Second First Kiss

“Yes, sir.” The nurse left, presumably to deliver the message of Cade Calhoun’s idiocy.

Now that was the biggest kicker about a country hospital: the chance of knowing the patient increased exponentially. Or worse, the patient knowing him. He’d better not mess up.

That nurse anesthetist had better know what she’s doing.

Jasher studied the file, preparing himself mentally, checking for any abnormalities in the patient’s medical history. When he felt sufficiently ready, he pushed the swinging door and entered the well-lit O-R.

All the staff gathered around the operating table. Jasher took the lead.

“We have a patient, Daniel Dooley, age thirty-two. Emergency appendectomy. I’m Dr. Jasher Hotchkiss. I will be performing the surgery, an appendectomy, on Mr. Dooley today.” He went around the room, asking individuals to identify themselves and their roles in the procedure. Surgical assistant, nurses, and so forth. “And anesthesia?”

“That’s me.” A pair of deep-violet eyes blinked at him above a surgical mask, fringed by the darkest lashes he’d ever seen. “Sage Everton, CRNA.”

He gazed too long. Something passed between Sage and him. Not electricity, but a beam of particles. Particles made of pure desire. Okay, they were all coming from him and shooting at her like an automatic particle rifle.

The needle of a record player scratched across the vinyl of his soul.

Dude. You’re at work. About to perform surgery. Quit staring at her. And stop drooling behind your surgical mask.

He cleared his throat, as if that would clear his mind, as well. “Now, is the patient prepped for surgery?”

“Yes, doctor.” Sage was the one to answer. “Etomidate and isoflurane are being administered, as well as fentanyl.” Her voice regained that confidence of earlier during the crisis at the street fair. “The patient is prepped for surgery.”

As soon as Danny was fully under, Jasher proceeded. He’d never cut into a friend before. Forgive me, Danny. I’m wrecking your bikini body here. The scalpel pierced the navel and the operation was underway.

As for the anesthesia, Ms. Everton had this—highly professional. Something about that fact just made Sage Everton exponentially hotter than she’d even been two hours ago with her eyes crawling all over his bare chest for that split second.

“Nice work today in the field, Ms. Everton.” Jasher looked up, mid-procedure, from Danny’s abdomen a moment to search for a chain at Sage’s neck, one that might hold a wedding ring. Nurses didn’t wear rings in the surgical theater. Not safe.

No necklace, no ring. None on her finger, either. And she still went by the last name Everton. What about marrying that Kyle guy? Hadn’t that happened?

“You, too, Dr. Hotchkiss. Your help was extremely valuable.” Her eyes dipped and then met his again. For the briefest moment, Sage’s gaze seemed to mirror his own, with the particle beam bouncing back at him. “I apologize for dismissing you in the heat of the moment. I wasn’t aware of your credentials.”

Heat of the moment was right—but not as hot as this moment. The heat that washed through him when her gaze met his was undeniably a dangerously high temperature.

And yes, he did know this was neither the time nor the place to be getting all hot and bothered by an old crush.

He cleared his throat again. “I’m unfortunately running Dr. Parrish’s medical practice for the time being. I only received my hospital privileges last week. You were right to question.”

“They should have been obvious. You’re a man of technique.”

Jasher nearly dropped both a scalpel and a sponge into Danny’s abdominal cavity. Could Sage be referring to that technique? The skill of his long-ago kiss?

No. Not possible. It had to be one-sided, the memory. Still, of all the women he’d ever met and kissed, he’d dreamed of pursuing Sage Everton most often during his brief sleep-stints during residency. Good thing Danny was all the way under anesthesia—he would have called Jasher out on his obvious undying crush here and now.

Jasher pulled himself together.

“You’ll be glad to know that Mrs. Ferguson is on the mend.” Plunk, the offending appendix landed in the stainless steel pan. Got it. Jasher prepared to close the incision. In larger hospitals, the surgeon left the closing sutures to less-experienced doctors. Not how it worked here, apparently.

“And Yolanda?” Sage’s long-lashed eyes blinked, mesmerizing Jasher for a moment, putting his verbal skills into a deep sleep. The rest of him was awake, though. Wide awake. “You know, Yolanda the spider monkey?”

Right. All bets were off for the spider monkey, now that it had been taken into custody by Fish and Game. “Mrs. Ferguson will probably need to choose her pets more carefully in the future.”

Ironic that Sage was here at the operating table at Jasher’s side when the patient was Danny—the guy responsible for that hot spring day at the kissing booth. If he wasn’t careful, he could spiral into a stupor of lust-memories.

She’s right beside me. She’s within arm’s reach.

Except—he could never touch her again. Not after what he’d done, and not considering what the whole town of Mendon thought of him.