in Jama for himself? As close as he and Jama had grown over the past few months, and with so much shared history—
“Sometimes, I guess a fella can have trouble seeing through the haze of all those romantic feelings to a festering problem,” Dad said.
“Maybe, but—”
“Especially when that fella might be struggling with the same problem.”
“You’re talking about Amy’s death? How can that be connected to Jama’s childhood traumas?”
“It’s a resurrection of everything bad, son. Help her through it. That’s what a man does for his woman. Give her time.”
“That’s what I’m doing.”
“But don’t just go all silent on her. Draw her out.”
“Okay, Dad, I’ll twist her arm and beat it out of her. Now, you relax and I’ll go talk to the doctor.”
Dad glared up at him.
“Sorry. I’m not going to bully her about anything today. She’s got her mind on one thing, and that’s your health. That’s my focus, too. So you need to come through this and prove her diagnosis correct. Now will you let me talk to the doctor about—”
“One more thing,” Dad said. “There’s supposed to be a freeze tonight.”
“I know. I’ll see to it as soon as you come through this surgery.”
“Nothing you can do to help the surgeon except pray, and you can do that at home on the ranch.”
“Think I don’t know my job? What you didn’t teach me, the university did.”
Monty closed his eyes and moaned.
Tyrell leaned over him, alarmed, until he saw the very faint lines of a smile around his father’s eyes.
“Dad, the ranch will not be ruined by the time you get back home. I promise I won’t make any changes without your permission.”
“Those shoots are fragile right now. You can’t cover the vines or they’ll break off.”
“Dad—”
“And I don’t know that burning hundreds of dollars worth of hay will even make a difference.”
“We can place the bales along the road at the bottom of the hill. The heat will rise.”
“Not evenly.”
“Dad, if you meant what you said about wanting me to manage the ranch, now’s the time to prove it.”
To Tyrell’s relief, his father finally gave a faint nod and released a quiet sigh. “Just remember, though,” Monty said, “if this heart problem doesn’t get better, it’ll be your decisions from now on that make or break the future of our ranch.”
“Don’t write yourself off yet, Dad. It’s going to be okay.” He trusted Jama’s instincts.
Clancy’s angry voice filled the air with ugly words about the people in the world who didn’t deserve to live. Doriann knew she was imagining the smell of his bad breath from twenty feet away.
She also knew that her prayers were being answered, because anybody else would’ve seen her in her hiding place.
Thank You, Jesus. She had lain trapped, waiting for Clancy and Deb to move for what seemed like forever, and her right leg was cramping so badly she was about to cry.
When she could stand it no longer, she shifted. Brush rustled. Dirt crumbled beneath her left knee. She peered across to see if Clancy and Deb had heard. Apparently, Clancy’s voice had masked the sound.
Doriann tried to straighten her leg a little more, and more dirt fell.
Deb turned to walk in the other direction. Clancy followed.
Doriann remembered to breathe.
The ground sank a little more beneath her left knee, and she felt her right knee sink, too. She heard the scattering of pebbles far below, and felt herself sliding.
She grabbed at the base of the bush that barely camouflaged her. It rustled.
“What was that?” Clancy growled.
Both of them stopped and turned, but Deb pointed up into the trees. “Squirrels.”
Doriann’s eyes squeezed shut as the dirt kept crumbling beneath her. She could let go of the bush and fall into the river and freeze to death, or she could be killed by the beasts nearby.
“Look at the great blue heron,” Deb said. “It just took off.”
The Missouri River was Doriann’s friend. She let go of the bush and braced herself.
The ground stopped crumbling. Clancy told Deb how stupid she was for bird-watching. Then he blamed her for letting “Dori” get away.
Thank You, God. Now He was answering prayers Doriann wasn’t even praying.
“No runny-nosed brat’s gonna outsmart me,” Clancy said.
Doriann pressed her lips together. Want to bet? A slug could outsmart you.
“We need to find a hiding place,” Deb said. There was a pleading note in her voice. “You may be macho man, but I’m fading.”
“You told me you knew how to cook a batch.” His voice was getting harsher with every word. Aunt Renee said that would happen when someone was tweeking. Needing a fix. Craving a jolt, unable to think straight, and totally stupid.
“Only if I have something to cook!” Deb snapped. “The stuff for that’s in St. Louis, and we’re a long stretch from there, with no ride. I’m headed for that barn. You can stay here and argue with yourself.”
“I’m going to get that kid.”
“She’s gone!” Deb shouted. “Look around you. See anything moving? You can come if you want, or you can get lost in the woods and be rescued by the FBI.” She turned and plunged back into the brush in the direction they’d come.
For a moment, Clancy stood watching her leave. He said a few ugly words under his breath, stuffed his hands in the back pockets of his ratty jeans and glared at the ground.
Doriann watched him. His shoulders gradually slumped. He took his hands from his pockets and crossed them over his chest, still watching Deb walk away. He looked up into the trees, as if he thought something might jump down on him.
Doriann heard a thump nearby, and she nearly cried out. But Clancy didn’t hear it. He was rushing after Deb along an overgrown path through the woods.
There was another thud, and again the sound of scattering pebbles. It wasn’t the twig-snapping buffalo tramp of Clancy’s or Deb’s footsteps. What she heard was behind…
She leaned on her left elbow and turned to look back to where the river flowed. It wasn’t until she felt the dirt disappear from beneath her right leg that she realized what was happening, and then it was too late.
This time the ledge crumbled.
Her mouth opened to scream, and she gulped it back, choked as the dirt beneath both legs gave way, then fell from beneath her belly, then she tumbled down with a slide of rocks, dirt and mud.
Chapter Ten
T he white capitol building in Jefferson City was visible for many miles, standing out against the vivid blue of the Missouri sky, before Jama and Fran reached it. They wouldn’t arrive at St. Mary’s Hospital for another ten minutes.
“I can’t believe Tyrell hasn’t called,” Jama said.
“There obviously hasn’t been any news about Monty, or he’d have let us know,” Fran assured her. “And you know cell phones aren’t allowed