A Dream To Share (Heartland Homecoming)

by Irene Hannon

  His gut clenched as he looked into Abby’s deep green eyes. The kind of eyes a man could get lost in. Why couldn’t she have been a normal, healthy woman? Someone he wouldn’t have to worry about losing every day of his life? A few minutes ago he’d been sure that no problem between them was insurmountable. Now he wasn’t as certain. Yet how could he walk away? He’d never met anyone like Abby. And he had a feeling he never would again.

  As questions and doubts bombarded him, Mark felt like a sailor clinging to a mast in a raging storm—and who was fast losing his grip.

  “Are you sure your mother didn’t have other health issues that predisposed her to problems with the diabetes?” He was grasping at straws, looking for something that would reassure him about Abby’s condition.

  “Not that I know of. I’m pretty certain her problems were due to negligence.” She blinked past a shimmer of tears. “Look, it might be best if we call it a night.”

  He didn’t want to go. But he didn’t belong here, either, he realized. Not until he sorted through his emotions. Regained his balance. A feat he would never accomplish as long as Abby stood in the circle of his arms, inches away, her sorrowful expression ripping his soul to shreds.

  “I guess we have a lot to think about after all.” It was the best he could offer tonight.

  “I guess we do.” Sadness nipped at the edges of her voice. For weeks she’d reined in her feelings, afraid to risk loving a man who came from such a different world. How ironic that tonight, just as she’d begun to consider taking that risk, he seemed to be having second thoughts about taking the risk of loving her.

  In a triumph of will over desire, Mark took a step back. He needed to think this through. For both their sakes. “Good night, Abby.” He lifted his hand toward her face. Let it drop. And without another word, he turned and walked out the door.

  The gusty November wind buffeted him as he headed toward his car, churning the leaves around him in counterpoint to his roiling emotions as he, too, mulled over the irony of their situation.

  He’d set out on a quest to convince her to take a chance on their relationship.

  Yet in the end he was the one who didn’t seem to have the stomach for risk.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Wiping a weary hand down his face, Mark pushed through the door of the Gazette into the lobby, bringing a gust of cold air with him. He’d slept little after the bombshell Abby had dropped the night before. Her mother had died at thirty-eight. Abby was thirty-two. How was he supposed to live with that?

  He’d tried praying, but that hadn’t offered him any consolation—or a solution. At least not yet. And he had no idea what he would say to her when they next met.

  “Morning, Molly. Is Abby here yet?”

  The receptionist spared him no more than a quick glance over her shoulder as she typed, his presence now routine at the newspaper. “Morning. No. She had a doctor’s appointment.”

  Panic clutched at Mark’s gut. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “She mentioned a problem with her knee.” Molly gave him an odd look. “Are you okay? You look a little pale yourself.”

  It took him a few seconds to tame his racing pulse. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  As he headed down the hall toward the conference room, the taste of fear sharp on his tongue, Mark thought about Abby’s father. No wonder he’d died young of a heart attack.

  Not that Mark was worried about the risk of a heart attack. Dying was easy. It was the prospect of living day after day with constant fear that knotted his stomach. But that’s what he’d be dealing with if he got serious about Abby.

  Once seated in the conference room, Mark rested his elbows on the table, linked his fingers and lowered his head.

  Lord, I don’t want to lose Abby, but I don’t know how to deal with her illness. Or address the concerns she raised last night about the differences in our backgrounds. Please help me find some answers. Reverend Andrews said we should follow Your call—no matter the surprising directions it might lead. But I guess I didn’t realize how frightening some of them could be. I ask two things of You in the days ahead. Wisdom to discern Your will for me—and the courage to follow it.

  “It’s a bad bruise, Abby. But I don’t think there’s any other damage. And it looks about the way it should a few days into the healing process.” Dr. Martin probed her knee once more, then straightened up. “Keep an eye on it and take some aspirin to help with the discomfort. If it doesn’t start to feel a lot better in the next couple of days, call me. How’s everything else?” He took a seat on the stool in the examining room.

