“I’ll keep you updated.” Tyrell sat in the car and kept the line open, listening as she accepted the reality of this horror in her own way. Nobody was going to fix this for her.

For the first time all day, the phone was quiet. The next influx of patients had not yet arrived. Jama sat in her director’s office as Ruth perused the top résumé of a small stack.

“Do you know Chelsea Franklin?” Ruth asked.

“Yes.”

Ruth flipped the page, then frowned. “Who writes a résumé on both sides?”

“Somebody who has to conserve paper. Chelsea is Etta Franklin’s girl, and the family doesn’t have a lot, especially now that Mr. Franklin decided he couldn’t care for a wife with early onset Alzheimer’s.”

Ruth read the sheet for a few seconds, then looked up at Jama. “What else do you know about this applicant?”

“Graduated about ten years ago from River Dance High, graduated from college, worked a few years as a medical technician to save money for med school, then returned home recently.”

“That doesn’t tell me any more than her résumé does. What can you tell me about her character?”

“She was a sweet child. I used to babysit her sometimes. I don’t think that’ll help you much.”

“Zelda implied today that the two of you could help me significantly. Let’s test that theory.”

“Maybe you should ask Zelda, then, since it was her idea. I haven’t been around, myself, for a long time.”

“You’re here, Zelda is not, and I want to make some decisions right away.” Ruth swiveled in her chair and leaned toward Jama. “You grew up here. I know you’ve got old friends who keep you apprised of local news…friends such as the Mercers, Zelda. I need you to help me decide whether or not this candidate would be a good addition to the mix we already have here.”

“Which is?”

“Which is three very opinionated, strong-willed women, who will have to figure out a way to learn to get along.”

“If you think that, why did you hire Zelda, and why didn’t you fire me?”

“Zelda’s experience is invaluable, and Eric wouldn’t let me fire you even if I tried. It would be a huge financial loss to the community to replace you.”

“Thanks,” Jama muttered.

“Tell me about the applicant,” Ruth said.

“Chelsea’s quiet. She doesn’t push her opinions on others.”

“So she could either be nervous working with us, or could serve as a buffer between us,” Ruth said.

“She’s probably anxious about coming back to town, concerned she may not find a job nearby. She needs to be able to spend time with her mother.”

“Our need for the right employee is what we have to focus on. Can she do the job?”

“I’m sure she can.”

“It appears to me that Chelsea’s commitment to her mother shows some character.”

“It’s heartbreaking,” Jama said.

Ruth laid the résumé aside, as if she’d made her decision. “She’s probably no happier about returning to River Dance than you are.”

“I can’t speak for her. It would just take a few days for her to prove herself,” Jama said.

“Since she’s due to arrive in about ten minutes, we may be able to put her to the test during her interview, depending on the incoming casualties.”

The waiting-room door opened, and Jama got up to peer along the hallway. Tyrell stepped inside. He gave her a halfhearted wave.

“Our help is here,” she told Ruth.

“It may be a few minutes before the rest of the winery workers get here. It sounded to me as if they were more interested in dousing the fire than seeking medical attention.”

The telephone buzzed, and Jama rushed to answer it, waving for Tyrell to have a seat as she entered the reception office.

Tyrell stood in the middle of the empty waiting room, watching Jama and thinking about the unprotected hillside at the ranch covered with Norton and Vignoles vines. The Norton were a sturdy strain of native grape, but it, too, was at risk if the weather didn’t change.

He couldn’t help wondering if his brother was setting the bales properly at the base of the hillside. Too close, and the fires could scorch the vines, too far away, and a fortune in precious hay would be wasted.

His thoughts scrambled with tension as he watched Jama juggle calls: Dad and Doriann, life and death, the fragility of existence; Jama and Amy and the lost bond of friendship that Jama grieved after more than four and a half years.

He shook his head, wishing he was wiser about affairs of the heart.

He couldn’t keep his attention from Jama. She was efficient on the phone, patient, which had never been a characteristic of hers when she was growing up. As she listened, counseled, reassured and jotted down appointments, he hoped that only he caught the strain in her voice.

As the calls continued and no patients entered, Tyrell stepped to the back window of the waiting room and gazed up the hillside, below which he knew fields of large, round hay bales were being transported into place for multiple bonfires.

Would these efforts save the vines?

The ranch was Dad’s lifework. Mom’s occasional rival.

Not that Mom would ever say anything about it, but Tyrell had always known that she’d often been lonely, even in the midst of all her children, when Dad was at a co-op meeting that ran late, or in the fields making his rows a little straighter.

Dad had always taken pride in his work. So had Mom. And Dad had spent good, quality time with his kids, and with his wife. They loved him for it. But Tyrell had suspected for years that quality time once or twice a week with her husband might not be enough for Mom. Quantity might also play a part. He knew that it played a part for him. He wanted more than even his happily married parents had enjoyed.

He couldn’t help wondering if that could be part of Jama’s concern about the two of them, as well. Having seen Monty’s obsession with making the Mercer Ranch the best, most productive, most progressive ranch in the Missouri River Valley, would Jama be worried that Tyrell would follow in his father’s footsteps?

Jama would never dream of saying a word against her foster father.

And then Tyrell thought about Heather and Mark. Was Heather simply imitating her father’s example when she worked so many long hours that her daughter was practically being raised by someone else?

“Tyrell? Hello?”

He blinked and turned to find Jama standing behind him, eyeing him with concern.

“You okay?” she asked.

His first impulse was to assure her that everything was fine. But he hated lying. “No. You?”

She shook her head. “Everything okay at the ranch?”

“Daniel’s carrying his cell phone. He can call me with any questions.” Their cousin, Mae, and her husband had a dairy farm near Hermann. Tyrell was counting on her expertise to guide Daniel as she drove the tractor with the bale lift.

“Do you think the bale fires will work?” Jama asked.

“I think it’s our best chance. We won’t light the fires unless the temperature drops below twenty-six degrees. The technique won’t be foolproof, but we might save a percentage of the shoots.”

“Big if?” Jama asked.

He nodded. “How many patients are coming from the winery?”

Jama sank into one of the waiting-room chairs. “Five, according to the call I received about a minute ago. Three smoke inhalations, one possible broken bone, and one of the men has a possible hip dislocation.”

“Ambulance?” He sat down beside her.

“Private vehicle.”

“I could have collected two or three of them on my way here if I’d known transport was needed.”

“I was told it’s chaos at the winery. Two fire trucks are there, and one of the first responders is securing the patients. They should be here before long. If not for the hip dislocation, I’d say we could take care of the rest ourselves. You probably have a lot more work to do at the ranch.”