Love Finds You in Camelot, Tennessee (27 page)

“You always
have
been,” Caroline said, drawing near with a box of straight pins in her hand. “From the moment I first met you, I knew you had the makings of royalty.”

Amy’s breath caught in her throat. She turned with a strained smile, hoping to keep the conversation moving forward.

A camera flash caught Amy off guard. When had the reporter gotten here?

“Hey, Guinevere and Lancelot, give us a smile.” Mickey’s jovial words seemed genuine enough, but the click of the camera contradicted it.
Ugh.
Would they end up on the front page again? “Get a little closer, you two,” he said. “Give us a pose.” Mickey drew near and situated them, putting Jackson’s arm around Amy’s waist.

Deep breath, Amy. It’s just a picture.

Still, as the reporter gestured for her to lean her head against Jackson’s broad shoulder, Amy felt her stomach flip. When Jackson gazed into her eyes, however, she calmed down and felt her tensions lift. The music began to play in her head once again, its melody strangely compelling.

Yes, something about this particular Lancelot really cast a spell on her, whether she wanted to admit it or not. And if the music in her head didn’t stop playing sooner rather than later, she might just find herself…what was the word? Ah yes. Captivated.

Steve rushed through the door of the Civic Center, concerned about the time. He’d spent half the day getting Woody’s car worked on and, eventually, inspected. A few complications had threatened to bring him down, but he’d risen against them. All with one thought in mind: he had to get to Amy. Had to tell her how he felt. Once the words were spoken, he could breathe easier. How hard could it be anyway—to tell a woman he loved her?

As he entered the room, Steve’s gaze fell at once on the woman who consumed his thoughts. She was dressed in the most beautiful wedding gown he’d ever seen. Talk about the perfect moment. Her beauty took his breath away.

Until he realized she was standing arm in arm with Jackson Brenner, dressed in an over-the-top knight-in-shining-armor getup.

Everything Steve had spent the day thinking about—pondering, praying about—shot right out of his head. Suddenly he could only see Guinevere and Lancelot, arm in arm. As a couple. Alarm bells went off in his head and his heart, though he fought to silence them before his expression gave him away.

“Glad you could join us.” Natalie approached Steve. “I’ve got your Arthur costumes ready to try on. Which do you want to see first?”

He didn’t even stop to look. Grabbing one, Steve slipped into the men’s room, his thoughts in a whirl. He tried not to think about the look of contentment on Amy’s face as she posed for the camera with Jackson in her arms. Steve couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. Not that he could blame Jackson. No, the guy was genuinely good.

Just like the real Lancelot.

Great. Now I’m starting to believe the legend.

He put aside all conflicting thoughts as he put on the first costume. Unfortunately, it didn’t fit quite like he’d hoped. The shoulders were too wide, dwarfing him. And those stupid tights…Amy could call them pants if she liked, but they still looked and felt like little-girl tights to him. Still, he couldn’t go bare-legged, could he? No, he’d better forge ahead. Against his better judgment, he eased into them.

Might as well get this over with.
Steve made his way back out into the main room, stunned to see that most of the cast had arrived.
Great. Nothing like showing off your skinny tights-covered legs to the ladies.
From across the room, he kept a watchful eye on Amy and Jackson. She offered him an inviting smile, and his heart lifted.
See? You have nothing to worry about.

A familiar voice sounded behind him. Feminine. Gentle. Sincere. “Wow, Steve. At moments like this, I really believe you were born to be a king.”

He turned to find Gwen staring at him.

“You think?” He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror.

“I think.” Her words reflected the same kindness he now saw in her eyes.

“Even with these ridiculous…” He pointed down at his legs, unwilling to say the word.

“Mm-hmm.” She nodded then shifted her gaze to his face. They stood close enough to touch, neither of them saying a word. And then he heard a familiar voice.

“Did you miss me, everyone? The lost sheep has returned to the fold.”

Steve turned to see that Woody had entered the room, his arm in a sling. The cast members began to cheer. A couple of the women—Amy included—erupted in tears.

