Chasing I Do (The Eastons #1)
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Also By Marina Adair
Chasing I Do
Copyright
Dedication
Newsletter
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
An Excerpt from Promise Me You
About the Author
CHASING I DO
ALSO BY MARINA ADAIR
The Eastons
Chasing I Do
(Coming 2016):
Promise Me You
Crazy in Love
Heroes of St. Helena series
Need You for Keeps
Need You for Always
Need You for Mine
St. Helena Vineyard series
Kissing Under the Mistletoe
Summer in Napa
Autumn in the Vineyard
Be Mine Forever
From the Moment We Met
Sugar, Georgia series
Sugar’s Twice as Sweet
Sugar on Top
A Taste of Sugar
CHASING I DO
The Eastons
MARINA ADAIR
“Adair writes with heart and sizzling heat.”
~ JILL SHALVIS, New Your Times bestselling author
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2016 Marina Adair
Excerpt from Promise Me You copyright © 2016 by Marina Adair
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author and copyright owner of this book.
ISBNs: 978-0-9974832-0-8
Cover photograph by Devi Pride of Devi Pride Photography
http://www.devipridephotography.com/
Headshot by Tosh Tanaka
To my dear friend and Kappa Sigma Hottie sister,
Catherine Bybee. Thank you for the support,
the laughs, and the friendship.
I treasure you!
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XOXO,
Chapter 1
Darcy Kincaid had dreamed about this day since she was six and uncovered her mother’s stash of Southern Wedding magazines in the basement. After a lifetime of planning, hand picking two thousand of the palest of pink peonies, and her entire life savings, she was about to pull off, what she believed to be, the most romantic I Do in history. The sun was high, the sky was crystal blue, and a gentle June breeze carried the scent of the nearby primrose blooms and ever after.
Today was the perfect day to be married, and the rose garden at Belle Mont House was the ideal backdrop. And Darcy wasn’t about to let a tail-chasing wedding crasher ruin her moment. No matter how charming.
Not this time.
“Nuzzling the bride’s pillows before the wedding will only get you escorted out,” Darcy said to the four legged powderpuff in matching pink booties and hair bow.
The dog, who was more runway than runaway, dropped down low in the grass, eyes big black circles of excitement, tail wagging with delight—her jewel-encrusted collar winking in the sunlight.
Darcy squinted, but could only make out the first word, “Fancy.”
The little dog’s ears perked up and her tail went wild.
“Such a pretty name,” Darcy cooed, taking a cautious step forward. “I’m Darcy, it’s nice to meet you. I’m going to come a little closer so I can get a better look at your collar and find your mamma’s number. Is that okay?”
With a playful snort, the animal’s entire body began to wiggle, as if so excited by the idea of making a friend she couldn’t contain herself. Darcy reached out to ruffle her ears and Fancy, confusing Darcy’s movement for time to play, snatched up the pillow—and gave it a good shake.
“No!” Darcy cried, halting in her tracks while little bits of stuffing leached into the air, causing perspiration to bead on her forehead.
Fancy, on the other hand, wasn’t worried in the slightest. Nope, she gave another rambunctious whip of the head before jumping up and down with the pillow as if this were all fun and games.
Sadly, this situation was about as close to fun and games as natural child birthing. Not only was the vintage silk pillow, a family heirloom passed down from the bride’s great-grandmother, in danger of becoming a chew-toy—but the bride’s ring was swinging dangerously from the aged ribbon.
And this wasn’t just any bride. Candice Covington was the former Miss Oregon, a Portland mover and shaker, and the first bride to be wed at the newly renovated Belle Mont House. Candice was already in the bridal suite, her beloved in the tower room, and two-hundred of their closest friends and family were set to start arriving in just over an hour—and the dog looked content to nuzzle the pillow all afternoon.
With its teeth.
“Stop,” she said, in her most authoritative tone, putting her hand out.
To Darcy’s surprise, the dog stopped. Her snout going into hyper-sniffer mode, she dropped the pillow to the grass and rose up to smell the air. Seemed Fancy had caught the scent of the prosciutto wrapped figs sitting on a chair that Darcy had been tasting, and stood up on her hind legs, then walked around in three perfect circles.
“Someone’s got moves,” she said. “Not bad, but mine are better.”
A decade of planning events for Portland’s pickiest clients and four years in the trenches as a single mother had taught Darcy the art of positive redirection. She’d lasted through potty training, teething, and the chicken pox. This stubborn ball of fluff didn’t stand a chance.
