Hannah Alexander - A Killing Frost

Tyrell couldn’t help smiling at Jama’s attempt to imitate the retired coach’s gruff voice. He realized, once again, how much he would lose if Jama were to ever step out of his life.

“You kept Heather from panicking this morning,” Jama said. “You know, that ‘cup overflowing’ speech you always give anyone who’ll listen. Now look at you.”

Tyrell glanced out the window, where a River Dance Winery passenger van was pulling into the parking lot. “Jama, you know that I love you, right?”

She followed the line of his vision. She didn’t answer him. That bothered him. A lot.

Before he could press the issue, Jama headed for the door. “You have a lot of work to do back at the ranch. If you’ll just help us relocate that man’s hip, Ruth and I can handle the rest.”

She stepped out before he could reply. He felt the sting of rejection all the way to his toes.

Jama watched Tyrell establish an IV on Tom Pritt’s arm as she explained to the burly vineyard worker what was going to happen.

“It’ll be harder for Tyrell and me than it will be on you, Tom. You’ll be floating on a drug wave, and this won’t take long at all.” She was glad Ruth had ordered the morphine and midazolam ahead of time and made sure both were in the Pixus machine.

At Jama’s nod, Tyrell pushed the drugs into the line. He hooked up the blood pressure cuff and monitor, and placed a pulse ox on Tom’s finger.

“You know the procedure, right?” Jama asked Tyrell, as Tom’s eyes glazed over.

“I’ve done it a few times.”

“Then let’s get this man taken care of.”

Jama gripped Tom’s right knee, while Tyrell anchored the patient to the bed by lying across his lower abdomen and holding on to the other side of the bed.

Jama listened to the voices of Ruth and Chelsea Franklin in the hallway as she pulled on Tom’s leg with steady pressure. When he didn’t wince, she increased the pressure at a forty-five-degree angle. The man was big and muscled, but as he continued to relax, she felt him move easily. There was a pop.

She smiled at Tyrell. “It’s in.”

He straightened and watched the monitor as they waited for the drugs to wear off. “You know, I need to keep my skills sharp. I don’t suppose Ruth would consider me as a backup whenever you’re shorthanded.”

“You have a ranch to run,” Jama said.

“Dad may be slowing down, but I’m pretty sure he’ll be ready to get back to work as soon as he’s well again. You know how he is.”

Jama pressed her stethoscope against Tom’s chest, stalling for time. His heartbeat was strong and steady, breathing was good.

“Jama?”

She looked at Tyrell.

“What do you think? I’ll be nearby, I’ll probably have some time on my hands.”

“You’ll have to ask Ruth about it.”

“I’m asking you.”

Jama looked into his deep blue eyes, and thought about the constant stress she would feel with him so close. She didn’t think it would be any easier for him. At least…part of her hoped it wouldn’t.

“Don’t you think it would be a little awkward, considering everything?” she asked softly.

“I can handle it,” he said. “Can you?”

She hesitated.

Tom yawned and opened his eyes. “You guys gonna do this thing, or am I just going to lie here all day?”

Jama chuckled and returned her attention to their patient, relieved by yet another reprieve.

The clinic was quiet again, as the patients departed with friends and family members. Tyrell had returned to the ranch, and Jama manned the telephones once more.

As she picked up the receiver, she saw Chelsea Franklin follow Ruth from X-ray into Ruth’s office. Tall and slender, with soft black hair, large blue eyes with dark lashes and brows, the young woman had grown from an awkward adolescent into a beauty. She smiled warmly at Jama and waved.

Any other time, Jama would have greeted Chelsea with a hug and sat down to catch up on ten years’ worth of life. Chelsea had always had so much potential in her future. What would happen to her now?

“River Dance Clinic,” Jama spoke into the receiver.

“Dr. Lawrence, please?” It was a man’s voice, and the reception was poor.

“I’m sorry, she’s in a meeting right now. May I take a message?”

“If you would just tell her that Jack is calling from Tanzania. I’ll wait.”

Jack. Ruth’s husband, according to Eric.

“I’ll get her.”

But when Jama stepped to Ruth’s doorway and announced the call, Ruth looked up briefly and shook her head.

“Should I take a number so you can return the call later?” Jama asked.

Ruth leaned back in her chair and tucked her ink pen through strands of her tightly woven hair. “Since Chelsea may become a part of this team, I can save time by telling you both right now that I will accept no personal calls during office hours. Africa has no connection with this clinic, Jama. I am refusing the call.”

Jama blinked, looked at Chelsea, who studied Ruth with curiosity.

“You’re giving me the job?” Chelsea asked hesitantly.

“If you have the skills I need.” Ruth turned back to Chelsea, apparently dismissing Jama. “If I read your résumé correctly, you’ve had experience both as a lab tech and as an X-ray tech. We need that combination-”

“Excuse me,” Jama said, “do you really want me to tell this man who is calling from the other side of the planet that you choose not to take personal calls on company time?”

“I didn’t stutter.” Ruth didn’t look at her.

Jama shrugged and turned away. She didn’t have time to argue. “We have a patient coming in.”

“I said no more patients,” Ruth called after her.

Jama turned back to the doorway. “A local farmer had an accident. We can at least check him out and stabilize him before sending him on to a hospital. He’s driving himself.”

For a moment, their gazes collided.

Ruth didn’t look away. “Who is the director here?”

“You are, but he’s coming by here anyway, and it wouldn’t hurt for me to take a look at his foot.”

Ruth sighed. “Take a look, but that’s it. Nothing more.”

“I’ll tell Jack to call back after business hours.”

“Tell him not to call at all,” Ruth said, her voice growing sharper, warning Jama not to push further.

Jama returned to the phone, only to discover that the line had disconnected.

The smell of pine needles used to be one of Doriann’s favorite scents. She would pick them from the tree outside their apartment, and rub them between her fingers. Sometimes she’d even placed crushed needles beneath her pillow so she could imagine she was sleeping in a tree house, or camping out in the woods on a fishing expedition with Grandpa.

As she huddled near the top of this tree, though, she wondered if she would ever love the smell of pine again. She hadn’t realized, until she was up and settled on a branch she hoped was strong enough to hold her, that she could be stuck up here for a long time.

It was colder up here, and it was supposed to get colder tonight. Would she be frosted over in the morning, along with the trees and crops?

Footsteps…the sound of shoes scrabbling over the rocky creek bed below.

Her nose itched, then tickled, then before she could stop herself, she sneezed. Froze. Listened.

The footsteps stopped.

Please, God, please, God, please, God, please!

She squeezed the branch and took slow, silent breaths.

A rustle of leaves.

Doriann closed her eyes tightly, pressed her lips together and waited.

More footsteps. And then heavy breathing.

She couldn’t help it. She peered down through the thickly covered branches of the tree.