Sheridan's Fate

by Gun Brooke

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 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 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 contract what circumstances would make me quit and still be paid in full 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 mahogany 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.

“Thank you. I know I will be able to make life a little easier for you, Ms. Ward.” Lark leaned forward, examining Sheridan with kind brown eyes. “Forgive me, but you seem to be in quite a bit of pain. May I help you with that? I mean, right now?”

Stumped, and amazed at Lark’s audacity at skipping any preliminaries, Sheridan didn’t answer.

“Ms. Ward?” Lark seemed to take Sheridan’s silence as a yes. She rose and rounded the desk. “Is it your neck?”

“How did you know?” Sheridan mumbled under her breath, bracing herself for the searing pain she feared would be unavoidable even at the lightest touch. She knew from experience how she paid the price for any manipulation by a physical therapist.

“Your posture. Let me know if this hurts too much.” Lark skimmed warm fingers along the rigid, swollen muscles that led up from Sheridan’s shoulders and attached to the base of her skull on either side of her spinal column. “Oh, yes, there’s the problem, right there.”

Sheridan held her breath, determined not to show any weakness, no matter how bad the pain became. Lark found the sore spots at the base of Sheridan’s skull and began to massage them with mild insistence. For a few seconds the pain peaked and Sheridan nearly pulled back with a growl, then suddenly it became duller and the whole area nearly numbed. Lark’s thumbs pressed the sore spots harder against the base of Sheridan’s skull, as if flattening the ligaments.

“God.” Sheridan’s self-restraint crumbled for a few seconds. She had not expected any relief, only more pain, and unless it was sheer coincidence, this demonstration might prove Lark’s skill, compared to that of the other physical therapists she’d fired, one after another. “Thank you.”

“I suppose you’ve tried heat to alleviate some of these stress symptoms?” Lark asked as she returned to her chair.

Sheridan glanced at the small hands that had manipulated her with such strength and proficiency. “I used a special heat lamp, a Japanese invention.” She shrugged, again stunned at how loose her shoulders felt. “Didn’t do much good.”

“Well, I’m more for the low-tech solutions that I know work, rather than fancy equipment that regular people can’t afford anyway.”

“I’m not regular people.” Sheridan nailed Lark, who didn’t even flinch. Her self-confidence was quite impressive.

“Not so very regular, when it comes to your circumstances. Very regular, when it comes to your body. We can all become ill, Ms. Ward.”

“Sheridan. If you’re going to be my PT, you need to call me by my first name. I get enough of the title thing at work.” Hardly anyone called her Sheridan anymore. Sheridan wasn’t sure why she suggested that Lark use her first name; she hadn’t even thought to bring the subject up with her predecessors.

“Sure, Sheridan. That will actually make our work easier.”

“Oh? How so?” Sheridan knew her raised eyebrows could make any one of her employees nervous.

“I may have to pull rank and be really tough at times, and using your first name makes that a whole lot easier. It’s my experience that no matter how good our intentions are, most patients reach a point when they just can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel, to speak in clichés. It’s up to me to see it for you and keep you on track.”

Nobody had ever cared to explain that point to her, or, Sheridan mused, perhaps nobody had dared to explain it. “I don’t intimidate easily, Lark,” she said and clasped her fingers on the desk.

“It’s not a question of intimidation, but more of persuasion.”

Lark’s voice, clear and unwavering, made something stir inside Sheridan. It didn’t sit well with her, this feeling of embryonic trust, and she pushed her shoulders up, disregarding the renewed pain her action caused.

“All right. I take it that it’s no problem for you to start right away? My assistant suggested you’re…between jobs.”

“Right away, as in Monday.” If Lark caught onto the needle prick, she didn’t let on. “I wish to discuss some of the conditions in my contract—”

“You can do that with Erica. She’s familiar with my terms and can answer any administrative questions you might have. I wish you could start tomorrow.” Sheridan was eager to test this new physical therapist and discover sooner rather than later if she was as incompetent as the previous ones. She fully expected to be let down.

“Tomorrow is Saturday, and I don’t work weekends, unless you have an emergency.” Lark spoke clearly, but not unkindly.

Oh, for heaven’s sake. “I see. Very well. Until Monday, then.” Sheridan wished she could rise to show that their meeting was over. Instead she waved her hand dismissively and pulled the Pocket PC phone to her, tapping it twice with a stylus.

“Thank you, Sheridan. Have a good weekend.”