  “Okay.”

  “That doesn’t sound too convincing.” He gave her an assessing look.

  She tried to respond in a calm tone, but the words came out strained. “It’s been a tough few weeks. Campbell Publishing is interested in acquiring the Gazette. The only alternative seems to be to let it die. Neither option is good.”

  “How are you handling the stress?”

  “Fine.”

  His skepticism was obvious as he tapped his pen against her file. “Any medical problems you need to tell me about?”

  She lowered her head and fiddled with the edge of the paper liner on the examining table. Like old Doc Adams, who’d retired a couple of years ago, Sam Martin was way too perceptive. “I did have a low-blood-sugar incident.”

  “When?”

  “About a month ago.”

  “What happened?”

  “I was distracted and I overdid my exercise. But I had candy with me.”

  “So you were able to get this under control on your own?”

  She squirmed under his probing gaze. “Not exactly. It hit pretty fast, and I was jogging in the country. Mark Campbell happened to be driving by and he helped me.”

  “Have you discussed this with Dr. Sullivan?”

  “No. I recovered quickly, and I haven’t had any repercussions. I did monitor my glucose levels more often for the next few days, and everything was normal. I haven’t had any further problems.”

  When he didn’t respond at once, she looked up to find him frowning. She supposed she should have called her endocrinologist in St. Louis. It would have been the prudent thing to do. Hadn’t she told Mark just last night that she was more responsible and diligent about taking care of herself than her mother had been?

  “I want you to promise me that you’ll discuss this with Dr. Sullivan. Today.” Sam Martin pinned her with an intent look. “I know you have a lot on your mind with the paper, Abby, but your health needs to be a priority. How we treat this disease in the early stages could affect its development, and Dr. Sullivan will want to track every blip in your condition.”

  “Okay. I’ll call him.”

  “Good.” Dr. Martin went back to writing on her chart, and Abby focused on the network of scars that covered his right hand, the result of a traumatic injury that had forced him to give up surgery. At least her condition hadn’t deprived her of the work she loved, she mused. Yet based on Mark’s reaction to her mother’s death, it could very well deprive her of an unexpected opportunity for love.

  “Something else seems to be on your mind, Abby.”

  At Dr. Martin’s astute observation, she managed to dredge up a smile. “Heart concerns. But not the kind the medical community can fix.”

  Empathy softened his features. “There’s no prescription for that, I’m afraid. However, I’m happy to listen if you’d like to talk about it.”

  For a second, Abby was taken aback. In the past, Dr. Martin had conducted his exams in a very methodical, clinical style that offered little opportunity for conversation. Since his reconciliation with his wife over the past summer, however, he’d adopted a holistic approach that warmed him up and prompted confidences. She decided to test the waters.

  “There is one question you might be able to answer. But the whole situation is a bit complicated.”

  “Isn’t it always?”

  His rueful, understanding smile encouraged
her to continue.

  “The thing is, Mark and I have…we’ve gotten kind of close during this whole process. But all along I kept putting up barriers…for a lot of reasons. Then he found out about my mom dying at thirty-eight and freaked out. The lives of two people he loved were cut short by leukemia and a cerebral hemorrhage, and I think he’s worried that could happen again.

  “Anyway, he asked me the other night if my mom might have had any other medical issues that predisposed her to an early death from diabetes. As far as I know, she didn’t. I always thought she died because she was careless about her care. I told that to Mark, but after witnessing my episode, I don’t think he’s convinced.”

  A slight frown creased Dr. Martin’s brow. “I don’t know the details of your mother’s history, but I’m very familiar with your condition. And as long as you’re diligent in your monitoring and checkups, I see no reason why you can’t have a long and productive life. Nor is there any reason you can’t marry or have a family. I’m sure Dr. Sullivan would concur.”

  “And you don’t think there’s anything in my mother’s file to suggest she had other contributing problems?”

