Sheridan's Fate

by Gun Brooke

  Lark sat in silence for a moment, looking down at her loosely folded hands. “Things would have to be very different, and I don’t think you can manage that.”

  “Won’t you even let me try?”

  “I know you mean what you say—now. But back at the mansion when business calls, you’ll have tons of excuses not to stay committed to your schedule. Then you won’t reach your goal, and both our lives will be miserable.” Lark cleared her throat. “I care too much to watch you do that to yourself.”

  The words hung between them, as if suspended in the rays of the sun. Sheridan knew then that if she let Lark slip through her fingers, in whatever capacity, she’d regret it for a long time, perhaps forever. “Listen,” she said and wheeled close enough to Lark to take her hand. “I had an idea. What if we spend the upcoming weeks at Lake Travis? All we have to consider is being back in San Antonio two weeks before the stockholders’ meeting. Would that do it?”

  “Lake Travis. Didn’t you tell me y’all have a summer house or something there?” Lark spoke slowly.

  “Yes.” Sheridan smiled cautiously. “It has four bedrooms, six baths, a kitchen, a library that doubles as a study, and a living room. Very manageable. The Johnsons live in a bungalow on the property and tend to the house when I’m away. I haven’t used the house at all since I came home from the hospital.”

  “Why not?”

  “I used to feel so free there. I’d spend time with Frank, and we’d just do what we want.”

  “Frank?” Lark frowned. “Who’s Frank?”

  “My Irish setter, who lives there permanently.” Sheridan thought she saw relief on Lark’s face.

  “Oh, I see.” Lark smiled carefully. “If you’re prepared to leave San Antonio for a while, that shows me what I need to know. I’ll come back to work for you, but this time, if you fire me again, or if you go back to ignoring your schedule…I just don’t want to go through this again. I mean, investing my time and efforts in caring about…I mean for your rehabilitation.” Lark sounded solemn, despite her smile. “You understand that?”

  “Yes, Lark. I do.” Sheridan began to relax, loosening her clasped hands. “Thank you. I just can’t risk failure and, what’s more, I missed you.”

  “What? For real?”

  “For real,” Sheridan said and had to laugh at Lark’s obvious surprise. “You’re interesting to talk to, and you challenge me. I never know what you’re going to say next, which is a rare quality.”

  “Too many yea-sayers?” Lark winked.

  “You could say that.” Sheridan dragged a hand through her hair to mask how much her hand was shaking. She hadn’t eaten since that morning, and the anxiety of making herself vulnerable was also taking its toll.

  “Well, I go under many names here at home, but the resident yea-sayer isn’t one of them.”

  They heard a knock on the door and a voice asked from behind it, “Can I tempt y’all with some coffee or tea? Arthur’s baking his famous cinnamon rolls.”

  “Sheridan?” Lark asked.

  “I don’t want to impose—”

  Doris opened the door and greeted Sheridan. “You’re not imposing, child. I’m Doris Mitchell Hirsh, Lark’s mother. We have coffee and enough cinnamon rolls to feed an army. Please stay and help eat some of them. Honestly, we need help.”

  “Mom, you make Daddy sound like a cinnamon-roll terrorist or something.” Lark laughed. “I agree, though. It would be blasphemous if she left without having any of his rolls. By the way, this is Sheridan Ward, my…my, eh...” Lark seemed at a loss, and Sheridan realized that she was trying to maintain patient confidentiality.

  “I’m Lark’s patient.”

  “You are, as in the present tense?” Lark’s mother asked, looking back and forth between them.

  “Yes. She’s agreed to come back, and I know better now than to make the same mistake again.”

  “I’m very glad to hear that.” Sheridan could hear a mother’s pride, and protection, in Doris’s voice.

  “And I’d love some coffee. I just need to tell my driver—”

  “Oh, you mean that nice young man, Dave?” Doris asked with a bright smile. “He’s already in the kitchen chatting with Fiona and one of my other daughters, Garland. Having his second coffee and third roll, I believe.”

  “He is?” Sheridan was stunned. “That’s very hospitable of you, Mrs. Hirsh.”

