A Killing Frost

by Hannah Alexander

  Tyrell was a man who knew how to make a woman feel special, no matter her size, age or appearance. He was most interested in a woman’s heart. It showed in his photography. His family teased him without mercy, because his photographs were often off center, out of focus or badly composed. He took many shots from inside moving cars, where door frames, bug-spattered windshields and telephone wires were more prominent than the breathtaking sunset, the flight of an eagle overhead or a sprig of spring flowers that he’d tried to capture.

  Tyrell focused so closely on the beauty he saw, nothing else distracted him.

  He used that razor-sharp perception to choose his dates in high school. He could have had his pick of any of the prettiest, most popular girls, but he chose those with particularly kind spirits or sharp intellects, who were often passed over by much less discerning guys in his class.

  Of course, watching him date other girls during those years wasn’t easy or painless for the youngster he regarded as another kid sister, who carried feelings for him that were anything but sisterly.

  “Mom grill you on the way here?” Tyrell asked.

  “Like a drill sergeant.”

  “Dad, too?”

  “Why do you think he was at the clinic this morning?”

  “Oh, I don’t know…heart problem? Fall from a ladder?”

  “If not for that, I’m sure he would have invented another excuse.” Jama smiled with tenderness as she thought about Monty’s arrival at the clinic that morning.

  Tyrell chuckled, and Jama couldn’t help gazing up at him, at the warmth in his eyes as his gaze met hers, held it.

  Tyrell stopped and turned to face her, raised his hand and touched her shoulder to stop her, gently, as if handling a newborn chick. And then his head lowered. For the life of her, Jama couldn’t withdraw from his magnetic power over her. She wanted a kiss from him. Needed it.

  Before their lips touched, she was jostled by someone passing in the corridor. Jama stepped back, and Tyrell straightened.

  “What did you tell my folks?” he asked, his voice a bit unsteady.

  She looked up at him dumbly. All thought of her earlier conversation had fled her mind.

  His eyes filled with humor. “About us,” he prompted.

  Jama turned and walked beside him again. “I told Monty he could interfere in my life as soon as he was out of the woods with this heart problem.”

  “Did that shut him up?”

  “I don’t know, did it? You said he wanted to talk to you.”

  Tyrell shook his head. “Take your best guess.”

  “Okay, tell me the truth. The only reason you proposed is because Fran and Monty twisted your arm.”

  Tyrell slanted a look at her. Yes, of course she knew better.

  “And Mom?” he asked.

  “She’s digging for something.”

  “She probably wants to know if you’ve lost your mind for rejecting my proposal.”

  “From what I understand, you didn’t tell her about that conversation, she simply guessed.”

  “A guy has his dignity to maintain, even with his mother.”

  “Well, thanks a lot. Because you didn’t tell them anything, I got to be the bearer of sad news.”

  “So you think it’s sad news, too?” he asked.

  “Of course it’s sad, Tyrell.”

  “I don’t think Mom and Dad are convinced you’re serious.” His steps slowed. “Maybe I’m not convinced, either.”

  “We’re all dealing with a lot right now,” she said gently. “I don’t think we should bring up this discussion again.”

  “Not now, you mean?”

  “Not now.”

  “Okay, then later.” There was a promise she heard all too clearly in his voice.

  “Tyrell-”

  He pressed his fingers against her lips. “Shhh. As you said, not now. Later. Give me something to hope for.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Tyrell’s shoulder nearly touched Jama’s as he punched the elevator button. “You seem to like Dr. George.”

  She looked up at him. His jaw was clenched, betraying his tension, and she felt a pang of empathy for him. Tyrell was not only a strong physical specimen-a fabulous hunk, as her roommates had always reminded her-but he was emotionally steadfast. He seldom revealed his thoughts to anyone he didn’t know well and trust, but once he gave his friendship-and his love-he spoke his mind about everything. He held nothing back.

  “Tony is sixty-three and never been sued,” she said, “in a world where it seems every doctor gets sued at least once in a career. What does that tell you?”

