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surrounding ice.
    *jr
    The couple stood motionless by their car, transfixed by the scene.
    "Currier and Ives," Kate said wistfully.
    "Bonnie and Clyde," Jared responded in the same tone.
    "You're so romantic, Counselor." Kate managed a two-second glare of reproach before she smiled. Jared's often black sense of humor was hit or miss--"kamikaze humor," she had labeled it. "Come on, let's duck," she called.
    Her runner's legs, objects of the fantasies of more than a few of her fellow physicians at Metropolitan Hospital of Boston, brought her easily down the snowy embankment, her auburn hair bouncing on the Page 9
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    hood of her parka.
    As she approached the water, a huge gander, honking arrogantly, advanced to get his due. Kate eyed the bird and then threw a handful of bread over his head to a milling group of smaller mallards and wood ducks. A moment later, from atop the bank, Jared scaled an entire roll precisely at the feet of the gander, who snatched it up and swaggered away.
    Kate turned to him, hands on hips. "Are you trying to undermine my authority?"
    "Always side with the overdog. That's my motto," he said brightly. "I even voted for Mattingly in the Sixth Congressional race. I mean who would want to waste his vote on a sure loser like the other guy?"
    "A two-point defeat when you started out twenty-two behind? Some loser. Slide on down here, big boy, and I'll give you our traditional Sunday morning kiss."
    "We have a traditional Sunday morning kiss?"
    "Not yet."
    Jared surveyed the embankment and then chose a safer, albeit much longer, route than Kate had taken. She stifled a smile. Never lift up your left foot until your right one's firmly planted was a favorite saying of Jared's father, and here was the scion--the disciple--embracing the philosophy in its most literal sense. Someday, Jared, she thought, you are going to lift up both of your feet at the same time and discover you can fly. |
    His kiss was firm and deep, his tongue caressing the roof of her mouth, the insides of her cheeks. Kate responded in kind, sliding both her hands to his buttocks and holding him tightly.
    "You kiss good, Doc," he said. "I mean good."
    "Do you think the ducks would mind if we started making dirty snow angels?" she whispered, warming his ear with her lips.
    "No, but I think the Carlisles would." Jared pulled free. "We've got to get going. I wonder why they keep inviting us to play with them when we haven't beaten them once in two years."
    "They just love a challenge, I guess." Kate shrugged, tossed out the remaining bread, and followed him along the safe route to the road.
    "Did someone call this morning?" he asked over his shoulder.
    "Pardon?"
    "While I was in the shower." Jared turned to her as he reached the MG and leaned against the perfectly maintained canvas top. "I thought I heard the phone ring."
    "Oh, you did." A nugget of tension materialized beneath her breastbone. Jared hadn't missed hearing the phone after all. "It ... it was nothing, really. Just Dr. Willoughby." Kate slid into the passenger seat. She had wanted to choose carefully the moment to discuss the pathology chiefs call.
    "How is Yoda?" he asked, settling behind the wheel.
    "He's fine. I wish you wouldn't call him that, Jared.
    He's been very good to me, and it sounds so demeaning."
    "It's not demeaning. Honestly." He turned the key and the engine rumbled to life. "Why, without Yoda, Luke Skywalker would never have survived the first Star Wars sequel. What else could I possibly call someone who's three feet tall, bald with bushy eyebrows, and lives in a swamp? Anyway, what did he want?"
    Kate felt the nugget expand, and fought the sensation.
    "He just needed to discuss some twists and turns in the politics at the hospital," she said evenly. "I'll tell you about them later. How about we use the little time we have to plan some kind of strategic ambush for the Carlisles?"
    "Don't poach.