Eying the flower arrangement on the closest table, Darcy grabbed a decorative stick and gave it a little shake. “Want to play with the stick for a while?” The dog sat, eyes wide, head cocked to the side in an explosion of cuteness. “We can switch toys before you destroy the pillow, okay?”
“Yip!”
Tail up like a heat-seeking radar, the dog hit the fetch-and-retrieve position, pointing her nose toward one of the open fields.
“Ready?” Darcy wiggled the stick again for show. “Go get ‘em.”
The stick flew through the air, going as far in the opposite direction as it could. Darcy released a sigh of relief when it cleared the fountain and landed in the middle of the field.
A low growl sounded, followed by a blur of white fur that bolted past.
Those little legs working for the prize. A position Darcy could relate to.
Located in the prestigious West Hills, Belle Mont House was three stories of Portland history with extensive manicured gardens, six bedrooms, a grand salon, and captivating views of the city and Mount Hood—all of which needed to be meticulously cared for. And Darcy was the sole caretaker.
She had driven by the old property a thousand times over the years. But hadn’t really recognized its potential until after her world had fallen apart, and a heartbreaking betrayal had left her life in tatters—much like the foundation of this forgotten house. Unable to watch something so beautiful and full of history crumble, she’d sa
ved it from demolition, then spent every penny and waking moment renovating it back to its original grandeur. In return, Belle Mont had given her something even more precious—a future for her and her daughter.
Today marked Belle Mont’s first day in operation as the year’s “Most Romantic” wedding destination in the Pacific Northwest, and Darcy as it’s planner extraordinaire—according to the editor at Wedding Magazine, who’d left a message earlier about sending a high-profile couple to check out the location.
A couple so hush-hush, the editor refused to give the name for fear that the press would show. But if they decided that Belle Mont was their dream wedding venue, and Darcy could accommodate them with the last Sunday in July, the only date that worked around the couple’s hectic schedule, then Belle Mont would land a huge spread in the August issue.
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 had CANDICE AND CARTER spelled 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 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 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—
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 summer 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 breathed, 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 others—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 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.
An even better uncle.
A swift shot of guilt mixed with the swelling panic in her throat, her reckless secret pressing down until she was choking. But Darcy swallowed it back, and refused to shoulder all of the blame.
Life was filled with hard choices. While Gage’s twin had chosen to be unfaithful, Darcy had chosen their daughter’s happiness.
She would always choose Kylie.
Gage looked at her bare feet then aimed that intense gaze her way. “I would have thought that after jilting Kyle like you did, you’d have started wearing running shoes to these kinds of events.”
Although Gage had a big heart, he was still an Easton. And when someone messed with one brother, they messed with the whole clan. The only way to survive was hide your fea
r and never stand down.
Shoulders back, chest slightly puffed, Darcy made her body appear bigger, the way she had when she’d been a young girl and encountered a stranger at her breakfast table. She’d walk into the kitchen and pretend she was big and strong—someone not to be messed with.
Her mother had a thing for rot-gut whisky and bottom-shelf men—and made a habit of bringing both home. Sometimes they stayed the night, sometimes they stayed the year, but Darcy never knew who—or what—she’d encounter in the one place that should have felt safe.
But this was her home now, and she’d do whatever was necessary to protect it.
“After five years, I would have hoped you’d realize your family weren’t the only ones who were hurting,” she said. “I may have walked out on your brother, but I wasn’t the one who let him drive that night.”
❀❀❀
Gage Easton felt the truth of that statement hit hard, the power of it nearly taking him out at the knees. Darcy wasn’t a confrontational person by nature, but she knew how to stand her ground. No doubt a trait she’d picked up from dealing with his family.
He hadn’t seen her since the funeral. Nobody had. Not that he’d blamed her. His family had still been reeling from the aftermath of the wedding that never happened, when tragedy struck again, tearing a chasm between Darcy and the Eastons that could never be fixed. His brother, Kyle, was gone, and with the overwhelming and sudden grief that had been thrust upon his family, most especially his mom, a lot of the blame had been unfairly placed upon Darcy.
There were so many times he wanted to reach out, make sure she was okay, but he’d spent the majority of their relationship keeping his distance, certain that no good could come from letting himself get too close. And he wasn’t looking to test his theory.
Not today.
“Are you okay?” he asked, waving a hand to her elbows, which were scraped and he was certain smarting.
“Nothing that won’t heal,” she said, and he knew she wasn’t talking about the gravel burn. “I just have to change my skirt and shoes.”