  “Doris.”

  “Then please call me Sheridan.”

  Sheridan followed as Doris guided her toward the spacious kitchen. Cherrywood cabinets and black marble countertops, coupled with the happy banter around the table, made for a cozy atmosphere. Fiona, who sat at one end of the table, looked up and waved them over. “Better come quick, y’all. The rolls are disappearing at lightning speed.”

  “Hey, don’t worry about that,” a bulky man at the stove said as he pulled out another baking tray crowded with enormous cinnamon rolls. “There’s more where they came from.”

  “Good, Pop, because I can eat twenty more,” Michael bragged.

  “If anybody else had said that, I wouldn’t have believed them, son.” Arthur put the tray down and approached Sheridan. “Welcome to our home, Sheridan. I’m Arthur, Lark’s second father. And if you wonder how I know who you are, my wife’s method for delivering family intel is amazing.”

  “Sounds like a good method. Excuse me, did you say second father?”

  “Yes. Harold Mitchell was Lark’s first father. He passed away more than twenty years ago. I was lucky to inherit them all, so to speak, about thirteen years ago when they moved here to Boerne.”

  “And he really is a dad,” Fiona said and sipped her coffee. “We simply informed him that we weren’t interested in a stepdad, but as a real daddy he was welcome.”

  “Our youngest sister was only ten at the time. She really needed a daddy. Well, we all did.”

  Sheridan hesitated, not sure where she would fit in at the table. Her uneasiness must have been obvious, because one of the boys scooted his chair closer to his brother’s and patted the table between him and Fiona. Sheridan glanced at Lark, who only smiled. Wheeling around Fiona, Sheridan parked her wheelchair, and the boy—Michael, was it?—smiled broadly at her.

  “Is your name really Sheridan?” he asked.

  “Yes, it is. Why do you ask?”

  “I thought it was a boy’s name. A boy in Sean’s class is called Sheridan, and he’s really a boy.”

  “I know. Some kids teased me when I was little that I looked like a girl. They were really surprised when it turned out I actually was a girl.”

  Sean and Michael burst out laughing, sputtering small pieces of cinnamon rolls over the table. Their behavior broke any ice that might have lingered, and soon Sheridan found herself the center of attention and the subject of the friendliest interrogation she’d ever been part of.

  The children began asking personal questions.

  “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  “No?”

  “A girlfriend then?”

  Before Sheridan could answer, Lark interrupted. “She has a dog called Frank.”

  Sheridan pulled out her wallet and showed them a picture of Frank retrieving a stick out of the lake. After that, the boys grew bored and were excused.

  Sheridan knew she had to make sure she didn’t fall into this trap of coziness. Granted, Lark’s family seemed genuinely nice and welcoming, but they weren’t her family. I mustn’t forget that.

  An hour later, Sheridan signaled her driver that it was time for them to say good-bye. Dave seemed reluctant to leave, and who could blame him? He had had Fiona’s undivided attention for the last fifteen minutes and kissed her hand gallantly before he helped Sheridan out the door. Lark walked her to the car and placed a hand on her shoulder before she rode the lift into the minivan.

  “Do you want me to come back with you now?”

  “No, Lark. Spend tonight at your parents and enjoy your sister. You have a lovely family. Fiona, your parents,
the boys. Everyone made me feel very welcome.”

  “They’re great. But they love homing in on new blood, as you could tell.”

  “Yeah, the boys were very curious.”

  “And a bit too forward.” Lark made a funny face and wrinkled her nose. “Sorry ’bout that.”

  “No problem. I just find it curious that they’d ask me if I had a girlfriend.”

  “Ah. Well. They are, how do you say, a modern family. The boys…” Lark blushed and faltered, which paved the way for speculation on Sheridan’s part.

  “…are politically correct?”

  Lark coughed. “Something like that.”

  “See you tomorrow. Don’t forget to pack more sweats and shorts. It’s very informal at the lake.”

  “I look forward to it. Is there a pool?”

  “Yes. I’ll have Mrs. D call ahead so Mr. Johnson can fill it.”

