Hannah Alexander - A Killing Frost

The soft breeze from the north cooled the perspiration on his neck and face, and he caught a spicy floral scent in the air. A killing frost would destroy the blooms that produced that fragrance. At this moment, it felt as if death hovered, ready to swoop down and destroy everything in its path, both human and plant.

“I’m sorry,” Mom said. “We shouldn’t fight about the small things, we should stick together and support one another through this.”

“I didn’t realize we were fighting.”

“It’s going to be dark before long.”

“I know. Just keep Dad happy and clueless as much as you can.” Tyrell paused, then said, “And tell him I love him, okay? I’ll do anything I can.”

If he only knew what to do. Two weeks ago, he’d have been on the phone to Jama as soon as he’d disconnected. It wasn’t as if he’d made a habit of calling to tell her his worries. He just called to hear her voice. The comfort of her presence, even over the telephone, had meant so much. Right now, he needed so badly to call her.

Why had he allowed this trouble to come between them? Why hadn’t he realized that a marriage proposal would frighten her away, and threaten their wonderful friendship?

The eldest Mercer son needed a few lessons in empathy.

Doriann peeked into the barn from a crack between two ragged boards. She couldn’t see much. Especially, she couldn’t see Deb where she’d been before.

That could mean anything. Maybe Deb had followed Clancy from the barn, or moved to a softer spot to sleep.

But it did mean she’d moved, right? And that meant she could move, and so she wasn’t hurt that badly.

Right?

Doriann turned and looked around the field, listening. An airplane flew overhead. The breeze rustled the treetops, but she heard nothing unusual, in the barn or out.

She was about to leave when she checked the interior of the barn once more, and noticed the tiny purple square of her cell phone on the dirt floor, next to where Deb had lain snoring earlier. It was probably where Clancy had dropped it after scrolling through Doriann’s pictures and making fun of her family and friends.

If she could reach it without getting caught, this could be a way out of this crazy mess, after all.

She needed that cell phone.

With a final, long look around the field and into the woods, she crept to the broken barn door, which hung from one hinge against the siding. She waited a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the darkness inside, surprised that, in spite of the holes in the roof and the cracked boards, the interior was too dark to see clearly.

There was only enough light for her to see the central portion of the barn. She saw no human forms. There were some square shapes in the darkest corner, probably old-fashioned, small hay bales, and she couldn’t tell if anyone might be lurking near them.

But she entered, slow and silent, barely touching her arm against the rough wood of the dangling door. The inside of the barn smelled old and moldy, like the wine cellars in River Dance. She was within a step of her phone when she heard something outside…the brush of pant legs against each other? The swish of an arm against a bush?

Doriann grabbed the phone from the floor, raking dirt beneath her fingernails. She slid the phone into her pocket as she rushed toward the hay bales in the far corner. Her toe caught on something and she pitched forward.

She landed face-first in a bale of mildewed, smelly hay that muffled her grunt of surprise.

Another sound-whispers, soft chuckles, more whispers-reached her from the doorway, and she looked over her shoulder to see Clancy standing there.

God, help! She froze as his head turned in her direction. It would take a few seconds for his eyes to adjust. He wouldn’t see her until-

He turned away suddenly, as if startled, and looked back out the door. Doriann hurried behind the hay bale, stepping high to keep from tripping again. He hadn’t seen her.

But as soon as she landed, she heard what had startled him. The baying of a hound. Before she could focus on that familiar hunting call, Clancy came running toward her, tripped and fell flat in the same spot where she had fallen. Under the noise of his scramble to get back on his feet, she scrunched more deeply between two bales of hay, trying hard not to sneeze.

Any second, he would find her, and she would be dead.

He stumbled against the hay bale to her left, and lay there panting. Only a bale of hay separated her from a killer.

Jama strolled through the quiet clinic as the long light of dusk slanted through the front windows. Evening was falling; she and Ruth had so much left to do. Meds needed to be ordered, supplies purchased, filing systems set up on the computer. Though the new personnel Ruth hired would take care of the office work, Jama and Ruth would both have to be competent with the system. Cross-training in a small clinic was vital.

Jama had given herself a long, silent lecture about her resentment of Ruth’s behavior with Ted.

Yes, this day had seemed to be derived from one of Jama’s worst nightmares, and she knew that she would be understandably tense, but still she felt as if she’d been treated like a med student.

Ruth sat at the computer beside the reception desk, entering a list of meds on an order form.

“What you did was unkind,” Jama said.

Ruth looked up at her. “What?”

“You were unkind with Ted.”

“I didn’t hear any complaints from the patient.”

“He wouldn’t complain. You handled him nicely, but you didn’t give me the chance to do it myself in my own way.”

Ruth perused the computer screen, punched Send, then swiveled to face Jama. “Don’t be a prima donna. You joked with him about pearly gates when he needed immediate medical attention that we couldn’t give.”

“I was checking his vitals. I was attempting to gently guide him, and you loaded him with guilt.”

“I saw the EKG reading. Mr. Claybaugh needed to be taken to another facility immediately.”

“I do know how to read an EKG monitor, Ruth. Just because my bedside style is different from yours doesn’t mean I can’t handle patients.” Jama heard the snap of her words, and looked away from Ruth’s stolid stare. This was her director. She needed to remember that. Be gentle with her.

Ruth tossed a hanging file folder to the desk. She leaned back in the chair and looked at Jama. “Is this the way it’s going to be for the next two years?” She shoved the other office chair toward Jama. Its wheels whispered along the polished wood floor.

Jama grabbed the chair and looked at it, then at Ruth.

“Sit down and stop towering over me,” Ruth said.

Jama sat.

“Did you talk to your resident trainers the way you’ve been talking to me today?”

“I spoke up when I needed to, but I didn’t feel the need to do so often. I was treated with respect, because until two weeks ago, I was chief resident in my hospital’s family health program. I realize you’re my director, but I had thought there might be a spirit of mutual cooperation. I expected to be treated the way I treated my med students and other residents. With respect.”

For the next moment, the only sound in the room was the soft hum of the computerized medication dispenser.

“You might eventually have convinced Mr. Claybaugh to leave,” Ruth said quietly, “but it was easier for me. Nobody knows me. I don’t have history with any of the patients, and none of them have their bluff on me.”

“Ted didn’t have-”

“Jama, you’ve got to learn how to take charge of a situation. You are responsible for the health of the patients who come in here.”

“I know how to-”