Love Letters From Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [108]
“Well.” Bridget released a cautious sigh of relief. “I can’t believe it, but it looks as though we pulled it off.”
“Thanks to you.” Cici slipped her arm around Bridget’s waist in a brief hug. “The buffet was spectacular.”
Bridget glanced anxiously at the cake, which was beautifully decorated with cascades of sugared fruit and Apricot Delight roses. “They haven’t cut the cake yet.”
“The cake is fine,” Lindsay assured her.
“Dominic seemed to have fun,” Cici commented, teasing her a little. “You two looked cute together.”
“He is fun,” Lindsay agreed. It was impossible to tell whether the slight flush on her cheeks was from sun, champagne, or pleasure. “Funny how I never noticed before.” She looked at Bridget. “And how about Farley? He really cleaned up nice, didn’t he?”
Bridget smiled, her eyes seeking, and finding Farley. She waved again. “What a surprise. I suppose there are all sorts of things we don’t notice about people if we never look for them.”
Cici’s smile was a little sad as she watched Richard, laughing and charming the bride’s grandparents as he filled their glasses. “Yeah.”
There was a disturbance in the crowd, squeals and laughter, toward the edge of the yard. The DJ lowered the music and said, “Ladies and Gentleman, fill your glasses for the toast to the bride and groom. Fill your glasses!”
The laughter seemed to take on more of the tone of shouts, and the squeals sounded more like screams. Heads turned. Cici, Lindsay, and Bridget stood on tiptoe. “What in the world ...”
They all saw it at once, an outrageous tumbling, streaking, galloping whirl of a creature wrapped in white gauze tearing through the crowd like a mad ghost on steroids.
“Is that-?”
“Rebel!” cried Bridget, her hand flying to her throat. “And he found the veil that was drying on the line!”
“How did he get—”
“Sorry!” Noah called from across the lawn. “I opened the barn to give him some water and he saw something and broke out! Don’t worry—I’ll catch him!”
Rebel rolled head over heels, tangled in the lacy veil, bumped into a plump woman in satin shoes who squeaked, jumped back, and doused him with champagne. He stumbled to his feet, charged a few riotous paces, tripped over the veil, and rolled again. Noah dived for him and caught part of the veil, but the dog squirted through his fingers like toothpaste out of a tube.
The DJ, oblivious, announced, “Ladies and Gentleman, the father of the bride!”
Lindsay scrambled around the serving table. “I’ll head him off!”
Bridget ran after her. “I’ll go this way!”
And Cici said, “Oh, my God.” Because she had seen what Rebel was chasing. And it was heading straight for the cake.
The microphone squeaked feedback. The father of the bride cleared his throat. The nanny goat, bleating in panic, broke through the crowd at a trot. Cici cried, “No!” and charged around the serving table to place herself between the goat and the cake.
The goat charged her. She leapt forward, flinging her arms around the goat’s neck. The goat screamed and shook her head violently, connecting with Cici’s cheekbone with a resounding crack. She fell backward on the ground, seeing stars. The goat ran off.
But the cake was saved.
Three and a half hours later the bride, the groom, and the guests had departed. The goat was in the barnyard. Rebel, dragging a scrap of tangled veil from his hind foot, had collapsed beneath the shade tree, panting. The dishes had been packed away, the leftover food was in the freezer, and Ida Mae was taking a nap. Cici, Bridget, and Lindsay sat on the debris-littered porch and tried to process the day.
“You know,” Bridget observed after