Sarah’s eyes widened at the surprise turn in conversation. Her face softened and her eyes sparkled. “I’d love to.”

Who would give up a woman that beamed with happiness? “Great. Does Sunday afternoon work for you?”

“It does.” Sarah affirmed her answer with a nod and ran her fingers over the sign-up form she held.

“I almost forgot.” Mark pointed to the paper. “Fill that out and, as captain of the team, I’ll give you a packet for donations.”

“Okay. Can I bring it back tomorrow night?” Sarah studied the form.

“Sure. Do you mind if I ask you who it is you’re walking for?”

Sarah raised her eyes and stared straight into Mark’s for a few seconds.

“I’m walking for me. I have MS.”

I
have MS
.” The quiet of the workroom ate up Sarah’s admission, yet her words jumbled in Mark’s mind as if he stood in a canyon, trying to decipher an echo.

Sarah has multiple sclerosis
. The words started to register. Mark knew he should reach out to her. Pull her into a tight hug. Tell her everything would work out, but in true Sanders men fashion, his feet remained planted to the floor like a dead tree’s roots in fertile soil.

Wide eyed, Sarah searched his face. He needed to say something to break the awkward silence that ensued after her statement. Should he say it’d be all right, when he knew the long, sometimes pain-filled road ahead of her?

Two deep lines formed between her brows. Panic forced the air from his lungs. No wonder she’d asked so many questions about his mother. How had he missed the signs?

Stupid question. He allowed himself to give in to attraction, that’s how.

He hung his head.
Look at her
. He snapped his head back up. He didn’t want her thinking that her disease made her unattractive because nothing could make Sarah unattractive.
Say something
.

“I’m, um, s–s–sorry to hear that.”

Sarah blinked rapidly at his stammered response. He didn’t see tears, but that was a sure sign they’d be coming. What would he do if she started to cry? He strained his ears, listening for the door buzzer. He needed a valid excuse, like a customer, to leave the room. His gut twisted. Why was he born a Sanders?

Sarah continued to frown; then she pulled her puckered mouth to the side as if she were contemplating a response.

Mark cleared his throat. He crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels. This time the Sanders genetics wouldn’t win. He’d stay and face this difficult conversation. Mark forced reassurance into his voice.

“Sarah, I know your diagnosis may feel devastating, but they’ve made great medical strides in the treatment of MS, thanks to contributions from activities like this walk.” He tapped his fingers on the heavy paper of the envelope. The contents rattled, emphasizing his point. “You’ll have a better chance at managing the disease than my mom.”

Sarah’s gaze dropped to the envelope. She nodded before raising her eyes to his. Her black eyes bore into him. Could she see through his facade? That it was in his genetics to cut and run in times like these?

“And that’s why it’s great that you continue to support fund-raisers like the walk.” Sarah smiled as she stepped closer. She laid her hand over his crossed arms. “I’m sorry that I dropped my diagnosis on you like that. I didn’t even consider it might bring up memories of your mom.”

What? She thought she’d hurt his feelings? The moisture that formed in her eyes wasn’t from anguish over her diagnosis but empathy for him.

Sarah’s kind words and silky touch started a reverberation deep in his heart.

“Don’t be sorry.” Emotion rasped his voice. He didn’t deserve the apology. She did.

The jangle of the door announced the arrival of a customer. Sarah squeezed his forearm and slid her hand down his skin, releasing their contact. “I’d better get started on my project.”

Mark nodded, not trusting his voice. His emotions had betrayed him once already. He turned and left the workroom.

As he walked to the cash register area, an older lady smiled his way. He watched his customer pick through the fat-quarter bin as Sarah’s workroom confession played over and over in his mind like a skipped record.

“I have MS.” “I have MS.”
He’d missed so many signs. The dark half-mooned eyes mirrored his mom’s whenever she’d powered through the fatigue caused by the disease. The shuffling of Sarah’s feet when she pushed the cart the other night. And then she thought—

“I’m ready to check out.”

The impatient tone shocked Mark from his thoughts. The elderly lady stood in front of the cash register. Her pinched brows and pursed lips emphasized her irritation. How long had she stood right in front of him?

“Sorry.” Mark pushed his thoughts of Sarah to the back of his mind. He picked up the elderly woman’s items that lay on the short counter, ready to be rung up.

Shaken by Sarah’s revelation, he’d failed to greet this customer when he came back to the sales floor. Not good business. “Did you find everything all right?”

“I did.”

“We have a new special on Tuesdays after five—buy one yard of clearance fabric, get the second yard half-price.” Mark slipped a pink flyer advertising his Tuesday night special into his customer’s bag as she swiped her card and entered her PIN.

The register spit out the store receipt. He handed it to the customer. “Thank you. Stop in again.” He said the words automatically, knowing they were void of his usual sincerity when dealing with a store patron.

