To Save a King, page 5
“Let’s practice.” When she looked at him, he saw a new flare. A desire. She really wanted to win. But it was more than victory, it was some sort of comeuppance, a personal victory, proving herself. Perhaps something to do with her limp?
“On three,” he said.
On the count, they started forward with a powerful kick, and Gemma stumbled into him.
“Geez, not that much, Prince.”
“Sorry. I’m a bit competitive. But are you sure—”
She reared up tall and determined. “Don’t ask me again if I’m sure. I’m in this for the win as much as you. If I have to, I’ll carry you on my back across the finish line.”
“Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” He smiled. “Let’s go again.”
One…two…three, and they charged forward. This time without stumbling. The next practice run they launched on the one count to give them a good jump at the starting line. At last, they declared themselves ready and hobbled to the sideline to await their turn.
Standing among the racers, John watched the heat before theirs with enthusiasm, a bit of adrenaline flowing, realizing how much he wanted to win. How much he needed to win. To close out the year of Holland’s death with a triumph. No matter how small. Something to remind him Blue blood flowed through his veins. And that there was more to life than death.
Even if it was a cheap, ugly trophy for The Wedding Shop.
Beside him, Gemma cheered on the couple in the lead. “Come on, Devon!” She looked at John. “She’s my cousin.”
“Then come on, Devon.”
But Devon and her partner tumbled, rolling off the racetrack, laughing. After another two races, his and Gemma’s heat was called.
Lining up at the starting line, Gemma baited JoJo. “You’re going to eat my dust, Jo.”
“Whatevs. Buck, did you hear that? She thinks they’re going to win.”
“A girl can dream but that don’t make it real,” Buck said with a glance at John.
So, the challenge was on. He leaned slightly forward, his arm taut around Gemma. She cinched her arm about him and gripped the side of his shirt.
“Y’all racers, ready?” The chap Hooley was at the starting line with his bullhorn. “On your mark, get set…”
A starter pistol sounded, and they were off. Out of the gate, three couples tripped, thus thinning the field. He and Gemma moved in perfect stride, their joined legs performing as one.
“We’re going to win.” She quickened their pace.
“Steady, don’t rush it.” They’d settled into a solid rhythm.
“Up ahead, up ahead,” she said, nodding toward a couple who’d fallen. They hurdled them with ease.
“Good job, love,” John said, leaning all the more into the race, into the win, each deep, humid gulp of Tennessee air clearing away a bit of his dullness.
To his left, Buck and JoJo raced with skill. To Gemma’s right, Haley and Cole, whom he’d only just met, also seemed in command of their game. John urged Gemma forward, picking up the pace.
No longer a game, no longer about town pride, this race was John’s life and he must triumph.
They neared the turnaround—a large tree—in first place. Splendid. He regretted ever doubting Gemma’s ability.
“Watch out, Prince, more litter on the track.” They leapt over another fallen couple and sidestepped a third.
But Buck and JoJo were closing in, yelling threats between fits of laughter.
“You can’t win, you two. Buck, watch it, you’re pulling too hard.”
“Ready for another gear?” John said low into Gemma’s ear.
Anticipating her yes, he looked over to see a slight hesitancy in her expression, but it was quickly consumed by a glint of steel determination. He increased his grip on the sack tighter and picked up the pace.
Together, they flew over the pitch and hurdled another downed, laughing couple tangled up in gunny sack and rope. The finish line was mere meters ahead. The win was theirs for the taking.
He pulled harder, dragging Gemma’s tied leg with his. Take that, death. Or life. Whichever. You cannot defeat me.
“Hey, Prince, wait—”
“Come on, love.”
He didn’t see it—the divot in what appeared to be level ground—but his foot landed in it with such force he was thrown down, dragging Gemma with him.
Twisting. Tumbling. Falling. Yelling.
They landed with a thud, their faces and hands skidding across the surface. John felt his ankle twist in an unnatural direction and in his ear, he heard Gemma’s cry of pain.
