A Royal Mess: A Royal Mess / Her Knight To Remember

“Does she like sugar?”

“About as much as I’d guess you do.”

Tish grinned and sucked on her lollipop some more.

The line to get onto the plane hadn’t moved. In fact, the crowd pressed in slightly, shifting him closer to Tish and her sticky, blue lollipop.

Chaos continued to reign around him; loud passengers, the crackling of the intercoms, the weary voices of the airline employees and the smell of plane.

Quite different from his usual setting of gently rolling hills and the call of cattle.

“Excuse me.” A supremely irritated female voice rung out behind him. “I want on this flight.”

Tim glanced over his shoulder and did a double take. The leather-wearing, silver-studded, spiked-hair juvenile delinquent did not match the cultured, demanding voice. Tim spared a moment to feel sorry for the poor attendant facing this newest customer, then gripping his boarding ticket with gratitude, shuffled forward in line with the rest of the lucky ones around him.

“Ma’am,” the ticket clerk said. “This flight is overbooked.”

“What?”

“We’ve oversold the flight,” the ticket clerk said calmly. “Now we can—”

“I don’t care if you oversold the entire state of New York!” She sure didn’t sound like a teenager. “I’m holding a ticket that entitles me to a first-class seat. Now find my boarding pass.”

Tim shook his head at the queen-to-peasant tone. His line was moving now, even if only at the pace of a snail. Only three people left ahead of him, and in a moment he’d be on the plane, snoozing.

Then, finally there was just Tish and her lollipop extraordinaire. Soon he’d be prone, eyes closed, lost in dreamland. Tim stepped on board, and smiled at the pretty redheaded flight attendant when she moved in front of him to serve a drink to someone already seated in first class.

“Hi,” she said breathlessly, once again squeezing her hot little bod in front of his to get back to her station.

Suddenly catching some Z’s took a back seat to his second-favorite hobby.

Women.

But unfortunately for him, it was just a spectator hobby, as most women didn’t find his demanding, outdoor lifestyle on the ranch conducive to a long-term relationship. No one wanted to take a back seat to a sick horse or a herd of cattle.

The line wasn’t moving again, this time thwarted by the crowd of people in front of him fighting for overhead compartment space.

The pretty flight attendant tipped her head up at him, a sweet smile on her lips. “I’m Fran.”

“Hi, Fran.”

“We’re swamped today.” Her eyes were hot as they ate him up.

“I’m just glad to be boarding,” he said, enough of a red-blooded male to enjoy her frank appreciation of his body—a body that was so tired he was practically weaving in the aisle. Give him his dawn-to-dusk job of running a ranch over sight-seeing and grandma rustling any day. But finally he could move, and with a last smile for Fran, he found his seat.

He could still hear the furious demands of the passengers not as lucky as he ringing in his ears—the ones who hadn’t checked in the requisite hour ahead of time, the ones foiled by both heavy spring storms and an airline that had sold more seats than they had available.

Not his problem. With a wide yawn, he tipped his hat over his eyes, and attempted to stretch his long legs—which resulted in two bruised knees. But he’d long ago learned to sleep anywhere, anytime, and today was no exception. As he drifted off to the tune of a flight attendant’s pleas to stow any additional items beneath the seats, he sent out one last, no doubt useless hope that the two seats beside him would remain empty.

It was not going to happen on an overbooked flight, so he adjusted that thought to…may whoever land here please be small and quiet. Very quiet.

Slowly he drifted off, only to be jerked awake when someone behind him kicked his seat. Opening his eyes and craning his neck, Tim encountered a set of green eyes and a blue, drooling, grinning mouth.

“Hi, Cowboy!” Tish the lollipop queen grinned and waved, popping her mother in the nose.

With an inward groan, Tim waved and turned back, closing his eyes again, this time dozing off to a rousing rendition of “Old MacDonald’s Farm.”

THE NEXT TIME Tim was rudely awoken, he expected that it was Tish again, and he feigned sleep in the hope she’d ignore him.

It wasn’t Tish.

From beneath his hat he caught a glimpse of long, toned legs sporting black combat boots as the passenger plopped huffily into the seat next to him.

“Unfriggingbelievable,” muttered the jailbait juvenile delinquent from the check-in counter. She’d gotten a seat after all, and as luck would have it, right beside him.

“The seats back here are too close together.” She wriggled back and forth in an apparent attempt to make him as miserable as she was. It worked.

Her black leather mini hitched a little higher, and Tim wondered how her mother could have let her out of the house dressed like that. Could be worse, he told himself, closing his eyes once again. Could be someone who wanted to gab the entire flight—

“No one’s going to believe this.” She popped her gum so loud his ears nearly exploded. “Flying coach. Ha! I’m packed in here like a sardine.”

Ah, hell. She was someone who was going to gab the entire flight.

“How is one supposed to stretch—Ouch!” She rubbed her leg, and because they were too close together, the backs of her fingers slid against his legs as well. “This should be illegal sitting like this. I should file a complaint.”

He wasn’t going to look at her. No sirree, not going to even peek. Pressing his hat to his face, he slid farther into his seat, practically jamming his knees to his chin.

“It’s astounding, really,” she said over his groan of pain. “The luck I’ve had today.”

Who was she talking to in that voice that seemed almost…British? He risked a sideways glance from beneath his hat. Was she talking to him or the rather large woman who sat at the end of their row? Since that woman wasn’t responding and he was faking sleep, there was only one conclusion.

She was talking to herself, which meant she wasn’t just a talker, she was a crazy talker.

“I bet American royalty doesn’t have this problem,” she said. “I mean, really, when was the last time a Kennedy had to sit coach?”

Tim managed to slink a little more in the seat without further mangling his knees. He kept his eyes firmly closed.

“And how could I have gotten bumped from first class? Who do they have up there, Prince William? It’s such an insult.” She must have tipped to the side, trying to get comfortable again, because Tim felt her hair brush his arm. With it came an exotic, almost irresistible scent. Flowers and woman.

Normally he’d love that—both the sensation and the scent—but he drew the line at far-too-young, crazy women.

The plane started to move. Good. People didn’t like to talk during takeoff. At least, he didn’t. It was the ultimate sleeping time.

She didn’t speak for fifteen whole seconds. His hopes rose.

“Oh, dear.” Her voice wobbled, suddenly not sounding confident at all. “You’d think with how many times I’ve done this, I’d be better at takeoff.”

He felt her arm slide against his as she gripped the armrest between them. Soft, smooth skin. Warm to the touch.