Wild Horses (Sadie's Montana #1)(47)

“I know. I was just having a fleeting ‘rebel moment,’” Rebekah said.

“We all have them, especially at a mall,” Leah assured her, draping an arm across Rebekah’s shoulders.

“Wonder what we’d look like in jeans and t-shirts, our hair done, makeup, the whole works!” Anna piped up.

“No!” Leah gasped.

“Want to?” Rebekah asked, laughing.

They all laughed together, knowing it was not a priority. It was a subject to wonder about but certainly not one that brought any amount of genuine longing. It was simply not their way.

They paid for their purchases and, with shopping bags in hand, began the long walk through the rest of the mall.

Sadie announced that she needed to go to the ladies’ room, assuring everyone she would be fine on her own and that she’d find them later. Leah voiced her concern, but Sadie told her no, she was perfectly capable, and besides, she wanted to buy a few things for them, too.

As she wheeled herself down the wide center of the mall, her heart beat rapidly, and she slowed down.

What a weakling, she thought. I am just not worth two cents since this accident. I suppose it will take many more days of being patient, but it drives me crazy.

On the way back from the restroom, Sadie spied an Orange Julius booth. The frothy orange drink would definitely give her a shot of much needed energy. Besides, it was a drink she loved, having sampled it only a few times before.

She wheeled over, then hoisted herself up to order her drink, carefully settling her weight on one foot. When she had her drink, she turned to sit down again, but her wheelchair was gone!

Her eyes grew large with anxiety. She gripped her drink, then turned carefully, hopping on one foot, wincing as pain shot through her calf.

Where was her wheelchair? Who would take it? Maybe her sisters had found her and grabbed it to tease her.

Looking around, she saw a young boy pushing it around and around a display of calendars in the middle of the hall.

Where in the world is his mother? He could use a few lessons in proper behavior.

Perhaps if she yelled. But no, that would cause too much attention.

People streamed past her, no one really noticing her dilemma. They were all too intent on their own destination. An elderly lady, bent at the waist, smiled sweetly but went on her slow way. She thought of asking the server at the Orange Julius booth to dial the mall office when she heard someone say, “In trouble again?”

Irritated, she looked up and into the deep, brown eyes of Mark Peight.

He was watching her, eyes shining, causing her immediate discomfort.

She shook her head.

“No.”

He pointed his chin toward her foot.

“No?”

“Well, I … was in a rented wheelchair. This kid took off with it!”

“No crutches?”

She shook her head, and as she did so, the floor tilted at a crazy angle, and she gasped, reaching out with one hand toward Mark—toward anything or anyone to hold on to.

Instantly, he grabbed her arm.

“Are you…?”

She shook her head, swaying. Instantly, his strong arm moved around her waist, supporting her.

“Can you lean on me enough to walk?”

She shook her head and whispered, “I … have to hop.”

Mark looked around, then down at Sadie’s face turning ghastly pale. The drink slowly turned in her hand.

“Give me the drink.”

She shook her head again, and the mall swam in all sorts of crazy directions. She heard the orange drink slam against the tile and Mark say, “Hang on!” in his deep voice. With his other arm on the back of her knees, he lifted her, swung her helplessly up, up, against the rough, woolen fabric of his coat.

She wanted to say, “Put me down,” but if she said anything, she’d be sick. She could not protest. She could not even speak. Great waves of nausea terrified her. She could certainly not be sick.

She heard his breathing. She heard him say, “She’ll be okay.”

People must be watching. Oh my! What would Mam say?

Then she was deposited gently on a wooden bench, his arm supporting her. She smelled Christmas smells—pine and some sort of spice that actually helped keep her awake.

“Are you all right, Sadie?” he asked.

She wanted to nod, but the nausea still threatened to make her lose her breakfast. She lay her head against his shoulder and could feel the perspiration pop out on her face as she struggled to overcome the embarrassing weakness.

A clean white handkerchief appeared, and Mark began gently wiping above her eyes and around her face with his large, brown hand.

“There. Feel any better?” he asked.

“I think so,” she whispered.

A crowd had gathered, so she kept her head lowered. She heard Mark assuring them that she would be okay, saying emphatically that if someone spied a kid with a wheelchair, they’d appreciate having it back.

Tears formed in Sadie’s eyes. Another sign of this all-consuming weakness, she thought, irritated at feeling humiliated.

She sat up, swayed a bit, then steadied herself as Mark’s arm dropped away.

“Thank you,” she said quietly and looked up at him.

She was unprepared for the look of tenderness in those deep brown eyes, or the length of time he kept looking at her.