Читать книгу A Royal Mess - Jill Shalvis - Страница 13

BY THE TIME Natalia—sputtering in a very unprincesslike manner—scrambled to her feet and jerked down her skirt, the young man was but a blur on the horizon. All she could do was watch in disbelief as he ran away, her bag banging against his thighs as it had banged against hers all day long.

She hoped it left one hell of a bruise.

“Idiot!” she yelled. “Moron! Jerk!” Sagging back to the bench, she wondered who she was calling names, the thief or herself.

A drop fell from the sky, hitting her on the nose. The storm that the airline had been threatening her with all day had finally arrived.

Another drop. Then another. The sky lit with a long jagged flash of lightning.

And Natalia stood there, stunned stupid by the events of the day. She was out in what felt like the middle of nowhere, with no identification, no money and even worse, no makeup, not even a brush. She should call on the credit cards, but then again, at this moment, even that seemed like too much effort.

Rain fell. Leather wet was a whole new, uncomfortable experience. Lightning flashed again, punctuating the disaster her life had become.

Perfect. Now she was going to get struck by a bolt and get amnesia. That would top things off nicely.

You’ll do great. Just keep your head.

At Amelia’s words, spoken in her wonderful British accent, Natalia whipped around, but of course, Amelia wasn’t standing there.

It was just that her voice had sounded so…real. But Natalia was alone, utterly alone. It must be the self-pity, she decided, causing her to hear things. Because surely, not even Amelia could be that…magical.

She should just call home with the cell phone still in her pocket. But that put a sour taste in her mouth because darn it, she wanted to do this.

Her hair was beginning to unspike, and her clothes were plastered to her like a second skin. She had no idea what should come next. Maybe a hero on a white steed. Wouldn’t that be handy.

A rumble sounded. Not a white steed, but a truck, rumbled up the street. It nearly passed her, until, with a quick brake, it came to an abrupt halt right in front of her.

Her heart leaped into her throat, but she reminded herself she had nothing left for someone to steal.

Except herself, came the dismal, unhelpful thought. Fear bloomed again, and she might have started running regardless of her combat boots, until the window rolled down and a man leaned across the seat. Beneath his hat, piercing green eyes landed right on her.

Her Clint Eastwood look-alike from the plane.

“Problem?” he asked in that slow, Southern drawl that somehow sent a warm shiver down her spine, when just a moment ago she’d been chilled from her fight with her thief.

“Problem?” she repeated as casually as she could, cocking a hip and trying to look like the badass princess she was known to be. “What makes you think I have a problem?”

“Because you’re standing out here in a downpour looking like a drowned rat.”

A drowned rat! “The bus hasn’t come yet.” But even if it did, her ticket was sitting all nice and cozy in her purse. The purse that was right this second gracing the neck of a thief. But she couldn’t tell this man that, not when her pride was sticking like crow in her throat.

He put his truck in Park and rested a forearm on his steering wheel. “So what’s a princess doing riding a bus?”

With her self-esteem at her feet, there was no way she could tell him.

“Ah, hell,” she thought she heard him mutter. And then he’d turned off his truck and got out in the rain, moving with the easy grace of a man who wasn’t in a hurry to be anywhere other than where he happened to be.

Standing in front of her, he seemed bigger than he’d been on the airplane, bigger than life. He was over six feet, all broad shoulders, hard muscle and about zero body fat. Certainly bigger than any man she was used to standing so close to her, so she took a little step back. But she left her chin thrust high into the air, because she’d choke on all that pride before admitting defeat to anyone.

“Here.” He shrugged out of his jacket to set it on her shoulders. She didn’t know if his caring enough to want her warm helped or made it worse. “So what happened to your stuff?” he asked.

“It was just stolen. And before that, my second flight was canceled. Having a hell of a day here.”

He had a way of looking at people, of tilting his head back and gazing at her with deep green eyes that made her stomach flutter. “Are you hurt?”

I’m fine, she almost said. But she wasn’t. There was a strange, slow, unfurling in the pit of her belly, and it didn’t come from the horrid day or the rain or the theft. Or even from the way her makeup was starting to run down her face.

It came from his hands on her shoulders. From his easy grace and confidence.

“Princess?”

