The Baby Who Stole the Doctor's Heart. Dianne Drake
more time, to no avail. “Well, the good news is it’s not the carburetor,” he said, pulling out from under the hood. “The bad news is it’s either the starter or the starter solenoid. Meaning you need a mechanic.”
“I’ve needed a mechanic almost every other week lately. Or it’s the time to buy a new car. I’ve got to find something more dependable because of Sarah.” She pulled her cell phone from her pocket. Started to dial.
“Calling a cab?”
She shook her head. “Calling Eric.”
“Let him spend the evening with his family. I’ll take you home,” Mark offered impulsively.
“Are you sure?”
Again, she acted surprised that he had a little niceness in him. He really did have to work on that… some. “You fixed me a good dinner. It’s the least I can do.”
“Then I accept.” She tucked her phone in her pocket, grabbed her purse, her briefcase, and her laptop computer from the back of her car. Mark took the laptop and briefcase, and led her to a large black pickup truck that was so high off the ground she wondered if she could get herself inside it without making a complete fool of herself. “Men and their big trucks,” she said, hoisting herself up.
“Practical when you’re living in the mountains,” he said while he waited for her to settle herself.
He was barely inside when she asked,“But you’re not going to live in the mountains, are you? Once you’ve fulfilled your eighteen months, don’t you plan on getting out of here?”
“And if I don’t need a truck where I’m going, I’ll get something else.”
“You don’t know where you’re going?” That didn’t surprise her, as Mark seemed more like a man who was running away from something rather than running to it.
“Not a clue. Don’t really care. One road’s as good as another, and if it leads me someplace else, I’m perfectly fine with that.”
Fastening her seat belt, Angela relaxed back into the leather seat, loving the new aroma of it. It reminded her of Mark. Big, manly, bold. “No one’s ever sat in this seat before, have they?” It was a strange question to ask, but she couldn’t see Mark involved enough with anyone to allow them in this seat, and she wanted to know. Such a solitary man.
“You’re the first, except for the salesman who sat there when I took it out for a test drive.”
No women. He didn’t date. Again, it didn’t surprise her, yet, in a way, it did. Men like Mark Anderson didn’t live without women. In other circumstances, she could picture him with a woman hanging on each arm. Under these circumstances, though, all she could picture was him alone. And scowling. “I want seventy-five percent tomorrow rather than ninety-eight.”
“What?’
“Your scowl. I want you scowling only seventy-five percent of the time. Being all sullen the way you are is bad for your digestion, and while I certainly wouldn’t lecture you on all the things that can go wrong with you physiologically when your gut stays in a constant knot, let me just say that nothing good comes of it. So, if you force yourself to quit frowning for a quarter of your day, and even try and smile a little during that time, you’re going to relax your gut and feel much better overall.”
“And that’s your professional opinion?”
“Yes. But that’s also the opinion of someone who spent too much time frowning, whose gut was knotted up just like yours.”
“What happened to change that?”
“I became happy. Had Sarah, realized the value of my friends. Discovered what I really wanted in my life wasn’t as complicated as I was making it out to be. And, most important, I figured out what I didn’t want and put an end to it.” All of it the truth. When she’d quit letting Brad be the shadow over her that had always held her back, everything had changed. Mark had the same kind of shadow over him, she could see it looming very close, barely allowing him any room to breathe. It was a pity because underneath the scowl she was catching glimpses of something good, and something so conflicted he didn’t even know the good was there anymore.
Heading out of the parking lot and turning left onto the main street through town, Angela glanced up to the silhouette of the Three Sisters?three mountain peaks that towered over the entire valley. According to Indian lore, their magic safeguarded White Elk and all the people within their shadow. But theirs was a good shadow. Mark’s was not, and it was so heavy she could almost feel it trying to cloud her outlook. It was not a good place to be. In fact, it gave her cold chills. Come on, Three Sisters, she said silently to herself. Maybe, just maybe, they had a little of their magic in reserve for Mark, because he really did need it.
CHAPTER THREE
THE short drive was quiet, and once Angela had given Mark directions to her house, she settled back to stare out the window in lieu of tumbling into any sort of dialogue with him. Especially since he was making no effort to talk about anything. The silence between them was a little unnerving, so was sitting so close to him. She didn’t know why, didn’t know why the hair on her arms seemed especially tingly, or the little chill bumps parading their way up her spine seemed especially charged. But they did, which was why she chose to fix her attention on the road, and on the brisk snow trying its best to lay down a new blanket.
“What the…!” About three minutes into the drive, Mark jammed on the truck’s brakes then threw the truck into reverse before it had even come to a complete stop.
The seat belt snapped tight on Angela. “What’s wrong?” she gasped, hurled rudely from a nice, relaxed mellow into an immediate panic. She tried tugging the seat belt loose and found it locked down tight across her chest.
“Not sure,” he said, looking over his shoulder as he guided the truck backwards. “Thought I saw…”
No more words were spoken. Mark slammed on the truck brakes, and before she could say another thing he’d unfastened his seat belt, hopped out and was already sprinting toward the sidewalk.
“Mark,” she called, trying to maneuver herself out of her own seat belt. She wasn’t as swift as he’d been about it, and by the time her feet hit the slippery street, he was already half a block a head of her, on his way down the footpath into the city park. “What are you doing?” she cried when she’d almost caught up to him and saw him drop to his knees.
“Saw somebody,” he yelled back.
He’d struggled out of his coat by the time she’d reached his side. That’s when she saw…“It’s Mr. Whetherby. He’s the town librarian, and he has dinner at the lodge every Friday night. Lobster Newburg and…” She checked her words when she realized that Richard Whetherby was lying on the ground, not moving, and she was babbling. Immediately, Angela dropped to her knees alongside Mark. “What’s wrong with him?” Imitating Mark’s actions, she pulled off her own coat and laid it over the still form in the snow.
“Darned if I know. I just saw him lying here…”
“You saw him from the street?” Mark’s fingers were busy assessing the pulse in Richard’s neck. She recognized that action.
“It’s what I do.” No other explanation.
“Tell me what I can do.” Already, she was pulling her cell phone from her pocket. “Call for an ambulance?”
“Good first step. Tell them he’s hypothermic, pulse thready and slow. Tell them we’re going to need something to warm him in the ER, and to get one of the orthopedists in?I think we have a serious fracture.”
She made the call, told them exactly what Mark had said and, after she had clicked off, while Mark was making an evaluation of Richard’s arms and legs, Angela let her fingers stray to the same pulse point Mark had taken a reading from only moments earlier, hoping to learn, at firsthand, what it felt like. And, there it was, slow