by Sharon Ihle
"I think I may have an excellent solution, one, I might add, that I'm surprised you haven't thought of."
"Really?" Filled with hope, Shylo latched her fingers on to the lapels of his jacket. "What's the plan? Let's do it."
This was the woman Dimitri liked best. The enthusiastic lady with just a little of the hellion shining through. He smiled at her, meaning it, and let his gaze fall to the luscious mouth he'd so recently kissed. "The plan is simple," he said, the huskiness in his voice betraying a few other plans he had in mind. "You just have to send a wire to your uncle. If anyone can get a team of good trackers together, I would have to assume, it would be a man with his credentials."
"My... uncle?" He couldn't mean whom she thought he meant—could he? She'd never so much as mentioned having family to Dimitri, and she sure as hell never told him that particular lie. "I don't think I know who you're talking about."
Dimitri hesitated, wondering if he ought not to divulge what he knew, and then decided that given poor Cassie's circumstances, he really had no choice but to tell all. Besides, even if Miss Folsom was doing some secret work for the government, he didn't see how it could possibly matter if he, a Greek national, was privy to the information. Keeping his voice low, he said, "Why, the president of the United States, of course."
"Oh, shit," slipped out before Shylo even realized she was thinking it.
"I beg your pardon?" Surely she hadn't uttered that word.
"I said... that's it." She paused. "Dimitri," she murmured in dulcet tones, "may I ask where you got the idea that the president is somehow related to me?"
"Don't worry," he assured her. "Your secret is safe with me. I don't even want to know why you can't speak of your ties to the White House. I just thought he might be of some help."
"But—"
"Ari happened to be speaking to Mrs. Vanderkellen at her party, and your name came up. She mentioned the president and the fact that you are his niece."
That sealed it. There was no getting out of the lie now, not with Victoria as the gossipy aristocrat who'd turned town crier on her. Hells bells and dried-up wells, she thought, recalling a favorite childhood chant. Now she had not one, but two whoppers to clear up with Dimitri on down the road. The first, the fact that she didn't have two pennies to rub together, she was sure would cause no problem given his wealth; but the second... ah, the second might prove a tad more difficult.
Greeks, she'd learned at Victoria's dinner party, set a mighty high store on anything of a political nature. In fact, now that she thought about it, and saw herself compared with those New York debutantes, she realized her "political connections" were probably the only reason Dimitri had agreed to escort her to California in the first place—or to court her, the two-faced bastard. When, oh, when would things start to get easier for her? Shylo propped her bustles against the corner beam of the store, drew in a long breath, and then let it out in a sigh that started from her toes.
"I'm sorry if this news distresses you," Dimitri said, not quite sure how to make amends or if they were even necessary. "I only thought to help the situation here, not add to your troubles."
"You didn't, not really." But Shylo did feel as if she were toting her nonexistent trunk full of clothing across her shoulders. "I can't call on the president for help, that's for sure, and I can't tell you why, not just yet, either. You'll have to, ah, trust me on that."
"Of course I will."
Shylo glanced into Dimitri's devil black eyes, seeking confirmation of his vow, but they looked guarded and aloof as usual. Too tired for any more conjecture, she said, "Well, then I guess there really isn't anything we can do for Cassie but wait until the sheriff gets to town and puts a posse together. In the meantime, I could use a good washing and a little rest. Which hotel do you think your uncle stopped at?"
"The best, of course."
After a few inquiries they quickly discovered that the best Winslow had to offer was the Harvey House Hotel, which doubled as the Santa Fe station where they'd stepped off the train. Situated south of the tracks, even though most of the town was on the north side, the hotel was an impressive two-story structure of red brick and gabled roofs, known not only as the best lodging available in town, but as the establishment that featured one of the finest restaurants in all of Arizona.
Dimitri led Shylo past the well-stocked cigar stand near the entrance to the lobby and deposited her on one of the numerous padded wooden chairs before joining Ari at the registration desk.
"All goes well?" he asked his uncle in Greek.
"We have two rooms, if that is what you mean. If you're asking about money, all is not so well. They want two dollars per day, per room—in advance."
