by Gun Brooke
“You taught him that?” Sheridan was amazed. Frank was the type of dog who was naturally nice and fairly well behaved. He ran loose around the property and never bothered anybody, and he had received very little training apart from the normal cues for sit, down, come, and stay. To watch him pick something up on cue and hand it over was practically a miracle.
“Yeah, he learns really easily. Let’s try something a little harder. Do you have anything you can drop?”
“Me?” Sheridan flinched, unprepared. “Eh, I don’t know. Will my baseball cap do?”
“Unless you’re scared of teeth marks on it. Frank could chew it halfway up, you know.”
“No problem. What do I do?”
“Drop it when you wheel back toward the house, like you were doing before. Notice it, stop, point, and ask Frank to pick it up like I did.”
“I don’t think he’ll obey me. He doesn’t come near me these days.”
“Let’s try anyway. If nothing else, it’ll give me an idea of how to proceed with his training.”
“Okay.” Sheridan began to wheel, and after a few yards she let her baseball cap fall to the ground. She stopped the wheelchair and turned around, trying her best to look dismayed. “Oh, I dropped my cap. Pick it up, Frank.” When nothing happened, she repeated the cue. Still nothing. “You see?” Sheridan spread her hands, palms up, in a defeated gesture.
“Try calling him again.” Lark didn’t seem the least deterred.
Sheridan called Frank’s name again, pointing at the baseball cap. “Come on, boy. Fetch it for Mommy.” She knew she sounded terribly mushy, but it was all she could think of to say.
Suddenly Frank barked and ran toward Sheridan. He skidded across the limestone tiles and stopped in front of her, then gave another low bark.
“Pick up the hat, boy,” Sheridan said, her voice trembling. This was the first time the dog had shown any interest in her since they had arrived at Lake Travis. “Come on.”
Frank grabbed the cap between his teeth, then sat down with a thud. Wagging his tail, he looked at her with big eyes. He wagged only the very tip of his tail, as if he was uncertain how she’d react. Sheridan felt something inside loosen, as if an icicle dislodged from a fine piece of crystal. “Good boy,” she said, tears rising to cloud her sight. “Give it to Mommy. Come on.”
Frank hesitated for a moment, then placed his head on her lap, the cap still in his mouth. Sheridan cupped his cheeks, the way she used to, and scratched along his nose. Frank whimpered and, letting go of the cap, licked her wrists, his tail now wagging madly, sweeping the tiles.
“Oh, Frankie. I’ve missed you.” Sheridan buried her face into his fur and inhaled the typical smell of dog, which was the sweetest scent she’d come across in a long time. Frank scooted closer to her, pressing his nose up under her chin. The familiar movement felt so good; Sheridan sobbed as she hugged her dog. “Frank.”
Frank broke free after a while and looked expectantly at her. He wiggled his eyebrows and placed his paw on her knee. Sheridan knew what he was asking for. She locked the brakes on her wheelchair and patted her lap. “Come on, Frank. Lap.”
Frank launched the front part of his body up on her lap. He whimpered to express his joy, and Sheridan laughed while tears streamed down her face.
“Look at the two of you,” Lark said, beaming next to them. She wiped at the corners of her eyes. “You see now? He just needed some time and persuasion.”
“Thank you.” Sheridan hugged Frank and ruffled the wavy fur on the sides of his neck. “Honestly, it feels like I’ve just come home. Isn’t that weird?”
“It’s not weird at all. An important part of your home was missing, and now that Frank is back in the picture the way he should be, we should be able to work him into our plan and schedule.”
“How do you mean?”
“I know Frank is used to being here with the Johnsons, but the truth is, you need him. He also needs to remain connected to you and your changed circumstances. He should go back to San Antonio with you.”
“But that’d be so hard on him. He’s used to having this.” She gestured with her arm to indicate the 200-acre property.
“He’ll be fine. Dogs are very good at adjusting, as long as they’re loved and cared for. Besides, he’s got a job to do.”
“What do you mean, a job?”
“Training to be your service dog.”
Sheridan recoiled. “But I won’t need a working dog once I’ve recovered. And that breaks up Frank’s routine for nothing.”