  “Is it heated?”

  “Yes. And in this weather we’ve been having, it doesn’t take much.”

  “Great. We’ll make good use of it.”

  Sheridan stopped inside the minivan and turned around to look at Lark. “Just so you know, I’m not very thrilled about water.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Too late, Lark. I fear something already has. “Sounds good to me. Just no diving, all right?”

  “All right. I’ll remember that.”

  “See you tomorrow, around ten?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Sheridan let Dave secure the wheelchair and leaned back as he pulled out into the sparse traffic. When she looked at the house, she saw Lark still standing on the sidewalk, her hands pushed deep into her jeans pockets.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lark stood on the patio at the Ward summerhouse. Constructed right on the shoreline, it had a spectacular view.

  The ride to the lake had taken place in comfortable silence. Sheridan had worked on her laptop, after apologizing to Lark that she couldn’t stay away from her business completely. Lark assured her that she didn’t have to ask permission to do anything as long as they were communicating. Sheridan looked surprised, as if Lark had said something unexpected.

  During the rest of the drive, Lark had dozed off and on, though very aware of Sheridan’s presence. Several times when she looked up, she found Sheridan watching her. Lark felt her cheeks warm slightly every time, and she squirmed; it was impossible to be still.

  Now, the refreshing breeze from the lake cleared Lark’s mind, and she raised both arms and stretched.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Sheridan said from behind, causing Lark to lower her arms quickly.

  “You okay?” Sheridan asked.

  “Fine. I’m fine.” Lark faced Sheridan. “Are you settled in yet? Need any help?”

  “Yes, and no, thank you. Mrs. Johnson put everything away for me, and she’s probably doing that for you as we speak. So if you packed something very personal…but I should have told you this before we came, right?”

  “What do you mean, personal? All my stuff is personal.” Lark had no clue what Sheridan was talking about.

  “Nah, I mean something personal.”

  Lark blinked. “Now you’ve lost me.”

  “Apparently. Which is kind of reassuring in this case.”

  Lark groaned. “You’re being too cryptic. Sheridan.”

  Sheridan colored slightly. “Eh, well, if you’d packed something to cozy up with, something you wouldn’t want Mrs. Johnson or anybody else to find.” Sheridan grinned. “An electronic companion?”

  “An electronic com—” Lark laughed. “Oh, you mean a vibrator?”

  “Or something.” Sheridan fiddled with the armrests of her wheelchair. “I just thought that...well, I was trying to be funny, really.”

  Lark laughed at the pink tinge to Sheridan’s cheeks. “And I just didn’t get it?”

  “At first I thought you were just as innocent as you look, but apparently I was wrong.”

  “I look innocent?” Lark tilted her head and watched Sheridan’s expression alter yet again. This time she definitely looked as if she wanted to slap her forehead, and Lark couldn’t hold back a giggle.

  “I meant, you have an innocent way about you, and I felt I was being too—”

  “Straightforward? Personal? Inquisitive?” Lark said helpfully.

  “Yeah. Well. Something like that,” Sheridan muttered.

  “Ah, the something again.” Lark relented, even if teasing Sheridan was exquisitely delicious. She turned toward the water again. “Yes, to answer your first question, it is beautiful. I can see why your family’s maintained a house here.”

  “I just wish I had time to come here more often.”

  “I can’t see how you couldn’t work from here at times. It really shouldn’t be difficult, with today’s technology. As far as I know, several of your companies are at the forefront of the computer business. They should be able to hook you up as if you were there. That way, you’d heal faster and could ultimately be more independent.”

  “There’s that magic word again. Independent. You hold it in front of me like the proverbial carrot.”

  “And isn’t independence what you’re after?”

  “Yes. But to reach that, I need to regain the use of my legs! That’s where you come in.”

  Lark stared at Sheridan, willing her mouth not to fall open. How could she have missed this point? How could she have surmised that Sheridan was accepting medical facts when she was in denial regarding just about everything else. This wasn’t the time or the place to bring the facts up, not when Sheridan was about to give everything her best when it came to the physiotherapy.

