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 walked 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?”