She gazed up at the man towering over her, at his unfathomable gaze and the lock of brown hair falling over his forehead. It was streaked with light gold from what she imagined were long days in the sun. On his horse. Being a cowboy. The unfurling in her belly ignited. “Do you really believe I’m a princess?” she whispered.

He frowned, then bent down a little to look into her eyes. “Maybe you hit your head? Is that it?”

He thought she was crazy. And she was.

Because he was a stranger, a one-hundred-percent-male stranger who made her want to drool, made her want to stand straighter with her breasts thrust out and check her makeup all at the same time. She felt as if she’d known him all her life even as she wanted to know him even better.

How stupid is that, Amelia?

TIM SCOOPED the woman’s tangled, soggy hair back from her forehead, frowning as he looked her creamy skin over for a bump. Somehow the black smudged eyeliner beneath her eyes made them look ever bigger. More vulnerable.

“I didn’t hit my head,” she said quite clearly, stepping back from his touch. “And I really am a princess. Your Serene Highness Natalia Faye Wolfe Brunner of Grunberg, to be exact.”

Stepping back, he scratched his jaw and studied her, but she didn’t crack a smile. “That’s a mouthful,” he said.

“Which is why I go by just Your Serene Highness Natalia Faye.”

“Still a mouthful.”

“My things have been stolen, or I’d show you identification.”

“Want to go to the police and make a report?”

She frowned. “No. The thief is long gone, and my family would just insist I come home. All I need is a ride to Taos, New Mexico. I’m going to a wedding.”

This was said in a hoity-toity voice, her chin thrust high in the sky and eyes flashing, as if he were her servant. So he stared at her for one more beat, then tossed his head back and laughed.

“I’m not finding the humor in this situation,” she said, crossing her arms across her chest.

Oh, boy. Nutcase alert. Despite her superior airs, he could tell she was cold, all covered in goose bumps. Suddenly she looked twelve to him again. Or she would if she didn’t have the most mouthwatering, curvy body he’d ever seen. Damn it, she was the prettiest nutcase he’d ever seen, and any bastard could come along and take advantage of her. Tim wasn’t into pretty nutcases himself, but he couldn’t just leave her here.

He wished he could. He had enough to deal with, but he knew this woman and her expressive eyes would haunt him tonight if he didn’t try to do something for her. “Look, you’re obviously a little down on your luck.”

“A little today, yeah.”

It made his gut clench. “So let me call someone for you—”

“No!”

“But—”

“No,” she said so firmly, he almost believed she could really be royalty. She ran a hand down her wet, clingy leather and thrust her shoulders back. “As I’ve said, I’m fine.”

Terrific. She was fine and he was…delayed. And yet he couldn’t just drive away. Maybe it was his save-the-wounded-bird heart. Hell, it was definitely his save-the-wounded-bird heart. “Where are you off to, then?”

“Nowhere at the moment.”

“I could take you with me to my ranch.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

Why? Because he was an idiot. Because clearly he didn’t have enough to worry about with his grandmother refusing his help and his sister sleeping with his new ranch hand. “You’d…be safe there.”

“At your ranch.”

“Yes.” Where he already had a corral full of rescued animals he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of. Not that he’d put this woman in the corral, but the rescue efforts weren’t much different.

Which was exactly what his grandma had told him when he’d tried to convince her to come back with him this weekend.

You’re just trying to save me from old age, Timothy. But I like old age. And I like it here. Now I love you, but go home and save a cow or something.

He sighed. Instead of a cow, he supposed he’d rescue this drowned-looking woman. “So…is it a go?” He shielded his eyes from the now even heavier rain soaking them. “Are you coming with me?”

A gold eyebrow vanished into her hair as she regarded him with mistrust.

“Not for whatever you’re thinking,” he added quickly.

Another sharp jag of lightning lit the sky, with thunder too quick on its heel for comfort. “You can clean yourself up,” he said, wanting out of the damn rain. “Get some food and sleep. Then maybe…I don’t know…look for work.”

“Work,” she repeated, as if the idea had never occurred to her. “Hmm. Interesting. Do you have a job opening?”

“I’m hiring right now for a cook and a ranch hand.” To replace the ranch hand he planned on firing if he—Josh—was still boinking his baby sister.

