Page 99 of Turn the Tide
Chapter 2
Sarah was breathing hard as she ran, the map clutched in her hands so the wind couldn’t snatch it from her grasp. Her eyes darted between the landscape and the paper, desperate to find the “tree with the big hole at the base” that marked the turnoff to Mama T’s place.
A bolt of lightning hit the ground nearby, and the hair on her arms stood up from the electricity. She jumped in surprise when a clap of thunder boomed right on its heels.
She slowed as she looked around, then up at the sky. If she stayed on the dirt path, she’d be out in the open. Not ideal in a thunderstorm. Taking cover under the trees wasn’t the preferred location either. So what were her options?
“Run faster, girl.” Sarah took off down the road in an all-out sprint. With the Florida humidity, she was soaked, her medical bag banging against her hip as she scanned the side of the road, frantic she’d miss the very landmark she was searching for.
Another crack of thunder startled her so badly she stumbled and went down, rolling several times before she came to a stop in a drainage ditch beside the road.
Stunned, she lay there a moment, blinking up at the sky. A quick check of her limbs confirmed nothing was broken but then panic hit, hard. “The insulin.” She rolled onto all fours, swallowing a moan as her body protested, and checked the padded bag. She confirmed the vials were intact and let out a sigh of relief.
She heard a humming sound and looked over the top of the ditch. A motor of some kind, but not a car. Dirt bike? The sound got closer. More than one.
Thank you, God.Maybe she could sweet-talk someone into giving her a ride to Mama T’s.
Afraid the riders wouldn’t see her, she scrambled to her feet and waved her arms as four ATVs came into view.
Seconds later, she yanked her hands down, muttering, “You are an idiot!” as she realized flagging down strangers might not be a good idea. By then it was too late.
She’d been spotted.
She tightened her grip on the can of Mace attached to her key ring and waited as the ATVs pulled up beside her, three men and a woman. She relaxed slightly when she spotted the FWC logos on their shirts and the utility belts they wore. Okay, friends. Not foes.
But when the first man took off his helmet and ran a hand through his dark hair, Sarah decided maybe she’d been wrong about that. She blinked rapidly as she stared, sure her eyes were deceiving her. He wore his dark hair shorter now and sported a shadow of beard that made a woman itch to touch. But if her pounding heart was any indication, it really was Marco Sanchez, the one man she’d never expected to see again. Ever. Especially in Ocala.
The same man who’d broken her heart and disappeared without a word a decade ago.
He appeared equally shocked but recovered first. Before everyone else had dismounted, he walked over and stuck his hand out, posture stiff, formal. “Hello, Sarah. Good to see you again.” His voice had deepened since high school and ran over her like a warm caress.
Still trying to process that it was really him, Sarah reacted on autopilot when she saw his outstretched hand. She stuck hers out, too, and the can of Mace fell from her limp fingers and landed in the sand at his feet.Oh no! The photo!She swooped down to snatch up the key ring at the same time he did, and their heads smacked together as they crashed into each other.
“Ow!” Sarah rubbed her forehead with one hand and reached for the key ring with the other. But she was a split second too late. Marco already had it in his palm, and she watched him freeze as though he’d turned to stone. He lightly fingered the plastic-encased photo attached to her key ring as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
Sarah couldn’t quite believe he was seeing it either. A red flush spread over her face, but she put her hand out and casually said, “I’ll take that.” Thankfully, her voice sounded calmer than she felt.
Marco turned to her, his stunned expression filled with confusion. And questions. So many questions she didn’t know the answers to herself.
While her brain scrambled to formulate some response, her gaze roamed over him, cataloging the changes. He was Marco, but not. Gone was the gangly, defensive, always-protective son of migrant workers she remembered. In his place was an extremely attractive, muscled, confident man. But when she dared to face him, she realized his dark eyes still had the ability to see right into her heart.
“I can’t believe you kept this all these years.”
His fingers brushed hers as he placed the key ring in her palm, and Sarah felt like she had at seventeen, dragging the most incredible guy she’d ever met into the photo booth at the school carnival. He’d protested that someone might see them, but she told him she didn’t care. Not then or any other time he warned her they had to keep their relationship a secret. In the darkened booth, they’d finally quit fighting their mutual attraction, and his lips had found hers right before the flash went off.
Afterward, Marco had pulled her into the shadows behind the food tent and kissed her like he’d never get enough, until Sarah thought nothing could ever separate them.
She’d been wrong. Weeks later, after he’d disappeared, she had tried to throw the photo away, but she’d always fished it back out of the trash. She’d finally had it made into a key chain, telling herself it was a reminder not to be stupid about men, but the way her hands trembled said she’d been fooling herself.
She shoved the keys in her bag and stood, brushing the sand off her scrubs. “How are you, Marco?”
He stood, too, cleared his throat. “What are you doing out here? Or even in Ocala, for that matter?”
“Trying to get to Mama T’s.” Now wasn’t the time to get into the second part of his question.
“Sarah Dutton! Good to see you again.” Charlee Tanner removed her helmet and walked over, pulling Sarah into an unexpected hug. Sarah stiffened in surprise. Her family wasn’t affectionate, never had been. “You picked one heck of a day to be out here.”
“Is she okay?” Marco ignored Charlee as he asked the question, hands propped on his hips, his FWC uniform shirt stretched taut over his hard chest, emphasizing the weapon on his hip.
