The Inconvenient Bride Series 1-3

by Sharon Ihle

  "Ah, no," she finally managed to say. "I, ah, just wanted to say thanks for being so kind about my hair, and I was also kinda wondering... Could I ask you a question?"

  "Shoot, sugar, but try not to hurt me any more than you already have just by being so plum easy on the eyes." Buck slipped off his loose handkerchief and mopped his brow with it. "Whew, you are really something, you know it? You're just like a cute little ole lump of pink sugar candy."

  The urge to fall right out of her chair and drown in sheer joy was strong, but using all her might, Cassie willed herself not to swoon. "I was wondering about... what color is your horse?"

  The amusement never left Buck's eyes, but he was definitely taken back by her question. What in God's blue heaven did his horse have to do with anything? He couldn't fathom her reasons for asking, so he just shrugged and said, "I guess most folks might say he's kinda flea-bit."

  "Flea-bit? What's that mean?"

  "That he's got some freckles, but that underneath them, he's white."

  "Honest? Your very own horse really is... white?" She practically screamed the last word.

  "Mostly, if he ain't been rolling in the mud, that is. Why do you want to know?"

  But Cassie was beyond asking or answering questions. Her eyes rolled back yet again, and this time they stayed there as her lids fluttered to a close. Then her rigid hands went limp, releasing her grip on the velvet armrests, and if not for Buck Dilly kneeling directly in front of her, she would have slid out of her chair and onto the floor.

  * * *

  Out on the observation deck, Dimitri had just settled his mouth against Shylo's waiting lips to show her what a real kiss was. He halfway expected her to pull back at the last minute, laugh, and run off, for no woman he'd ever known had been quite so vocal about what she wanted from him. Could their cultures really be so different? Or was he holding an exception to the rule in his arms? If she was that, Dimitri thought as her mouth moved freely against his, she was clearly an "exceptional" exception. There was nothing prim or proper about Shylo's kiss, nothing to suggest a great deal of experience, either, but she followed his lead as if they'd rehearsed this interlude a thousand times before.

  Shylo was so caught up in the way Dimitri's mouth fit against hers, so content to bask in the sensations as his perfectly formed lips caressed and electrified her in ever so many more places than her mouth—even though he never left it—that at first she almost didn't notice when he deepened the kiss and worked his tongue between her lips to part them. It wasn't until he met her bared teeth and tried to separate them as well that she tore out of his fierce embrace and staggered back a few steps.

  "What in hell do you think you're doing?" she asked, amazed at his audacity.

  "Kissing you, just like you asked." Dimitri wasn't sure where he'd gone wrong this time, but at this point he didn't really care. "Now get back over here and let me finish."

  "Finish?" Shylo traced her lips with her fingertips, certain from the tingly, swollen way they felt that he must have been joking. Cassie had been right about this kissing business all along, she decided, because she sure did feel "funny" all over: weak, jiggly, and flushed from one end of her body to the other. How could there possibly be more to kissing than that?

  "You demanded that I kiss you, and I have no intention of stopping until you've been thoroughly kissed." Impatience overriding his gentlemanlike tendencies, Dimitri advanced on Shylo, pulled her back into his embrace, and muttered in a low dark growl, "I said I wasn't finished. Now open your mouth and let me continue, woman."

  Shylo's mouth did fall open as requested, but not because Dimitri demanded it. She was agape with shock at the sudden change in him, especially by the manner in which he spoke to her and the almost cunning way he was looking at her. Before she had a chance to figure out what had brought about such radical changes, or to decide whether they were signs of encouragement or a bad omen, his mouth came down on hers again, harder this time, more demanding. And this time his tongue gained entrance to the sanctity of her open mouth with no invitation from her whatsoever.

  Shylo's first instinct was to fight him off, and to that end she balled her fists and pressed them against the top of Dimitri's shoulders. Then his tongue began to move inside her mouth, first exploring her crevices with infinite care, then sliding up and down along her own tongue in a movement she recognized somehow but didn't fully understand. Then something broke loose in her, an uncivilized urge to respond, and Shylo met his challenge.

