by Sharon Ihle
Filled with sudden admiration for Dimitri, Shylo gave him a broad smile. Perhaps he wasn't quite as indifferent to those around him as she'd thought.
The marshal, obviously filled with something other than admiration, jumped out of his chair, adjusted his holster, and then spat an angry stream of tobacco juice into a bucket near his feet. "Like I said before, the sheriff from Holbrook is gonna take care of getting a posse when he gets here. As for the lady's ordeal"—he glanced at her and flicked his finger against the brim of his hat but didn't attempt to remove it—"I'm terrible sorry to hear about your troubles, ma'am, but it don't look to me like you're in too bad a fix now."
Dimitri bristled, looking as if he might just leap across the desk and take the man's head off. Shylo might have encouraged him to do it, too, if not for a deepening sense of urgency over resuming her long anticipated journey. As much as she'd have liked to see the smirk wiped off the marshal's face, she couldn't let Dimitri jeopardize the reunion with her mother. If he attacked the lawman, he'd probably wind up in jail, leaving her and Cassie without escorts—or money, for that matter.
She slipped her hand into the crook of Dimitri's elbow. "Let's go," she said, forcing a light tone. "This man is not interested in catching the outlaws. Maybe we can wire a description of the bandits to Holbrook."
"There's no point in doing that," said Cassie. "They never took their masks off. Folks on the train saw them as well as I did."
Sighing heavily, Shylo gave Dimitri's arm a tug. "Like I said, we might as well go." Thinking they could be on their way without further incidence, she took a step toward the door.
"Hold on a minute, folks." The marshal's nasal twang stopped Shylo cold in her tracks. "You ain't going anywhere just yet."
Dimitri took Shylo's hand from his arm, preparing for the scuffle he thought he heard in the man's tone. "And why not, if you don't mind my asking?"
"As it turns out, I don't mind a bit." He hooked his thumbs in his belt and rocked on his heels. "You're another one of them foreigners, ain't you? I can tell by the funny way you talk."
"I am visiting here from Athena, if that's what you mean."
"Athena?" He scratched his head. "Where in tarnation is that?"
"Athens." The man still didn't understand, and even though Dimitri was rapidly losing what little patience he had left, he explained further. "Athens is the capital of Greece, which is in the Mediterranean, as is Italy, Egypt, Turkey—"
"I get it." The marshal scowled, then relaxed a little as his expression spread into the lazy grin of a hungry coyote. "You traveling with that other Greek fella, by any chance?"
Dimitri's spine stiffened. "You mean Ari?"
The marshal glanced down at the papers on his desk. "I'm talking about one Aristotle Cotsome- thing—Ari, I guess. You with him?"
Although Dimitri had the distinct impression that this was not a good time to admit the relationship, he said, "Mr. Kotsala is my uncle. What's happened, and where is he?"
The marshal threw back his head and laughed. "That old man is where he's gonna be a good long time if you don't come up with the two hundred bucks he owes Murphy Springer over at the Red Dog Saloon."
"Two hundred dollars!" Dimitri and Shylo echoed the words at precisely the same time.
"A-yep." Marshal Moss cocked his thumb over his shoulder. "Got your uncle locked up in the back room. He tells me he ain't got no money, so that's where he'll be staying until someone pays up for him. If no one does, I expect when the sheriff gets here, he'll haul him off to Holbrook with him."
The weary, frustrated trio let out a collective sigh. Then Dimitri, who could hardly believe that yet another misfortune had befallen them, said to the marshal, "I'll be back to discuss the reasons you felt you had to detain my uncle shortly. Then we'll see if we can't figure out a way to settle his bill. First, I think it'd be best if I saw the ladies to their hotel."
* * *
Fifteen minutes later Dimitri joined his uncle in his makeshift cell, a tiny room connected to the marshal's main log cabin featuring rough-hewn walls, a cot, and nothing else. No windows, no chairs, and just one door that led to the marshal's office. Ari was sitting on the edge of his narrow bed, his aching head hanging almost as low as the miserable excuse for a mattress.
