Dark Sexy Knight (A Modern Fairytale) (6 page)

She righted her can and looked across the neat square of green grass in the backyard to see a small group of rabbits at the edge of the lawn, their gray fur soft-looking in the lavender tendrils of light from the dying sun.

With surprising grace, Ryan approached them, stopping several yards away and mumbling unintelligible words of reassurance. Though they noted his giant presence, not one of the bunnies hopped away in surprise or fear, and Verity smiled.

After a moment, Colton’s body shifted back around, but Verity kept her gaze on her brother, who squatted down on the grass, in quiet communion with the four little beings who looked up at him curiously, maybe even ready to adopt him and invite him into their burrow.

You’re good with animals, Ryan. Always have been. Please let them see it tomorrow.

Finally, when she could no longer ignore him staring at her, Verity shifted her eyes to Colton’s, gulping at the brooding annoyance she found under his hooded gaze. In an instant, she saw herself and Ryan as he must see them—an oafish man-child and his helpless slip of a little sister, who couldn’t take care of themselves, as weak and vulnerable as those bunnies in the corner of his yard.

And with what could only be described as crushing disappointment, she saw clearly the frankness of their incompatibility. He was a modern-day Viking Knight who could break a man’s leg with a single blow. Sexy and strong, he surely had his pick of gorgeous women who could match their beautiful bodies to his. Colton hummed with electricity, with energy, with barely restrained intensity, and Verity, with her plain face, tiny build, and train wreck of a life, was likely the least appealing woman Colton Lane had ever met.

“I promise we won’t stay long,” she murmured. “I’ll talk to Ryan so he knows that this is just temporary. I’m sorry if he made you uncomfortable.”

Colton didn’t say anything. He just continued to stare at her, his eyebrows furrowed together with annoyance, which made her continue babbling.

“He’s like a child. He doesn’t always understand, you know, the way the world works.”

She glanced over at her brother, who was sitting on the grass, his legs spread out before him lazily as the rabbits sniffed at his size-thirteen sneakers and continued munching on the grass.

“I have to go somewhere,” said Colton suddenly. “I’ll be gone for an hour or so.”

“Sure,” said Verity, scanning his face for clues about his abrupt declaration, but there were none. “I can clean up here.”

He nodded, standing up. “It’s a safe neighborhood, but if I’m not back before you head to bed, lock up. I’ll get you a key tomorrow.”

“Oh, I don’t need—”

“Whether you stay for one night or two, you may as well have a key.”

Or two
. Two nights. So there it was. A gentle warning. She needed to figure out something else for her and Ryan by Tuesday night.

Well, maybe she could talk to Lynette about an advance. Or maybe, now that they had jobs, she’d be approved for a credit card. If not, maybe Colton could drive them to a local shelter? They could stay there for a while until they got their first paychecks and then find a motel somewhere near a bus stop so that—

“What’re you thinking about?”

His voice cut through the frantic hamster wheel of her thoughts, and she jerked her head up to look at him. He blocked most of the setting sun, which had the effect of making him look like he was on fire—bathed in flames, but standing tall. Sitting before him, she felt so small, so lost, so inconsequential and ridiculous, tears burned the backs of her eyes and her longing—to be safe, to be settled, to be comfortable, to be unafraid of the future—was so overwhelming, a lump rose in her throat. It was impossible to swallow over it, so she looked down at the table in misery.

“Spit it out,” he muttered.

He was a good man. Such a good man, in fact, that her worries might even translate into a burden for him, and she didn’t want that. He’d already done so much for them, the last thing he needed was some strange woman falling apart at his picnic table because she had nowhere to go. Reaching inside for the strength that had given her the courage to leave Camilla, to walk into that job fair this afternoon, and to accept Colton Lane’s kindness, she pushed past the lump and blinked back the tears, looking up at him in all his searing, godlike beauty.

“I’m thinking that I have never known someone as kind as you. And when I say my prayers tonight, you’ll be the thing I am most thankful for, Colton Lane.”

