Second First Kiss

“You’re not a nurse.” Kennedy tugged on the kid-leash. “You’re a nurse anesthetist—need I point out?”

She need not. “Nurse anesthetists don’t wear rings at work, either. And I’m not looking to date.”

“You’re not getting younger.”

“Nobody is. That’s the way time works.”

“I’m just saying, you’re young. You’re smart and beautiful. There’s going to be someone for you.”

No, there wasn’t. “I’ve got a high-pressure job.” Her usual excuse, at least the one she used aloud. The truth was much darker: Sage carried a curse.

Not imaginary. No, a real one. A provable one. Four times over from her life thus far, and she meant to keep that number from growing.

Any guy who valued his career—or his life—should keep well away from Sage Everton.

“You of all people know how the medical field is. My career takes supreme focus.”

Kennedy snorted. “Look, Sage. I might concede that point if they’d give you any opportunity to use your training.” Kennedy dug her toe in the grass and kicked a divot. “I happen to know that Dr. Babbage schedules himself for every surgery and leaves you off the roster. Then again, with Dr. Parrish’s stepson here, maybe things will change for you. And for Mendon.”

“Hey, you’re saying that like Mendon needs to change.” It didn’t. It was such a great town, the largest between here and Reedsville, although that wasn’t saying much. “We can count on Mendon. It’s reliable. Every year it’s Raspberry Days, the rodeo, the county fair, and then basketball season.”

“Same, same, same.” Kennedy kicked another divot. “You’re lucky to have something predictable, I guess, even if it’s not perfect. Still, I’d like to kick your Dr. Babbage to the moon sometimes.” Another divot suffered for emphasis.

“You should hire yourself out aerating people’s thatched lawns.” Sage tried to use her foot to reinsert the turf in its little gouge.

Kennedy winced. “Truth is, I’m probably jealous and wish I could come back like you did.”

“You should!”

“If I did, I’d get to eat the cinnamon rolls in the hospital cafeteria.” Kennedy tugged on Buffy’s leash again to make the toddler quit petting the stray dog wandering around the festival booths wearing a harness but obviously untrained. “That dog! I wish people wouldn’t proclaim so many animals as service animals. It’s disingenuous and devalues animals that have actually been trained, and—”

A blood-coagulating scream ripped the air, and the crowd fell silent, all heads turning in the direction of the sound. “Help! Help! Get off me!”

“Sorry, Kennedy.” Sage gave a quick hug goodbye. “I have to help.” Sage broke into a run.

“There’s blood!” a man shouted. “It’s spurting. Get back. It could be contaminated.”

A woman shrieked, and a rise-and-fall of crowd noise followed. Sage elbowed her way to the front, pulling latex gloves from her purse. “I’m a trained medical professional. What’s going on here?”

A woman lay on the ground, her face covered by a furry mass. She pulled at the mass, screaming. “No, Yolanda, no!”

Sage approached, but the mass writhed, and then turned and bared its teeth at her.

“Bad spider monkey!” the woman yelled. “Bad! No biting!”

“Get it off her!” someone yelled as blood shot from the woman’s neck in regular bursts. “It bit her!”

“It looks like the bite hit an artery.”

“Look at all that blood!” The crowd gasped and pulled back.

The woman screamed again. “No, Yolanda! No!”

A grandpa-looking fellow lurched forward holding a Reedsville Rhinos hoodie. He deftly used it to envelop the creature, its tail the only thing protruding as it thrashed in the blanket. The woman cried, clutching after the primate. “What are they going to do to her?”

“I’m calling Fish and Game,” someone shouted. Mendon was too small to have official animal control.

“Someone call nine-one-one,” hollered another person.