Second First Kiss

Wow. In that cherry-red dress, she looked better than a plateful of Constantini spaghetti. He sent her mental texts. Don’t buy that bullrider’s bull!

There had to be a word for wishful telepathy.

Oh, right. Tele-pathetic.

Into the PA system, Inchy extolled the scant virtues of Dr. Dave McGreeley for the crowd, who gave tepid applause. Cade was up next, and Inchy could barely be heard over the hoots and catcalls.

Keepin’ it classy, Mendon.

“In case some of you don’t know, Cade is a local hero of sorts. Not only is he a bull-riding champion, but he scored the highest number of points in any single game ever played by the Mendon Eagles basketball team.”

A man somewhere in the crowd piped up. “Too bad his so-called teammate threw the game on Cade’s big championship night.”

Here we go. I knew it was coming, sooner or later. The inevitable public flogging.

“We on the hospital auxiliary board don’t want to play favorites, but if we did, we’d have to name Cade Calhoun. He’s been our consistent high-bid winner, year after year, which means we’ve featured him every year at our annual auxiliary rodeo barbecue in photos with his winning date as our cutest couple. Do we have that to look forward to again this year, Cade? Have you pulled the necessary strings? Lined up your lady-love support?”

“You can count on it, Inchy. You can count on Cade Calhoun.”

Slogans. Gag.

A bell clanged from the voting table. One of the auxiliary ladies held it and beamed.

“Thank you, Cade. That bell means that voting is complete. One last bachelor to introduce.”

Jasher willed his shoulders not to slump. He pasted on a smile. All the others had endured it. Nothing should have made him think he’d escape the spotlight—other than that the crowd would hate Inchy for shining it in his direction.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen. The newest doctor on staff at Mendon Regional.”

A low groan rippled through the too-hot room. Someone’s voice carried over top of the murmur of discontent, saying, “We don’t need introductions to that fool.”

Charming, pal. Jasher waved and smiled as if he didn’t know they still wanted to string him up by his ankles in the sun and turn him into jerky.

“Since the last bid is in, now we can talk at last and divulge the secret!” Inchy clapped her hands. “You’re the one who offered an unusual prize as a donation tonight. Five dates, not three.”

Jasher clenched his teeth and pulled his lips back into what might look like a grin to others. Or not.

The heckler from earlier couldn’t resist. “Prob’ly trying to sweeten his chances. But the only chance of him getting a date around here is fat. Fat chance. Get it?”

Good one, heckler. Good one. You’ll be here all night.

“I’ll ask Mrs. Babbage to do the computations and find us the top bidder while I interview you, Dr. Hotchkiss.” Inchy winked and introduced him, extolling his virtues as a surgeon, his education, his hometown roots, before beginning a litany of questions, all of which brought out the worst in The Heckler.

Jasher endured. “Thanks for introducing me to everyone.” He spoke, but most of the crowd was talking again—until Mrs. Babbage approached the stage in her tent of a flower-print dress with the results.

She leaned into Jasher before he could exit the stage. “Thank you for taking care of my nephew Danny. He’s healing up so fast. Your surgery was a miracle. Don’t let that rude person in the peanut gallery get under your skin. Our town needs you.”

Sure it did. Like a hole in the head.

Come to think of it, Jasher and his drill and scalpel could arrange to create a hole in the head of every person in this town. He had a license for it and everything.

Now, where was Sage? He didn’t go back to his seat. He made for the door. Had she left? He didn’t know what she drove, so searching the parking lot of the armory was going to be useless. Maybe she’d headed to the ladies’ room, and he could lurk at the door, and—

“Well, we do have a grand prize winner, my friends.” Inchy clapped, and the impact jolted through the woofers of the sound system. “And it’s a blowout! This year’s top bid puts all our previous years to shame.”

The audience clapped. Jasher made for the back exit of the gym, where the restrooms were. Might as well ditch out on Cade Calhoun’s glory moment, let him bask in it without the fly of his ointment—meaning Jasher.

“Drum roll, please,” Inchy demanded, and everyone complied by beating on their banquet tables. Classy. So classy. “This year’s winner, with a knee-buckling bid of ten thousand dollars for his donation is …” Inchy stretched the moment, and Jasher put his hand on the door plate to push it open and exit. “Don’t you leave, Jasher Hotchkiss!” she bellowed. He halted. “Because you’re the grand prize winner!”