Hannah Alexander - A Killing Frost

“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.

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.

“Do you remember the age-old question?” Tyrell settled his smoky-dark gaze on Jama again. “What happens when an irresistible force meets an immovable object?”

“Injury?”

“Most likely. Unless the irresistible force isn’t as irresistible as it seems.”

“Or if the immovable object isn’t as immovable.”

“So which are you, and which am I?” Tyrell asked.

Jama grimaced. Here she’d thought he’d given up on that subject. “Shouldn’t we just focus on Monty for now?”

“You don’t think Dad will want the same answer as soon as he wakes up? Don’t you want to be ready for the poor man, considering his weakened condition?”

“Have I reminded you lately that you have a manipulative streak?”

“So are you saying I would be the irresistible force? That would make you the immovable object.”

“One of the theories is that the immovable object will be smashed to pieces at impact.” She paused, closed her eyes. “Even if it wants to be moved, it can’t.”

“Or both could be destroyed,” he said. “Or both could carry the scars of that impact forever. Or the two could meld together and become stronger than either was before.”

She opened her eyes. He couldn’t know how much she wanted the last possibility to be true. And how frustrating it was to know that it was her own fear that prevented it.

A nurse approached the table as Jama and Tyrell prepared to leave, announcing that Monty was out of surgery.

She handed Tyrell his cell phone. “Your mother says you need to call your sister, Heather. She’s asking to speak with you.”

Tyrell took the phone, pressed Speed Dial and walked to a quiet corner of the cafeteria.

As he listened to Heather, Jama saw his expression turn to stone.

Tyrell’s fingers went cold all of a sudden, and he felt a tightening in his chest as his sister, the solid, calm, sensible twin, sobbed at the other end of the connection.

“Missing? How long? What happened?”

“We don’t…we don’t know. Oh, Tyrell, I’m so scared. She never went to Renee’s this morning. She told me she felt sick, and she was caught up on all her subjects, and the cousins were driving her crazy-you know how they can be. All over the place all at once, and they never stop talking. I can’t imagine how Renee manages to teach them so much when they never sit still, but she’s so good with them, and Doriann has just blossomed under her schooling-”

“Honey, slow down.” As a cardiothoracic surgical chief resident, Heather had nerves of supersonic titanium. Which was why her sudden jabbering frightened Tyrell badly.

“What is it you’re trying to tell me?” he asked.

“I let Doriann stay home this morning. Alone.”

“That’s not unusual. You’ve done that before.” Not that he approved, and he’d made his opinions known quite strongly in the past.

“I know I shouldn’t have,” she said, “but I understand how it feels to need quiet time to yourself.”

“What happened, Heather?”

“I called her at home, and she didn’t answer. I tried her cell, and it sounded as if she answered, then hung up. I kept calling, and got her voice mail. She hasn’t answered any of my calls.”

Now he was getting really scared. Doriann Streeter was a strong-willed eleven-year-old, but she would not frighten her parents like this.

“Perhaps she’s in a place with no cell reception,” he suggested.

“You know how she is. She doesn’t sit in one place for more than five minutes, and even if cell reception is sketchy, I’ve tried enough times, I surely should have gotten through.”

“So you went home and she wasn’t there, either?”

“That’s right. She and I had a few words the other night about how much I’m away from home, but I thought we’d gotten that straightened out. She understands the demands of my residency program.”

Tyrell had his doubts about that. Sure, he was proud of his sister, but it didn’t seem to him that leaving a daughter at home alone most of the time, or handing her over to your sister to raise, was something any kid was going to completely understand. But what would he know? He wasn’t a parent.