Second First Kiss

“Redmond? Yes!” Kennedy swung around in her seat to look. “Oh, my gosh. I had forgotten about Redmond Parrish. Remember when you and I and Olivia all asked him to the spring dance when we were sophomores and he was a senior?”

“Oh, yeah. I’d forgotten we did that. It was fun. Or at least he made it fun for us.” Redmond had been awesome. So positive, always complimenting all the girls, making any cloudy day sunny. Sage would go say hi in a bit, even though he might not remember her. “Too bad he’s not a local medical professional and at the bachelor table. Even if Redmond can’t drive and has that stutter that makes him hard to understand, he’d be a much better date than”—she pinched her nose and waved her hand in front of her face, the universal sign for Dr. McGreeley.

“You’re not kidding.” Kennedy shuddered. “When that guy came by our table earlier, I considered petitioning the city council to force him to wear a label reading toxic fumes.”

“All right, folks.” Mrs. Ince took the microphone. “Here are the rules of engagement.” She giggled. “I mean, some of us are hoping for an engagement, right?” More giggles.

Oh, brother. Let this night end fast.

“Let me remind you how this works.” She waited until the room settled into a dull rumble. “Bidding is blind. Don’t try to pry any identities out of our bachelors. And bachelors? No hints!” She shot the bachelor table her notorious stink eye. “Base your bids on the list of dates offered, please. And be generous when you place the amount and your name in the secret ballot box beside your chosen list.”

Sage glanced up. The so-called ballot boxes weren’t exactly secret, since they were glass canning jars.

“The highest bid in each box wins, and the winner will accompany that bachelor on the listed dates.” She signaled for applause and received some, which she patted out quickly. “And—the highest bid for any set of dates wins our grand prize package. New this year. So please bid, bid, bid.”

Applause rose and fell, and then the crowd resumed their interrupted conversations.

“What’s the grand prize?” Sage asked Kennedy, who shrugged and answered her phone. Medical professionals didn’t have the luxury of turning them off.

Sage studied the front table. Besides the white-hot Jasher Hotchkiss and the smarmy Dr. McGreeley seated beside him, a few of the usual suspects were lined up, Mendon’s local mini-celebrities, including one of the local attorneys, a young basketball coach, and—

Oh, no. Not him. There, in a Pepto-Bismol-colored western shirt with pearl snaps, sat self-appointed God’s-gift-to-all-Mendon-women-of-any-marital-status, Cade Calhoun.

Sage made herself as small as possible to avoid his notice. She lifted up her program and turned aside. Geez. Between the cocky rodeo-champ chump and McGreeley, bidding on the dates was a minefield studded with explosives tailor-made for Sage Everton.

Maybe he wouldn’t see her.

“What’s the usual and customary bid at these things?” Sage asked when Kennedy put down her phone.

“I forget you haven’t been in Mendon for one of these before. So, they take cash and checks—no upgrade to insta-pay in these parts yet. You include the money with your bid. It’s a donation, basically. Even the losers pay.”

Brilliant fundraising strategy. Sage had to hand it to Inchy and the hospital auxiliary for that. “What are you going to bid?” It was crass to ask, but Sage needed an idea. “I mean, what’s the ballpark?”

“I never win, but I only bid in the three-figure range. I’m still in loan repayment.”

Oh, so that meant winners bid in the thousands? Wow. Well, not that Sage couldn’t afford it. In fact, if she dipped into Leo’s life insurance money like she planned, she could bump it up to five figures. The medical equipment would be worth it.

“Let’s go check out the lists of dates before they bring our food.” Kennedy slid her chair back and stood. “Once the garlic bread gets to our table, I’m going to forget about everything else.”

Sage rose, too. As she turned to go examine the bidding table on the far side of the room, bedecked with glass jars, she nearly stumbled into a tall, slim cowboy wearing classic OTC-medicinal pink.

“Sage Everton.” Cade Calhoun flashed his signature wicked grin. “I’ve spent the past five minutes making my way over to this table. All the ladies kept stopping me along the way, but I knew where I wanted to be.”

“Cade.” Sage gave him a curt nod and tried to sidestep him. No such luck. He stood directly in her path, his chest a few inches from hers. He smelled like he’d made a detour through Mendon Wine and Spirits on his way here.

“I’m sure the lovely Kennedy Keller explained to you that my jar gets the most bids every year—and the highest bids. It’s hardly even a competition anymore.” He reached out to Sage’s arm and trailed a fingertip down it.

Sage took a step back, but a seated patron blocked her way. Trapped! Her pulse went up—and not in a good way.

“Now, I’m in great standing with Inchy, as you know, and I’ve been given some special privileges because I’ve been such a great source of fundraising for this event the past five years.”

“Privileges, huh?” Where was Kennedy? She’d abandoned Sage! No, she was being cornered by that hanger-on of Cade’s, Nick Martin. Great. They were both stuck now and couldn’t rescue each other.

“Lots of privileges, one being that I get to mention to the woman of my choice a single detail from my date card so that she can choose to bid on it. Whatever you’re planning on bidding, double it. I’ll make up the difference with my bull-riding purse from the circuit last season. I’m good for it. I just want to spend the winning dates with you, Sage. Now that you’re free again.”

Free again! Was that what Cade thought of widowhood? How on earth would Cade Calhoun even know about her brief marriage? Well, other than this was Mendon they lived in. He was missing a few brain cells from all his concussions, but he wasn’t that dumb.

“That’s all right, Cade. I think I can manage.” Then again, the heads up might be just as useful as the suggestive hint from McGreeley. “On second thought”—she stepped closer to him, even though it could give him the wrong idea—“tell me.”