His jaw clenched as he stared down at her, but otherwise his face was inscrutable, hard and still as stone.

Finally he nodded once—a curt jerk of his neck—and said, “Don’t forget to lock up,” before stalking back into the house and letting the screen door bang shut behind him.

Colt looked to his right, where Verity sat beside him on the way to work, wearing dark jeans and a yellow V-neck T-shirt, the tan seatbelt strap cutting through the small mounds of her breasts.

He’d slept like shit last night.

Staying out longer than he’d needed to, he hadn’t gotten home until ten o’clock, to find the house dark and quiet and the front and back doors locked, as he’d requested. The kitchen was clean and smelled of the lemon-scented counter spray that Verity must have used to clean up before bed. The kitchen table was set for three with the pink-flowered china plates that had barely been used since Aunt Jane passed, and Verity had left a note that read:
Thank you for supper. I’ll take care of breakfast. V.
He’d stared at the table for a long while, feeling his aunt’s gentle spirit in the room where she’d spent so much of her life cooking for her small family.

Aunt Jane, with her cheerful, uneven smile and sparkling, light brown eyes, would have approved of Verity. She would have respected the way Verity was trying to care for her disabled brother against the odds, the thought a sharp jab at Colton’s heart even as it comforted him.

He sighed, walking past the table and heading to his bedroom, which had been built as an addition on the other side of the kitchen. Down a short hallway, he passed two linen closets, a bathroom, and a walk-in closet, and finally entered the large master bedroom, which had a massive skylight, a king-size bed, a flat-screen TV, a treadmill, and a rack of free weights and a lifting bench.

He grabbed two sixty-pound dumbbells and lay back on the bench, reviewing the day in his head as Verity’s words—
This morning I woke up with one life, and tonight I go to sleep with a different one
—whispered in his ears
.
He didn’t want to care about her and Ryan, but he did. He had, from the moment he’d set eyes on them. Trying to stop himself from giving a shit about the foundling duo would be a losing battle, but understanding that they were, as she’d repeated two or three times at dinner last night,
temporary
guests, would help him not feel their loss as sharply when they moved on.

After a hundred presses, which soaked his body with sweat and made his biceps burn, he replaced the weights, took a shower, and headed to bed. But sleep had been elusive. Verity’s room wasn’t directly above his, but close enough, and he found himself wondering what she slept in . . . if she wore a nightgown, like Aunt Jane, or shorts and a T-shirt, like Melody, or nothing at all, like Sandy, the waitress from
TLOC
he’d dated for a few months before she’d taken a job in Vegas. And once his brain had fixed on “nothing at all,” he was ruined for sleep, his cock semierect for more than an hour before he took care of it himself, Verity’s face front and center in his mind as he jerked off. After that? Yeah. He slept. But he felt like a dirtbag.

He woke up to the smell of frying eggs and toasting bread, and found Verity and her brother waiting for him in the kitchen, sunny-side-up eggs steamy and buttered toast cut into triangles on each plate. And it was nice. Fuck, it was so nice.

And it was nice having her next to him right now, smelling like soap and baby powder in the passenger seat on the way to work. He could get used to having her around—her sunny smiles and sunny eggs, and even her brother, who mumbled “stallion” when Colton walked into the kitchen and gave him a goofy smile over a messy mouthful of toast. He liked them, no matter how stupid it was for him to get attached.

“So,” said Verity, turning to him in the car, “any advice for the first day of work?”

Ignore what the waitresses say about me.

Tell your brother to stick close to Joe and keep his head down.

Don’t ask for breaks.

And stay the fuck away from Artie Kingston.

He glanced at her. “Not really.”

“Ryan and I are watching the show tonight.”

“Won’t you be working?”

She shook her head. “Lynette said we’re just in training this week. I’m supposed to meet someone named Beverly in the gift shop and shadow her from twelve to five, then watch the show. Ryan’s with . . .” She reached into her purse for a notepad and flipped a page back. “. . . here it is: Joe Sterns, uh, from twelve to five. Next week we start full-time.”