Dimitri, who'd already explained his excursion with Shylo into the desert, was still venting a considerable amount of spleen over the tale his uncle had just told him.
"How could you," he said, speaking in his native language, "have believed for one minute that you would become proficient at this poker card game in one night? It took you years of practice to become an expert at backgammon. What made you think this western game would be any different?"
Ari shrugged and, like his nephew, spoke Greek. Unlike his nephew, his voice had a decided nasal tone because of a badly broken nose. "I met some American cowboys, men who work for the Aztec Land and Cattle Company raising Texas longhorn—"
"I'm not interested in them. Tell me what happened to you."
"I am, my son, I am." He gingerly dabbed a handkerchief beneath his constantly dripping nostrils. "These men, Hashknife cowboys, they are called, invited me to join their game. The card parlor offered no other games of chance, so I accepted when these Hashknifes said that poker was a simple game to learn, and that they would teach me all the rules."
Dimitri stopped pacing and drew in a deep breath. There was no point in going over the details again, for each time the story came out the same. Ari either had misunderstood those rules or had been misled by the cowboys. Then, when it became apparent that he'd been duped, he'd complained loudly that he'd been cheated out of what little money he'd had on him. The cowboys, who didn't take kindly to being called cheaters, had taken Ari to task over the insult.
Although he had put up a good fight, when the ruckus finally ended Ari had been pinned to the floor by a pair of burly Hashknife cowboys. Now his nose was broken in two places, and his knuckles looked as if he'd sharpened a pair of sheep shears with them. It certainly explained why the old man hadn't returned to the hotel by the time Dimitri and Shylo left for the badlands, but that was about all it did. Now they had to come up with two hundred dollars to pay for "damages" done to the Red Dog Saloon—and do it by morning or they'd miss the next train to San Diego.
His temper flaring anew, Dimitri began to pace the stifling cubicle again as he went over in his mind all they'd been through.
"This entire trip to America has become a bigger challenge- and even more puzzling than the Pyramids." He shot his uncle a narrow gaze. "You do realize, don't you, that if we miss the train tomorrow, we'll have to wait four more days for the next one?"
Nodding carefully, for the slightest movement jarred his swollen nose, Ari said, "I know, but there doesn't seem to be much I can do about it except say I'm sorry again."
"Sorry won't get us out of this predicament. We barely have enough money to cover our hotel rooms for the night and one good meal. Do you realize the position you've put me in?"
Ari frowned without thinking, and then winced with pain. "I don't know exactly which position you're referring to."
Coming to a halt directly in front of his uncle, Dimitri hunkered down so he could look him in the eye. "The very position I'd hoped to avoid. Between the unchaperoned night I was forced to spend with Miss Folsom and the needless expense you've incurred for us in the name of gambling, it looks like the only way out of this mess is a rather hasty wedding. Mine!"
Ari tried to smile, but it hurt too much. "I can think of worse positions, my son. She will make you a lovely wife, not to mention that you will be regarded as a very important man both here and at home."
Uninterested in either a wife or his own stature, Dimitri grumbled as he wondered how Shylo would react to his proposal—and, later, to life in Greece. Then he recalled how she'd responded to their accident in the badlands. He couldn't help but admire the way she'd hiked up her skirts and joined in to help dig the wheel out with no encouragement
from him whatsoever. No complaining about the actual labor or circumstances, she had just wielded that shovel as if she'd been doing manual labor all of her life.
Even when it became obvious they'd have to spend the night in the desert, Shylo hadn't complained, worried about appearances, or made a fuss over her hard "mattress." An interesting enigma, this woman, but confusing at any rate. How could someone of her caliber and upbringing be so well suited for such inconveniences?
Then he suddenly realized that she might also be a woman who would not object in the least to working alongside him at archaeological dig sites. This thought, as attractive as it seemed, wasn't quite good enough, however, to keep him from brooding over the troubles at hand.