Dimitri whistled between his teeth but dug into his vest pocket and withdrew fifty dollars, half of all the money he had left to his name. "Pay the man, but only for one night at a time. If we're lucky, Miss McBride will wander back into town by morning."
Ari glanced over to where Shylo was sitting with her eyes closed. "And if we're not so lucky?"
Following his uncle's gaze, Dimitri gave a nod of resignation. "I know. It is time to ask for the return of our money."
Ari turned back to the desk. "A good plan. While you're doing that, I will get our keys and see that a hot bath is arranged for your future bride."
Muttering to himself, since that prospect was looking more like "when" than "if," Dimitri went back to Shylo and sat down beside her.
Her eyes flew open. "Oh, you startled me. Do we have rooms?"
"Yes. Ari is getting keys and making sure a hot bath will be waiting for you."
"Oh, thank God." She fanned herself with her only possessions—the etiquette book she'd found lying on the parlor car floor, and something called Destiny Rode at Midnight, a book Shylo hadn't purchased, but one that somehow had come into Cassie's possession. "Before I get bathed, you'll have to take me to the mercantile and pick me up a few things. A dress for sure, since you ripped this one. It's the only one I own now that those bandits made off with my traveling bag. I can't go around looking like this."
"No, of course not, and I'll be happy to escort you to the shop, but that is all I can do. I'm afraid that because of the robbery, Ari and I are a little financially embarrassed."
"Embarrassed?" Oh, Lord, not them, too. "You mean, broke?"
"Not precisely, but the bandits did make off with the satchel in which we kept most of our funds. We were hoping that your resources were still intact, and that you might be able to repay us for the train tickets now."
Shylo gulped and averted her gaze. "I'm real sorry to have to tell you this, but, ah, Cassie wasn't just my traveling companion. She was my, ah... secretary, too, and kept all our money in the valise." She gave him a mournful glance. "I guess you know where that is."
"With our satchel, I would presume."
Shylo nodded. "I expect so, but maybe things aren't so bad as they seem. Can't you just go wire your bank and tell them to send you more money?"
That would be a last resort as far as Dimitri was concerned. The only funds available to him now were those he'd set aside for his trip to England, a journey that was to have coincided with his doctorate in archaeology. He would have to be in dire straits indeed to even think of touching one drachma of that account. Surely wiring for funds would be much simpler for a woman of Shylo's connections.
"I'm afraid," Dimitri said, careful of his wording, "that is more difficult than you might imagine. There are overseas wires to consider, not to mention international transfers. It would probably be quite some time before I could expect to receive any funds. Wouldn't it be easier for you to wire the president?"
Worn out with all the lies, Shylo sighed heavily. Her life would be so much less complicated if she could just come right out and tell Dimitri the truth—that she was in no way related to Grover Cleveland, and that even if she had her valise, there wasn't enough money in it to cover new underthings, much less a dress. But she couldn't tell him the truth, of cours
e. Not unless she was prepared to face this town and her sister's situation, penniless and completely alone. Which she was not.
Shylo turned to him, making up yet another whopper as she went along. "I wish I could help you, but I'm afraid I can't wire the president or any member of my family, because..." She paused, heaving another, heavier sigh as she tried to come up with a plausible reason. "Because the truth is, none of them know that I'm taking this trip, and if they did know, they sure wouldn't approve of it."
"But I don't understand. What about seeing to your friend's mother?"
"Well, you see..." Shylo batted her lashes, buying a little more time for her aching brain. "Ah, Uncle Grover doesn't exactly approve of Colleen or her daughters."
"Daughters? She has more than your departed friend?"
"Yes, I believe I mentioned that to you on the train." Shylo quickly weighed the consequences of explaining further and decided that revealing a little more about her sister might even help her cause rather than harm it. "My friend was the oldest child, and her sister, poor Cassie, is the youngest." The tiny sob she sniffed back after that was real.
"Cassie?" Dimitri was confused. "Surely you're not referring to your traveling companion. I thought her name was McBride, not Broussard."