He pinched his eyes shut as the door jangled the customer’s exit. Sarah’s face filled his memory. Why did God keep striking good women with this disease? The concern she showed for him, although undeserved, twisted his heart. He should have been comforting her. He wanted to comfort her, but something held him back. Something beyond his control—his heritage. He clenched his fists in anger.

When he opened his eyes, Sarah stood beside the checkout counter.

“Don’t let a cranky customer get to you.” She pulled at her left earring and looked out the plate glass window, trying to catch a glance of who might have been in the store.

Unbelievable that Sarah was worried about him. “It’s not that.” Mark shrugged. “Long day.”

“Too long to give me your opinion?” Sarah smiled as she held up a twelve-by-twelve square panel. “How’d I do?”

Mark took the fabric square from her. “Well, you sewed the right sides together and left an end open to stuff it. That’s a good sign.”

“Only because”—holding up numbered instructions that she’d cut from the panel, Sarah pointed and giggled—“the instructions show it that way. I’d never have given a thought as to which way the fabric should face when sewn together.”

Mark chuckled. Sarah’s face glowed with merriment as she admitted her ineptness as a seamstress.

“I wanted you to check my seams.”

Mark whacked his head with his palm. “I forgot to show you how to follow the guide by the presser foot.” He held the pillow top at eye level and inspected the seams.

“I followed the straight line on the fabric.” Sarah pointed to a strip on the outside border of the printed picture of an old-fashioned ice-skating scene.

“Good job.” Mark turned the square and looked at the next section. “Really, Sarah, you did well for your first time. Just a few swerves from the straight line, but once you stuff it with a pillow, I doubt anyone will notice.”

“The corners were hard.”

Mark smoothed the fabric on the counter. “It looks like you tried to round them.” He glanced up at Sarah.

She shook her head.

“All you needed to do is stop in the corner,”—Mark pointed to the fabric—“leave your needle in the fabric, lift the presser foot, and turn the fabric like this.” Mark used his finger to demonstrate the turn. “Next time you come in to practice, I’ll show you.”

“I thought you didn’t know how to sew.” Sarah’s eyes narrowed as she grinned.

“Just enough to demonstrate the machines I sell.” Mark winked at Sarah and handed her the pillow top.

Sarah turned the panel right side out and finger pressed the edges. Intent on the task at hand, she cleared her throat. “I know we’ll see each other before Sunday, but can we firm up the time for our date?”

The date! Pink painted Sarah’s cheeks when she lifted a tentative gaze to Mark, waiting for his reply. He’d been so focused on Sarah’s condition that he’d forgotten he’d asked her out. Was her diagnosis the reason her previous love dumped her? Anger prickled Mark’s insides at the thought. Who’d do that? In an instant his mind answered his question.
A Sanders man
.

Mark’s eyes met Sarah’s. He should stop this now. Tell her that he was out of line, asking her out. Explain about his dad. His heart pounded at the thought of hurting her feelings, but better now than later. He drew in a deep, steadying breath. He had to break the date.

Anticipation sparkled in Sarah’s dark eyes, melting Mark’s resolve.

“Sure, what time works best for you?”

Sarah stuffed her pillow top into her denim tote bag. “Early afternoon?”

“I’ll pick you up at one.”

“Okay.” Sarah looked around the counter. “If you have a pen, I’ll write down my address.”

Mark slid a pen and paper toward Sarah, even though he had her address on the class sign-up sheet.

Sarah wrote out the relevant information then pushed the paper and pen back to Mark. “All set, then.” She pulled her car keys from her bag. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

Mark stepped around the counter. “Not so fast. I’ll walk you to your car.”

“My car is right there.” Sarah pointed to her compact parked in the spot in front of the quilt shop door. She held her key fob and pressed a button.

“I know.” Mark pulled the door open. His bell and Sarah’s car horn clamored for attention. He held his palm up, indicating to Sarah to pass through the door.

“Thank you,” Sarah said then stopped by the bumper of her car.

“You’re welcome.” Mark stepped off the curb, opened her car door, and waited for Sarah to slip into the seat. “Now you can say it.”

“See you tomorrow night.” Sarah giggled as she inserted the key into the ignition.

“Can’t wait.” Mark closed the car door and stepped back onto the curb. Before heading back into the store, he watched Sarah back out of the parking spot and turn into the street.

He lined up carts then walked through the store, straightening fabric bolts. He’d fully intended on breaking their date, but Sarah looked so happy and beautiful, he just couldn’t bring himself to hurt her.
Besides, it appears that she’s been hurt enough
.

And maybe, just maybe, his dating theory could do double duty for Sarah. He could give her self-confidence in moving on to a new relationship and insights on how to deal with everything that MS threw at her. In six short weeks, by the time the MS walk ended, she’d be taking better care of herself and ready to spread her wings to find her true love. And once again, his interim-man work would be done.

T
he clock told Sarah that she was running behind on Saturday morning preparations. She grabbed her teakettle, stuck it under the faucet, and twisted the cold-water lever.