by Gun Brooke
Synopsis
How do you control passion when it breaks all the rules? Lark Mitchell, a physiotherapist, reluctantly agrees to work at the luxurious mansion of Sheridan Ward, head of San Antonio's largest business conglomerate, Ward Industries. Having barely escaped death, Sheridan is now confined to a wheelchair and, furious over her loss of control and powerless for the first time in her life, she makes Lark's job beyond difficult. Despite this, Lark insists that Sheridan fight to recover, even as Lark struggles with unexpected feelings toward her employer that go against every one of her principles. A dynamic, erotic romance between two charismatic women set in the scorching hot days and humid, steamy nights of San Antonio.
Sheridan’s Fate
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By the Author
Course of Action
Coffee Sonata
Sheridan’s Fate
September Canvas
Fierce Overture
The Supreme Constellations Series:
Protector of the Realm
Rebel’s Quest
Warrior’s Valor
Sheridan’s Fate
© 2007 By Gun Brooke. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-295-5
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, New York 12185
First Edition: September 2007
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editors: Shelley Thrasher and J.B. Greystone
Production Design: J.B. Greystone
Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])
Acknowledgments
Nothing and nobody can sustain life in a vacuum, and thus, I want to express my heartfelt thanks to the following people.
My beta reading team! Pol, Lisa, Sami, Georgi, Ruth, and Jan, your shoulders must be strong and broad, ladies, since I am able to stand on them so confi dently. And the ones who read and cared, Jay and Carol, thank you so much for endless support.
My family, who remain ever proud of me, Elon, Malin, Henrik, and Mom; it is wonderful to have people rejoice in the fact that I am living my dream.
I am so happy, and so fortunate, to belong to Bold Strokes Books, who nurture, and inspire, their authors the way they do. Shelley, my editor, you are perfect for me, and you know my writing so well by now. Radclyffe, thank you for your continued faith in me. Julie, thanks for your eagle-eyes. Sheri, you are so cool to work with. And thank you to the crew that proofs, etc., to quote Stacia, “you are our gods!”
And lastly, my readers. I write for myself, for my own enjoyment, but ultimately, I write for you.
Dedication
This book is dedicated to everyone living with a disability. Especially close to my heart is a group of people that gathers online under the name Sverige_MS_Support.
Prologue
Pain, beyond anything she’d ever felt, seared Sheridan’s body. Her stiff neck burned, and her chest constricted as her whole system convulsed. She tried to cough, but the pain overwhelmed her. The heat on her skin seeped further into her body. This is it. I’m dying. No one can live through this.
Hands pulled at her, voices came and went, one moment startlingly close only to shift and grow distant the next. Sheridan tried to move her arms, to make the voices understand that she needed help, needed someone to stop the agony, but nobody listened. She tried to call out, but her mouth was dry, her tongue stuck hopelessly to the roof of her mouth, making it impossible for her to create the tiniest squeak.
Eventually, and Sheridan didn’t know if it had been minutes or days, the pain subsided as she finally just shut off. As Sheridan relaxed, the voices around her seemed to grow more frantic, but she finally found some comfort. She couldn’t understand why this break from the torment would upset anyone. Couldn’t they see she was finally through the worst of it? All she needed was some sleep, a little rest, and then she’d speak to them, answer all their insistent questions.
Sheridan floated, content and without any discomfort, and a childhood memory of a shiny yellow balloon made her smile weakly. The balloon danced up, up, and bounced against the ceiling. Sheridan looked up at her mother, beautiful and laughing as she helped Sheridan manage the bobbing balloon. Falling through soft clouds, clutching at the string unafraid, Sheridan listened to her mother’s voice. “Hold on. Don’t let go now. Hold on.”
*
“Damn it, what the hell’s going on here?” the physician growled and gazed at the monitors above the woman’s still body. He didn’t like what he saw. “Push more Ringers, we need more fluids in her.” The medical staff swarmed around the bed in an organized chaos, administering medicine and carrying out orders.
“Temperature 106.5. BP 60 over 40. Respiration 85, shallow. Pulse 140, fluttering.” The nurse to the physician’s left rattled off the information, her dark eyes concerned above the mask.
“She’s septic.” He bent over the woman on the bed, his trained eyes taking in the signs of shock. “Her kidneys are failing, and other organs are shutting down as well. We need to regain control. Prepare her for dialysis and intubation.”
Another nurse pressed an oxygen mask over the woman’s face and began to compress a breathing bag. Leaning over the patient, she looked shocked at how fast the woman had deteriorated. “Hold on,” the physician heard the nurse whisper. “Don’t let go now. Hold on.”
Chapter One
“I told you after my last assignment, no more working in private homes. Ever.” Lark Mitchell ran a hand through her short, light brown hair, as she glowered at the employment agency director. Having known Roy Vogel for seven years, Lark recognized the corpulent man’s amicable, convincing look.