As he pushed up, trying to get a feel for their position—entertaining the wild idea they’d skidded across the finish line—Buck and JoJo sailed over them to win the heat.
John sighed and collapsed down to the ground. So typical. This was his life, right? What made him think a silly carny game would change anything? Because when a man loses in love, he loses in everything.
Chapter Four
Gemma
Her hip hurt as she rolled onto her side, waiting for the pain to subside. This better not set her back six months. After two years, she was finally healing.
“Are you okay?” The prince’s handsome face appeared above hers and he offered his hand.
“Give me a minute.” She pushed up, settling gently onto her backside, babying her right hip, reaching to untangle the rope and gunny sack.
The doctors had promised her hip bone would heal. Six months and she’d be back to her old self, they said. After all, she was young and healthy. But two years later, she still limped. Her hip ached when it rained or when the temperature dipped below a moderate fifty.
Gemma managed those things well enough. What bothered her most was how she wasn’t “her old self.” How each flare-up, or any question about her limp, brought up the night of her great humiliation. Even if she was the only one of her family and friends who knew, she’d never be the same.
At last she reached for the prince’s hand. “What about you?” She stood, easing weight on her wounded side. “Are you okay?”
“Embarrassed but unharmed.” He inspected her as if to ascertain the truth of her well-being. When his blue eyes looked too long into hers, she turned away. “I thought we had it.”
“Me too.” Gemma gazed toward the finish line. “But we can still finish.”
“I don’t see the point.” John knocked a clump of grass and dirt from his skinned knee.
“Why not? Only quitters quit.” She hooked her arm about him with a stubborn yank but buckled on her first step and fell against him. “Sorry. I’ll be all right in a sec—”
“Steady on, lass. Lean on me.” He slipped his arm about her and he angled forward, inspecting her weak side. “Are you sure—”
“Yes, dang it. I’m sure.” She cupped her free hand about her mouth. “Let the world know, I’m sure. A limp is still a walk.” She glanced at her partner. “Let’s go. The finish is waiting.” Gemma started off slowly, stretching, working out the kink, but her hip betrayed her again—as it was prone to do—and she stumbled into the prince. “Good grief. I feel like we’re trapped in a cheesy, rom-com meet-cute. Small-town Southern girl falls into a prince’s arms.”
“My brother hit his wife in the head with a Frisbee. I think we’re doing rather well in comparison.”
She spewed a laugh, and this time when he looked into her eyes, she didn’t turn away. She flirted. A little. For like five seconds. After all, that’s what one did in a cheesy rom-com. She was, er, used to be an actress.
Meanwhile, a crowd had gathered, closing in and pressing against the protection dude, Gunner, as they snapped photos. Gemma charged toward the sideline ropes, straining against her aching hip.
“Get out of here. Shoo. Bunch of rednecks. Act like y’all been here before.” She turned to John. “We have country music royalty all over the place, but let one real royal prince show up and they lose their heads.”
His smile, whoosh, made her belly drop. “If anything happens to Gunner, I’m hiring you.”
“I do know one judo move.” That’s when she got cocky. Tried the roundhouse kick she learned for a commercial—like ten years ago—and landed flat on her back.
“Gemma, are you all right?” Once again, John peered down at her, offering his hand.
“Does humiliated and in pain count as all right?” Gemma waved off his offer of help and pushed to her feet with a muffled moan.
“Hey! You two, finish.” Buck. On the sideline. Holding up the trophy. “We get bonus points for every Wedding Shop team that finishes. Goes toward the final race.”
“Give me a minute.” Step, pain, step, pain. “Where’s our sack and rope?”
“Forget the sack and rope,” Buck hollered. “John, pick her up. Carry her.”
“I can walk, thank you.” Gemma pressed her hand over her hip and hobbled toward the finish line. Bath. Hot. Long. Tonight.