  She arranged her features in what she hoped was an encouraging expression. “One step at a time. First we need you to get in shape for the stockholders’ meeting. Then we’ll set up new goals.”

  “All right,” Sheridan agreed, not showing any signs that she’d picked up on Lark’s moment of truth. “I know it takes time and patience, but it’ll happen.”

  It was so different to hear the confidence in Sheridan’s voice and see the glitter in her eyes; it nearly broke Lark’s heart. “I have every faith in your stubbornness,” she joked so she wouldn’t become mushy or teary eyed. It wasn’t like her to become this emotional over her patients, not the adults anyway, and Lark knew Sheridan was perceptive enough to realize what was going on if she wasn’t careful.

  Sitting in her wheelchair dressed in a black linen suit, looking the epitome of casual elegance, Sheridan was the most stunningly gorgeous woman Lark had ever seen. The setting sun tinted her pale skin golden, and the breeze blew her wavy hair into slight disarray, making Lark want to stroke it back from Sheridan’s forehead. Her long, slender hands lay loosely folded on her lap, and she looked happy. The ache in Lark’s belly turned almost acidic when desire drowned out the tenderness.

  “How about we go inside and have something to eat?” Sheridan asked. “I think Mrs. Johnson has cooked something for us in advance. She and her husband go home after she takes care of the evening dishes, unless we need them for anything more.”

  “We shouldn’t keep them waiting, then.” It was hard to speak as if nothing was amiss or out of the ordinary.

  Sheridan led the way inside, and Lark followed as she tried to persuade her poor heart to stop acting like a racehorse on speed.

  *

  Mrs. Johnson lit a group of five block candles in the fireplace, just enough to set the mood since the evening was humid and warm. Lark had helped a tired Sheridan onto the couch and lifted her legs so she lay half reclined. Mrs. Johnson made sure “the girls” were properly set for the evening, reminding them that she’d made midnight snacks for them.

  Lark sat down on the floor with her back against the couch. Leaning her head against the cushion behind her, she tried to relax. She was tired, she could feel it in her stinging eyes, but her body acted as if she was high on too much caffeine.

  “This is
cozy,” Sheridan said from above.

  “Yes, it is. Are you tired?”

  “A little. It’s been a long day. Someone pushed me to outdo myself during PT.” Sheridan laughed, a lazy, thoroughly sexy sound.

  Lark gasped quietly, not daring to look at Sheridan. “You did great. Tomorrow we’ll take it up a notch.”

  “What happened to slowly and surely?” Sheridan snickered.

  “That went out the window when I saw how well you did this afternoon. And with Mrs. Johnson’s cooking, we’ll both need the exercise.”

  “That’s true.” Sheridan sighed, and sounded more blissful than exasperated.

  “Lovely couple, the Johnsons. They obviously care for you a lot.”

  “It’s mutual.”

  “Now, what’s with Frank the dog?” Mrs. Johnson had taken the Irish setter with her to the bungalow.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He greeted me, a person he’d never met, like a long-lost friend, but took wide circles around you?” It was true. The dog had acted strangely, giving Sheridan dark looks and barely accepting her pats.

  “I don’t know. I’ve probably been away from him too long.” Sadness crept into Sheridan’s voice. “He may feel like I’ve abandoned him.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. It was something else. Could be the chair, you know.”

  “The chair?” Sheridan shifted behind Lark. “You think so?”

  “It’s the only thing I can think of. Dogs don’t hold grudges. They live in the moment. He looked like he wanted to approach you.”

  “I hope you’re right. Maybe we could teach him not to be afraid of the chair.”

  “I bet we can do that easily.” Lark looked at Sheridan, wanting to reassure her. “One of my patients used an electric scooter. Turned out that her dog was frantic around her and the scooter because he wanted to ride it!”

  Sheridan burst out laughing. “Oh, my God. How did that end?”

  “She let him. I’m sure the neighbors had a field day watching this German shepherd sit between her legs, his tail trailing alongside the scooter as they rode down the street to the store.”

  “I wish I could have seen that.”