  “I pulled it from our archives to review it when you were diagnosed, and I don’t recall anything in particular. But I’ll tell you what—let me do a little digging and I’ll give you a call with what I find. Fair enough?”

  “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “Not at all. I would hate for misinformation to stand in the way of romance.” Rising, he moved toward the door, stopping on the threshold to look back at her. “I’ll call you early next week. With good news, I expect. In the meantime, take care of yourself as well as the Gazette. We don’t want that suitor of yours to get any more spooked than he already is.” With a smile, he disappeared through the door.

  As Abby stood and picked up her purse, she felt hopeful that Dr. Martin’s research would allow her to allay Mark’s concerns about her health.

  As for her own concerns about their different backgrounds, there was no quick fix. Mark had made some good points last night. But if they decided to explore their attraction, there would have to be a lot of negotiation. And the situation was complicated by Abby’s uncertainty about her future. Until the fate of the Gazette was decided, she was in limbo.

  Meaning that whatever Dr. Martin discovered might help, but it wasn’t going to solve all of their problems.

  With a final blow on his whistle, Mark signaled the end of his last basketball practice. Jim Jackson had recovered enough to resume his duties—good timing, considering that Mark would be leaving Oak Hill in a matter of days. But he was going to miss his interaction with the boys. It had been satisfying to watch them develop from a clumsy tangle of arms and legs to a cohesive team with excellent potential.

  Tonight’s practice had also been a good stress reliever. Abby had kept her door shut since her doctor’s visit, and he hadn’t sought her out. He needed some space to think things through. Coaching the boys had given him a welcome mental break.

  As the team members gathered around him in the school gym, he smiled. “Great job. Mr. Jackson will be proud of you. And I have no doubt that you’ll be ready for your first real game in January. I also want to thank you for letting me work with you these past few weeks. It’s been a terrific experience, and I know you guys are going to offer your competitors a real challenge. Good luck.”

  Mark started to turn away, but a murmur ran through the group, and he paused to find Evan shouldering his way forward. Since Mark had made his anonymous contribution to the church, earmarked for the Langes, Evan had seemed far more upbeat. In fact, in the past couple of practice sessions he had again lived up to the promise Mark had seen in him at the beginning. That was all the thanks Mark needed—or wanted—for his generosity. Nor did he expect anything in return for his coaching gig. But it appeared the team had other ideas.

  As Evan approached, he held out a flat square package topped with a blue bow. “This is from the guys, Mr. Campbell.”

  An odd tightness in Mark’s throat rendered speech impossible. He took the gift, tore off the wrapping and lifted the lid of the box inside to find a plaque featuring the team emblem. The sentiment was simple—and heartfelt. “‘With appreciation and gratitude to Mark Campbell for generously sharing his coaching expertise in our time of need. We’ll never forget you.’” Each of the boys’ names was inscribed.

  For a long moment Mark held the plaque, struggling to contain his emotions. A few months ago, if someone had told him he’d be coaching a ragtag basketball team in the nation’s heartland, he’d have laughed. Nor would he have believed that a simple gift like this would mean more to him than any of the expensive decorative items that filled his condo. But he had. And it did.

  “Thank you, guys.” He stopped and cleared his throat. “This means a lot. And I’ll never forget you, either.” He shook hands with each of them, then watched as the group dispersed. Only then did Reverend Andrews step forward.

  “Were you behind this?” Mark lifted the plaque.

  “I arranged to have it made. But it was their idea. And well-deserved. You did a good job with them, Mark. I wish we could keep you around.” The man held out his hand. “I hope I see you again before you leave, but if not, thank you. And God go with you.”

  As Mark walked out the door a few minutes later, he prayed that God would heed the minister’s prayer. He had a lot of issues to resolve in the next few days. And having God by his side couldn’t hurt.

  What was that noise?

  Pulled from a deep, dreamless slumber, it took Mark a few seconds to identify the rapping sound that had disrupted his sleep. Someone was knocking on his door.