“That’s it, we’re doing this the easy way.” In one hunky motion, the crown prince of Lauchtenland scooped Gemma into his arms. “I’d like to finish before midnight.”
The rubberneckers and hoverers went wild, and team Prince’s Bride faced a wall of smartphone cameras. Every moment, every move, captured.
Without once taking a labored breath, Prince John carried her across the finish line. Hooley announced their completion through his bullhorn.
“Team Prince’s Bride. Last but not least.”
No sooner had John set her down than Gunner appeared with a couple of local sheriff’s deputies, dispersing the crowd.
“I should go,” John said, backing toward Gunner. “I’m becoming a risk to myself and others.”
“Wait, Prince.” Gemma limped toward him. “Thanks. For back there.”
“We had it, didn’t we? The win.” Again he smiled… She felt the hardness she’d been nurturing since leaving L.A. and Vegas give a little.
“We’ll get them next time.” Like there would ever be a next time. The prince offered a fist bump and when she responded, her eyes welled up. “See you around.”
He disappeared about as quickly as he appeared in her life a few hours earlier, Buck and Gunner flanking him. Just before he disappeared around a set of bounce houses, Prince John glanced over his shoulder.
Gemma waved. See ya, Prince.
“Someone has a crush.” JoJo bumped Gemma’s sore hip.
“Careful, Jo.” She started across the field toward her parents’ camp where there was a plethora of chairs, food, and friends. As for a crush on the prince? Nothing doing. “Someone does not have a crush,” she said to Jo. “We finished the race, end of story. You’re the one who paired me with him. I’d have soon stayed behind eating barbecue.”
“I saw you watching him. Say, do you want me to talk to him tonight? See if he likes you? You could write him a note and I’ll pass it to him during dinner.”
“Jo—” Gemma whirled toward her laughing, teasing friend. “I’m not on the market and I doubt he is either. So no, I don’t want you to ask if he likes me. Girl, we don’t even live in the same country. Need I remind you he’s your friend, not mine.”
“He could be your friend. I mean, he can’t spend all of his time with Buck and me. He’d go crazy. As for love, he has to meet someone. He has to marry. It’s a Lauchtenland law or something.”
“Jo, just stop.” The world stage was the one stage she never wanted to see.
“You have to find someone too.”
“Who says?” Gemma wove through the crowd with JoJo at her side, a dull throb vibrating from her hip down her leg to her toes. “My romantic instincts are abysmal.”
“Goodness, what happened to you?” Mama stood as Gemma approached, eyeing one of the reclining chairs.
“My partner and I fell in the three-legged race. I hurt my hip. Do you have any ibuprofen in your Mary Poppins’ bag?”
“Betty,” Mama said, motioning toward her bag, directing her longtime friend. “Look in my bag for my pillbox.” She bent beside Gemma, dusting the grass from her knees, trying to rub the stain from her white shorts. “Is it your hip?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You always say that but—”
“Because it’s always true.”
“I still wish you would tell me and Daddy what happened—”
“How about some barbecue, Mama, and a Diet Coke?” Gemma leaned forward and planted a kiss on her mother’s forehead.
Mama’s tight-lipped expression communicated her protest. She’d been asking Gemma for two years—ever since she returned home—why she limped. And for two years, she got bupkis.
About then Miss Betty returned with the ibuprofen. Mama hustled about filling a plate with barbecue and fries and grabbed a tall, cold, ice-dripping Diet Coke.
At last, all was right with the world again. Except for one small thing. She could still feel the prince’s arms around her as he carried her over the finish line and how for a brief moment, all the pain had completely vanished.
* * *
Around five Imani found Gemma winning a game of Hearts.
“I’m going over to Justin’s now, okay?”
“Who’s going to be there?” Gemma counted her cards, happy to see she’d won the round.
“Justin’s parents, if that’s what you mean.”
“You know me so well.” Gemma excused herself from the table and faced her “daughter” of two years. Imani had arrived on her doorstep the day she’d signed the papers for the property and they’d moved in together.