“You too,” Sheridan replied, careful not to look up. For some reason she was furious and felt as if her nerve endings were exposed to the world. She couldn’t risk showing even a hint of frailty, not to anyone. If she had to be perceived as a corporate witch, so be it.

When Lark didn’t make a sound, Sheridan finally glanced up from her phone, only to find her new physical therapist gone.

 ***

Lark found Erica pleasant and easy to deal with, unlike her boss. Sheridan seemed anything but easy, and Lark had to admit this might prove to be her most challenging case to date, even counting the Henderson twins. The thought of the identical twins, born with identical birth defects and subjected to multiple surgeries during their seven-year life span, made Lark smile. The twins had become as precious as her nieces and nephews.

“Ms. Ward employs three assistant nurses, who between them tend to her around the clock. She doesn’t use them as much as she could,” Erica said apologetically. “Ms. Ward is a private person, very independent. She prefers to manage on her own as much as she can.”

Lark had noticed that. The tall, pale woman in the inner office had tried to act as if nothing was amiss in her life, and she probably had no idea how obvious this charade was to Lark.  When she first met a new patient, she could read between the lines. She saw pain where others saw false bravery, and she spotted the cause, whereas others chose to take things at face value. It’s easier to assume that things are just as fine as the patient implies.

 “Let me call the housekeeper, who can show you around. That way, you can check out your room and make sure everything is as you like.”

“I wasn’t sure yet if Ms. Ward wanted me to live here or commute from Boerne.” In fact, Lark was relieved that she was going to be a live-in PT, since she anticipated that she was going to need her energy for things other than sitting in the “parking lot” that I-10 turned into every rush hour.

“Ms. Ward was absolutely clear on that point,” Erica said, her hand hovering over the receiver. “She always sets high standards for her employees and demands twice as much of herself. Her former PT didn’t live at the mansion, and Mrs. Ward was constantly frustrated when she had to wait more than an hour for the PT to get here. It was hard for the rest of us to watch her suffer a lot of unnecessary pain.” Erica looked darkly at Lark.

“I have no problem with staying here,” Lark stated calmly. “In fact, at the beginning of a case, if I can be available when I’m needed the most, my job is easier and the patient benefits. Apart from the physiotherapy program I’ll design for Ms. Ward, I know how crucial the working relationship is between a seriously wounded or ill patient and their PT.” Lark knew she sounded serious and confident, but inside she wondered if Sheridan Ward really could be counted among the average cases. She seemed to be the one to call every single shot, including her own treatment.

The housekeeper, who introduced herself as Mrs. D, looked nothing like the stereotype for her line of work. Tall and slender, with iron grey hair, she could easily model mature women’s wear. “Welcome,” Mrs. D said and shook Lark’s hand firmly. “Come with me, and I’ll show you to your suite.”

Suite? Lark had lived in several luxurious homes, and so far her quarters had been everything from a room above the garage to a bungalow on a wealthy Arab family’s estate. This was, however, her first suite.

The mansion boasted a wide marble staircase as well as a spacious elevator.

“The elevator was installed for Mrs. Olivia Ward, Ms. Ward’s mother. No one used it much before Ms. Ward became ill. Now…I guess it’s good that we kept it in working order.”

Mrs. D’s voice became muted, and Lark saw what she interpreted as true worry in the housekeeper’s eyes. She knew words were not enough and merely nodded as they walked up the stairs.

In the middle of the north wing, Mrs. D held open the door to a large living room. “Here we are then,” she said and motioned for Lark to step inside. “I’m sure you’ll be comfortable here.”

“I’m sure I will.” Lark studied the room that held both contemporary as well as vintage furniture, all in mint condition. Dark red walls, floral wallpaper on the ceiling, and accents in gold and black, together with an open fire place, made for a cozy, warm ambiance. A door at the far end led into a large bedroom, with a king-size four-poster bed as the focal point. The fireplace opposite the bed and the room’s moss green, gold, and ivory color scheme made the room seem like something out of a Victorian novel.

“Your bathroom is over there,” Mrs. D said and pointed toward a door in the far left corner.

Lark entered a white and gold bathroom consisting of a Jacuzzi tub, glassed-in shower stall, two pedestal sinks, and a toilet behind yet another door. White marble, faintly lined with light grey streaks, created a stunning effect.

“It’s beautiful. I’ll be beyond comfortable.” Lark found her surroundings opulent, but knew better than to voice such thoughts. The rich and privileged took these things for granted and found it curious, almost suspicious, if a person revealed her more humble beginnings by being too impressed.