"Did I say that?" If she couldn't keep her own lies straight, she could wind up in a hell of a fix. "If I did, I was only trying to protect her. Her name is McBride, as was Colleen's before she married that Broussard fellow."
"Then Cassie was on that orphan train and sent away to live on a farm?"
"I'm afraid so." Dimitri actually looked distressed at this news, and again Shylo found herself wishing that she could gather up all the compassion she saw in his dark eyes and heap those soothing sentiments on the rejected child inside of her.
To keep focused on her plight and her impromptu script, Shylo had to look away from him before she could go on. "Cassie was the household helper, the one who helped the farmer's wife with cooking, cleaning, and sewing, while my, ah, friend, was put to work outside tending crops and the animals. I guess you could say she was the son the farmer never had."
Angry all over again at the American way of dealing with orphans, Dimitri shook his head. "I cannot understand why your uncle does not wish to come to this poor girl's aid."
"It's a long story, and one I'd rather not talk about, if you don't mind, but maybe now you can understand a little better why I'm so upset about Cassie out there alone with those men. You don't think they'll hurt her, do you?"
If Cassie were even alive, Dimitri couldn't imagine that she hadn't been injured in some way by that gang of cutthroats. Ari strolled up before Dimitri could form an answer that wouldn't reveal this thought.
"Our rooms are ready," said Ari. "Shall we go upstairs?"
Dimitri stood up from the couch, took Shylo by the hand, and helped her to her feet. Then he made what he hoped was the correct decision. She had more than enough worries without concerning herself about where a new dress or the next meal would come from, and since he'd all but pledged his troth to her aboard the train, it was his duty of relieve her of at least that much anxiety. The only way to do that would be to send a wire to the university, asking for a portion of his savings to be sent ahead to San Diego, hoping all the while that he wouldn't actually have to use any of it. In the event those funds were needed, surely Shylo or her uncle would pay him back at their journey's end.
Dimitri held out his hand, palm up. "Please give me Shylo's key, Ari. We have a little shopping to do before she can go to her room."
"Shopping, my son?" Had the desert heat gotten to him? "We are in need of nothing."
"Shylo is." He glanced at her, his smile broad and dimpled. "I'm going to buy her a new dress. Something in Aegean blue, I think."
* * *
Some fifteen miles north of Winslow, deep in the sensuously rounded hills and rugged badland canyons formed out of the area's pastel-hued sandstone, three remaining members of the Daggart gang argued about the fate of their unexpected hostage. The other six outlaws had fanned out already, each taking a different route and direction. Over the next few weeks all nine men would converge in the deeply eroded canyons and fortresslike cliffs of southeastern Utah, near where the Dirty Devil River entered the Colorado River.
Fred Daggart eyed Cassie, who was sitting in the shade beneath a ledge carved of russet sandstone. Her mouth was silenced by Buck's red handkerchief, and her hands and feet had been bound with sturdy twine. Daggart slowly shook his head as he addressed the youngest member of his gang. "You'd better think of something fast, kid, 'cause there ain't no damn way in hell we're gonna take her to Utah with us and parade her around Robbers Roost."
"I know that," said Buck. "But I don't see a thing in the world wrong with my plan. You fellas split up like the others did, I'll stay behind with the girl to make sure a posse don't pick up nobody's trail, then I'll join you boys in a couple of weeks. What's the problem?"
"You, kid," interrupted the outlaw known as Flat Nose. "Ain't none of us want to run off leaving you behind all by your lonesome. Your brother Bob'd bust right out of his coffin and gut the lot of us if'n we was to leave off without you. Tell you what: how about you ride out with Fred?" He cast a gaze toward Cassie. "I'll stay behind and take care of the girl and the posse."
"No, dammit." Buck had never so much as raised his voice against the members of the gang, let alone stood up to them. But in this he was dogged. "I'm the one thought of the hostage plan, and I'm the one gonna see it through. You two ride on out. I can find my way to the Roost from here, and I'll see you a couple of weeks down the road."
Flat Nose elbowed the boss's ribs. "I told you we shoulda run that boy down to Nogales to let off a little steam before we ever trusted him with a real job. He's got his head so far up that girl's skirt, he can't even think straight."