  With darting, tentative movements, she made a few quick forays inside Dimitri's mouth. Surprised by the groan of pleasure he made, she clung to him, her fists no longer balled, and dug her fingers into the thick black curls at the back of his neck in a desperate attempt to pull herself closer to him—an impossibility, since not even a ray of sunshine could have fit between them now.

  So this was the meaning of those "wonderful feelings," she thought, wanting their embrace to go on forever. This was the reason women and men had joined together from the beginning of time. How long could sensations such as these last? she wondered. A lifetime?

  When gunshots rang out from inside the stationary locomotive, those sensations and the kiss ended right there with an abruptness neither of them could have anticipated.

  Dimitri immediately released Shylo, tucked her behind his back, and said, "Get down and don't move, Miss Folsom. I'm going to go see what happened."

  More gunfire, this time from outside the train.

  Shylo, who hadn't done as she was told, leapt toward the door. "My God. Someone's shooting in there."

  Without hesitation, Dimitri took her roughly by the shoulders, lifted her off her feet, and forcibly seated her on a chair. "Don't move." he said, this time with no hint of his usual melodic tones. Then he slipped inside the observation car.

  Shylo decided to give him a few moments. Then she hopped up from the chair, hurried over to the rail, and peeked around the corner of the train. A huge cloud of dust was rolling away from the railroad tracks in a northwesterly direction, evidence of an indeterminate number of horses and riders. Certain those riders were the cause of both the unscheduled stop and the gunfire, and that she'd be as safe inside as she was outside, Shylo started after Dimitri.

  She caught up to him in the parlor car, where bedlam reigned. Female passengers were weeping, lamenting the loss of their jewelry and personal belongings, and the men were busy plotting ways of getting their money back and bringing the criminals to justice. Dimitri, Shylo discovered, was on the floor, tending to his uncle, who held a bloodied handkerchief against the side of his head.

  "Oh, my God. What happened?" she cried as she reached them. "Did they shoot you, Ari?"

  Dimitri looked up at her, searing her with a hot gaze. "Didn't I tell you to stay where I left you?"

  Shylo didn't like his tone or the insinuation that she didn't have enough sense to make her own decision. "I don't have to listen to you or do anything you tell me," she snapped.

  "Please, please," said Ari, struggling to his feet. "This is no time for arguments. We have been robbed, and some of us have been beaten. Surely your disagreement can wait for another time."

  With a quick, regretful glance at one another, Shylo and Dimitri turned to Ari and almost at the same moment said, "What happened?"

  "As I was saying, we were robbed by bandits. I was struck on the head by a gun as I went to your friend's aid, and then—"

  "Cassie?" Shylo's gaze shot around the inside of the car. "What happened to her? Was she beaten, too?"

  "One of the bandits came at her. I did not like his words, or"—he paused to give his nephew a particularly meaningful look—"the way he spoke them, so—"

  Panic overriding what little composure she had left, Shylo elbowed her way between the two men and stared the eldest in the eye. "Explain exactly what you mean by that, and don't be handing me a pile of bull."

  Ari covered his shock at Shylo's surprising candor and did the best he could to explain. "The
bandit seemed to be a little—how do you say, maybe tempted? by her. I was afraid he would... that he might..." Ari looked to Dimitri, beseeching him for help.

  "I think Shylo gets the idea," he said, taking a cursory glance around the car. "Where is Miss McBride now?"

  "Yes," Shylo said, her panic rising again. "Where is she, and what did that rotten bandit do to her after that?"

  Ari shook his head. "I'm afraid his gun knocked me senseless. I do not know."

  Shylo picked up her skirts and bulldozed her way through the crowd of passengers in the aisle. "Cassie? Cassie?" she called over and over. "Where are you? Cassie? Are you all right?"

  Finally a man who'd been sitting up near the front stopped her progress. "Who are you looking for, miss?"

  "My sis—traveling companion. Have you seen her?"

  "Is she the one in the big ugly bonnet who sits by herself and reads all the time?"

  "Yes, yes. Where is she?"

