Starr Tree Farm

by Ellen Parker

  She exhaled her frustration. It didn’t matter how she got close to Gannon. Baisden had subtly warned her that her position in his office was in jeopardy if she didn’t change the way she felt about men. She needed this job. Part of every paycheck went to her sister so their mother could live with her.

  She shivered in the air conditioning, feeling cold all the way through. Baisden thought spying on Gannon — a man he didn’t trust — would change Ciara. It certainly would. She’d have to become the thing she despised most — a liar and a cheat. She’d have to become just like her father.

  • • •

  “What happened?” Bryce rasped. He woke confused — his throat sore, his chest tight, and his lungs on fire — to find his best friends surrounding him. He lay flat on his back on something soft. The light was too bright and he felt cold.

  “You’re in the hospital, Bryce,” his University of Michigan fraternity brother Dr. Sean Bergman explained, laying a warm hand on Bryce’s shoulder. “It was a letter bomb.”

  Sean’s short brown hair was liberally salted with gray. Worry filled his brown eyes. He wore a suit, which meant it was a weekday.

  Bryce remembered now. The boom. The spray of white powder. Coughing, choking, collapsing to the carpet in his office unable to breathe, desperate for air, sure he was dying, and then nothing. But he’d survived. Joy and relief made him feel dizzy.

  Then he recalled the envelope with no return address on it. “Who sent it?”

  Sean cleared his throat. “The cops don’t know.” A trace of uneasiness laced his voice.

  Roger Barrett added, “The police are waiting to hear you’re awake. They’ve already talked to us, but we didn’t know anything that could help them. We thought maybe you’d know.”

  Bryce shook his head. “I don’t have any enemies.” His voice sounded gravelly.

  Sean shared a glance with their other two fraternity brothers. Roger looked haggard, with dark circles under his eyes, gaunt cheeks, and his artfully streaked blonde hair dulled. A faltering architectural firm and a son in jail were taking their toll on him.

  The strain lines in Paul Ziko’s face were new, caused by his struggling construction company and his pending divorce.

  Sean had mishandled a patient’s medical care. As a result, his easy smile was absent.

  The four of them had achieved the American dream of success — a doctor, a lawyer, an architect, and a business developer. But their perfect lives were coming undone. Even his.

  Bryce already felt like shit physically. Now he’d dumped more stress on his friends when they were fighting for their survival. A quick inventory told him he had all his fingers. His bare chest showed no wounds. His face?

  White powder exploding. “What was in that bomb?”

  “Ricin poison,” Sean answered.

  “Ricin.” Bryce couldn’t remember what he’d heard about ricin.

  “It’s made from castor beans. It’s highly toxic.” Sean swallowed. Bryce’s friends looked uneasy. “Someone meant to kill you.”

  God. “The phone rang while I was opening it and I looked away.”

  “That saved your life,” Paul said, his voice thick.

  Bryce ran a hand over his bare chest. “My chest hurts, but I don’t see any wounds.”

  Sean pressed his arm. “That’s the ricin poisoning. It can cause respiratory and circulatory problems, coughing, weakness, fever, nausea, and muscle aches. Your skin was blue for the first few days, but that’s faded now.”

  Bryce looked down to find his chest and arms flesh-colored. “Days?” he croaked. “How long since the bomb?”

  “It’s been three days, Bryce,” Roger answered. “We’ve been with you the whole time. I was so glad when Sean called to say you were finally coming around.”

  Bryce had lost three days … and almost lost his life. His throat thickened and his chest tightened painfully. Despite their own troubles, his friends had come to him in his hour of need, just as they had in college during a nearly lethal hazing.

  Afterwards they’d become his friends and his armor until he devised his own. Over the years he’d perfected a cold exterior that repelled predators. He never intended to be that vulnerable again. The four of them were tarnished now — they’d made mistakes — but they stuck together. Their friendship was the most valuable thing he’d gained in college.

  “Thanks for being here, guys.” His rasp was getting worse.

  Sean gripped Bryce’s hand. “You would have done the same for one of us.”

  “Have done the same for us,” Paul corrected.

  “I’m glad you survived,” Roger added, his voice tight and his light-colored eyes suspiciously moist.

  “Me too.” Bryce squeezed Sean’s hand.