Monday was the slowest day at the castle, as there was only a five o’clock show. The entire cast had a weekly meeting at twelve, then for the remainder of the afternoon Colt would be practicing the battle scenes, warming up Thor, and working out. Around four o’clock he changed into his costume and makeup, and the show started promptly at five.

A regular Monday night show.

Except that Verity would be in the audience tonight, which made his chest swell with stupid pride.

“There’s a cast meeting at noon,” he said.

“Yes. Lynette mentioned that.”

“You’ll meet everyone.”

“Who’s everyone?”

“Six knights, six in training, twelve squires, stable staff, maintenance, King Arthur, Princess Guinevere, Merlin, two falconers . . . uh, merchants, barkeeps, serving wenches, and swains . . . kitchen staff, call center staff, ticket takers, admin and support.”

“How many people?” she asked.

“All told? Hundred and fifty? Two hundred? Thereabouts.”

“Wow. I didn’t realize . . .”

“You’ve seen the castle?” he asked, glancing at her.

She nodded. “Sure. On Peachtree. You can’t miss it.”

“So you know. It’s a big place.”

“What’s a . . . falconer?”

“He’s the guy that trains the birds. You know . . . to fly around the arena?”

“Birds fly around?”

“Two hawks. Fred and Ginger.”

“During the show? Is that safe?”

He nodded. “It better be. They fly around every night and twice on Thursdays, Fridays, and weekends.”

“Wow,” she sighed. “I can’t wait to see the show.”

“Sit in the yellow section,” he said, regretting the words as soon as they’d left his lips. “If you can.”

She grinned at him. He didn’t look at her, but he could feel her smile lighting up the whole car. “Is that your section? Yellow?”

He nodded once, feeling foolish. It’s not like he’d win tonight. He only won once a week, during the Sunday matinee. Artie, the blue knight, always won on Mondays, but at least she’d be cheering for him, not for Artie or one of the other guys.

“Then yellow it is,” she said. She peeked around the seat at her brother. “Ry, you okay? You nervous?”

“I like horses, Ver’ty.”

“I know you do, and you’re real good with them, Ry. But you mind your boss today. Don’t go wandering off. Please, please, please pay attention the best you can.”

“Okay, Ver’ty.”

“I’ll come see you if I get a break. If I don’t, I’ll come get you at five, and we’ll get seats to watch the show together.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” said Colton, gritting his teeth as soon as the words left his mouth.
Stop caring. You’ve done enough.

“Thank you,” she said, her hand reaching out and landing on his arm. Her fingers squeezed gently, and he clenched his jaw, wishing she’d pull her hand away. She was too distracting, making him feel too much. Squeezing again, she lifted her hand. “You’re so good to us.”

Colt cleared his throat, turning onto Peachtree and wondering how they’d do today. Verity would be fine. Beverly, the gift shop manager, was a gossipy bitch, but as long as Verity kept her head down and did as she was told, she shouldn’t have any issues. As for Ryan? Colton wasn’t as sure. Joe Sterns, the stable master, had been with the show since the castle opened, in 1990, and was about as kind as they came. An older man, he had the respect and affection of every knight and squire who spent time at
TLOC
. The problem was, not all the knights and squires were kind. And Ryan wasn’t exactly the picture of efficiency.

Then again, he remembered the way Ryan had sat with those rabbits on the lawn last night—some humans had animal sense, and from what he could gather, Ryan was one of them. If Colt was right, it would mean that Ryan’s presence would be soothing for the animals, organic and comfortable, and the cast members would notice that and appreciate it. At any rate, Ryan’s job was protected, in some part, because of his ADA status. And Colt was determined to make sure that the other knights, knights in training, and squires left the gentle giant alone.

He turned into the employee parking lot, parked in his usual space, and turned to Verity. “You’ll be fine. If you run into any trouble, I’m usually at the stables or the gym. Come find me.”