“Excellent, Ms. Mitchell—”

“Lark, please. We’re going to be working under the same roof for a while.”

Mrs. D frowned. “I don’t mind being on a first-name basis, Lark. It’s just that I’m Mrs. D to everyone.”

 “I have no problem with that.” Lark smiled broadly. “I should get going. Lots to do to before Monday.”

“Monday?” Mrs. D. looked surprised. “I thought you were starting tomorrow.”

“No, Monday. I won’t be working weekends unless Ms. Ward’s condition requires it. Here’s my cell phone number, in case you need to reach me. Don’t hesitate to call if something comes up.”

Mrs. D. regarded the business card that Lark handed over. “Very well. I appreciate that you are so clear and up-front about this arrangement. It makes it so much easier to plan for Sheridan’s care.”

“Good. We have an understanding then.” Lark smiled and placed a gentle hand on Mrs. D’s arm. “Thank you for showing me around. The rooms are lovely.”

“You’re welcome. Let me walk you to the door.”

“No, that’s all right. I’m sure you have a lot of things to do. I’ll find my own way out.” Lark hoisted her bag onto her shoulder. “See you Monday.”

Lark walked through the broad hallway and down the marble stairs. Passing the half-closed doors to Sheridan’s study, she couldn’t help but stop and glance inside. Sheridan sat in her state-of-the-art wheelchair by the window, apparently lost in thought. Her fists lay tightly curled on the armrests, and something about her profile startled Lark. As forceful as Sheridan had come across during their conversation, she now looked vulnerable and frail.

Instinctively, she knew that if Sheridan realized that Lark had seen her during an exposed moment, their future working relationship could be damaged. She stepped away from the door and headed toward the main entrance. Pushing the heavy oak door open, she walked down the limestone stairs to her Lexus.

Lark thought of Sheridan, sitting in solitude by her window, perhaps even watching her drive away. Suddenly eager to return to the Ward mansion the following Monday, Lark accelerated down the driveway toward the automatic gate.

Chapter Two

“I can’t do that. Not yet.” Sheridan looked up at the stubborn woman next to her. Lark had put a harness around her waist and now looked expectantly at her.

“Yes, you can. You proved your arm strength to me on the bench press before. You can easily carry your own weight on these bars.” Lark placed her hands on the double bars in front of them. “The harness will be secured to the bars, and I’ll be right in front of you and Cecilia behind you with the wheelchair.”

“I shouldn’t have to repeat myself,” Sheridan said between clenched teeth. “I thought you read my medical charts. My legs are…dead. I can’t stand up, let alone take a single step.”

“I’ve read your file, Sheridan.” Lark spoke kindly, but with an annoying assertiveness. “Come on. Cecilia’s ready and so am I.”

Sheridan wanted to send a scathing glare at the young nurse behind her, whom she knew she could easily intimidate, but something in Lark’s challenge kept her from following her first impulse. “Fine.” Small drops of perspiration dripped down the small of Sheridan’s back as she grabbed the bars. Her hands slipped and she yanked them back. “Damn!”

“Here. Baby powder. You’ll be fine.” Lark puffed some powder onto Sheridan’s palms. “Try again.”

Sheridan grabbed the bars and pulled herself forward. Sure she was going to fall and become suspended in the harness, she gasped when Lark stepped in and held her upright.

“There you go. Find your bearings and secure a good grip of the bars. I’m here and I won’t let go.”

Sweating profusely, Sheridan found that Lark was right; she had no problem holding herself up. She had lost a lot of weight during the last few months, of course, but it still baffled her that she could keep herself erect like this. None of the other physical therapists had ever convinced her to go through with this particular exercise. Instead, Sheridan had trained her arms as if to compensate for not being able to do anything about her lifeless legs.

Sheridan stood practically surrounded by Lark’s arms, certain that they’d both fall any second. “You better let go. I can’t hold on much longer.”

“Yes, you can. I’m backing up a step. Swing your legs forward and try to put weight on them.”

“Why? They’re dead!” Sheridan’s heart was pumping fury-filled blood through her body.

“Because every time you put weight on them, and we’ll do that more in a few days once the right equipment arrives, you’ll build stronger bones. Stronger muscles and tendons.” Lark still held Sheridan’s harness with steady hands. “Good. Try it now.”

Sheridan hated the calm, encouraging tone in Lark’s voice. It was obvious that the other woman didn’t understand the severity of her condition. Lark came strongly recommended by many of her previous patients, but at this point, Sheridan couldn’t see what made them give her such enthusiastic reviews.