  “That he decided to become a doctor late in life?” Tyrell’s deep voice resonated in the wide corridor, and two passing nurses gave him a second look. Admiring looks. He never noticed that kind of attention, and when Jama pointed it out, he’d always scoff at her and blush. She never stopped pointing it out. He looked good in a blush.

  “He’s a thirty-year veteran,” she said.

  “So he’s lucky?”

  “He’s sharp, comprehensive, doesn’t leave loose ends.”

  “Meaning?”

  “He doesn’t leave his operating utensils in his patients. Keeps a scrupulous field, and keeps a close watch on follow-up care to prevent postoperative infections.”

  Tyrell groaned. “Sorry I asked. Not a good mental picture to have right now. So his success doesn’t just come from a good bedside manner?”

  “He’s good, Tyrell,” she told him gently. “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have operating on Monty. Would you relax?”

  “That’s what I’m doing, trying to relax.”

  “Giving me a hard time helps you relax.”

  “It’s always worked before.”

  “Aha. So that’s what you’ve been doing.” She grinned up at him. “And I thought you were flirting.”

  The elevator door opened, but he didn’t enter. His look lingered on her face, his dark blue eyes darkening further. “What’s this, Jama?” He gestured between the two of them.

  “It’s me trying to keep you from worrying about Monty while he’s in surgery, because he’s got an excellent surgeon, and-”

  “What’s this between us?” he asked.

  She stepped into the elevator. “Would you get in before I take a ride downstairs without you?”

  He entered, the door closed. “Don’t pretend to misunderstand the question.”

  “This is a wonderful friendship. Familial love.”

  “That’s all? Because I could’ve sworn-”

  “Tyrell, you’re starting it again.”

  “Sorry. Let me rephrase that. I love you, Jama. I believe you love me, and there’s nothing sisterly about the way I catch you looking at me when you think I don’t see you.”

  “You’re doing the distraction thing again, switching the subject to keep yourself or someone else from worrying so much.”

  “You’re right. Being with you does distract me from remembering that, at this moment, a man I’ve never met before today is plunging a knife into my dad’s damaged heart.” There was an edge to his voice.

  Jama wrapped her hands around his left bicep, and squeezed. “You know the scalpel Dr. George will use is tiny. As he said, the procedure has become much less invasive than ever before, and the recovery time is shorter. In fact, Monty could be out of surgery before we finish breakfast.”

  Tyrell nodded, still looking grim.

  “Of course,” she said, “knowing the size of your typical breakfast at the ranch, he might be out before that.”

  Tyrell’s expression relaxed, and he slanted a glance at her, raising his black eyebrows. “Especially since I’ll have such a fascinating companion with whom to dine?”

  “Of course.”

  The elevator car stopped, the door opened, and Tyrell stepped out. “Okay, we can call a truce. It’s not healthy to argue during a meal.” He gestured to the entrance to the cafeteria. “Let’s get some real breakfast.”

  Ty
rell had agreed to a truce, but he couldn’t help continuing to probe Jama about their relationship. She deftly changed the subject every time he tried to divert the conversation to her feelings and her thoughts.

  All this time he’d thought he was listening to her with his heart, but maybe he was simply talking with his heart.

  Strange that, when he was with Jama, he tended to talk more than usual. With her, his words seemed to spill out. She was so easy to share his thoughts with. Nonjudgmental. Encouraging…loving, but tough and honest

  Tyrell had not quite finished his breakfast when Jama set down her fork, leaned back in her chair and appeared to watch the other diners. Her unfocused gaze told him she wasn’t taking in details.

  What was weighing so heavily on her mind? How had Dad been able to see so easily that she was preoccupied with something, when Tyrell only saw the woman he loved, and who he knew loved him?

  He suppressed a smile as he lifted a final bite of sausage to his mouth. “Admit it, you were hungry.”

  “Of course I was hungry. I hadn’t eaten breakfast,” she said dryly. “Even the heavy whipping cream loses its punch after a morning like this one. Do you know it’s been years since I’ve eaten in a public hospital dining room?”