“Lark, please hear me out,” Roy said, his face serious as he sat behind his desk. “Trust me, I know what you said, and I respect it—”
“I don’t think you do, since you’re asking me to do it—again!” Lark heard her own voice escalate and took a deep breath to calm down.
“This is different. I promise. No nosy relatives, no God’s-gift-to-women dads, and more importantly, three times your last salary.”
The money didn’t tempt Lark anymore. She had made enough over the last seven years to render her financially independent for at least a decade. Right now she enjoyed being back in Texas. Her last assignment in Dubai had taken its toll on her, because she had been on call more or less around the clock. “What do you mean, no relatives? Who is this person and why do they need a physical therapist?”
Roy shrugged, his familiar grin showing he was pleased that he’d managed to stir Lark’s curiosity. “I can’t provide you with any details unless you choose to take the assignment. Patient confidentiality. All I can say is that this is a high-profile, extremely well-paid job, which would make it possible for you to take a long break from everything once you’re done.”
Lark rose, nervous energy making it impossible for her to remain in her seat. “And where is it?”
“Right here in San Antonio. Alamo Heights.”
Ah. Old money. “And for how long, initially?”
“One year.”
“I’d want it stipulated in my con
tract under what circumstances I could quit and still be paid throughout the ongoing month.” I can’t believe I’m even thinking about it, even discussing terms! The fact that it was in town, close to her family in Boerne, made a big difference. After a two-month extended leave, Lark had begun to climb the walls, and not even helping out in her mother and stepfather’s gallery did any good.
“Of course. Anything you want to put in there. They really need someone with your experience and expertise.”
“No working on weekends. I want to be able to go home to Boerne then and be with my family.” Lark glanced over at Roy, to make sure he knew she meant it. “I can make a few exceptions, if there’s an emergency, but I want a five-day working week.”
“You’ll still be putting in long hours,” Roy said. “I can probably negotiate your conditions for weekends off, but the patient requires a lot of help and training.”
“Is he, or she, elderly?”
“No.” Roy checked his computer. “Thirty-eight.”
“Any other people employed to help with ADL?”
“She has a live-in staff of three, but as for the Active Daily Living training, that’s the physical therapist’s responsibility, together with an occupational therapist, who’s available when necessary. There’s also always a nurse on call.” Roy frowned at his document. “Apparently, the patient is reluctant and impatient when it comes to aides and training, traumatized by the repercussions of the illness.”
Lark’s interest grew with each word, since this sounded like one of those challenging cases she used to find fascinating, and so rewarding, when she was a new physical therapist. Lark had dreamed of helping people regain a good quality of life, making them more independent and facing a new future. This case was beginning to interest her, despite its conditions.
“Very well,” Lark agreed, intrigued, but apprehensive because she hadn’t stuck to her plan.
“Excellent!” Roy beamed. “I’ll recommend you and call ahead. As far as I understand, they want you to start right away. Ms. Ward has been without a PT for more than two weeks, and you know that’s not good.”
“Ms. Ward?” Lark straightened in the chair. “As in the Wards?”
“Ward Industries, yes. As high a profile as you can have here in San Antonio, I imagine. You’ll be working out of their Alamo Heights mansion, of course.”
“Of course,” Lark echoed as her mind reeled. The Wards had lived in San Antonio since Texas became a republic, and the term “old money” was never truer. “So, when do I begin?”
“Barring hang-ups, you’ll start Monday.”
Today was Friday, which didn’t give Lark much time to prepare. “I need to read Ms. Ward’s medical records.”
Roy scratched the side of his neck. “Ah, hmm, that may be a problem. Ms. Ward’s pretty careful with information regarding her condition. You’ll receive a full report once you get there, and I have to warn you, you’ll find extensive confidentiality clauses in your contract. Ms. Ward’s assistant specifically told me about this issue. Guess she’s big on privacy, and who can blame her?”
“I suppose, with her background.” Lark nodded, wondering what had happened to Ms. Ward. Vaguely, she remembered how the media circus had focused their attention on the Wards a few months ago, but she couldn’t recall exactly what they’d reported. It wasn’t the first time the Wards had been in the media’s focus. “I won’t sign anything until I know how extensive the confidentiality clauses are.” Lark glared at Roy. “You know my work ethics. I take them very seriously.”
“Believe me, I know, Lark. The Wards have been pretty badly burned during the years. The tabloids never seem to give them a break, and the business magazines are after them for other reasons.”
“All right. When would they expect me?”
Roy checked his watch with exaggerated movements before assuming a sheepish look. “Your interview, which is only a formality, is in ninety minutes.”
Lark sat up. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” Her thoughts whirled. Was she prepared? Dressed well enough? Presentable? She looked down at her tailored slacks and short denim jacket. Yeah, presentable enough. This is Texas, not Dubai or the Côte d’Azur.
“Don’t freak out. They’re only twenty minutes from here by car. You have enough time if you want to spruce up, I’d think,” Roy said. “You’re pretty as you are.”