“All right,” she muttered, her pride kicking in. She pressed her arms down and lifted her dangling feet off the floor. Trembling all over, she managed to swing them forward and carefully put a little of her weight on them. The braces around her knees kept them from folding, but only Lark’s firm hold kept her from plummeting to the floor.

Standing close together, chest to chest, Sheridan noticed that Lark was at least four inches shorter than she. She inhaled deeply to dig into the reservoir of her strength and found that Lark smelled of something clean and fresh, reminding her of new linens, with a trace of lavender. The surprisingly intoxicating scent filled her senses, and Sheridan pulled herself up once more and managed yet another step, her lower body swinging forward before slumping into Lark’s arms.

“Great! You’re doing fine,” Lark said as she held on to Sheridan. “Cecilia, the wheelchair, please. Thank you.”

Sheridan felt the seat of the wheelchair at the back of her knees and sat down with a thud.

“We have to work on that too. You’ll be able to get in and out of this chair with much more grace than that.” Lark smiled reassuringly. “You’re off to a very good start. If you do this well during all our sessions, you’ll see a significant improvement in your muscle tone in just a few weeks.”

“Really.” Sheridan tried to catch her breath. Blaming the strenuous physical therapy, she refused to listen to the small voice that told her that the closeness to Lark and her enthralling scent had something to do with her being so affected.

“Really.” Lark walked out from between the bars. “You’ve had enough for now though. I want you to rest. This afternoon, I’ll bring my notebook and we’ll go over your ADL status, Active Daily Living, and what you need to learn to make your days easier.”

“Like comb my hair?” Sheridan huffed. “I can take care of myself. I don’t require any such assistance.”

“No, not easy tasks like that. I mean personal hygiene, dressing—”

“You have a way of not listening, don’t you?” Sheridan’s anger escalated. Lark stood there, so calm and professional in her blue-grey sweats, and seemed so damn superior. “I don’t need help. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“I beg to differ.” Lark obviously didn’t budge. “I don’t mean that you can’t do anything on your own. In fact, I admire how independent you are, and how far you’ve come these six weeks you’ve been out of the hospital. You’re without doubt a fighter, and that’s what’s going to make all the difference for you. Some people in your situation give up. The future seems so dark, and it’s all so overwhelming that they think it’s not even worth it to try.” Lark quieted and a slight frown appeared between her dark brown eyebrows. “The only thing I notice about you is that you seem to have given up on the use of your legs.”

“They’re dead. I have the medical charts to prove it. The neural paths were destroyed by the meningitis.” Sheridan’s voice sank an octave. “Nothing to do about that.”

Lark pulled up a stool and sat down, directly in front of Sheridan. “Listen to me. The dead nerve cells are gone. That’s correct. But, and I’m sure your doctors told you this, other neural paths will step up to the plate and take over. Not entirely, that’s true, but well worth training for. The more you train, the more your body recognizes what needs fixing. We all have a wonderful ability to heal.” Lark leaned forward. “I’ll be honest with you. You’ll probably never be able to run, or even walk without support, but you can improve so much more. Trust me, and I’ll prove it to you.”

Lark sounded so convincing, so sure, but her optimism went against every pragmatic cell in Sheridan’s body. She thought about the bacterial meningitis that had wrecked her body six months ago. After six weeks in the ICU, when the bacteria seemed to defy every attempt to eradicate it, she’d spent another long two months in a private rehab clinic where she’d finally accepted that she was now confined to a wheelchair and would never walk again.

Now she looked around the large room that she’d had Mrs. D and her first physical therapist turn into a gym. It contained every piece of training equipment known to man and an above-ground pool with a newly installed lift, which she hadn’t used yet. Not comfortable with water even before her illness, she certainly wouldn’t go near it now. I’d look like an idiot, trying to stay afloat just by using my arms.

“You sound awfully confident,” Sheridan said, nailing Lark with her best glare, which normally sent people running out of the room.

“Only because of my experience and training. You’ve been through a lot, and I’d really like to see you begin to go forward rather than dwell on the past. But recovery is a process in itself, and you can’t skip a step. If you do you’ll only have disappointing setbacks.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll make progress, and sometimes it’ll be hard to see that, since it’ll take some time—”

“You have three months,” Sheridan interrupted Lark.

“What?” Lark blinked.

“I became ill five months after our previous stockholder meeting, and I need to be in the best shape possible for the next one.” Sheridan injected a scornful tone in her voice in a desire to rattle the collected woman in front of her. “That won’t be so hard for someone with your experience, will it?”

