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

“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.