Lark’s gaze was firm. “You know you have a long way to go, Sheridan. We can’t be sure how quickly and how much you’ll heal. Frank will be a tremendous help for you. Fully trained, he’ll be able to accompany you everywhere.”
“You talk as if there’s no hope for me.” Sheridan’s tongue felt stiff and threatened to make her slur her words.
“There’s always hope! Just look at Fiona. She was in a coma for two months, and the doctors were very pessimistic about her future. They couldn’t even say if she would live or not. And look at her now.”
“I don’t mean to imply that you don’t understand,” Sheridan managed. “It’s just that I’m in this body, and you aren’t. I’m the one who has to believe in a full recovery. I can’t give that hope up. It would be as if I stopped breathing.”
Lark looked up into the sky, and at first Sheridan thought she was looking for divine inspiration.
“Sheridan, I know this. I’ve seen it in other patients, and I know you better with each passing day. I understand. I really do. That said, you have to face the fact that no matter the degree of your recovery, it—will—take—time.” Lark knelt next to her and Frank, looking as if he wanted to bring her into the cozy embrace with his beloved mom, licked her nose.
“I don’t have time.”
“You have no choice. You’re Sheridan Ward, business tycoon and one of the most admired, respected, and no doubt feared women in Texas. You’re richer than most, and if it came down to sheer determination and courage, you’d make a full recovery in no time. But, Sheridan, the thing is, our bodies can break and be damaged, no matter our circumstances. I know you’ll do your best to regain as much of what you’ve lost as possible, and I know you have a lot more to gain. But in the meantime, while you still struggle, you need to live as well.” Lark cupped Sheridan’s cheek. “You need to exist here and now, and not think this journey you’re on is wasted time. Trust me, I know for a fact that you’ll benefit from living in the moment. You will see it too, in retrospect.”
Sheridan placed her hand on top of Lark’s and held it to her face. “For me, acceptance is admitting that I’m screwed, that this is as good as I’ll ever become. I can’t hang up my hat and just call it quits.”
“I know! And that’s where Frank comes in, with a little help from me. Frank can be trained to make your life easier. He’s shown us how clever he is. You can put all the strength that he conserves for you into your training, if you want.”
“You have a point,” Sheridan admitted reluctantly.
“Yes. I know.” Lark wrinkled her nose and pursed her lips. “Clever, aren’t I?”
Sheridan had to laugh, despite the fact that she was still twirling inside some eternal emotional spiral. A few heavy drops of rain landed on them, creating big damp spots on Lark’s light chinos. “We better go inside. It’s going to start pouring any minute.”
They moved toward the patio and almost made it ahead of the rain. The sky darkened with each step they took. Streaming down, the rain drenched their hair and soaked their clothes. They were barely inside and slamming the door shut behind them when lightning and thunder struck simultaneously.
Lark whimpered and clasped a hand over her mouth.
“Don’t worry. We have a lightning conductor installed.” Sheridan tried to sound reassuring.
“It’s not so much the lightning, believe it or not. I just hate the thunder.”
“I see. Well, what if we dry off poor
Frank, he looks miserable, and then ourselves. I’ll try to call the Johnsons and let them know that we’re indoors and can take care of ourselves. I don’t want them outside unnecessarily. Being this close to the lake tends to make lightning a bit antsy.” Sheridan’s joke fell flat to the ground. “Towels, first of all.” She pulled out her cell phone and called Burt. He picked up right away and assured her that he and his wife were fine and would sit out the storm in the bungalow.
Lark returned with towels for all of them and began to rub Frank, who appeared to enjoy the procedure.
“Something about handling Frank is reassuring. Funny that,” Lark murmured as she toweled the delighted dog. “You think this is all about you, don’t you, Frankie boy? Trust a dog to be conceited like that. You brat.” Despite her choice of words, Lark sounded like she was talking tenderly to a child. “There you go,” she said and swatted Frank softly with the wet towel. “You’re done.”
Sheridan sat motionless, mesmerized with the sight of Lark and Frank.