 ***

Lark recognized a challenge when she was thrown one. Three months wasn’t long, but they could do it. “All right. But you misunderstand something. I’m not the one that has a lot of work to do during the next few months. You do, Sheridan. This all depends on you. I can guide you, show you, nag, and push you—but ultimately, you’re the one responsible. Are you prepared to work that hard? To give yourself this chance, this opportunity?”

Sheridan sat up straight in her wheelchair, obviously struggling to keep her posture, to remain the epitome of the CEO, the boss, despite her trembling muscles. “If you knew me, Lark, you wouldn’t ask that. If you had any inkling of who I am, and what I’m about, you’d know—”

“I don’t know you. Yet. But give me a chance to.” Spontaneously, Lark took Sheridan’s right hand between hers. It was ice cold and she automatically tried to warm it by stroking it. “Let me in and let’s work together. If you fight me, like you’ve done so far by questioning every single thing that I want you to do, it’s going to take a lot longer than three months.”

Sheridan stared at their joined hands, speechless all of a sudden. “I suppose you have a point,” she conceded after a while. “It’s just my normal MO, to not take anything at face value.”

“Which probably is a great trait in the business world. I understand that. This is different. Without mutual trust, the result will be…less than optimal.”

A flicker of something unreadable passed across Sheridan’s face. It might have been remorse, or confusion, but it was gone before Lark could decipher it.

“All right. What’s next?”

The curt tone of voice made Lark let go of Sheridan’s hand. It dropped back onto her paralyzed legs and remained there as if it was also affected by the cruel disease.

“I want you to rest, as I said, then we’ll meet again after lunch, when it’s convenient for you, and I’ll give you a massage.”

Black, well-plucked eyebrows rose in disdain-filled surprise. “A massage?”

“Surely you got massages regularly at the rehab clinic?”

“Yes, of course, but—”

“Apart from the fact that it will stimulate and increase the blood flow to the dormant muscle groups in your legs, it’ll provide me information about the areas where you might be heading for trouble. Other muscles are already compensating for the ones that are not functional. If you use them wrongly, you’ll create a whole new set of aches and pains, which could be prevented.”

Sheridan merely nodded, apparently not in the mood to volunteer any information regarding the neck pain she’d suffered last Friday during their meeting. “Very well. I have a teleconference at one pm, so how about two thirty?”

“Good. I also need access to your schedule, so I can plan ahead. I suppose Erica can fill me in?”

“No. No, I’ll do that myself. Erica knows of my business schedule, but I have some…personal engagements that I keep track of myself.” Sheridan suddenly looked exhausted and leaned against the backrest for the first time during their conversation. “I’ll email you the hours I have free during the day. Early mornings and late afternoon mostly. I hope that’ll be sufficient.”

“That should work. The morning sessions will be the tougher ones, while you’re still energetic and up for them. The late-afternoon ones will consist of more relaxation, pool sessions, and massage. Some ADL training perhaps.” Lark watched Sheridan’s eyes glaze over a bit while she talked and knew she was too tired to retain any more information. “If you have time for a power nap, that’d be good,” she said. “You look bushed.”

Closing her eyes briefly, Sheridan nodded, surprisingly candid. “You’re right. This did me in for a bit. I’ll see you at 2:30, then.”

“Want me or Cecilia to wheel you back?”

This question obviously overstepped a boundary. Sheridan’s shoulders went up and her back was once again ramrod straight. “Certainly not. I’m fine.”

Of course you are. Lark watched as the proud woman wheeled toward the door. The near desperation in her arrogance tugged at Lark’s heart. An unexpected part of her wanted to shield Sheridan and remove the pain and worry that was obvious in her eyes, despite her formidable persona.

Annoyed and startled at where her thoughts were going, Lark stood and faced Cecilia, who had put away the equipment and disinfected everything they’d used. “How’s the lunch at this place?”

Cecilia, short and plump in a very pretty way, smiled, showing cute dimples. “Mrs. D makes sure the staff has lunch between noon and 2 pm. We use the dining room in the southeast wing, on the first floor. Want me to show you the way? It’s a bit of a maze here, until you know your way around,” Cecilia said and winked.

As adorable as this young woman was, she wasn’t Lark’s type. Sometimes Lark wished that she’d find these seemingly more free-spirited and uncomplicated girls attractive, but so far she’d mostly fallen for the tall, dark, and brooding type.