  “Where did you eat, the bathroom?”

  “During residency, I seldom had a chance to have an uninterrupted, sit-down meal, and those I had were in the areas reserved for the physicians.”

  He wiped his mouth, took a sip of coffee. “Too good to eat with the rest of us poor slobs?” he teased. “You docs always have to insulate yourselves from the rest of the world?”

  Jama glanced at the biscuits and gravy he’d left on his plate.

  “Go ahead,” he said. “You know you want them.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m just about to fit into my preresidency jeans again, and I’m not about to spoil it now.”

  He held his hands out. “All that good food gone to waste. It looks delicious, too.”

  “Actually,” she said, her hand edging toward her fork, “speaking of the doctors’ dining room, it goes both ways. Believe me, the general public does not want to be subjected to medical conversation. I could probably write a book entitled ‘Dinner Date With a Doc-A Dieter’s Guide to Success.’ We discuss all kinds of gross subjects, and we aren’t even aware of offending the vulnerable people around us.”

  He nodded, nudging his plate of untouched, flaky biscuits topped with fragrant cream gravy in her direction. “I know. I dated a doc, remember?”

  “There you have it.”

  “Plan to marry her someday.”

  “Tyrell.”

  “But admit it, you also liked that feeling of exclusivity, dining with the other doctors, enjoying the nicer chairs, better food, soft music.”

  She grimaced. “You think I’m a snob?”

  “That wasn’t what I-”

  “The physicians’ dining room didn’t have better food. We ate the same cafeteria fare as everyone else.”

  “But softer chairs?”

  She frowned at him, then smiled at his teasing grin. “Amy tried to eat in the public cafeteria when we were first residents.” Jama picked up her fork. “She told me she didn’t expect special privileges.”

  “Jama, I wasn’t serious.” But whenever his sister’s name came up, the mood grew somber in a hurry. He figured that was Jama’s intent.

  She scooped up a minuscule amount of gravy on the tines of her fork. He knew that wouldn’t be enough for her.

  “The second time Amy ate in the cafeteria, she hadn’t had a chance to sit down for eight hours,” Jama continued. “Before she could take a bite, she was approached by a patient’s family, who were offended that she was taking time to eat when they had waited for fifteen minutes in the patient’s room to speak with her.” Jama gave him a wry grimace. “Amy joined the rest of us snobs in the physicians’ dining room after that.”

  The first bite of biscuit, soaked with thick gravy, brought an expression of pleasure to Jama’s face. Tyrell enjoyed watching her eat, but after the third mouthful, she put her fork down and sighed. Memories of Amy always did that to her.

  “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to waste your food?” Tyrell gestured to the plate.

  “It’s your food, duh.”

  “You know I got it for you. I don’t like biscuits and gravy.”

  “You’re a strange man, Tyrell Mercer. Everybody likes biscuits and gravy. And since you asked, no, my mother never taught me much of anything that I can remember.”

  He winced inwardly, regretting that he’d mentioned her mother. He needed to be more sensitive to his woman.

  Oh, brother. His woman. As if he was a caveman with a club.

  “Now that I’ve eaten, tell me more about this surgery,” he said. “What’s the success rate?”

  “Since Monty didn’t waste any time getting to the clinic, and since we caught his condition so quickly, the prognosis is optimistic, though there are always risks.”

  He nodded. “Since you caught it, and since you fought off the nurse who thought he knew better than you did, my father may live.”

  “That nurse was only doing his job.”

  “No, he wasn’t. Why did he question your judgment?”

  She shrugged. “He could have been having a bad day, could be too sure of himself. Some male nurses resent female doctors-it happens.”

  “You handled the situation well.”

  She gave him a brief, warm smile. “You’re the one who kicked things into high gear.”

  “Because I trusted your call, Jama. I can think of no one I’d rather have taking care of my loved ones.”

