Letters from Peaceful Lane (New Americana 3)

“You know better than that. She’s your daughter, Burke. She’ll want to be with you. I can call her now, on my cell, if you want to talk to her. She’ll be relieved to hear your voice.”

“Never mind.” Burke loved his daughter, but she was young and tended to react strongly to both joy and pain. And seeing him like this was bound to bring back memories of losing her mother. He wasn’t ready to deal with the emotion—or his guilt over what this accident would do to her life. There’d be time for that later.

“Have you spoken with Garrett?” he asked.

Did her eyes flicker away, or had he only imagined it? “He’s in the waiting room now, wanting to see you. I can put him off if you’re not up to talking business.”

“I might as well know what’s going on. Send him in.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

“No. Go get some coffee. Or better yet, go home. I don’t need you to sit here wringing your hands. There’s not a damned thing you can do.”

For an instant she looked as if he’d slapped her. Then she forced a smile. “I’ll get myself some coffee,” she said. “And I’ll tell Garrett he can come in.”

She walked out without looking back. Burke knew he’d wounded her. Maybe now she’d come to her senses and call that lawyer.

The door opened again, but it wasn’t Garrett who came into the room. It was a perky blond nurse who looked young enough to be his daughter. “Up to the bathroom,” she said. “We’ve got to get you moving so you won’t form blood clots.”

Burke willed himself not to swear at her as she helped him slide off the bed and totter across the floor, trailing tubes, lines, and his IV hanging off a metal rack. Everything hurt. A blasted dog would get more dignified treatment than this, he thought as the door closed behind him.

When he was back in bed, the nurse cranked him into a half-sitting position, brought him some orange juice with a straw and turned to leave. “If you need anything else, just push the call button, honey,” she said.

Honey? Good God! Get me out of here!

Burke was sipping the juice, wishing it was scotch on the rocks, when Garrett wa

lked in without knocking and closed the door behind him. Dressed in a black polo and tweed blazer, and carrying a briefcase, he looked like an ad from GQ. But then he always did.

“How are you feeling?” Garrett asked. “Is the staff treating you right?”

“Don’t even ask,” Burke grumbled. “What’s happening with the American Heartland? Did the May-weathers go on, or did you have to refund everybody’s tickets?”

“By the time I got there, everything was fine,” Garrett said. “After Max reminded them that they’d signed a contract, and if they didn’t perform, they wouldn’t get paid, they came around. As the old saying goes, the show must go on. But because of the late start, we had to give out discount vouchers for future tickets.”

“Well, thanks for that, at least.” Burke placed his paper cup on the bedside table. “But we both know it’s only a Band-Aid.”

Garrett nodded. “That’s why I’m here. There’ll be some needed changes going down before you’re on your feet again. I’ll be negotiating with the bank and scouting for new investors in the theater, things that can’t wait for your recovery.”

“I’m laid up, not dead, Garrett. I’m counting on you to keep me informed and involved in everything.”

Garrett frowned and glanced at the briefcase, which he’d placed on the empty chair by the bed. “I’ll do my best,” he said. “But your top priority has to be healing and getting your strength back. Meanwhile, I need the authority to bargain and make on-the-spot decisions for the company. Agreed?”

“That depends.” Burke didn’t like the turn this conversation had taken.

Garrett opened the briefcase and took out a manila folder. “I’ve taken the liberty of having this power of attorney drawn up. Once you’ve signed it, I’ll be able to negotiate contracts and make deals for the company. You’ll be able to take it easy and focus on getting well.” He opened the folder to reveal a single-page document with a blank for a signature and another for a witness. He thrust it toward Burke. “Read it over. I’ve got a pen. I can call one of the nurses to witness your signature.”

“Put that away.” Burke shook his head. “Hell, I’d be crazy to sign anything while I’m up to my ears in painkillers. Whether you like it or not, Garrett, no decision is going to be made without my say-so.”

“Then you’ve just tied my hands.” Garrett replaced the folder and snapped the briefcase shut.

“So be it,” Burke said. “I’m still the senior partner, and any decisions will have to go through me. Understood?”

“Understood. I’ll stop by tomorrow.” Garrett was clearly displeased. He strode out of the room without another word.

Burke lay back on the pillow. The pain was a thick, tightening knot at the root of his spine. He shifted in the bed, worsening the pressure. Damn! He had never felt so helpless in his life. The worst of it was having Allison see him like this.

The perky blond nurse walked into the room with a small paper cup. “Time for your pain meds, honey,” she said.