Lark halted and closed her eyes. Dark and brooding. Oh, no. No, no, no. Sheridan Ward’s beautiful, austere features seemed etched on the inside of Lark’s eyelids.

“You okay, Lark?” Cecilia interrupted her thoughts.

“Sure. Yes. Just thought of something.” Lark mentally shook her head and strode toward the door. “Let’s go. I’m starving.”

Chapter Three

Sheridan closed the telecommunication software on her computer and let her head fall back with a deep sigh. This was not going to be easy. She had spent the better part of the last six weeks talking with every member of her board of directors, and today it seemed that she’d hardly made any progress at all. Men and women, most of them older than she, had obviously—infuriatingly—decided to treat her as a child, with all the patronizing that came with such an attitude. Only when she infused her voice with her infamous cold, controlled fury did some of them relent. She had three months to convince them that only her legs had suffered any damage. It was apparent that her disease had rattled the stock market as well as the boardroom.

Sheridan had rested for half an hour after a shower and a quick lunch, but trying to relax had only created more tension. Lark Mitchell’s words, honest and blunt, swirled in her head. Was it really possible for her to regain some of what she’d lost? The doctors had been carefully optimistic the first week after she regained consciousness. Frightened and bewildered, Sheridan had hid behind a proud façade, asking all the right questions and showing very little feeling in the presence of the health-care professionals. Only when Mrs. D had visited her, which she did every afternoon, had Sheridan been unable to hide the torment in her soul. With a shudder she remembered clinging to the hand of the woman who had been part of her household for more than thirty years. Sheridan wasn’t ready to share how she felt, not even with Mrs. D.

Disease was something she’d been taught to ignore or, even more so, disdain. Her father had displayed only contempt for human physical frailty, which had turned Sheridan into a stranger after her mother died. Sheridan swung her chair around and faced the window. When she noticed that it was time to go to the gym, she surmised that Cecilia had shown Lark the room with the massage bench.

Sheridan’s arms seemed heavier than usual as she wheeled toward the end of the corridor, took a left, then stopped just outside the door. A golden-brown head appeared instantly.

“I thought I heard you. Ready to begin?”

Resisting an instinctive “no,” Sheridan merely hummed in vague consent and followed Lark into the room. At the far end, next to the pool, another door led into a spacious room that now held a massage table.

“I’ve lowered it to the same height as your bed. I want to see how you move over on your own.” Lark motioned toward the table. “The bench is firmer than your mattress, but it should be okay.”

You’ve been in my bedroom? When? “All right.” Stiff, both emotionally and physically, Sheridan pulled up next to the bed. Using all of her arm strength, she pushed sideways over to the massage table, then tried not to seem as out of breath as she was,

“Not bad, but it can improve a lot,” Lark stated. “First of all, hasn’t anybody showed you how easy it is to remove the armrests on your wheelchair? Like this.” She tugged at the armrest closest to the table and pressed a small knob at the same time. “There. Now try scooting back.”

Sheridan obeyed and, to her surprise, had to exert only half the effort to slide sideway back into the chair. Two seconds later she had refastened the armrest and removed it again. “I’ll be damned.”

Lark laughed out loud, “If you could see the look on your face!”  There was no malice in her laughter.

“Enjoy the moment.” Sheridan gave a faint smile, but thinking about what Lark had confessed earlier, she slowly grew serious again. “Tell me, when were you in my private rooms? I’d appreciate it if you didn’t snoop around without my consent.”

Staring at Sheridan with a completely blank look on her face, Lark then shook her head. “What do you mean? I haven’t been to your rooms.”

“You know what my bed looks like.” Somehow Lark’s deceit hurt more than Sheridan had bargained for, and she realized she had harbored a faint hope that Lark would turn out to be different.

“Only because I asked Cecilia during lunch. I was thinking of different ways to begin the ADL training, and moving in and out of the chair to and from different kinds of furniture is pretty basic.” Lark’s brown eyes darkened to almost black.

Taken aback, Sheridan glanced down at her hands before she met Lark’s eyes again. “I apologize,” she said stiffly. “It…I got the impression that you—”

“Took the opportunity to snoop around a big house that belongs to one of the rich and beautiful.” Lark pursed her lips. “Well, who can blame you?”

Beautiful? Did she realize what she just said? Sheridan could only stare for a few precious seconds, then saw a pink blush creep up Lark’s neck and flood her skin up to her hairline.

“I’m sorry. I—” Lark coughed, obviously embarrassed. “I spoke before I thought.”