  Something dark entered her expression. She looked down at the barely touched biscuits and gravy, which Tyrell knew had been her favorite breakfast meal since she was seven and spent nights with Amy at the ranch.

  “I can’t help wondering what you’re thinking right now,” he said.

  She didn’t respond. The darkness spread.

  “You know you can tell me anything, don’t you?” he asked. “You know you can trust me?”

  She looked up at him, her aquamarine eyes as troubled as a turbulent surf. She didn’t speak, but held his gaze, staring deeply, searchingly.

  He knew it was hard for her to trust in love, while he could speak about it so easily. And why not? He’d grown up in a solid, loving family with parents who were stable, hardworking and kind.

  Jama’s losses had been devastating, much like the bitter, killing frost that was forecast for tonight, a natural disaster that could decimate crops and vineyards throughout the Missouri River Valley.

  Tragedies and grief had created Jama’s killing frosts-being pushed away, then abandoned by her mother. Losing her father, losing Amy.

  “Can I?” she asked. There was a vulnerability in her voice that melted him.

  “You can, Jama. You know you can.”

  For a moment, some of her heaviness lifted. There was hope. He could give her time.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Doriann had wanted camouflage, and she’d gotten it. Her wet purple jacket was camouflaged with mud. She’d found it buried beneath her. As Aunt Renee would say, isn’t it wonderful the way God always works things out?

  Doriann thought that maybe it would’ve been a little more comfortable if the dirt had only been ground into the outside of the jacket, but who was she to complain about the way God worked? A little grit rubbing her bare arms raw was punishment for lying to her parents and skipping out of school.

  She guessed that being kidnapped and terrified so badly she wet her pants, and being slapped around by sewer-breath and having her leg groped by sewer-brain wasn’t enough. She only hoped God would realize she’d learned her lesson.

  She shrugged away the ugly thoughts. She wasn’t usually this grumpy with God, but she’d never been kidnapped before, and she wasn’t sure how to behave.

  A small limb snapped loudly beneath her foot, and she froze.
The hood of her jacket covered her red hair, but the sun glared down at her through the spring-green treetops. She didn’t know what Clancy or Deb would see if they turned around. She’d stayed well behind them, trying to always keep them in sight. She’d dropped to the ground like a Green Beret three times when she’d noticed Clancy or Deb twisting back. She’d told herself fifty tri-zillion times that this was crazy. An eleven-year-old kid shouldn’t be following drugged killers through the woods.

  But she just kept reminding herself of Aunt Renee’s repeated assurance that all things were possible through Christ.

  Nearly every step of the way, Doriann had been tempted to run, to turn back, follow the river to the nearest town and get to safety.

  But if she took the easy way out, how many other people might die?

  Doriann hated to think about what Clancy might do to another kid if he had the chance.

  Aunt Renee was always reminding her class that God could use her for something great, and that Doriann and her cousins should take every opportunity to be the best they could be.

  This was the best Doriann could be.

  Tyrell gathered all the dishes and utensils and carried the tray to the proper receptacles. Jama watched, bemused; he definitely had domestic skills.

  No doubt about it, Tyrell Mercer would make some woman very happy someday. Something about a man doing household chores was a definite turn-on. And a man who cooked and did the laundry? It just didn’t get any better. Any woman would be thrilled…

  Again, just thinking about Tyrell with another woman shot a bolt of jealousy through Jama. Whoever he married, she’d better be good to him, or she would answer for it.

  He was a man who worked hard at a job he loved. For a time, that was as an agriculturalist at the state university. Now he ran the ranch and vineyard. Jama knew he loved the work, as well, but the primary reason he’d returned home was because he loved his family, and Monty had needed help.

  Five hundred acres of prime, fertile bottomland and hillside vineyards was more than one man could handle, even with all the best, most modern farm equipment and hired help during the planting and harvest. With Daniel-the younger Mercer brother-now working with Homeland Security in Kansas City, and the twins, Renee and Heather, both living with their families in Kansas City, that left Tyrell. As Jama had assured Fran, Tyrell was perfectly happy to make the change.