"Ease up on the boy a little, Flat Nose." Daggart took a long time mulling over the options before he finally said, "Even if the kid's pants are egging him on, I think maybe he's trying to make a man of himself in more ways than just the one. Ain't you, boy?"
"Yessir."
Daggart shot another quick glance at Cassie. "All right, kid, if you really think you can handle that little bundle of fluff, and a posse, the job's yours."
Buck swallowed the urge to whoop with joy. "I can handle the both of them real good."
"Both of 'em, Dilly?" Flat Nose laughed and leaned in close. "Just how good do you think you're gonna be the first time out? Or don't you figure on telling that gal you're a virgin?"
Buck flushed and ground his teeth. "Shut your big damn mouth. Ain't none of your business what I do or what I say."
Daggart stepped between the men and issued his final orders. "Mount up, Flat Nose, and do what the kid says—shut up." As the outlaw complied, laughing a deep belly-roll kind of chortle, Daggart took the kid by the arm and pulled him up tight. "This here's serious business, kid, and a business where we can't afford to take chances. When you're done with the girl, what did you figure on doing with her?"
"Doing? I ain't exactly sure what you mean."
"I already told you I don't want her at Robbers Roost, and you can't hardly turn her loose to go giving our descriptions to the law or telling where we went." He narrowed one eye. "I'm asking you again, kid. What do you figure on doing after you've finished with her?"
Buck hadn't thought that far ahead, but he knew exactly what Daggart meant. And what he had to do.
Fingering the leather sheath at his waist that contained his Bowie knife, he said, "I'll be leaving her body behind as a message to anyone who tries to follow us."
"You sure you can handle that part, too?" Daggart refrained from adding, "Since you've never killed anyone before?"
"'Course I can." Buck's gaze flickered to Cassie, but he didn't really look at her. "I could do it right now, if I had to, but I'd rather keep her around another day or so." He laughed. "Now you two get on out of here. See you later."
Dagg
art punched the kid's arm. "Later, Dilly. And be sure to keep an eye on your back."
As the outlaws rode by the spot where Cassie sat trembling, Flat Nose spat a stream of tobacco juice in her direction, splattering the hem of her dress. "You be sure and do what the boy tells you, darlin'. He's some mean varmint." Flat Nose threw back his head and laughed. "That there's none other than Dilly the Kid."
Her eyes bright with fear, Cassie watched as the pair of bandits rode away and gradually faded from view. She'd been stunned, to say the least, when she'd awakened to find herself atop Buck's white horse, galloping across the desert at an alarming rate. Now she was nothing short of terrified. Dilly the Kid? As in Billy the Kid or Jesse James? And what did the outlaw mean when he asked Buck if he could he handle "that part, too"?
A shadow fell over Cassie as she contemplated her situation, startling her. Her head snapped around and her gaze shot up to meet the hooded eyes of Buck "Dilly the Kid." His legs were spread, his expression grim. Nothing in his manner or appearance eased her worried mind.
Buck stepped forward, drawing her attention to an object he held in his hand. Sunlight reflected against metal, blowing her a sparkling kiss from the blade of his huge knife. Then he dropped to his haunches, brandishing the weapon in one hand and reaching for her with the other.
Chapter 7
Later that night after sundown, a spectacle that included a sinking fireball that turned the sky into a blood-colored landscape to match her mood, Shylo stared at her menu at the Harvey House Restaurant with unseeing eyes. She couldn't seem to compose herself even though she felt more refreshed and comfortable than she'd been since the day they'd left New York.
The dress Dimitri had bought for her was made of printed lawn combined with frothy organdy in shades of yellow, not Aegean blue, and accented at the waist by a wide sash of bright lemon-colored satin. Not only was the gown lightweight and far cooler than her ruined traveling suit, she also had brand-new under- things, including two crinolette petticoats with matching chemise and lacy drawers trimmed with powder blue ribbons. Her underwear, she'd noted sardonically, was prettier than any dress she'd ever owned as a child or during all her years on the farm.
