A Royal Mess. Jill Shalvis
once again snoring.
With a sigh, Natalia turned straight ahead and gave her best imitation of a royal at utter tranquility, even when the plane dipped unexpectedly. It was the hardest thing she’d ever done.
And a very small part of her wished the cowboy would give her his hand back.
WHAT SHE HADN’T REALIZED during that hideous plane ride was that things could get worse.
Far worse.
The plane landed on schedule. Natalia got off on schedule.
And that’s where, unfortunately, the worse part came in.
The flight attendants waved goodbye to everyone as they exited the plane, smiling and looking like parade commissioners. When Natalia got to the front, they all promptly stopped waving. On cue, they bowed and cried “farewell thy princess.”
Funny. Ever so funny.
She thought maybe her Clint Eastwood look-alike, standing behind her, laughed. The sound was low and rough, just like his voice, but when she whirled to glare at him, he was simply looking at her with those intense, see-all eyes of his. No smile at her expense on his mouth, but there was a very little hint of it in his gaze, she just knew it.
She stared at him for another long second, during which he patiently endured her scrutiny.
Then someone behind him nudged him forward, and he pressed against her back for a brief moment before widening his stance to better brace himself.
Her spine indelibly imprinted with the feel of his warm, hot body, Natalia rushed forward, in a desperate hurry to…
Get lost.
She had to find her next flight in this monstrous airport in…where was she? Oh, yes. Dallas. Dallas, Texas. Where all the women had huge hair and the men wore belt buckles larger than—
Well. No use going there.
Not when she had herself to feel so sorry for. She stuck out like a sore thumb and felt people staring every time she so much as moved, which of course made her thrust up her chin and give everyone hard stares back. Funny, but she’d never felt like an atrocity before. Distracted by that, she somehow ended up in Terminal C instead of Terminal B.
Uh-uh. No way was she going to miss her connection. Not when she had two perfectly good legs to get her there. She had her sights on first class this time, and she would accept no less. But with only a few minutes to spare before the flight, she was afraid she’d be told that ridiculous overbooked story again. To avoid that, she started running. Not easy in an overcrowded airport full of people and wearing heavy boots meant for looking good, not sprinting a marathon. Dodging left and right, she hustled on, her carry-on banging against her thighs with every step she took, her toes screaming against the steel front of her boots. But damn it, the boots looked good.
It took forever to make progress. Old people walking too slowly, kids in the way…. At this rate, by the time she got to the right gate, she’d be a very unprincesslike sweaty mess. She already felt so out of breath she had to stop, drop her purse and carry-on, and bend over to suck in some serious air.
This is it, she decided, gulping air like water. I need an exercise regime. Pronto.
But first she needed an oxygen mask.
“Hey, there. Move it.”
This from a uniformed man driving a golf cart. A golf cart! To save her lungs, she’d get on a damn skateboard. “Oh, thank God.” She stopped to gasp some more. “I need a ride to gate…” Huffing like a choo-choo train, she glanced down at her ticket, trying to figure it out.
“Sorry, no rides.”
“What?” She looked at the cart. It was huge. More than enough room. “What do you mean no rides? I just need to get to—”
“Nope.”
“I realize you don’t know who I am, but—”
“Look, I don’t care if you’re Santa Claus, I ain’t giving you a ride. I only take senior citizens.”
Then, unbelievably, he zipped away, leaving her standing there, hair slipping, arm ready to pop out of its socket from her carry-on, toes still screaming.
With no choice, she started running again, and got to her gate with a full two minutes to spare. Heaving herself to the counter, she held up a finger to the woman behind it, signaling she couldn’t possibly speak until she caught her breath.
The unsympathetic woman impatiently tapped her pen against the counter.
“I’m here…to check…in.” Natalia added a smile for good measure. A royal smile. A royal don’t-you-dare-turn-me-down smile.
“Ma’am, this flight has been canceled due to weather.”
Soon as she got home, she’d have to have her ears checked. “What?”
“Thunderstorms over New Mexico.”
“But that’s where I need to go.”
“Yes, you and two hundred others.”
Okay time to pull out the cell phone and hit auto-dial for home. Home sounded good. Home sounded great. Her father, her assistants, even Amelia—especially the know-it-all-see-it-all Amelia—would get her out of this mess. Amelia Grundy had been getting her out of messes all her life, and as always, that brought a sense of wonder. It was as if Amelia were a modern-day Mary Poppins the way she always instinctively knew when Natalia needed her. Natalia and her sisters had long ago just accepted strange things could and would happen when Amelia was involved. Magical things. Wondrous things. And, in the case of one sister or another causing mischief, terrible things.
Truth was, Natalia needed Amelia now, and Amelia probably already knew it. Chances were she wouldn’t even get an “I told you so” out of it.
Chances were.
But she would get that knowing tone, the one that would have the I-told-you-so all over it. No one, especially Amelia, who always knew when trouble was coming, had wanted Natalia to come here alone.
But all Natalia’s life she’d been sheltered and over-protected. All her life she’d chafed at the restrictions. Hence, being stranded in Dallas. “So what happens now?”
“Well…” The woman’s fingers flew across the keyboard as she decided Natalia’s fate. She had hair teased up like a Dolly Parton wig, and earrings as big as saucers hanging from her poor lobes. And they thought Natalia dressed strangely. “The next flight out is tomorrow,” she said.
Natalia stopped comparing hairstyles. “Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow.”
Natalia resisted the urge to thunk her head on the counter and have a good cry. “What about my luggage?”
“I’m sorry, you’re going to have to meet up with it at your final destination.”
“You’re kidding.”
The woman didn’t crack a smile, not even a sympathetic one.
“You’re not kidding.”
“Ma’am, kidding isn’t in my job description.”
Natalia shook her head. “This isn’t happening.”
“If you’d like, you can check the bus schedule. The shuttle to take you to the depot is outside the terminal.”
“Bus?”
“Bus.”
Bus.
WHICH WAS WHERE Natalia found herself forty-five minutes later. Sitting on a bench outside waiting for the shuttle bus in the soggy, muggy, disgusting heat, with clouds surging overhead, waiting.
For her bus.
There was no lunch service on a bus, she was fairly certain. She removed