Hannah Alexander - A Killing Frost

“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.”

Tyrell 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.