Hannah Alexander - A Killing Frost

“I bet you haven’t had breakfast,” he said.

“Coffee.” She was floating. Enjoy it while it lasts.

“Which is not breakfast.” He nudged her toward a sign directing the way to the cafeteria.

“Coffee fortified with heavy whipping cream packs a punch.” She fell into step beside him, and allowed herself a smile. She’d done well. As the relief continued to sink in, she would soon become giddy and silly. She knew this from past experience.

“Some fruit and cereal would add-”

“Too many carbs, Tyrell. I’m doing low carbs. Trust me, I’m a doctor, I know what I’m doing.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. How much did you pay attention in nutrition classes?

“Not if you think you need to lose weight.”

She grinned up at him. “Flatterer.” Uh-oh, she felt the giddiness beginning to overtake her senses. Silliness wouldn’t be far behind.

“Numbers don’t lie.”

“What numbers?” she asked.

“The numbers of men who can’t keep their eyes off you. Including me.”

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.”

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.”