Dakota Love (34 page)

He brushed her lower arms with his fingers, intending to check her skin temperature. Instead, it roused her from her slumber.

“Are we at my house already?” Sarah yawned and stretched then reclined her head against the headrest, facing Mark.

“Just about. Did you find someone to come and stay with you?”

After a few moments of silence, Mark glanced toward Sarah. Had she fallen back to sleep?

Sarah’s eyes were wide open. “No, I didn’t call anyone.”

“Sarah, someone should be there with you.”

“I know my parents or Karla would come, but”—her tired sigh showed her weariness—“I’m not up to the lecture that would accompany their help.”

“Lecture?”

“They all think that I’m doing too much. Well, Karla doesn’t think I understand the severity of my illness.”

Anger flared in Mark, that Sarah’s loved ones would lecture her when she didn’t feel well. Didn’t they understand that someday she might need their help getting dressed or in and out of a car? Mark’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel.

Sarah sighed as he turned into her short driveway. “They don’t understand that, like Job, I’m taking the bad with the good in my life.”

That explained Sarah’s interest in the Job’s Tears quilt block and why she signed up for a quilting class when she didn’t know how to sew. Mark’s anger at Sarah’s support system died down to a smolder of annoyance. He wasn’t quite sure that Sarah’s interpretation of her problems mirrored Job’s struggles. Job did nothing to bring on his suffering, and although Sarah did nothing to bring on the MS, she wasn’t being very smart about the management of her disease.

Sarah needed to relax more. He suspected she started the quilting class for that purpose only to find it more stressful because she lacked sewing abilities.

“I wish you’d have called someone, but since you didn’t, I’ll stay long enough for you to get settled in for the night.” As Mark parked, slipped from the pickup, and rounded the front, he chided himself for not staying in the workroom to make sure Sarah made the phone call.

Sarah opened the truck door and, with the help of the dashboard and headrest, turned in the seat. “I will be fine”—Sarah enunciated each word—“tonight, tomorrow, the next day.”

She tried to slide from the passenger seat, but Mark blocked the open space with his body. He cupped her face in his hands. “I know you will because I’m going to see to it.”

Mark arose early the next morning so he could pick Sarah up for work since her car remained in the parking lot in front of his store where it’d stay today. He’d devised a plan after he left Sarah’s house the night before.

Slipping the earpiece of his phone into place, he commanded, “Call Sarah.”

“Good morning, Mark.” Some of the weariness in Sarah’s voice had disappeared, probably due to a good night’s sleep.

“Good morning. I’m on my way to your house to pick you up for work but just realized that maybe you don’t feel like going into work today and want to call in sick.”

“Of course I’m going to work today. I’m in the middle of compiling and finalizing remodel bids.” Sarah didn’t disguise the “duh” factor in her voice.

Mark ignored it and continued with his plan. “Have you eaten breakfast yet? I haven’t and thought maybe we could swing through a drive-through on the way to your office.” At least he’d know that she ate something.

“Oh, an egg sandwich sounds good.” Her voice brightened.

“I should be there in fifteen minutes. Will you be ready?”

“Yes. See you in a few.” Sarah giggled before she ended the call.

Instead of lecturing Sarah, like her family, about her overdoing, he’d figured an alternative approach might be more beneficial. Today, by driving her to work, he’d make sure she didn’t have to fight rush-hour traffic and ate a good breakfast. There’d be no working late tonight because without a car, she’d be dependent on him to get her back to the quilt store. Since Terri’s shift ended at six, Sarah would be forced to leave at quitting time.

He couldn’t control her lunchtime for relaxing, but he’d make sure she had a relaxing dinner even if it was eaten in the workroom of the store with her feet propped on a folding chair. He didn’t have all the details worked out, but he knew that his work schedule allowed him two days to surprise her with a lunch date. Again, she might not be napping to ward off the fatigue that accompanied MS, but she would be resting.

Mark pulled into her driveway. Before he could exit his vehicle, Sarah came out of her front door. She sported the yellow crop pants outfit that she wore to the first quilting class. She balanced her tote bag on her left shoulder. Mark saw the subtle drag of her right foot as she walked toward the pickup. Her shoe choice, sturdy low-heeled sandals that buckled just under her ankle, suited her disease better.

Mark exited his pickup. “Let me get that for you.” He took her bag. The pleasant flowery scent that he’d come to associate with Sarah tickled his nose. He inhaled deeply as he slipped his hand in hers. “Not only do you look terrific, you smell good, too.”

“Thank you.” When Sarah giggled, light danced in her eyes, even though dark smudges remained under them. Hopefully, his plan would work and fatigue’s telltale signs would be gone by the end of the week.

On Saturday morning, Sarah waited for the barista to fill her order. She felt great. The problems with the construction blueprints started to diminish by Friday, which pleased her boss because of building costs and left Sarah’s shoulders lighter without that burden of responsibility.

Mark surprised her for lunch two days in the past week and met her for dinner two nights. Sarah rolled her eyes. Being a typical man, he always brought or ordered too much food and insisted she take it home. Which was okay—less cooking and cleanup time involved in reheating leftovers, plus she enjoyed thinking about him while dining on his entrée.

A garden club event kept her mom in Brookings, so Sarah slept late then puttered around her apartment until after lunch. Now she intended to surprise Mark with a sweet treat then work on her quilt blocks.