Which reminded him to wonder if Sally was still mad at him. Actually, that particular worry was just a waste of time.

Knowing Sally, she was still mad.

Too bad. His parents had wanted him to take care of her, and loyally bound, he would, even if she’d be twenty this year. He would take care of her, or die trying.

Which was a far more likely result of his efforts.

Impatient to be home, he looked the woman over. She appeared to be in good health, other than her general inability to face reality. Her gold hair now clung to her face. Her leather had shrink-wrapped itself to her very curvy body. Not that he was noticing.

Much.

“A job,” she repeated, tapping her lower lip. “You know, that might work just fine.”

He tried to picture her in denim. “Ever been on a ranch?”

“Oh, of course.”

Of course.

“Once on holiday we stopped at a petting farm.”

He blinked, then shook his head. “How about cooking? Can you cook?”

She swiped at the water running into her face. “You mean, for other people?”

“No, for the queen of England.”

Her mouth tightened. “Now you’re making fun again. Why does everyone use poor Elizabeth as a joke?”

“Can you?”

“Cook? Of course.”

There was that “of course” again. Ah hell, she probably couldn’t cook. He tipped up his hat. “It’s raining pretty hard,” he said, hoping to rush things along a bit.

“I don’t have a change of clothing,” she said, brow furrowed. “I like to have lots of things with me.”

He pulled his wet shirt away from his body with a suction noise and winced as it slapped back against his skin. “I’m going to get back into my truck, princess. Down the road is a store. If you’d like, you can borrow some cash and make some purchases. But I doubt they have black leather.”

“I can try something new. I like new.”

“Yeah? Well, you might have a choice between blue denim and dark blue denim.”

“I know how to wear jeans.”

“Then let’s go.”

She cocked her head. “You are like the cowboys from the old West. Chivalrous. Kind.”

“No,” he said, backing up. “Anyone would do this.”

“You’re wrong. I think you’re special. Different.”

Different as insane. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?” Or on medication? “Or that there’s no one I can call for you?”

“Nope. I just wanted to do this one thing, travel by myself. It’s a first and I’ve bungled it horribly.” She scooped back fistfuls of her hair and it stuck straight up again. “I’ll earn my own money this time.”

She was going to come with him. He opened the passenger door, put his hand to the small of her back and touched bare skin. Not wanting to feel the odd shock of awareness, he gently nudged, not knowing whether he was unnerved or relieved that she climbed in.

“You’re not an ax murderer, right?” she asked.

Unnerved, he decided. Definitely, he was unnerved. “No.”

“I’ve never hitchhiked before.” She looked around inside his truck, probably searching for something obvious. Like body parts. “Contrary to what you must think of me, I don’t take this lightly.”

“You’re safe.”

“I bet that’s what all the bad guys say.”

“But I’m like Clint Eastwood, remember?”

She actually laughed. Laughed. A sweet, bubble of a laugh, that in return made him grin like an idiot.

She carefully settled in as if she was indeed a little princess, and hooked up her seat belt, dripping water everywhere. “You wouldn’t, by any chance, just take me to Taos?”

“Sorry, princess. Do you know how far away that is? I’ve got a ranch that needs my attention. I’ve been gone for a few days myself.” God only knew how his sister had fared in his absence. Forget Sally. How had everyone else fared? “But say the word, and I’ll call someone for you. Anyone, anywhere.”

“No, thank you. I’ll be your cook, at least for a few days.”

“Not just my cook,” he corrected. “But for all the ranch employees as well.”

She put a confident smile on her face he wasn’t sure was real or forced. “So…how many people is that?”

Forced, he decided. Great. “Depends on how many people quit while my sister was in charge,” he said grimly, and drove.

FOR SEVERAL YEARS Natalia had been having dreams. Dreams wondering what the real world was like. Dreams about being a woman first and a princess second.

She was quite certain Timothy Banning didn’t believe a word she’d said about herself or her heritage, but that was fine. She didn’t need him to believe.

In fact, his disbelief worked in her favor, because for the first time ever, her dream could come true, if only for a few days.

She could be a woman first.

And a princess a very distant second.