  Dimitri, who was right on Shylo's heels, placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and said to the suddenly quiet man, "Please tell us what you know."

  "Sorry, but I thought everyone knew what they done with her by now. She's the one they took."

  "Took?" Shylo's mind couldn't accept or digest what he was trying to say. "What do you mean by took, and exactly who are they?"

  "The bandits, ma'am. They kidnapped your traveling companion, took her along with them as a hostage."

  Chapter 6

  Once the tracks were cleared of the debris left by the bandits' barricade, the train continued on its way to the next scheduled stop, Winslow, Arizona. The locomotive didn't even have time to come to a complete halt before Shylo leapt off the step near the doorway of the parlor car and onto the depot platform, where she asked railroad agents where she could find the marshal's office.

  Unable to stop her once she had the information she sought, Shylo's Greek escorts dogged her trail as she went down Kinsley Avenue to Third Street, where the marshal's makeshift office was located.

  Because they were unfamiliar with American legalities, and Shylo was so overwrought about the kidnapping of her young maid, Dimitri and Ari hung back once the trio reached the log cabin that served as both jailhouse and marshal's quarters, took seats on a wooden waiting bench, and kept their silence as she grilled a startled lawman about his plans for seeing to Cassie's safe return.

  Amused, not by the kidnapping or Shylo's distress, of course, but by the lively conversation between her and the deputy, Ari nudged Dimitri's ribs and whispered in Greek, "Would you look at this man's gun? It is as big as a leg of lamb, yet this woman of yours pursues him as if he's unarmed. She will make a fine mother someday, my son, do you not agree?"

  Dimitri, who'd been trying to concentrate on what the lawman was saying about his plans for rounding up something called a "posse," found his uncle's statement even more confusing than the heated discussion across the room. He turned to him and asked in his native tongue, "What the devil are you talking about?"

  "Look at the way Miss Folsom worries over the young woman in her employ. Can you imagine how fiercely protective she will be as the mother of your children?"

  Dimitri wasn't interested in imagining anyone as the mother of his children, not even Shylo, although more and more it appeared as if she might actually be blessed—or burdened—with that honor. He and Ari were in big financial trouble. The bandits had taken the satchel containing most of their funds and had even gone to the trouble of emptying Ari's pockets as he lay unconscious on the floor. Dimitri had a little cash on him, but not nearly enough to see them through their trip to California. If they didn't reach San Diego soon, confirm that Nick Pappas was Dimitri's uncle, and use his assets to refill their coffers, then a hasty marriage to the president's niece indeed loomed as a distinct possibility.

  How in God's name had his well-ordered world ever gotten so completely out of control? If not for this damnable money problem, and the fact that his mother had been left virtually penniless, he would probably be sailing to England about now for a long overdue confrontation with the director of the British Museum. He would be doing something of value instead of sitting in a musty old jailhouse trying to understand a conversation laced with words he'd never heard before.

  Shylo banged her fist against the pitted wooden desk, commanding Dimitri's attention again, and he listened as she demanded that the lawman do something about this "posse" of his. As she spoke, her voice was lusty with the passion Dimitri now knew lurked inside of her, and Ari's words echoed in his mind: the mother of your children.

  He'd always assumed that he'd never have children, and although becoming a father still held little appeal to him, there was a plus he could think of should a marriage between himself and the president's niece come to pass and she insisted on babies. Dimitri couldn't recall ever having had such an intense or instant attraction to anyone before. In fact, Shylo had a lot of very desirable qualities in addition to her physical allure; candor and honesty were two of them. Unfortunately, with those good points came several that were not so good.

  As he watched her trying to browbeat the man into doing her bidding, Dimitri had to admit that he harbored more than a few concerns about her mental stability and mercurial moods. Whenever in her company, he never knew if he'd be facing the very proper niece of a president or a hellion given to outbursts more suitable to a peasant woman. Shylo was an enigma, a woman of many faces, and as he thought about it, he realized that he wasn't even sure which of them he liked the best. He looked up to see what he thought might be the hellion stomping toward him.