That smile. That sweet, perfect, goddamned smile that made his heart clutch. He remembered the feel of her palm against his cheek yesterday, the feel of her arms around his waist, her body pressed against his back.

“Okay,” she said.

“And meet me here at seven thirty. After the show. I’ll drive us home.”

She nodded, her smile widening, her dimples deep. “At the risk of sounding like a broken record . . . thank you.”

***

The castle bustled as they entered through the back doors, walking down a long hallway and through a door that led to the main hall, where, Colton explained, the guests waited for the doors of the arena to open. Men and women, young and old, passed them in the hallway, saying hello to Colton, who answered mostly in grunts, and not so subtly checking out Verity and Ryan.

As always, Verity was on her guard in a new situation, trying to figure out who was mean-spirited and who would leave her brother to work in peace. There was always a rotten apple. Always. The key was finding him (or her) and warning Ryan to stay away.

Then again, in this situation—unlike others, when she’d walked into a new place feeling alone and defenseless—Colton had promised to look after Ryan, and it filled her with such gratitude and reassurance, it was a wonder she hadn’t burst into tears in the car and cried all over him.

Because that’s just what he needed, right? A homeless, desperate, emotional basket case of a woman crying and snotting all over his pristine black T-shirt. Thank God she was able to hold back her tears and reach for his arm instead.

Opening a large door at the end of the hall, Colton waited for her to walk through, and she was about to thank him for his gallantry when she gasped in surprise.

Three-story ceilings were cut with dark brown crossbeams, from which hung herald flags of yellow, red, white, blue, and green bearing the arms of ancient clans and tribes. Crisscrossed swords decorated the walls, and the brick floor beneath her shoes added to the feeling of Disney-style antiquity.

To her left was an “open-air market”—the gift shop, she assumed—stocked with princess dresses, coronets, crowns, knight costumes, plastic swords, mugs, shot glasses, and other souvenirs.

To her right was a massive wooden bar, where five or six bartenders could easily work to serve the six hundred guests who attended each show.

In front of her, various people milled around or conversed in groups, laughter and conversation bouncing off the walls and creating a cheerful cacophony. Colton nudged her arm and muttered, “Come on,” and she followed him over to an older black man who was talking to two buxom women in tight T-shirts.

“Joe,” said Colton, stopping beside the man and hooking a thumb at Ryan, “this is Ryan. New stablehand.”

“Good morning, Colt,” said Joe, raising an eyebrow. “You know Daphne and Marty, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” said Colton, then, after a look from Joe, added, “Hi.”

“And who is this lovely young lady?” asked Joe, smiling warmly at Verity.

“New merchant.”

“And does she have a name?” he prompted, like a father reminding his son to use his manners.

Verity grinned at Joe, holding out her hand. “Verity. Verity Gwynn.”

Joe reached out and took her hand, wrapping hers in his rough, callused palm. “Verity Gwynn . . . Verity Gwynn. An inverted Guinevere.”

She shook her head, delighted by his deep drawl and kind brown eyes. “Just a merchant.”

“Colt taught you the lingo,” he said, flashing a look of surprise at Colton before releasing her hand. “This is Daphne, and this is Marty. Sexy serving wenches.”

“Hi,” said Verity, offering her hand.

The women shook it, offering tentative smiles at Verity before looking thoughtfully at Colton, like they were trying to figure something out.

“You two know each other?” asked Daphne, gesturing to Colton with her chin.

“She’s staying with me,” said Colton. “Her and her brother.”

Marty looked over Verity’s shoulder at Ryan. “Hi, hon. I’m Marty.”

“Pleased to meetcha, Marty,” said Ryan, smiling at the floor.

“I’m Daphne.”

“Okay,” said Ryan, shifting back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“Ryan, my new stablehand,” said Joe, reaching for Ryan’s arm and clasping it. “You look strong.”

“Yep. I am. And I listen good,” said Ryan, looking up at Joe with hope in his blue eyes. “I like horses.”