Not about to allow such a tragedy, she lurched toward the lake but found herself caught.
“Stay here,” he was gripping her arm. “Fiddlesticks!” The stranger’s commanding voice echoed across the ice.
The intrepid dachshund, who only behaved when it was convenient, hesitated, and then glanced from the shore back to the birds and then to the shore again.
“Come! Fiddlesticks!” Priscilla added her plea to the stranger’s.
The man stretched out an arm, his gloved hand fisted as though offering her dog a treat. “Come!”
Fiddlesticks studied the man’s hand as though contemplating his odds.
And then, once he’d come to a decision, Little Fiddlesticks gave up his bird quest in favor of a potential snack. A few yards from safety, however, the surface gave up on him.
Horrified, Priscilla watched the pup slip beneath the ice and into the water.
“No!” She moved to go after him, but that strong hand held her back.
“Hold these.” He gave her no choice but to take the heavy coat as he tossed it into her arms. And then his jacket.
“But…?”
“I’ll fetch him.” The man kept his gaze intent on the spot Fiddlesticks disappeared.
Shaking inside, Priscilla hugged the warmth of his garments to her chest and watched the man wade into the water.
Utterly helpless, she watched as his tall Hessians sunk into the murky depths. What was he doing?
She gasped when, without warning, the man ducked under the slivers of ice, disappearing into the water himself.
“Oh!” Dread lodged in her throat.
If another man died because of her—
Had her heart stopped beating? But no, pounding thundered in her ears. And she could hear the blood racing through her body. “Come back!” she croaked. “Come back!”
As quickly as he’d disappeared, the man’s head surfaced, and then the top half of him, his black hair slicked back like a seal’s coat. Drenched, now, his shirt clung to his chest and his form-fitting breeches hugged his thighs.
And he held Fiddlesticks in his arms. Water rolled off the whimpering pup, but he was very much alive.
“Oh, Thank you!” Priscilla licked her lips, which were as dry as her mouth. “Thank you!”
The man’s light green eyes twinkled in the sunshine, and his white teeth flashed as he smiled. He was not hurt.
“I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have.” She shook her head. “Bad dog! You bad, dear, sweet dog!”
The thoroughly soaked gentleman wrapped Fiddlesticks’ leash around his wrist as he stepped out of the water onto the bank. Shivering pathetically, Fiddlesticks burrowed into the man’s chest.
“Quite the narrow escape.” The rich timbre of his voice rumbled pleasantly as he stepped onto the shore—his boots ruined.
Priscilla stared straight ahead at his chest. She had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.
Water clung to thick his black lashes, fringing eyes set in a face made up of robust and symmetrical features. “I don’t know how to thank you.” She barely managed the words. Something stirred in her core, and the air felt heavy all around her. She hardly even noticed the cold.
“No need.” He dipped his head to get a look at Fiddlesticks. “Have you learned your lesson, little one?” Fiddlesticks took a moment to acknowledge his rescuer before nuzzling the man’s chest again. “Poor thing. We all make mistakes from time to time.”
He laughed again.
The wind swirled around them, and Priscilla imagined a whisper.
