A Killing Frost

“How’s your great-grandpa?” Jama called to the pretty teenager.

“Still at the nursing home. He said you visit him every time you come to town.”

“I’ll be by to see him in a couple of days.”

“He’d love that!” Kelly said, and Jama guessed by the perky sound of her voice and the bounce in her step that the girl must be a cheerleader at River Dance High. Her great-grandfather, Ted Claybaugh, former teacher and football coach, must be proud.

Jama was an hour early. She needed time to adjust before putting on her professional face for the new director.

River Dance, population eight hundred and thirteen, was a picturesque town built into the hillside above the northern bank of the Missouri River. The location’s charm and beauty drew tourists in spite of the remoteness from more commercial river towns such as Washington and Hermann and the state capital, Jefferson City.

River Dance had inspired more than one calendar company to feature the quaint, restored homes, gift shops, waterfalls, gardens and vineyards. The new clinic was within sight of two rivers, if one could catch a view through the trees. The scent of pine needles wafted over Jama, along with the moist perfume of fresh water and rich, freshly tilled soil.

The whisper of the wind in the treetops harmonized with the mad waterfall rush of the rocky Show-Me River as it danced steeply downhill and into the mighty Missouri. The springlike gentleness of the air belied the weather forecast of a freeze tonight.

Someone honked from the street, and Jama waved instinctively before she recognized Mildred Lewis on her way downtown to her café. Best pies on the riverfront for fifty miles in either direction.

Jama’s new, thick-soled shoes crunched gravel as she strolled to the log building that had recently replaced Charla Dunlap’s sprawling old bed-and-breakfast. To Jama’s joy, the construction crew had managed to preserve five of the seven grape arbors that Charla had so lovingly tended on her property over the years. Grapevines were the lifeblood of this town.

The solid pine porch of the new River Dance Clinic echoed Jama’s footsteps as she strolled past the wooden rockers to one of the multipaned windows and peered inside. The waiting room was well furnished, with tasteful prints on the walls.

She hoped Mayor Eric Thompson had arranged for enough staff to support this place. She grinned to herself. Eric Thompson. Who’d have thought that wild rascal would someday be mayor?

The racket of a loud engine broke the tranquility of wind and water. Jama turned to see a faded blue pickup slide into the parking lot and lurch to a stop barely three feet from her Outback.

She’d have known that farm truck anywhere—she ought to, she’d learned to drive in it. And the brawny sixty-year-old rancher inside had been her teacher out on the dirt tracks that crisscrossed the vast Mercer Ranch.

“Monty?” Jama rushed down the wheelchair ramp at the side of the porch and approached the truck as Monty Mercer slowly opened the door to the sound of protesting metal.

Though Monty’s short beard had aged from black to salt-and-pepper over the years, the big, strapping rancher had barely a touch of silver at his temples. “How’s my favorite blonde?”

“Nervous.” She stepped into his arms and hugged his weathered neck.

He patted her back instead of giving her his usual, bone-cracking bear hug. “First-day jitters?”

“Just settling in.”

“This is what you’ve been preparing for all these years. Kinda scary, huh?”

“Kinda.” What an understatement.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “What’s up, kid?”

“Aren’t you still a city council member?”

He nodded.

“So you met Dr. Lawrence?”

“Can’t say that I did. She’s apparently a friend of the mayor’s, and he did most of the footwork on that one. Her credentials are in order, and she is well suited to the town’s seclusion. Eric said she’ll be driving back and forth from Hermann until a rental opens up in River Dance. You talked to her?”

Jama hesitated. “On the phone. Twice.” The woman had been curt to the point of rudeness, which boded ill for a comfortable working relationship.

Did Monty realize, knowing Jama so well, that she had already decided she would chafe under the leadership of Dr. Lawrence?

“You’ll be fine with her,” he said.

Yep, he’d realized it.

“Give it a chance.”

Jama glanced up at him. Okay, reading her so well, did he also know about her recent drama with his son? Had Tyrell said anything to him?

And did Monty understand her trepidation over returning to a place where everyone was aware of all her past sins?

Or at least most of them.

Monty kept a heavy arm over her shoulders as he turned to walk with her toward the building. “Got any keys to this place yet?”

“Nope. Dr. Lawrence is supposed to show up before nine, but I…thought I’d come early. This is the first time I’ve seen the building all completed and ready to go.”

Monty released her and sank slowly onto one of the wooden rockers on the front porch with a muffled groan.

She eyed him critically. “Been working too many hours again?”

“Something like that.”

“I know you’re a hunk in top form, but even you have your limits, and—”

“And I’m not getting any younger,” he muttered, without the dry humor that typically laced his tone. “The latest studies show that people who remain active throughout their lives will—”

“I know, I know, but I’m just saying—”

“We’d hoped you’d stay with us at the ranch last night, maybe even agree to lodge with us for a while. Do you know Fran hasn’t seen you in at least a month? And you haven’t returned her last two calls. She’s reminded me about that at least twice in the past twenty-four hours. She’s eager to see you.”

Jama sat in the other rocker and allowed the motion to help calm her as she listened to the sound of wood gently moving against wood. “Sorry. My housemates decided to throw a party for me last night, so I stayed in Columbia and drove here this morning.”

“And the calls?”

“Sorry about that, too. It’s been a hectic few days, settling my affairs at the hospital, trying to find someone to sublet my share of the house in Columbia, staying—”

“Staying away from Tyrell.” Monty gave Jama a look. “He’s at the ranch now, you know.”

Her rocking motion stopped. “He’s back in River Dance already?”

Monty rested his head against the pine rocker, closing his eyes to the early-morning sun. “He’s staying in the apartment over the garage. He’s ready to shove all kinds of new ranching ideas down my throat.”

“He told me a few weeks ago that you’d already purchased that new tractor he showed you.”