  Squinting at his watch, Mark tried to focus. Not an easy task. Since Abby had dropped the news about her mother’s death on him three days ago, sleep had been elusive. When he did drift off, exhaustion tended to impose a mind-numbing coma that was hard to shake. But at last the numbers came into focus. One o’clock in the morning.

  “Mark? It’s Marge. Are you awake?”

  At the innkeeper’s anxious tone, the last vestiges of sleep vanished. Nothing less than a serious problem would persuade her to wake up a guest in the middle of the night. Heart pounding, he threw back the covers and swung his legs to the floor, reaching for the jeans he’d tossed on a nearby chair.

  “Yeah. I’m up. Give me a sec.”

  Shoving his feet into the denim, he smoothed back his hair with one hand and padded barefoot to the door. When he opened it, Marge stood on the other side, wearing some kind of psychedelic caftan that would have hurt his eyes if the dim illumination in the hallway had been any stronger. At any other time, he would have had to smother a grin. But her worried expression chased away any semblance of levity.

  Bracing himself, he gripped the door frame. “What’s wrong?”

  “Your brother is on the phone. He says he tried your cell but the call wouldn’t go through. You can take it in the parlor.”

  Allison. Something must be wrong with Allison. Or the baby. Mark didn’t think Rick would call in the middle of the night to announce a normal delivery. With a clipped nod, Mark ran down the steps to the first floor, trying to rein in his pounding pulse as he snatched up the phone. “Rick? What’s up? Is Allison okay?”

  “Yes, she’s fine. Sorry to bother you in the middle of the night, Mark. It’s not Allison. It’s Dad. He’s had a stroke.”

  Mark sucked in a harsh breath. “How bad?”

  “The doctors aren’t sure yet. It seems pretty mild, but they won’t know until they run a bunch of tests. He’s not in any immediate danger, but I thought you’d want to know right away. Dad’s secretary gave me the name of the place you’re staying.”

  “Yeah. Listen…I’ll head for St. Louis and grab the first flight I can get. What hospital?” Once he had the information, Mark took another look at his watch. “Depending on when I can get out, I think I can be there pretty early in the morning.”

  “Why do
n’t you wait until daylight? It might be safer than driving the back roads when you’re half-asleep.”

  He wasn’t half-asleep anymore. Not by a long shot. “I’m fine. And I want to be there.” The need to strengthen his ties with his long-neglected family had been building inside him for the past few weeks, but it hadn’t seemed urgent. Now it did. Too bad it had taken a crisis to prompt him to action.

  “Okay, if you’re sure. I’ll still be hanging out at the hospital.”

  As Mark rang off and headed for the stairs, he saw Marge waiting at the top.

  “My father’s had a stroke. I have to go back to Chicago right away.”

  “Of course. Leave everything you don’t need in the room. Business is slow this time of year. I don’t expect I’ll need the space.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ll fix you a thermos of coffee to take.” She turned toward the steps and started down.

  “You don’t need to bother.”

  Pausing, she looked back at him. “It’s no bother, Mark. That’s what friends are for.”

  Mark didn’t argue. He could use the coffee. And friends. Including a spiritual one he had also neglected for far too long.

  As he threw a few necessities into an overnight bag, he took a moment to send a plea heavenward.

  Lord, I know I’ve made a mess of things. But I’d like to change that. I think my priorities are finally getting straightened out. And I’m beginning to understand the importance of relationships—neglected ones and new ones. Please give me the chance to talk with Dad. I know he’s been concerned about me and my lack of direction. I’d like to ease his mind on that score, at least.

  But, whatever happens, help me stay the course I’ve started on. Because I don’t want to fall back to the life I led before.

  The cryptic message left at one-thirty in the morning was waiting for Abby when she arrived at work on Friday.

  “Abby, it’s Mark. I’m heading back to Chicago. My dad’s had a stroke, and I’m planning to catch the next flight out from St. Louis. I’ll be in touch.”