by Irene Hannon
The numbers faded in and out of focus, but it took only a couple of seconds for her suspicions to be confirmed. She’d overdone her exercise. She’d been so intent on trying to sort through her chaotic thoughts that she’d lost track of the time.
And she’d committed another no-no, as well, she realized with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She’d wandered far afield from her regular in-town route, tempted by the shady, secluded side road that had beckoned with the promise of uninterrupted, contemplative quiet.
Now she was paying the price.
Fumbling in her pocket, she willed her uncooperative fingers to grasp the life-saving cellophane, but they refused. Her panic escalating, she raised her head to search the deserted road, hoping to spot a car. But there was no one in sight.
It was up to her, she realized. And she didn’t have a whole lot of time.
Closing her eyes, she sent a silent plea heavenward. Please, Lord, help me!
Instead of taking the most direct route back to Oak Hill from the adjacent town, Mark had opted to meander on some side roads, hoping the peace and quiet of the early autumn day would seep into his soul.
It hadn’t.
As he drove through the rolling countryside, he couldn’t get the conversation with Reverend Andrews out of his head. If anything, he was more unsettled than ever. Not only by the problems in Evan’s family but by a sudden strong desire to help. It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced.
Confused, Mark lifted one hand from the wheel and raked his fingers through his hair. Over the years, he’d been solicited by countless charities and always responded with a generous contribution. But he’d never dwelt on the problems of the people his donations would assist. Why was this case different?
The answer came to him in a flash of insight: he had a face to go with the need. In the past, he’d never felt a personal connection to those in distress. Writing a check had been a simple way to dispense with any obligations he might feel to return some of the bounty with which he’d been blessed.
Yet all at once it didn’t seem like enough. There must be thousands of families out there like Evan’s that needed immediate assistance to get through temporary crises. As Reverend Andrews had pointed out, the church was doing what it could, but resources were too limited to address all the needs.
The germ of an idea began to percolate in Mark’s mind as he swung onto a country lane bordered by towering oak trees. Turning off the air-conditioning and lowering his window, he drew a deep, calming breath of the warm, fresh air. The gentle pace of country life was growing on him. Not that he’d want to live here permanently—he enjoyed the museums and fine restaurants and theater in the city too much for that. But as a relaxing getaway, this was hard to beat.
The restful scene was just beginning to soothe his soul when he caught a glimpse through the trees of a solitary jogger up ahead, around the next bend. A woman, darting in and out of his view through the foliage along the side of the road. He realized it was Abby, recognizing her shorts and tank top from that morning.
He slowed the car so he could watch her a bit longer before she caught sight of him. She had a healthy stride, running with the same precision, determination and focus she gave to her job, her ponytail swinging back and forth in an easy rhythm. An appreciative smile curved his lips as he focused on those attractive legs.
At first it didn’t alarm him when she slowed her pace. But as her movements changed from fluid and graceful to jerky and erratic, a warning bell sounded in his mind and his smile flattened. When she suddenly lurched toward a tree at the side of the road, his heart skipped a beat. Some foliage obscured his view as his car moved down the road, and when next he caught sight of her, she was sitting on the ground, propped against the tree trunk, her head bowed.
A surge of adrenaline shot through him as he gunned the motor and raced toward her. When he drew close, he jammed on the brakes and jumped out of the car almost before it had come to a complete stop, then took off at a sprint.
Dropping down on one knee beside her, he gripped her shoulders. “Abby? What’s wrong?”
When she didn’t raise her head, he gave her a gentle shake and attempted to rein in his escalating panic. “Abby!”
At last his presence seemed to register. She lifted her head to stare at him, her eyes vacant and unfocused in a too-pale face. He could feel her trembling beneath his fingers. Though her skin felt cool and clammy, there was a thin film of sweat on her forehead.
Something was terribly wrong.
“Help me.” As she whispered the words, Abby lifted her hand and held it out to him. A cellophane-wrapped hard candy lay in her unsteady palm.
Confusion and panic merged in Mark’s mind. In the midst of some kind of medical emergency, she wanted to eat candy? It was clear that whatever illness had gripped her body had muddled her mind, as well. Realizing that she needed more help than he could provide, he reached for the cell phone clipped to his shorts. His fingers were poised to punch in 911 when she tugged on his arm, her expression frantic, and pointed to her foot.
A thin silver chain circled her slender ankle, and he leaned close to examine it. The word diabetic jumped out at him.
All at once the pieces fell into place. Abby had diabetes. She was having some kind of diabetic reaction. And he didn’t have a clue how to help her.
Fear clutched at his gut as she thrust the candy at him again.
“Open.”
At her faint but urgent instruction, he grabbed the piece of hard candy and, with fumbling fingers, managed to rip off the cellophane. When he eased it between her lips, she began to chew vigorously. “More,” she managed to say after a few seconds, indicating the pocket of her shorts.