In other words, not beautiful. Sheridan smiled wryly. “No need to apologize. I see my reflection every day, and I know I look like a barely warmed-up corpse these days.”

“What?” Lark looked stunned at Sheridan’s attempt to defuse the situation. “No, you don’t. A bit pale, but you look fine.”

“Fine?” Sheridan remembered only a short time ago when she’d been considered not only one of the richest and the most influential business tycoons in Texas, but also the most stunning. Men and women had always found her attractive, and if it hadn’t been for the fact that she’d married her conglomerate of businesses a long time ago, she could have had a new date on her arm each Saturday. Those days were over now.

“Yes, fine. Let me help you up on your stomach. You really need that massage now.”

“Thank you.” Uncertain how exactly this massage was going to take place, Sheridan waited while Lark pushed the wheelchair out of the way.

“You need to remove everything but your panties. Do you need help? Is it warm enough for you in here?”

It was suddenly too warm. Irritated, Sheridan told herself that Lark was merely another health-care provider, yet another stranger who gained access to her body, whether she liked it or not. And to think I used to be such a private person. Kind of hard when you need to let people do the most intimate things to you. Sheridan sighed and began to tug at the zipper of her sweat jacket. Undressing wasn’t as invasive as the examinations, probing, blood samples, and other tests done in one of those machines, each more futuristic-looking than the next.

“I’ll give you some privacy. Shout if you need help.” Lark stepped out of the room and left the door ajar a few inches.

Silly tears rose in Sheridan’s eyes at the simple courtesy, and as she tugged at her clothes her hands shook a little. Only when she came to the sweatpants did she eventually have to give in. She pulled a terry cloth towel around her upper body. “Lark?” Her voice was husky and she hoped her tone wasn’t too obvious.

“Right here. Oh, you did very well, considering that I stuck you on a table with nothing to hold on to. Here. Lie down.” Lark’s gentle hands guided Sheridan onto her back. Within seconds she had efficiently rolled Sheridan back and forth and liberated her from her pants. “There we go. And the socks.” Lark placed a warm towel over Sheridan’s legs and one over her upper body. “Better, huh?”

“Thank you.” All covered, Sheridan began to relax as Lark reached for her left arm and began to carefully manipulate it. “You have good muscle tone in your arms. Let’s see. Does this hurt?” She pressed down on several points around the elbow, and Sheridan was glad to honestly say that it didn’t.

Methodically, Lark went over every muscle in Sheridan’s arms and legs, then ended her assessment of each extremity with a gentle, soothing massage. “I use grape-seed oil,” she explained. “Best thing, in my humble opinion.”

“Grape-seed oil? I’ve had a lot of massages at day spas and so on, but I’ve never heard of it.”

“All I ever use.”

“None of my other PTs ever suggested a massage.” Sheridan felt she had to break the comfortable silence or she’d fall asleep. “Especially not Frau Kreutz. She was just as hard-boiled as the name suggests.”

Lark snorted. “Oh, really?”

“I hope she’s not a valued friend and colleague of yours.” Sheridan grinned, happy that Lark caught on to her attempt at a joke.

“Never heard of the esteemed Frau Kreutz. What did she do to you? Push-ups?”

“Yes.”

Lark’s hands stopped what they were doing. “What? You’re kidding?”

“That’s not all she did. She wrapped me in wet, hot towels too. The day she actually scalded me was the day I called the Vogel Agency. I’d had it.”

Lark still wasn’t moving. “I thought you were kidding. Honestly.”

“Nope. Frau Kreutz turned out not to be licensed in the US to practice her…trade. In fact, she didn’t have a license to practice in any country.”

“How did you end up with such a character?” Lark began to massage Sheridan’s left leg again, which wasn’t numb. Indeed, when the pain seared her legs during the night she wished they were.

“Believe it or not, a friend of my father recommended her. That should have been my first warning, but I was just home and had fired the first PT already.”

“Wow.” Lark’s hands reached Sheridan’s thigh, and the insistent massage ignited small sparkles across the skin that sent goose bumps from her thigh to her knee. “How many PTs have you sacked, by the way?”

“Five.”

“One per week. Interesting.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I intend to be the exception to the rule. Time to roll over. I need to do your back. Something tells me that’s where your problems are.”

“All right.” Was she as breathless as she sounded? Sheridan struggled to turn her upper body, not even bothering to hold on to any of the towels. She was much too busy trying not to fall off the table. Since Lark was busy guiding Sheridan’s legs, the top towel fell unattended to the floor.