“Am I wrong?” Imani snatched a carrot from the veggie platter on the food table.
“Miss Gemma, I promise my parents are going to be there.” Justin looked like a scared rabbit, standing there with his ball cap crushed in his hands, not sure whether to look at Gemma or her father, the formidable Mac Stone, or Mama, the even more formidable Mauve Stone.
But the kid was a star. Smart and considerate, an excellent musician, and about the best-looking boy at Rock Mill High. “My dad is trying out his new smoker. Pork and chicken.”
“Gemma, you won that round.” This from Mama’s other friend Betty—not to confuse things—who hated to lose at cards. “Are you playing again?”
“Go ahead without me.” Gemma grabbed a bottle of water from the ice chest and chose a folding chair next to Daddy—who was inspecting Justin like he’d just confessed to breaking and entering.
Never mind he was good friends with the boy’s father and played in a guitar circle with him once a month.
“He was bragging about that smoker last time I saw him,” Daddy said with a side glance at Gemma. He tipped his head toward the waiting youngins with a look of, “Let her go. He’s a good kid.”
“Don’t you want to be here for the fireworks?” Gemma said. “Folks came from all over Tennessee and neighboring states to see our tiny town’s display.”
“Dad bought a bunch this year. Said he didn’t want to fight the crowd.” Justin emphasized his point by holding his hat in a death grip. “Going to have our own show tonight.”
“Seems like a lot of effort.” Gemma twisted the cap from her water bottle and took a long drink. “Be home by ten, Imani.”
“Ten?” Her protest was quick and sure. “What happened to midnight? We’re going to make S’mores after his dad’s fireworks.”
“Did I agree to midnight?”
“Sort of,” Imani said. Which was the same as a “Yes” to every teenager on the planet.
“Can she stay, Miss Gemma?”
Justin asked so sweetly, so kindly, she had to relent. If for no other reason than to rescue his poor hat.
“Fine. But not a second after. Points if you come home before the clock strikes twelve.” Gemma glanced at Justin. “She turns into a pumpkin, you know.”
Justin started to laugh but Imani grabbed him by the hand and yanked him away.
“You’re the best, Gemstone,” she called over her shoulder.
Gemma watched as they dashed off—Justin setting his cap backwards on his head—and a piece of her heart went with Imani. Heaven help her but she’d do anything and everything to give that girl a life she deserved. To keep her from more hurt, from making the big mistakes. She owed it to Imani’s parents. She owed it to herself. Imani was a future wonder woman and nothing was too good for her.
“You can’t do it, Gemstone.” She turned to Daddy as his subtle words landed with a resounding truth. “Can’t keep her in a bubble. From mistakes. She’s got to live her own life.” He cut a slice of apple with his pocketknife and popped it into his mouth. “Let her learn while she’s living under your roof so’s you can guide her, help her.”
“Who said I want to keep her in a bubble?”
“It’s written all over your face.”
“I just don’t want her to be hurt. It’s enough her parents are dead.”
“I’d give my right arm for you not to be hurt. But you are and I still don’t know why. That’s your secret to tell or keep. Everything you’re feeling for Imani, I felt. Pieces of my heart went with you every time you walked out the door.” How did her kooky old man see through her? “But, Gemma, I wanted your dreams for you every bit as much as you.” The knife cut through the apple again.
“I don’t know how you and Mama did it. I was twice as fiery as Imani. Stubborn and strong-willed.” She reached over and squeezed his hand.
“Because you raise your kids the best you can and let them fly. Imani has lots of good upbringing. Just so happens she’s landed with you to get her the rest of her journey. You got two more years before college. Make them count. Just remember, you’re not her savior. Not her redeemer.”
“I know. Who said different?”
“That job belongs to Someone else.”
“Again, I know.”
“The One who died on that there cross—”
“Yes, Daddy, I’ve been to church.”