  Roger took hold of his other hand, careful around the wires and tubes.

  If four battered men could find something good out of this catastrophe, it was a miracle. Before the bomb Bryce had begun to wonder if his life had gotten off track somewhere. Clearly, if someone wanted to kill him, he was on a path he didn’t want to tread. This was a wake-up call for Bryce to climb out of the gutter of criminals and get back to why he became a lawyer.

  He gripped his friends’ hands. He’d sworn friendship with these men, and twenty years later he still upheld that oath. It was a place to start finding his way back to himself.

  A tall, slender brunette in patterned scrubs bustled into the room, nodding at his friends. “Hi, I’m Marilyn. I’m your day nurse. I’m glad you’re awake at last, Mr. Gannon. How do you feel?”

  Roger moved aside and she took his place, gripping Bryce’s wrist at the pulse point.

  “Lousy.” Bryce had to strain for the next breath. “When can I get out of here?”

  Marilyn made a notation on his chart and uncoiled her stethoscope from around her neck. “It’s like that, is it?” She tucked the earpieces into her ears and placed the cold end against his chest. He jerked.

  After a minute she removed the stethoscope, and made another notation. “Is it hard to breathe?”

  He nodded, frustrated.

  Then to his mortification she slipped an oxygen mask over his face. Past her, he saw his friends’ concerned faces.

  “The greater oxygen flow will help. I’m sure the doctor will order a breathing treatment soon that will make it easier to breathe. And to answer your question, now that you’re awake you’ll probably be moved to a regular room.”

  That wasn’t what he’d meant by leaving.

  “When will you know for sure?” Sean asked.

  “I’ll page Dr. Robbins now. But he probably won’t be here for a few hours. I can call you afterwards, Dr. Bergman.” Marilyn glanced quickly at Bryce. “If that’s all right with you, Mr. Gannon.”

  Bryce nodded. If the hospital was according Sean professional courtesy, all the better for Bryce. Sean could sort through the crap and evasions and medicalese, and then tell Bryce the truth. He sorely needed truth now.

  But he needed something else almost as much. He hated being stripped of his physical armor. His emotional armor didn’t bear thinking about. He at least wanted to be clothed.

  Bryce took a deep breath and pulled off the oxygen mask. “I need clothes,” he told his friends.

  “You won’t need anything yet,” Marilyn corrected him. “Except rest. So I’m going to have to ask your friends to leave.”

  She didn’t understand. She hadn’t spent her adult life building a protective shell to prevent people from hurting her. He had.

  He looked Paul in the eye. “Bring me my clothes.” Paul would understand. He’d known Bryce needed help during the hazing.

  Paul nodded. “Something casual coming up.” He glanced at Sean. “You’ll let me know?”

  “Yeah. I’ll let all of you know.”

>   Sean squeezed Bryce’s hand. “I’ve got patients, but I’ll be back to see you later. I’ll bring you information on ricin.”

  Bryce squeezed back and nodded.

  “I’m glad you’re awake. Your doctor will probably run tests to determine if there’s any permanent damage.”

  God, permanent damage? Bryce’s heart pounded hard and his chest tightened even more painfully. The monitor’s beeps quickened to match his heartbeat.

  Marilyn frowned at it and then at his friends. “Gentlemen.”

  “We can talk about all that later,” Sean promised. “We’re here for you, Bryce.”

  “Thanks,” Bryce croaked, glancing from Sean to the others.

  Sean stepped away and Roger took his place. “Now that you’re awake, I need to get back to the office. I’ve left Christian and Gabrielle to run the business. I think they’ll appreciate some newlywed time today.”

  Paul gripped Roger’s shoulder as he stared down at Bryce. Paul and Roger had the strongest connection. They worked in the same industry and Paul’s brother Christian was Roger’s business partner. In a way, Bryce envied their closeness. These men were the only true friends he’d ever had; yet even with them he still felt separate. Not an outsider, not with them. Just emotionally distant.

  Had a childhood with emotionally distant parents and an adulthood fortifying emotional walls around him made it impossible for him to share what Paul and Roger did? And if he wanted closeness like that, could he let down his walls? The question bothered him.

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  In the mood for more Crimson Romance?

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  by Janis Lee Thereault

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