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,usedto 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 onerealroyal prince show up and they lose their heads.”
His smile,whoosh, made her belly drop. “If anything happens to Gunner, I’m hiring you.”
“Idoknow 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.”