Dimitri stood up and shook his head incredulously. "I still cannot believe that I've managed to get myself into such a mess since coming to this country." He went on, talking more to himself than to Ari. "My uncle is in jail, owing hundreds of dollars in a town run by dishonest cowboys; we have less than ten dollars between us, yet I am expected to convince the woman I've compromised—through no fault of my own, I might add—to become my bride. And if this woman should agree to the marriage, I have to assume that her beloved companion—a young lady who, in case you haven't noticed, sports purple hair—will also become a part of our lives."
"Ah, all sad but true," said Ari, "but you forget the bright side—part of Miss Folsom's dowry includes a close connection to a United States president and, I would guess, a large amount of money. You may not need to worry about chasing down the funds your uncle stole from the business after this match is made."
Dimitri had forgotten all about Niko, but now that he'd been reminded of the reason for making the trip to California in the first place—a confrontation with a man who might or might not be his uncle Niko—it seemed insignificant in the face of all that had happened since he'd left New York. In fact, Dimitri wasn't even sure that settling the score with his father's brother mattered anymore. All he really wanted to do now was go back to the university and reclaim his well-ordered life.
"Dimitri?" Ari snapped his fingers to recapture his nephew's attention. "Since we have so little time left if we even hope to clear up matters here before tomorrow's train arrives, don't you think you ought to get right over to the hotel? Even with your considerable attributes, I'm afraid that convincing the young lady to marry you on such short notice may not be as easy as I once thought."
* * *
In the time it took Dimitri to convince Shylo that what he had to say needed to be discussed in private, and that Cassie would be quite all right if left alone for a little while, he was pretty sure he had used up all of his powers of persuasion. Now that he finally had her sitting with him in a secluded corner of the hotel lobby, he absolutely couldn't bring himself to begin the proposal. If he'd had a choice, apologizing for unintentionally assaulting her as she'd slept in the wagon suddenly seemed like the easier task.
Shylo drummed her fingers against the arm of her chair. "I'm going back to my room to stay with Cassie if you don't start talking this minute. You know I didn't want to come down here in the first place."
"All right, all right." Why couldn't Ari be here instead of him? Dimitri cleared his suddenly dry throat, reached for Shylo's hand, and sandwiched it between his own. Anything else? he wondered. Should he drop to one knee? Two? Or remain where he was, seated beside her? Opting for the less embarrassing solution, he stayed put, cleared his throat again, and began the one assignment all his years of schooling had not prepared him for.
"A lot has happened to us in the last few days, most of it terribly unexpected and unfortunate."
"I know that," she said. "I was there. Tell me something I don't already know."
Adaptable and blunt, too, he thought. Certainly not the best combination for a wife of his to possess, but something he would have to work out with Shylo later. Right now he had to convince her to become his wife in the first place.
"I've been thinking about this for some time, since we left New York, actually..." Dimitri paused to loosen the collar of his shirt. "After what happened, I speak of our... impossible, no, I think improper night alone together, not our fault, in the desert. We must take ourselves and correct it, soon, and not because..." His thoughts weren't falling into the right pattern—at least not for English—and Dimitri was pretty sure his words were coming out every bit as mixed up. He sighed heavily. "Swiftness is, I think, what I'm saying, and what I hope you understand."
Shylo stared at Dimitri as if he'd suddenly grown an enormous wart between his eyes. "Pardon my language, please, but I have no idea what in hell you are talking about."
Outspoken, too, yet another character deficit to be dealt with. "I will try again." Dimitri heard himself gulp, unaware that he'd even swallowed. "I'm talking about courtship—yours and mine—and not to have one."
"Our courtship?" Had her behavior in the desert disgusted him so much that he planned to leave her behind? Feeling shocked, and disappointed somehow, Shylo tried to tug her hand out of his grip, but Dimitri held her fast. Tears filled her throat, not only surprising her but drowning her with horror. She couldn't burst into tears in front of Dimitri, not now, and not over something like this—his rejection of her.
Leaning heavily on her anger, she snapped, "Maybe you're the one who misunderstood. I never wanted you to court me. In fact, I hope I never see you again, you big-headed, overblown—"
"Is you misunderstood," he said, cutting her off. "I sometimes have trouble with English when I'm nervous or upset. I am both of these right now. Please excuse me."