“Oops. Here’s another one.” Lark placed a folded towel across Sheridan’s lower back and began to work on her shoulders. “Oh, my. You’re so tight here that I could use you as a cutting board. And your muscles are completely in knots. I bet this hurts.”

“It’s not…so…bad.” Sheridan tried to speak evenly, but Lark’s ministration across her trapezius muscles, all the way from the back of the neck and down to each shoulder, made her squeeze her eyes shut.

“Need me to ease up?” Lark’s hands slowed down.

“No. Well, yes, perhaps a bit. Didn’t know I was so sore.”

Lark’s movements remained slow, but she went deeper and deeper into the muscles with skilled hands. Finding every knot and aching ligament, she focused on the shoulders for at least fifteen minutes. “Can you feel yourself loosening up?”

“Yes.” Sheridan’s shoulders burned with hot sensations that traveled down her arms and up her neck.

“You’ll probably feel quite sore tonight and tomorrow. If you do, and if you’re too uncomfortable, let me know, and I’ll give you some heat treatment.” Lark palpated the muscles down Sheridan’s back with gentle hands. “These aren’t as bad, and I don’t want to do too much on our first session. Let me help you up.”

With a few swift operations, Lark assisted Sheridan into a sitting position. Feeling utterly vulnerable, perhaps due to the warm, relaxed awareness in her shoulders, Sheridan clutched the towel to her chest with one hand and steadied herself with the other. “Thank you.” The towel slipped and Sheridan pressed it closer to her chest and found it utterly silly that she, who’d been prodded and poked, with every one of her sensibilities violated in that hospital bed, would react this way. Lark was a seasoned professional, wasn’t she, used to every possible human frailty.

Lark grabbed another heated towel and placed it around Sheridan’s shoulders before she removed the one Sheridan held on to so tightly. “Here, let me get that for you. It’s got oil all over it.”

The precious towel slipped away and Sheridan fumbled for the corners of the other one, only to feel it begin to slip as well. Is the room really this hot?

“Whoops!” Lark caught the errant towel and held it closed until Sheridan got her hands around it. “Got it? Good. Call me when you need help with your pants.”

Without any further infliction, she left the room and Sheridan exhaled audibly, only then realizing she’d held her breath since the towel began to drop.

 ***

Lark stopped outside the half-closed door to the massage room and wiped her hands on her sweatpants. It wasn’t only the grape-seed oil that made them wet, and she frowned at the implications of this realization. Sheridan was an attractive, in fact, stunningly beautiful woman, even like this, pale and without a trace of makeup. Lark had had many female patients, but this was the first time she’d responded this way.

Ashamed at how her heart had raced when that towel slipped down one shoulder and began to fall off the other, she’d grabbed it and tugged it close around Sheridan’s slender figure. It bothered Lark that she’d even noticed the fact that she glimpsed the outline of a breast. Unprofessional. Beyond unprofessional. Lark dragged her fingers through her hair twice as she tried by sheer willpower to calm down her thundering heart.

“Lark?” Sheridan’s resonant voice called out. “You there?”

“Of course.” Lark cleared her throat and rubbed a hand over her face before she entered the massage room. “Good job. You’re fast.”

“I’ve had some practice.”

Lark took the sweatpants and knelt before Sheridan to push them up her legs. Rising, she wrapped a steady arm around Sheridan’s waist while holding the lining of the pants with her free hand. “Hold on to me and rock slowly from side to side. With a little practice you can learn to do this yourself.”

Sheridan’s lower lip disappeared between her teeth, a habit that Lark was beginning to recognize as a sign of deep concentration. Wrapping her arm around Lark’s shoulders, Sheridan and Lark swayed slowly back and forth together, as they both tugged her sweatpants up.

“Thank you. Very useful.”

Lark managed to smile, still incredibly self-conscious. Was it her imagination, or did Sheridan seem shy? Out of the question.

“I know.” Lark stepped back a little too quickly and almost tripped over her own feet. “Well, I think that’s all you can muster today. Tomorrow morning, I’d like to start early and develop a good routine for you, if you don’t object.” She knew she was babbling. I never babble like this, no matter what! “And tomorrow afternoon we’ll start the pool exercises too.”

The thought of Sheridan in a swimsuit surfaced, but Lark slam-dunked it before it attached itself permanently to her mind’s eye. As Lark left the room, she knew she had some soul-searching to do. Having lost her footing, she had to figure out what the hell was going on.

 ***

Like to read the rest? *grin*

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