Woody’s put his uninjured hand over one ear. “Why is everyone shouting?” He pointed to his new hearing aid. “Sounds like you’re all amplified a hundred times over.”

“We’re just so happy to see you here, Woody.” Amy wrapped him in a tight hug. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Just a broken arm. Nothing major. And please stop hollering at me. I’m not deaf.” He stuffed his fingers into his ears, a pained expression on his face.

“Are you still going to be able to play the part of Merlin?” Annabelle asked.

“Yep. We’ll figure out a way,” he said. “I’ll manage. Been looking forward to it.”

“Caroline and I have already got that figured out,” Natalie said. “If you can go without your sling for the scenes when you’re onstage, we’ll make the sleeves of your costume long enough and full enough to cover the cast.”

“They’re pretty good at the costume thing.” Steve gestured to his doublet as proof.

“You’re not gonna get me in those girly tights, though,” Woody mumbled. “Can’t believe they talked you into it, Steve.”

He groaned. “They’re not tights. They’re pants.”

“Mighty tight pants,” Woody muttered. “But I don’t suppose we have time to be talking about costumes right now, do we? Don’t we have a show to put on in just a few weeks? Why are we all just standing around? Let’s get to work, people.”

“Yes, we’ve got to work on that jousting scene.” The corners of Amy’s lips curled up in a smile. “Sarge, are the animals here?”

“Yep.” He chuckled. “Brought Katie Sue and B-52, too!” A round of laughter followed. “But seriously, they’re out in the trailer.”

“Well, give us a few minutes to change out of these costumes,” Amy said, “and we’ll get this ball rolling. I think we’ll run the jousting scene in the field off the parking lot. If the noise from the construction isn’t too loud, anyway.”

Steve followed Jackson into the men’s room, making light conversation as they changed back into their street clothes.

“How does it feel to be king?” Jackson asked, hanging up his costume.

“Pretty good, I guess.” Steve offered what he hoped would look like a convincing smile. Still, he couldn’t let go of the unsettling feeling that gripped him every time he thought about Amy and Jackson, arm in arm.

He gave himself a quick glance in the mirror and was startled to see the weariness in his eyes. This whole thing—the play, last night’s meeting, Caroline, and the situation with Amy—was apparently taking a toll on him.

Jackson slapped him on the back. “Amy’s calling us. Better get out there. Never want to keep a woman waiting.”

“Guess you’re right.” He buried the sigh that threatened to erupt and followed Jackson into the Civic Center. His heart quickened as he saw Amy dressed in her usual jeans and T-shirt. Hopefully he would have a few minutes with her before the rehearsal began.

But he’d no sooner taken a step in her direction than she reached for her clipboard.

“All right, everyone. Outside. Pronto!”

She led the way across the parking lot and into the field on the south end of the property, chatting with Woody all the way.

Steve watched as Jackson and Sarge unloaded the horse and mare from the back of the trailer. A better man would’ve offered to help. Take Pete, for example. He headed over to offer assistance. And so did Darrell. And Grady.

Steve sighed then took a few steps in their direction. Thankfully, they didn’t need him. Sarge led the mare to the field and Jackson followed behind with the mule on a short leash. Would’ve made for an interesting photo op. Where was that reporter when you needed him? Oh yeah. Taking pictures of Lucy, Annabelle, and Blossom.

“C’mon, everyone,” Woody called out when the camera stopped clicking. “Let’s get busy on that jousting scene.”

Steve glanced across the parking lot at Jackson, wondering if the idea of riding the horse while carrying a sword made him nervous. No, the guy looked as cool as a cucumber. Figured. He probably taught fencing lessons on the side. Or raced horses.

Amy took charge, script in hand. “Okay, in the jousting scene, Lancelot faces three of Guinevere’s finest horsemen.” Amy turned to Grady, Sarge, and Pete, who all looked a little green. Steve didn’t blame them.

“The scene starts with Sir Lionel,” Amy said. “Pete, that means you’re riding first. You will be followed by Sir Dinadan. Grady, that’s you. Then comes Sir Sagramore. Sarge, you’re Sir Sagramore. You’re the one who…” She paused and looked at the script. “Oh. Hmm.”

