Second First Kiss

“Cool.” A dozen or so deer drank at the creek a few feet from the road. Jasher slowed his truck. Deer could bolt for the road on the slightest provocation. “Check it out. One of them winked at me.”

“Winked at you!” Sage gave a startled laugh. “When you’re on a date with another girl?”

“Hardly appropriate. If I were a hunter, I’d—” He made some sounds.

“If you were a hunter?” Sage asked. “You mean you don’t hunt? I thought every male in Mendon applied for deer tags, elk tags, bison tags—every year.”

“Nah. I couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn. My hands tremble.”

“Ha!” Sage’s one-syllable laugh filled the truck’s cabin. “Impossible. I’ve seen you in surgery. You’re calm and steady. Solid ice.”

So maybe he was exaggerating. “Fine. It’s more that no one in my family wants to eat game meat. But I must say, you’re the same—glacial nerves in the O-R.”

“Please. There’s nothing icy about me.”

Now, that he’d love to believe—and explore in greater detail and at closer range.

They pulled up at the Moose Creek restaurant, his truck the sole vehicle in the parking lot. He came around and let Sage out of the passenger side.

“It’s not so lively, is it?” She eyed the area.

“It’s … discreet.” Code-word for dying. Jasher suspected the only way they stayed in business was as a perennial tax write-off for operating at a loss. The owner had scads of cash from a prosperous dairy farm on the other side of the county.

Their discreet solitude didn’t last long, however. Gravel crunched under tires, audible even in their truck. Out of her mini-SUV hopped Rhoda.

“Hey, guys.” She was breathing hard. “I nearly hit a deer back there. They’re rampant! It’s so dry in these mountains, they have to come down lower to eat.” She grabbed some gear from her back seat. “You ready for your photo op?”

Right. Jasher had inconveniently forgotten this part of the deal.

“Let’s be sure to get you guys and the cliff in the shot.” Rhoda screwed up her face. “I’ll try to edit out the restaurant for the most part. It’s …” She didn’t need to finish the sentence. The place was a dump.

“How’s this?” Sage pulled her chestnut hair over her shoulder and pressed herself against Jasher’s side. “Is the lighting okay?”

Okay, and that was another thing about Sage. She didn’t complain about this lunacy of being photographed for the fundraiser. In fact, she seemed anxious to help Rhoda make the best of it.

Up to now, all the women Jasher had tried to date had been—among other things—pretty self-absorbed. In other words, they would have told Rhoda to get lost.

Not Sage.

“It’s perfect.” Rhoda beamed. “Oh, and could you do me just one favor? Inchy insisted on something with a little bit of affection, so Sage? Could you—would you mind? Maybe kiss Dr. Hotchkiss on the cheek?”

Jasher felt his face tingle at the follicles of his beard. He tilted his face just so, and Sage pressed a soft, supple kiss just below his eye. His eyes automatically closed, and he forgot where he was. She smelled like leaves and distant campfires and sounded like a bubbling stream, and …

“That’s just right. Oh, great!” Rhoda squealed. “Finally, finally! Inchy won’t threaten to send me to photography school.”

The squealing woke Jasher from his kiss-trance. He looked down at Sage, who was looking up at him.

Click. Rhoda’s camera snapped one more time.

“You guys should be models, really.” Rhoda chuckled. “That’s dreamy. I’ll see you next time.” She headed for her car.

Jasher made a mental note to bribe Rhoda to ask for something even a little more sensual for their next photo—since Sage seemed anxious to do whatever Rhoda asked.

After the exit gravel and dust settled from Rhoda’s swift retreat, and Sage finished waving goodbye, Jasher grabbed Sage’s hand. Oh, it was soft—and almost as supple as her lips had been. His heart palpitated. “Be careful on this part. There are ruts in the dirt parking lot.”

He helped her over the ruts. She pressed his hand. He let the electric pulses of her touch surge through him.

“I’ll say one thing for the discreet place you chose.”