Dark Sexy Knight (A Modern Fairytale)(19)

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.”

“Me too, Ryan,” said Joe. “You ever work with horses?”

“Yessir. I worked with mules and horses on my daddy’s pecan farm on Strawberry Road.”

“What’d you do for those mules and horses?” asked Joe.

“I mucked their stalls and changed their hay. And I fed ’em feed. Watered ’em. I can’t shoe ’em, but I can rub their noses when they’s scared. And when my daddy says yes, I can give ’em carrots, but not cabbage. And sometimes I sneak ’em an apple when they’s—”

Joe chuckled with glee, giving Ryan a firm pat on the arm before lowering his hand. “We’re gonna to get along like peanut butter and jelly, Ryan. Yes, sir.”

Verity watched this exchange with her heart in her throat, barely allowing herself to believe that they’d finally found jobs in a place where they’d both be accepted, where they could fit in and make a life for themselves. Over Joe’s head, she found Colton’s face, his eyes fixed on hers.

Thank you, she mouthed.

Slowly, without dropping her eyes, he nodded once.

“So are you family?” asked Daphne from beside her. “You and Colt?”

“No.”

“Family friends?”

Verity turned to the very pretty, very busty woman, who was at least a head taller than she was. “Something like that.”

“Colt don’t have many friends,” said Marty, hands on her hips, eyes narrowed. “Sorta a loner.”

“We look, but we don’t touch,” said Daphne, checking out Colton with hot eyes before grinning at Verity like the Cheshire cat. “You have to admit, he’s got a mighty fine bod.”

Her cheeks flushed pink because she knew that Colton, who was talking to Joe about the horses, could probably hear their conversation. “He’s . . . in good shape.”

“‘Good shape’? He’s not handsome, but he is hot,” said Marty, licking her lips. She spoke just a touch too loudly, so that Colton would hear her. “Built like a Mack truck. Probably hung like a stallion.”

Verity’s cheeks went from pink to red, and she reached up to press her hands against them. “I don’t . . . I mean . . .”

“Oh, you two aren’t together like that?” asked Marty.

“We’re just . . .” She turned her head to look at Colton, who was staring at her with hawkish eyes, then back at Marty and Daphne, who waited for an answer.

What should she say? That since the moment she met him, he’d been her very own knight in shining armor? That his kindness to her had led to a wild crush that showed no signs of dying? That they weren’t together like that but that she could barely sleep last night, thinking about him in the bedroom downstairs—his hard body, his hooded eyes, and the rugged scars on his face that she longed to press her lips to? And finally, that he was so far out of her league, she couldn’t imagine a scenario in which he’d choose her over curvy, confident, baggage-free women like Daphne and Marty?