Mark dug out five more pieces of candy, unwrapping them as fast as his suddenly clumsy fingers would allow. She downed them in rapid succession, then leaned back against the trunk of the tree and closed her eyes. Mark took her hand, unsure now whether the trembling was hers or his. He felt as unsteady as she looked.
“Should I call 911?” he asked, cocooning her cold fingers between his.
“No. G-give me a minute.”
To his surprise, it didn’t take a whole lot more than that for her breathing to even out and some of her color to return. When she opened her eyes a few minutes later, they were clear, focused—and grateful.
“Talk about coming along at the perfect moment.” Her voice, though still soft, was much stronger. “I don’t even want to think about what might have happened if you hadn’t.”
Neither did he. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”
“Yes. The candy did the trick. At least enough to get me home.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“Thanks.” She gave him a grateful smile. “I could probably make it on my own, but I’d rather not try.”
“I’m heading back to town, anyway. Do you feel up to walking over to my car?”
“Sure. I think so.”
He didn’t miss the caveat. Rising, he grasped her hands, pulling her up in one smooth, effortless motion. When she swayed, his arms went around her waist and she clutched his shirt.
“Sorry.” She tried to laugh, but couldn’t quite pull it off. “My legs feel a little rubbery.”
“We’ll take it slow and easy.”
As they moved toward his car, Abby leaned on him heavily and maintained a fierce grip on his arm. It seemed to require every bit of her concentration to put one foot in front of the other, and tremors still rippled through her body. He tightened his hold, giving her a comforting, reassuring squeeze. “We’re almost there.”
When they reached the passenger side, he eased her down and secured her seat belt before closing the door. After sliding into the driver’s seat, he looked over to find that she’d let her head drop back against the headrest. Her eyes were closed, but since the steady rise and fall of her chest told him that her breathing was regular, he didn’t disturb her.
The drive back to town was a sile
nt one—and that was fine with Mark. If his thoughts had been tangled earlier because of Evan’s situation, they were now chaotic, thanks to the woman beside him. He needed a few minutes to regroup.
Since this morning, he’d been confused by his reaction to her at the copy machine. He’d tried to attribute it simply to a normal reaction to an attractive woman. Yet he knew it went way beyond that. Abby was so much more than a pretty face. She was smart and strong and passionate about the things she believed in. She worked hard, cared about her employees and sacrificed to keep her family’s dream alive. She had a strong faith that had sustained her. Unlike many of the women he’d dated, who went out of their way to appear helpless, Abby was a capable woman who didn’t need the man in her life to hold her up.
But today he’d seen a whole new side of her. A vulnerable side. One that brought out unfamiliar—but not unwelcome—feelings of protectiveness in him. For someone who’d avoided commitment like the plague, it was disconcerting to discover that he didn’t mind the idea of Abby depending on him.
But on the heels of that discovery came fear.
It was the same fear he’d felt when he’d learned that Bobby Mitchell had leukemia. When he’d waited in the emergency room with his father and brother after his mother suffered her fatal cerebral hemorrhage.
The kind of cold, gripping fear that twists your gut as you stand by, helpless, while forces over which you have no control steal the life from someone you love.
Mark had been there not just once but twice. And he didn’t want to go there again. It was why he’d avoided commitments. Why he’d distanced himself from him family. If you didn’t care, you couldn’t get hurt.
It was also the reason he had to distance himself from Abby. It would be far too easy to care about this woman. He couldn’t let that happen—especially in light of her illness.
But even as he vowed not to let her touch his heart, he knew it was too late.
Because she already had.
Chapter Nine
Mark didn’t disturb Abby until they reached the outskirts of town. Then he had no choice.
“Abby?” He spoke in a muted tone to avoid startling her. “I need some directions.”
Her eyelids flickered open, and when she turned to him he was relieved to see that most of her color had returned. She sat up and took a second to orient herself. “Make a left at the next corner. You’ll come to Healy in about half a mile. Turn right. My house is the last one, at the end of the street.”
Within a couple of minutes, Mark pulled to a stop in front of a modest white-frame bungalow that was dwarfed by the huge, stately oak trees lining the street and dotting the expansive lawn. A porch swing hung from the rafters of a small veranda, reached via three concrete steps. A large fern in a hanging pot added a graceful touch to the shady refuge, and the steps were flanked by colorful urns filled with petunias and ornamental grasses. The nearest neighbors were a couple of empty lots away on the dead-end street, giving the house a very private setting.
As he set the brake, Mark surveyed the charming—but tiny—house where Abby had grown up. Recalling his family’s spacious suburban ranch home, Mark couldn’t imagine living in such close quarters.
When Abby started to open her door, Mark restrained her, his touch gentle but firm. “Let me.”
Before she could protest, he was out the door and circling the car. When he reached for her, Abby swung her legs to the ground and gripped his warm, solid hand. Once on her feet, she checked her balance, then smiled.
“Much better. In fact, almost as good as new,” she pronounced.
She did look more like herself, Mark acknowledged as he scrutinized her. Her color was good, her deep green eyes were clear, her trembling had subsided. Some of the tension in his shoulders eased.