  "Will you puleese," she said, "do something to get that marshal up off his duff and outside? He says he's the only law in Winslow, but that he doesn't have the authority to get a posse together. It seems only the county sheriff, whose office is in Holbrook, can do anything about running the bandits down. This, this"—she glanced over her shoulder and glared—"Marshal Moss says he already sent a wire to Holbrook asking for help, but that the sheriff may be a while getting here since there's been some trouble down south and he's out of town."

  It was the hellion for sure. Trying to ignore the fact that this side of Shylo seemed to stir his blood a lot more than the proper lady, Dimitri stood up and took her hands in his in order to calm her. "I'll do what I can," he said, speaking in low, reassuring tones. "But first I have to know what the words duff and possy mean."

  Shylo rolled her eyes. "A duff is, it means..." She honestly wanted to think of a better way to put it, but she was just too tired and too upset to think straight. She patted her bottom. "A duff is your behind, and a posse is a group of men, officers like him, I guess, that the sheriff is supposed to gather up to go chasing after the bandits. This marshal"—she pointed to the man—"insists he can't leave the office until the county sheriff arrives from Holbrook, but that even then it might take a while to round up enough volunteers to chase down nine desperadoes."

  "Desperadoes? What are they?"

  In abject frustration Shylo raised her hands to the heavens and shook them. "Oh, why do I even bother. No one will take the time to understand or care how important this is to me—no one."

  "Perhaps," Dimitri said, "your vicious tongue puts them off. As long as you are debtor-mined to use it on those who would help you, I think you will find yourself quite without the aid you seek."

  "Debtor-mined? What are you talking about?"

  "It is an English word, debtor-mined," he said defensively. "It means, ah... intending, I think, or maybe stubborn."

  In spite of her foul mood, Shylo had to laugh as she figured out what he'd been trying to say. "You mean determined."

  Dimitri stiffened, for he prided himself on the fact that he spoke five languages fluently in addition to Greek. "Excuse my mistake, Miss Folsom. As I was saying, I think you are determined to drive us all away. And so, we shall go." He turned then, gesturing for his uncle to follow as he said to Shylo, "Ari and I are going to go find ourselves a nice hotel. Good luck with your
posse."

  As Dimitri started for the door, and she realized that he really did mean to leave her behind, Shylo panicked. "Wait," she cried, hurrying after them. "Please don't go without me."

  Speaking in Greek, Dimitri cautioned his uncle not to slow his pace or look back. They kept walking out the door and onto the boardwalk, pausing only long enough to choose a direction in which to travel before resuming their excursion. They headed west, where most of the buildings were located.

  Shylo caught up to them and tugged on the sleeve of Dimitri's jacket. "Please stop a minute. I'm sorry for getting so riled up back there, but it's just that I'm worried sick about Cassie. She's about all that I—" Shylo stopped herself before she said too much. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that I think an awful lot of her. In fact, in many ways, I look on her as... as a sister."

  She'd said the last word so softly, Dimitri almost didn't hear it. Tears shone in Shylo's eyes, and although he wasn't entirely certain that she hadn't conjured them up just for his benefit, he couldn't leave her standing there in such a state.

  "Ari," he said, "why don't you go on ahead and pick out the hotel. Miss Folsom and I will be along in a moment." For once, the old man didn't make a comment or raise his eyebrows. He just nodded and continued on his way, leaving Dimitri and Shylo alone under the bright yellow awning of a store. By then her tears were no longer just welling in her eyes, they were rolling down her cheeks. Dimitri took his handkerchief from his pocket and slipped it into her hand.

  "I promise to do all I can to help you, but not as long as you insist on doing"—he waved his fingers toward her cheeks—"this."

  "This?" She hiccupped. "You mean, crying?"

  "Yes. I don't like it, and I don't want you to do it anymore. So please stop it right now."

  Sniffling instead of using and ruining Dimitri's expensive silk handkerchief, Shylo swallowed another sob. "All right." She dabbed her cheeks and held her chin high. "I'm through crying. What can we do to help get Cassie back before those, those..." Don't cry. You can't help her if you cry. She repeated this to herself several times before she could go on. "Before those bandits do something terrible to her?"