Surprised at Roy’s unexpectedly familiar remark, Lark slowly shook her head and smiled. “Why, thank you, sir. Not true, but I guess I don’t send herds of cattle stampeding, at least.”
Roy looked as if he meant to say something more, opened his mouth only to close it again while shaking his head.
“I rest my case.” Lark grinned and checked her watch. “Okay, eighty-five minutes now. Better run.”
“Good luck. I know you’re the best one for this job.” Roy got up and shook her hand. “Call me later.”
Lark agreed and left the agency in deep thought. Uneasy that she’d gone back on her vow never to accept another assignment to work in yet another wealthy private home, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed her parents’ house. Her stepfather, Arthur, answered.
“Hi, Dad,” Lark said and pressed the phone closer to her ear, “you’re not going to believe this.”
“You’ve got a new job,” Arthur said, sounding matter-of-fact.
Lark smiled, despite a faint feeling of dread. “Yeah, I do. But at least it’s in town.”
“San Antonio?”
“Yeah. Alamo Heights.”
A moment’s delay. “A private home?”
“Yes. I know what I said—”
“Are you sure about this, Lark?” Arthur’s worry was obvious. “It’s only been a month.”
“I know, I know.” Lark reached her Lexus and climbed inside.
The Bluetooth system in her car radio kicked in, and Arthur’s voice came through strong over the speakers. “Just as long as you know what you’re doing.”
“I know, Dad.” Lark pulled out into the busy rush-hour traffic. “I guess Roy made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.” Feeling her grip on the steering wheel tighten, Lark forced herself to relax. “It really sounds like an interesting case. And good money.”
“You know, that shouldn’t influence your decision, sweetheart.”
“And it didn’t. I mean, that wasn’t the main thing. Roy has no idea how much I’ve put away, so he tried to make that the selling point. But really, Dad, something about the fact that my new patient has no close family intrigues me. At least that’s what the tabloids report about her family situation. I know very little for sure, but something told me that this person truly needs me.” Lark knew that if anyone understood this point, Arthur would.
“All right, Lark. I trust that you know what you’re doing. Wait a second…what?” Arthur spoke to someone in the room with him. “Your mother wants to know if you’ll be back for dinner today. I’m cooking.”
“I’ll be there. I’m on my way to the interview now, but it shouldn’t take all that long. I’ll be home by five, six at the latest, depending on traffic.”
“All right, sweetheart, see you then.”
Soft country rock music replaced Arthur’s deep voice automatically as the speakers shifted to her favorite radio channel. Patsy Cline’s voice filled the car, soothing Lark as she drove toward Alamo Heights. Uncertain of who, and what, to expect, she sang along with the lyrics of “Crazy.”
*
“Fuck!”
Sheridan harnessed the overwhelming desire to toss the Pocket PC phone across her office, and instead she placed it carefully on the large desk in front of her. Leaning back in the wheelchair, she rubbed her aching neck while she tried to calm down. She was pretty sure that her staff had heard her profanity, which made her cringe. Known for her ice-cold perfectionist approach and the fact that she never let anything faze her where business was concerned, Sheridan was sure the people around her saw this lack of self-restraint as a sign of weakness.
Her staff acted increasingly cautious around her, which only confirmed Sheridan’s suspicion that they thought she definitely had lost some of her usual composure. She noticed something in the way they acted around her—wary, and with a look of infinite pity in their eyes.
A knock on the door made Sheridan straighten up so quickly in her chair that her neck smarted again, sending flashes of pain up the back of her head and down her shoulders. Refusing to moan or twitch under the sharpness of the ache, Sheridan folded her hands in her lap. “Enter.”
“Ms. Mitchell to see you about the position as physical therapist.” Erica, her secretary, stood in the doorway.
“Ah. Well, send her in.”
Erica stepped aside and a slender young woman with short, light brown hair entered. The sun streaming through the panoramic window ignited golden highlights as Ms. Mitchell pushed longish bangs out of her eyes. She strode across the room and extended an almost fragile-looking hand toward Sheridan.
“Ms. Ward, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Lark Mitchell. Roy Vogel of Vogel Health Professional Agency sent me.”
“Of course. Please, sit down.” Sheridan motioned toward the chair across the desk from her. Lark Mitchell sat while she unbuttoned her denim jacket. She wore a crisp cotton top underneath, its sheer material barely revealing a white bra. Embarrassed for the way she stared at the other woman, Sheridan found it impossible not to sound annoyed as she continued. “Mr. Vogel assured my assistant that you’re the best among the best, Ms. Mitchell.”
“Lark, please. And yes, I’m good at what I do.”
“Very well. Lark. Mr. Vogel faxed us your résumé only a few minutes ago. I browsed through it. Impressive.” The words came out staccato, and the pain in Sheridan’s neck and shoulders threatened to turn into one of her awful headaches.