Lark turned around and frowned. “Sheridan! You haven’t even started. Here, let me.” Lark took the towel and began to rub Sheridan’s hair. “You’re still vulnerable, and being cold like this stiffens your muscles. We have to get you out of these clothes.”
“You too,” Sheridan said and immediately wanted to kick herself.
“I know. But you first. Let’s go to your room.”
As Lark helped Sheridan out of the clinging wet clothes, another lightning bolt seared the sky. The thunder followed almost instantly and Sheridan felt Lark tremble. “It’s okay to be uncomfortable,” Sheridan tried to reassure her. “We both know that until you’ve been through a Texas thunderstorm, you ain’t seen nuthin’.”
Lark smiled, which Sheridan found encouraging. She raised her arms for Lark to peel her long-sleeve T-shirt off and only then realized that she hadn’t worn a bra. Sheridan’s breasts bounced free of the wet fabric and drew Lark’s attention. Instead of offering Sheridan the towel, Lark rubbed it along her back and dried her off. When she reached Sheridan’s front, she hesitated for a fraction of a second before she handed her the towel. “Here. I’ll find a shirt for you. Want some sweatpants?”
“Yeah, that’d be great, thanks. And dry underwear. Even my briefs are soaked.” Sheridan couldn’t believe how she managed to spout double entendres, one after another. Groaning inwardly, she dried off her chest. Her nipples were diamond hard, from being cold, Sheridan insisted to herself, and the soft terry-cloth fabric didn’t do anything to soften them.
Lark returned with some clothes, and that’s when Sheridan noticed that Lark didn’t wear a bra either. Her smaller breasts quivered beneath the white, semitransparent T-shirt. Her nipples looked small too, but just as hard as Sheridan’s. Unable to look away, Sheridan forgot that she was half naked, and only when Lark pulled a golf shirt over her head did she become aware that Lark was touching her skin. The sensation was very different from their massage sessions when Lark worked through Sheridan’s muscle groups. Now the soft hands smoothed down the shirt over her shoulders, and the touch made her skin tingle all over.
Another flash of lightning and subsequent crash of thunder made Lark step closer and press her hands firmer against Sheridan.
“Shh. We’re fine.” Sheridan loosened the left armrest and moved over onto the bed. Wiggling from side to side, she managed to push her jeans down, but then they became stuck. “Damn it. Guess I need more help.”
“No worries.” Lark knelt before her and tugged.
Sheridan saw her jeans glide down her legs and knew she would always remember this moment because Lark was privy to everything. She didn’t know if Lark found her remotely attractive, but she thought she could see her temple artery throb.
“Can you wiggle some more?” Lark looked up at Sheridan, her eyes like dark honey.
“Sure.” Sheridan moved her hips as Lark had taught her, and only when Lark pulled her briefs off did she realize that she was now fully naked. Sheridan drew a deep breath when she sensed Lark touch and move her legs.
Lark pulled the clean pair of briefs up her legs until she reached Sheridan’s upper thighs. Sheridan’s skin tingled and she wanted to spread her legs, wanted to be touched so badly she almost choked. Instead, she held on to Lark and rolled back and forth until her panties were in place. Out of breath and trembling, Sheridan hardly paid attention as Lark pulled the sweatpants up her legs. As she warmed up, Sheridan stopped shivering, but still felt a persistent tremor deep within her.
“Lark,” Sheridan said, “you’re even wetter than I was. Go take care of yourself. Frank and I’ll go warm some canned soup.”
“All right. Be there in a sec.” Lark smoothed Sheridan’s hair with quick hands and left the room.
Sheridan moved back into her chair, rolled toward the kitchen, and was just about to reach for a can of tomato soup in the pantry when several bolts of lightning struck around the house. The deafening thunder made Sheridan drop the can, which rolled out of sight. A second later, Sheridan couldn’t see anything. The storm clouds grew denser, darkening the sky, and the lights began to flicker. Then, when they all went out, she heard a scream, which echoed through the house.
“Sherida-a-an!”
Chapter Eighteen
“Sheridan!” Lark screamed for help, but she knew instantly that the thunder had drowned out her voice. As she stumbled through the corridor toward the kitchen, a low dark shadow appeared and nearly made her topple over. She grabbed for a chair that fell to the floor with a loud clatter.