“What is it, Amy?” Sarge asked.

“Well, according to the script, you’re the one who goes last. You die and then you’re prayed back to life by Lancelot. That means you have to fall from the horse—er, mule—and pretend to be dead.”

“Hmm.” Sarge shrugged, rubbing his hips. “If I fall from B-52, I
will
be dead. Won’t even have to act. A’course, that might be problematic for the second show. And the third. And so on.” He chuckled.

“I’ll take the part of the dead knight,” Pete said. “Don’t mind a bit. I’ll do my best to fall soft. And slow.”

“Just be careful, Pete,” Steve said, his alarm growing. “We don’t need any more broken bones.”

“Yes, please be careful,” Amy echoed. She turned to Sarge. “Since you and Pete swapped, that means you’re up first.”

“Are we practicing with real swords?” Sarge asked.

“No.” Amy shook her head. “Definitely not. I hadn’t really thought about what to use for rehearsal, to be honest. This whole scene has eluded me, which is why I’ve put it off till now.”

“Oh, I know….” Grady went to his car and returned with a couple of fishing poles. “Here ya go, Amy. Perfect for fightin’.”

Steve looked on as Grady handed one to Jackson and the other to Sarge. Then he watched, with his stomach in his throat, as Jackson climbed aboard Katie Sue and Sarge mounted the mule. Not that the stubborn animal had any intention of running. Oh no. He seemed content to stand in one place. Forever, apparently.

A gentle swat on the hip from Sarge sent B-52 shooting across the field. Not exactly in the right direction, but at least he was running. Sarge whooped and hollered and finally got the animal turned around. At this point, he and Jackson barreled down the field toward each other, pretending to stab their opponent with a fishing pole. Jackson very nearly succeeded. In fact, he came a little too close, to Steve’s way of thinking.

Off in the distance, Blossom, Annabelle, and Gwen cried out, “Get him, Lancelot! Get him!”

“Aren’t they supposed to be cheering for Sir Lionel?” Steve asked, pointing to the script. “Someone needs to remind them.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Amy turned to the girls and gave them instructions. Gwen’s smile quickly faded.

Sarge climbed off the mule, all smiles. “Well, that was a blast. Haven’t had that much fun since I rode a donkey into town back in Vietnam.” And off he went on another war story.

“Thanks, Sarge,” Amy said, interrupting him. “Okay, Grady’s turn.”

“Y’all know I’m not a churchgoer,” Grady said, climbing aboard B-52. “But I sure could use some prayer right about now.” He managed to get the mule in place, though he nearly slid off a time or two in the process.

Steve looked on, wondering how this would end. He watched as Jackson’s horse took off across the parking lot and headed straight for Grady, who looked a little pale as he hung on for dear life. B-52 kicked into gear once again and took off running. At the last minute, Jackson threw out his fishing pole and caught Grady’s cap.

“Oops. Sorry, Grady,” he said.

“Enough already,” Steve called out. He took a few angry steps in Amy’s direction. “He’s being too rough. Lancelot—I mean Jackson.”

“What?” She looked his way, confusion registering in her eyes. “You think so?”

“Yes. These other men don’t have the…” He hated to say the word. “Skill. They don’t have the skill that he does.”

“Are you going to let me direct this scene, or would you like to take over?” Amy’s tight expression clued him in to her frustration.

“You’re working with men here, Amy. You don’t understand how crazy this could get if you’re not careful.”

“Steve, don’t be silly. Everything is fine.”

“I’m just saying you shouldn’t plow ahead without thinking it through. It could get dangerous, especially when we trade in those fishing poles for real swords. Remember that line near the end of the play—‘Might doesn’t always mean right’? Well, that applies in this situation.”

“You’re quoting lines from the play at me?” she asked.

“If that’s what it takes. Just trying to put things into perspective.” He paused to calm down then carefully chose his words. He lowered his voice to make sure no one else heard. “We need to move carefully. We don’t need another accident.”