Page 2 of Chasing I Do
The endorsement alone was enough to make her say yes on the spot. Not to mention the profit for hosting such a lavish event would go a long way toward helping pay back all of the money she’d invested into the renovation—and secure her future in Portland.
A future which now resided in the jaws of a dog that could fit in her pocket.
Fancy snatched the stick and darted across the lawn toward the twinkle lit and peony covered gazebo in record time—all with the pillow still in its jowls.
“Hey,” she called out. “We had a deal!”
The dogs tail went up as if flipping the bird at their deal, before she ran beneath a row of chairs and struck a different kind of pose all together. A move that showed enough doggie bits to prove that under that pink bling, Fancy was all male. And about to shit all over Candice’s perfect day.
A situation Darcy knew all too well.
“Had I known you had a stupid stick down there, I wouldn’t have bothered trying to reason with you.”
In Darcy’s experience, men loved the forbidden, almost as much as they loved their stick. So she fumbled with her skirt, pulling it above her thighs, and gave chase.
Fancy took off, and man, those toothpick legs could fly. Ears flapping behind him, butt moving like lightning bugs in a jar, the pooch headed straight for the rose garden, which lay directly across from the aisle runner that hadCANDICE AND CARTERspelled out in the palest of pink peony petals.
“Not the runner,” she cried, only to watch in horror as Fancy raced up the center of the white pillowed Egyptian cotton, his legs pumping with the speed and grace of a cheetah in the wild, leaving a few dozen miniature muddy paw prints and a tornado of petals in his wake.
“No no no,” she called out. “Not the rose garden.”
Terrified of the damage he could do to the roses, and the pillow, she picked up the pace and rounded the white iron fencing, gravel sliding under heels as she burst through the gate and snatched the pillow right before the Fancy dove his fancy ass—and Candice’s ring—into the fountain.
“Got it,” she yelled, but the celebration quickly faded as her momentum carried her forward—and right into the stone cherub boy’s watering hole.
“Oh God, no!” Darcy yelped, as water exploded around her.
Having landed ass first, she felt the cold wetness seep through her silk skirt and slosh into her shoes. Her brand new designer shoes she’d found at a consignment store and purchased special for today. “Please, no.”
She clawed the edge of the fountain and pulled, mentally willing herself out of the fountain—but she couldn’t gain any positive momentum. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t pull herself out.
Refusing to give up, she looked around for Fancy, hoping to either send him to find help, or pull him in with her. But he’d vanished, right before the wedding, leaving her waist deep in his mess.
The situation was so painfully familiar, Darcy wanted to cry. Then devour the entire wedding cake in one sitting.
“Are you okay?” a husky voice asked from above.
“Thank God you’re here,” she said, pushing her hair out of her face and looking up, expecting to find one of her kitchen staff.
But instead of a clip-on tie with a comb over, Darcy’s unexpected hero looked like an underwear model in a dark blue button-up and a pair of slacks that fit him to perfection. And his arms—oh my, those arms—were impressive, perfect for helping a lady in need.
Although Darcy had worked hard to not be reliant on others—a lifetime of letdowns could do that to a girl—she knew that sometimes it was okay to take an offered hand. And those hands were big and solid and—whoa—reaching forward to wrap around her hips and easily lift her out.
Her feet hit the floor and she did her best to wring out her shirt. “I’m sorry if I’m getting you all wet.”
“You never have to apologize to a man for getting him wet,” he chuckled, and Darcy, realizing howthathad come out, went to move, but his arms tightened, stilling her. “Make sure you’re okay first. You were moving pretty fast when you dove in.”
Not as fast as her heart was racing.
Closing her eyes, Darcy took stock. Her chest tingled, her head was light, and a wave of delicious thrill jumpstarted parts she’d long believed dead. In fact, she was as far from fine as a woman who had sworn off men could get.
“I’m good. Thank you,” she lied, trying to gain some distance without falling back in the fountain, which was not an easy task. He was so big, he filled the space, leaving nowhere for her to go. She brushed off her elbows, which were scraped up, but she’d live, then started to straighten when a big hand appeared. Candice’s ring resting in its palm.
“I believe you lost this.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, a wave of relief washing over her. “You have no idea how…”
Darcy looked up, and the words died on her lips and dropped to the pit of her stomach, where they expanded and churned until—
