Page 92 of Four Dates and A Forever
“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 her 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 especially 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 ground, 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 how that had 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 into 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—oh god, she couldn’t breathe.
Her unexpected hero wore slacks and tie fit for Wall Street, a leather jacket that added a touch of bad boy to the businessman, and a pair of electric blue eyes that she’d recognize anywhere. They’d always reminded her of a calm, crystal clear lake. Today they were tempestuous, like an angry spring storm.
The change wasn’t a surprise, given the last time they’d seen each other. But the deep ache of longing it brought on was.
“Gage,” she said, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain he could hear it thumping in her chest.
It was the first time she’d seen him since the funeral, a thought that brought back a dozen memories—some sad, some of the best moments of her life, but all of them a painful reminder of what had been lost.
“Hey, Pink,” he said in a tone that implied that had he known it was her he would have let her drowned.
She swallowed back the disappointment, hoping he didn’t notice that she was shaking. “What are you doing here?”
“It looks like I’m helping you find your wedding ring.” He took her hand in his and slid the ring on her finger. The sensation was so overwhelming she jerked back.
Gage Easton was over six feet of solid muscle and swagger. He was also sweet and kind and, at one time, one of the few people she thought she’d always be able to count on. If things had gone how Darcy had dreamed, he would have made for one heck of a brother-in-law.