"Well... maybe. That depends on what you're trying to say."
Thinking of yet another task ahead of him—the curbing of her volatile temper—Dimitri inched closer to Shylo, bringing her within kissing distance, and finally got to the proposal. "I say that I think it could be very profitable for us to combine our assets."
"Combine our assets?" This made less sense to her than anything he'd said so far. "You mean like go into business with each other?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes." Dimitri tried to swallow again, but by now his throat felt as if it were lined in lamb's wool. "Forgive my awkward presentation, but I have never done this before. In fact, if we were in my country, I wouldn't have to do it at all. A matchmaker, someone like Ari, would be speaking to you, not me."
A little tickle of alarm raised the hair on her scalp. "A matchmaker? Why on earth would one of them be talking to me?
"He would be asking you, and I would hope, in much finer words, if you would become my wife." He gulped. "Will you please to do this?"
The hand Dimitri wasn't holding flew to Shylo's throat. His wife? Of all that she'd imagined when he'd first come to her room, none of her suppositions even came close to this. She was thrilled, to be sure, for not only was this her first proposal, but to have it come from a man such as this was sweeter than fresh-cut clover. Imagine that. But her euphoria quickly gave way to suspicion. Why ask her, of all people? She'd let down her guard around Dimitri often enough of late that he most certainly knew she was not quite the polished lady he'd met back in New York. Surely this Greek god could have his pick of women, debutantes who fit into his esteemed circles and understood him when he got to talking in fancy words. Selecting an impostor like her simply didn't make sense.
But then that thought prompted Shylo to remember something Victoria Vanderkellen had mentioned back in New York: if there was one thing a Greek man couldn't resist, it was politics.
Her tone ringing with sarcasm, she asked, "This sudden urge to marry me wouldn't have anything to do with my dear uncle, would it?"
Dimitri knew he could hardly lie to her about that—especially after the things he'd said to her in anger when the wheel broke. And since he wasn't familiar with American customs or how she might view the Greek method of matrimony—as much business as pleasure—he tempered the truth a little with a slight distortion.
Caressing the back of her hand with his thumb
, he said, "Your uncle's esteemed position does, of course, carry a certain attractiveness, but Ari and I believe a union between us would be of benefit in many other ways as well. What do you think?"
Shylo didn't know whether to believe him or not, but she did know this much—courtship, engagements, and marriage were areas in which she had almost zero knowledge. And the little she had learned was enough to convince her that Dimitri's proposal seemed a little cold. She still couldn't understand why he'd want to hitch his wagon to hers.
"I—I don't know what to say or think, Dimitri. This is a real surprise to me, and... frankly, it sounds more like you're proposing a business deal than a marriage."
Relaxed again, he chuckled softly, still stroking her hand. "Yes, I suppose it does, since my culture is so different from yours. In Greece, romantic love, or whatever you want to call it, is not a requirement when arranging a marriage."
"You mean Greeks don't believe in love?"
"Of course they do, but to have a perfectly sound marriage, this sentiment is not a requirement." Recognizing an obstacle he hadn't thought of, he said, "Is marrying for love so very important to you?"
"Me? Oh, goodness, no." The minute the words were out, Shylo could almost taste the lie in them. But she laughed it off and went on. "I'm not even sure love exists, to tell you the truth."
Immensely pleased to know she wouldn't require a heavy emotional investment from him, Dimitri joined her laughter. "If love didn't exist, I believe many of our lives would be far less complicated." Then he added boldly, "May I assume that we have an agreement?"
Shylo glanced into his dark eyes, and then quickly averted her gaze. She could hardly believe that if her next word was "yes," she might actually become Mrs. Dimitri Adonis. She gave herself a moment of fantasy, imagining the look on her mother's face if she were to show up in San Diego with this man as her husband and not simply as an escort. How pleased Colleen would be to see what her daughter had done for herself. Surely she would not be able even to think of rejecting her again.