Carrying a pressed-board tray—loaded with two coffees, a slice each of lemon poppy seed and banana bread—in one hand and her tote bag and purse in the other, Sarah walked to Granny Bea’s. She stepped aside to allow a customer to exit and slipped in the open door.

Something was wrong. Mark’s hair fell to the side, exposing some thinning on top. His light blue polo shirt was nearly untucked from his cargo pants on his right side, and his reddened face looked, well, harried.

Mark measured then cut fabric as he chatted with a customer. Several other people milled about the store.

Slipping the coffee tray and bag on a shelf under the cash register, Sarah wandered to the middle of the store. When she caught Mark’s eye, he did a double take then sent her a weary smile. A disheveled stack of fabric bolts lay at the unused end of the cutting counter.

She turned a small circle on her heel, looking around the store. No sign of Terri or her daughter. Two carts full of patriotic material sat alongside empty shelving near the front of the store. Sarah walked over to it and found one cart actually held two neatly folded quilts.

Waiting until Mark finished ringing up his customer, she strolled toward the cash register with knitted brows. “What’s going on here?”

“Illness struck at Terri’s house. She and her daughter both have strep throat. Poor gals. Terri’s voice is so raspy I could hardly understand her. But that leaves only me on a Saturday, of all days.” Mark ran his fingers through his hair, the gesture explaining today’s tousled hairstyle.

“Well, I put a treat under the counter for you, if you have time.”

Mark lifted a cup of coffee and sipped it. “You might not believe this, but this is only my second cup of coffee today.” He peeked into the bag and withdrew the banana bread. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Sarah watched as Mark inhaled the sweet treat. “What can I do to help?”

“Nothing. You came here to practice.” Mark nodded toward the tote bag dangling from her arm as he handed her the second coffee and the bag.

Sarah pushed the bag back toward Mark. “I think you need that worse than me. Save me the calories.”

“You don’t have to worry about calories, Ms. Buckley.” Mark winked. “But you also don’t have to tell me twice that it’s mine. I’m starving.”

“Look.” Sarah leaned on the counter. “I know I can’t help on the register or the cutting area without training, but I can finish that display over there.”

A hesitant look crossed Mark’s features. He popped the rest of his lemon bread in his mouth and ran his fingers through his hair again. “I don’t know. This is your day off.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Sarah wrinkled her brow.

Minutes passed before Mark audibly exhaled. “Okay, arrange it however you want.”

Sarah celebrated with a victory fist, which brought a gleam to Mark’s eyes.

“Hand me your tote, and I’ll stow it under the register. But if you get tired, go back to the workroom and rest.” Mark gave her a stern look and pointed his index finger at her. “I mean it.”

“I will, don’t worry.” Sarah turned on her heel and headed toward the display area in the front of the quilt shop.

As she studied the pegboard that hung above the three-by-three-foot shelf, she determined that the quilts should be hung on the pegboard above the fabric. It would be easier to hang the quilts before she shelved the fabric bolts. Sarah moved the sturdy step stool to the shelf and began to hang the first quilt.

“Excuse me.”

Sarah looked down at an elderly lady.

“Can you help me find this thread?” She held up the end sticker from a spool of thread.

After pushing another pin into the top of the quilt to hold it to the board, Sarah turned to find Mark. He was busy cutting fabric for a lady while another waited her turn. “Sure.” Sarah climbed down from the step stool and took the offered spool information.

“Even with my glasses that print is pretty small. I don’t want to get the wrong color.”

Sarah led the way to the thread display, chitchatting all the way about the lady’s quilt project. Sarah located the brand and color family before perusing the spools for the numeric code. “Here you go.”

“Thank you.”

As the woman walked away, Sarah went back to the display. During the next two hours, Sarah either assisted customers with simple requests or listened to their suggestions about the display she’d assembled. All the conversations warmed her heart and reminded her of the reason she’d loved her UPS delivery job so much—the varied conversations.

Mark approached the seasonal display just as Sarah was putting on the finishing touches. With his hair neatly combed straight back and his polo shirt now tucked into his sand-colored cargo pants, he’d lost the frazzled look from earlier in the day. Sarah thought Mark’s hair combed this way complemented his eyes, yet she found him very attractive when his hair feathered across his forehead, as it had earlier in the day. Her fingers itched to ruffle his hair back up so it fell across his forehead in a tangled mess.

“I think you missed your calling. That’s a great display.” Mark studied both sides of the shelving and pegboard. He crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels. “This is an excellent idea.” Mark waved a finger at all the red, white, and blue sewing accessories Sarah had arranged across the top of the flat framework of the shelf.

A thrill of pride bubbled through Sarah at hearing Mark’s praise of her work. “I was going to ask your permission to add all the patriotic-colored thread, yarn, and quilt binding over here, but you were busy with a customer at the time. I figured if you didn’t like it, I’d just put it back where I found it.” Sarah shrugged.

“Whew, we’ve been busy today. Murphy’s Law. I guess I should be shorthanded all the time. It’s pretty quiet now, though, so you go practice your sewing and relax. Help yourself to a soda in the small fridge in my office.”

Sarah glanced around the store. Two customers perused the fabric. She’d had so much fun helping out in the store that she hated for it to end, but she needed to get to work on her Job’s Tears quilt blocks. “I probably should. I’m really behind on assembling my quilt blocks.”