“How much farther is your ranch?” she asked, avidly soaking up the landscape. She appeared to be stranded in a desert of grass, grass and more grass. North-central Texas was, without a doubt, one of the flattest places she’d ever seen. So different from her home, which was nestled high in the mountains, between Austria and Switzerland, surrounded by incredible vistas and wild forests.

She thought she’d miss home, but this land was beautiful, too, in a stark sort of way. The terrain was broken up by a few trees here and there, pecan and oak, it appeared. Very different.

She liked it.

“About forty-five more miles.” They’d already made the requested stop at the store, and he’d been right. No leather. But she’d borrowed against her wages and on top of the jeans and T-shirts, had managed to find some interesting wild-apple-green lip gloss, so the whole thing hadn’t been a waste. Now her cowboy looked suddenly tense, as if he regretted taking her with him.

“I’m not crazy or dangerous or anything,” she said. “Just so you know. I wouldn’t hurt anyone on your ranch.”

That made him grin, and oh, my, it was a very appealing one. Slow and easy. Sure and sexy. His teeth were white and straight, except for a crooked eyetooth, which somehow made him look mischievous when he showed it. His face, lean and angular, looked tanned and rugged. He had laugh lines fanning out from his eyes, assuring her he shot that grin of his often. Then there was his body, all long and muscular, and she’d bet it wasn’t any sort of a gym-made body either, but one finely honed from hard physical labor.

And let’s not forget his hands, which were big and sure of themselves on the wheel, tanned and work roughened. Tough. Oddly enough, the most wicked thoughts ran through her head at the sight of those hands.

No doubt, Amelia Grundy would shake her finger and warn her about a man like this. And yet Amelia wasn’t around. For once it was just Natalia.

A woman first, princess second.

Dangerous thoughts. Dangerous but fun. She wondered if he knew how to use those long fingers on a woman, wondered if—

“You’re looking a little flushed there, princess.” He flicked her a glance. “You okay?”

“Of course.”

But she wasn’t okay. She was as crazy as he suspected if she was really daydreaming about this man. She didn’t know what she expected from her Clint Eastwood, she’d never taken the fantasy that far. But behind those green eyes and easy smile was an obvious intelligence that went beyond cow-wrangling abilities.

She sat and wondered about him for a good long while. Until he pulled off the highway onto a road with a sign that said Banning Ranch, 1898.

“Your family has been here a long time.” She liked that. In her life, traditions and family pride meant something. Apparently, it meant something to this man, too.

“Yeah, ever since my great-great-grandfather won the place in a card game over a century ago.”

She shot him a look of horror, which only made him laugh again. “The Wild, Wild West. The good old days.”

“Your great-great-grandfather should have been ashamed of himself.”

“And he might have been,” Tim agreed. “But since my great-great-grandmother’s father shot him a few years later for cheating on his only daughter, we’ll never know.”

She narrowed her eyes at him but he only smiled guilelessly, that slow, easy smile that tended to leave her feeling like jelly. “You have quite the colorful history.”

“I have the colorful history?” He laughed. “Hey, I’m not the princess.”

She had no idea if he was teasing. “I really am,” she said. “A princess.”

“Like I said. Colorful history.”

He still didn’t believe her, but that he had been so easy about it, so nonjudgmental…she could really fall for that alone.

As if she’d ever really fall for a cowboy.

Or he for a princess.

“Almost there,” he said, then nodded toward a ranch house at the end of the road. “That’s the main house.”

Home was a freshly painted two-story ranch house, with flowers in the flower beds and neat rows of trees lining the driveway. It was bigger than she had imagined, much bigger, and behind the house she could see several more buildings, corrals and a tower of hay.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked as she stared.

“That I’m grateful I didn’t agree to clean for my bed and board.”

He laughed.

Natalia didn’t. She’d taken gourmet classes, foreign gourmet classes, to please herself, and as a result, she was pretty good at froufrou party food—when she kept the ingredients straight and didn’t mix up the measurements. But she’d never cooked regular food, and certainly not for a bunch of hardworking, rough and tough ranch hands.

She really should have thought of this sooner.

But as she’d been doing all her life, she sucked up the fear and put her badass-princess face on. She’d do this. And she’d do it right.

Hopefully.