“Not quite as much as you’d think. Daniel and Mae can handle it.”

“I heard Tom Frey’s trying to hire a helicopter to protect his vineyard,” Jama said.

It would cost thousands of dollars a night to have a helicopter hover over the crops and move the air to keep the frost from destroying them, but the method might be a feasible alternative to the bonfires. However, Tyrell believed that the delicate shoots were less likely to be damaged with heated air than with the strong, uneven blasts of wind caused by rotor blades.

But Tyrell’s mind wasn’t completely on the crops, or the incoming injured, or even on his father.

“You’re thinking about Doriann,” Jama said.

He nodded. “Every time I close my eyes, I can see her hair, the color of sweet potatoes.”

Jama laid her hand on his. “I remember her head poking out of the hay last summer, with the widest, most mischievous grin on her face.”

Tyrell stared down at their joined hands, comforted by her touch.

“If you think about it too much, the fear can eat you alive,” Jama said.

Tyrell nodded. He was trying to think of everything else…anything but his visions of what might be happening to Doriann. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. There was still juice in the battery.

“When she’s found, you’ll be one of the first to know,” Jama assured him.

“Mom knows,” Tyrell said.

There was a swift intake of breath. “How?”

“She saw a TV news alert.”

Jama leaned close enough for him to catch the warm air of her minty breath against the side of his face. “How’s she handling it?”

“She’s unhappy with us for keeping it from her in the first place, and she’s frantic for Doriann.”

Jama stood and walked to the front window, arms crossed over her chest. “Oh, Tyrell, I thought we were doing the right thing.”

“I still think we did.”

“But to find out about it on television?”

“You did all you could to keep that from happening. Stop second-guessing yourself, Jama.” He wanted to get up and join her at the window, to hold her close, and reassure her that all would be well. But would it?

He thought about his brother. “Daniel says Doriann’s still alive.”

Jama turned. “Is that just a statement of hope, or something more?”

“He told me he knows she’s alive.” Tyrell kept his doubts from his voice. Long ago, his sisters had labeled their younger brother the family prophet. Daniel had always had a profound faith, a deep rapport with God, it seemed. Those few times in his life when he’d stated a certain knowledge about something, he had always been right.

And yet Tyrell was afraid to believe him this time. Afraid to trust.

“She’s alive,” Jama said, her faith in Daniel’s word apparent in her voice. “And since she’s alive, there’s hope. And since she’s such a wily little squirt, I think she’ll stay alive.”

“Nice thought.” Tyrell was chagrined at the cynicism in his voice.

Obviously, so was Jama. “Ted Claybaugh would have pulled you off the field for that attitude.”

“Coach isn’t here, and this isn’t football.”

“But remember what he said. ‘Kids, learn the game well, and learn to do it with a strong heart and good ethics, because when you can do that in football, you’ll know how to live right in the game of life.’”

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.