“Lark? Are you okay?” Sheridan’s voice came from the kitchen.
“Yeah…” Lark knew she didn’t sound convincing. “Think I tripped over Frank.”
Another lightning bolt, followed by roaring thunder, tore across the sky. Lark’s heart nearly stopped as she hurried toward Sheridan. She stubbed her toe against the door frame and entered the kitchen with a loud moan.
“God, what did you do?” Sheridan rolled up to Lark and took both her hands.
“Tried to wreck your house, it looks like.” An army of ants wearing combat boots threatened to march under her skin when she thought of the next eruption outside.
“We’ve lost power and I suspect the Johnsons have too.” Sheridan stroked the back of Lark’s hand with her thumbs. “But we have supplies and everything we need, so we’ll be all right. Hopefully the storm won’t last long.”
Lark clung to Sheridan’s hands. One roll of thunder after another made her flash back to the terrible night when Fiona was shot. She could still hear the thunder of that humid evening, the booming sound that had masked the sound of the gun fired at a gang member, which instead hit her little sister. Nobody had heard the screeching tires or Fiona’s screams as the carload of men drove away.
“I hope it won’t,” Lark managed, trying to shake off the haunting images.
“Your hands are ice cold. We really do need to warm this soup up. That means firing up the old wood stove.” Sheridan let go of Lark and wheeled over to the opposite end of the kitchen. She grabbed a few logs and some kindling, and quickly had a fire roaring. “Grab a pan and open the can, please? I think it rolled toward the stove when I dropped it.” Sheridan said over her shoulder.
Lark knelt and spotted the can over by the sink. With trembling fingers, she poured the soup into a pan and handed it to Sheridan, who put it on the stove, and within minutes, they were sipping the soup from large mugs. Lark clung to hers, willing her hands to warm up.
“Why don’t we eat in my room? We can light another fire there.” Sheridan handed her mug to Lark and wheeled into the hallway. “It’ll warm up faster, since it’s smaller than the living room.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Lark did her best to sound casual. She didn’t want to act like a complete idiot. How could her normal calm, collected persona crumble this easily?
Under Sheridan’s supervision, Lark soon had the fire going, feeling quite proud of her accomplishment. She’d never been a Girl Scout,
or even very outdoorsy. Stacking the firewood and learning how to ignite kindling took her mind off the volatile weather for a while.
“You comfortable with sitting on the bed?” Sheridan asked, studying Lark intently.
“Sure. Why not? Most comfortable place in the room.” Lark heard the forced casualness sneak back into her voice as she climbed onto the bed. She was shivering again.
“All right.” Sheridan moved effortlessly over onto the bed, pulling at her legs with her hands. “Can you reach the blanket?”
“Sure.” Lark tugged the cashmere blanket over their legs, then handed Sheridan her mug of soup, sipped her own, and tried to relax. Acutely aware of Sheridan’s proximity, Lark found it nearly impossible not to turn to her, snuggle up, and hide. She couldn’t think of anything more tempting.
A new onslaught of thunder made Lark tremble so hard, she had to put down the mug. She was taken aback by the intensity of her reaction. Normally, she suffered through thunderstorms on her own, shutting out bad memories through sheer willpower. Now, here with Sheridan, she felt raw, her heart and soul bared for the elements to tear apart.
“You want to talk about why, exactly, you hate the thunder?” Sheridan’s voice was closer than Lark expected, and when she turned her head, she found Sheridan tucked in on her side, her empty mug dangling from her fingers. After Lark put it on the nightstand next to her own, she found it hard to look Sheridan in the eyes, but forced herself to do so. It would have been cowardly not to, she thought, and she wasn’t prepared to add that weakness to her persona.
“The night Fiona was shot was just like this.”
Sheridan didn’t speak.
“She was shot by gang members who missed their target and ended up nearly killing her instead.” Lark plucked at the blanket and used it as a valid reason to avert her eyes. “Nobody heard the shots fired in the street, because of the thunder. Nobody heard her cries for help or her cries of pain, initially, either. ”