“Does that kind of thing happen very often?” Mark asked.
“Only once before, not long after I was diagnosed several months ago, when my endocrinologist was still trying to regulate my medication. I brought today’s problem on myself.”
“How so?”
Tilting her head, Abby regarded him. “How much do you know about diabetes?”
“Almost nothing.”
“I have what’s known as type 2. That means my pancreas produces some insulin—which the body needs in order to use glucose—but it either doesn’t produce enough or my body isn’t able to recognize the insulin and use it properly. So I have to regulate the balance between insulin and glucose levels through diet, exercise and medication. Today the balance got out of whack and my blood-sugar levels dropped. The technical term is hypoglycemia.”
“But why did it happen?”
“Too much exercise and not enough food. I should have eaten more to counterbalance the energy I was using.”
“The candy seemed to help.”
“It got me through the crisis. But I need to get inside and check my blood-sugar levels. And I’ll probably have to eat something else.”
“Is there someone you want to call to come and stay with you a while? Dale, maybe?”
The question seemed to surprise her as much as it did him. But at least her blank look silenced the speculations that had plagued him since the day the suspicious package arrived at the Gazette. “Why would I call Dale?”
“You two seem…close.”
An inquisitive expression flitted through her eyes, perceptive enough to warm the back of his neck. “Dale and I grew up together. He was a friend of my brother’s, and I always thought of him as sort of a second older brother. But he has his own issues to deal with, including the challenges of raising a four-year-old alone. I don’t need to add to his problems. Besides, I’m fine now.”
Mark didn’t want to know about the sheriff’s problems. He had too much on his plate as it was. And as for her condition, he wasn’t convinced she was fine. Even though she seemed okay now, less then twenty minutes ago he’d been ready to call 911.
“Look, maybe you ought to check in with your doctor.”
“I might give him a ring Monday.”
“What if this happens again before then?”
“It won’t. As long as I’m careful.” She angled her wrist and checked her watch.
He got the message. Stepping aside, he jammed his palms into the back pockets of his shorts, stretching the fabric of his T-shirt taut against his broad chest. For an instant, Abby’s gaze dropped there. Then she looked away.
“T-thanks again,” she murmured, not quite meeting his eyes.
“I’m glad I happened to be in the neighborhood. See you Monday.”
As Mark slid into the driver’s seat, Abby backed up. She watched as he maneuvered the car on the dead-end street, waved as he headed toward town, then walked toward her house.
But when Mark flicked a glance in his rearview mirror, he discovered she was still watching him from the shadows of her porch, much as she had done this morning at the Gazette office.
On one level, that pleased him. On another, it scared him. He was treading on dangerous ground with Abby.
And he knew that if he wanted to protect his heart, he had to muster the resolve to keep his distance.
Abby pricked her finger with the lancet, squeezed a drop of blood onto the test strip and put the strip into the glucometer. She peered at the reading. Still a bit low but nothing a snack wouldn’t fix.
As for her heart…that was harder to fix, she reflected, as she ripped open a pack of peanut butter crackers. She supposed she could try avoiding Mark, but at this point she wasn’t sure that would work. He was nowhere in sight now, yet the mere memory of his warm touch, his concerned eyes, his genuine caring, was enough to wreak havoc on her heart.
And the fact that he’d seemed a bit jealous of Dale hadn’t helped.
She could be wrong about the jealousy, though. His query about the sheriff could have been prompted by simple human kindness, nothing more. After all, she’d been in pretty bad shape when he’d found her. For someone unfamiliar with hypoglycemia, the episode
would have been frightening in its swiftness and intensity. And for the uninitiated, the equally rapid recovery would be hard to grasp. He might have been afraid to leave her alone for fear of a relapse.
Yet she sensed that Mark’s interest went beyond that of a simple Good Samaritan. She suspected it bordered on romantic.
Just as hers did.
But that wasn’t good. The look on Mark’s face when he’d found her in the throes of a hypoglycemia attack had reminded her of her father’s constant worry, as well as his grief after her mother died far too young from the disease. Illness put a strain on relationships. As did differences in backgrounds. Add in the fact that Mark and his family were trying to take away her family legacy, and you had a recipe for disaster.
In her head, Abby knew that. Her heart, however, wasn’t convinced. The simple truth was that as her professional opinion of the Campbell Publishing heir had shifted, so had her personal feelings. Where once he’d represented a danger to the Gazette, he now embodied an even more potent threat. One she felt even less equipped to deflect.
Because not only was his presence putting her family legacy in peril, it was jeopardizing her heart, as well.
“Okay, guys, that’ll do it for tonight.”
Mark tucked the basketball under his arm and surveyed the boys. Even though they’d moved practice to five o’clock instead of six, dusk was already falling. But the fading light hadn’t dimmed the boys’ spirits. The team members had been pumped since their first game ten days ago, and the improvement after a mere half dozen or so practices was remarkable. Every team member had made great strides.
