by Sharon Ihle
In spite of her efforts to hold them inside, tears squeezed through her eyelids and began running down her cheeks. Shylo pinched herself just to make sure that she was not living in one of Cassie's romantic fantasies, and then turned back to Dimitri to be certain that she hadn't dreamed him up or imagined this incredible moment.
He was still standing there in the sand, arms spread wide, his enticing lips still mouthing the words: "Will you marry me?"
Shylo threw herself into his waiting arms, crying, "Oh, Lord, Dimitri, you really are an idiot."
"Yes," he agreed, his accent thicker. "I have already accepted that title. What is your answer, kouklitsa? Will you marry this idiot?"
Shylo pulled back from Dimitri just far enough to look into his eyes. She did not want to miss his expression when she said, "My answer is yes, but there is one condition that must be met." When his brows drew together, she gave him a crooked grin. "I insist that you go back to the university and become a professor. I simply cannot marry the head of Adonis Imports."
Dimitri tried to smile, but it was a grim expression indeed. "I appreciate your thoughts for me, but life at the university is not very glamours, especially for a woman. Also, while a professor's salary is adequate for my needs, I do not think you would see many diamonds or—"
"Why do you keep talking about diamonds and money? I don't want those things. I want the education you promised me, the journeys to excavation sights, and I'd really love to be with you when you get to England and demand the return of your marble lady. But most of all, my darling idiot, I just want you."
Dimitri felt as if he'd been slapped—hard—and again his English suffered as his pulse raced. "But I remember—in our marriage bed, you say to me, 'I married you for your money.' And Ari's ring, you liked it very big. I remember all this."
"Yes, and all that's true, but I never wanted any of it for myself. I just wanted to attract my mother, to impress her enough to notice me, and, I suppose, to make her think that I was good enough and rich enough to be her daughter."
As the full realization hit him that he did not have to give up one dream to claim the other, Dimitri had to release Shylo and turn away from her to collect himself. After many, many deep breaths, he faced her again, his eyes a little damp, and said, "I am not only an idiot, but you must think me a fool of the highest order."
"Perhaps," she agreed in a throaty whisper, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her head against his chest. "But you're the fool I love, and the fool I'll always love."
Epilogue
For years after, folks in San Diego talked about the wedding that took place that summer of 1888 as the most colorful, and possibly the strangest, the city had ever played host to.
For the participants, however, it was probably one of the most ordinary events to have happened to any of them in weeks.
The ceremony was held high on the cliffs near Ocean Beach at a location referred to by the bridal party as the "sit a spell" spot and began just before sundown, when the skies looked as if they were painted with fire. There were very few guests, but notable among them were the famous—or infamous, depending on how one viewed the man—Wyatt Earp and his beautiful wife, the former Josephine Sarah Marcus.
The nuptials included not one, but two weeping brides. Much to their mother's chagrin, Cassie wore Shylo's freshly pressed and mended pink sateen suit because it matched exactly the color of her hair.
Shylo, looking more subdued but still unsuitably gowned for such a special occasion, insisted on donning the organdy and yellow lawn dress, including the hastily added train of cheap lace that she'd worn during her first wedding to Dimitri.
That man, an incredibly handsome groom who almost looked as if he'd just stepped off the top of a wedding cake, wore a proper enough dress suit, sporting tails and satin lapels, but he stubbornly topped the look with his new smoke gray Stetson that set off his pearly black hair even better than the lost hat.
Buck wore denims, a borrowed dress shirt, and a worn rawhide cowboy hat with a misshapen brim. His most prominent adornments were the purplish green bruise covering his right eye and the three scabby furrows running down the length of his cheek. Even if he'd been in tails, he still would have looked as if he'd been dragged beneath a buckboard down the entire length of Fifth Avenue. Midway through the services, this battered groom began to weep right along with his bride-to-be.
To each side of the principals were a pair of best men of Greek descent—Ari for Dimitri, as before, and Niko for Buck. Niko got confused and began answering the questions asked of the grooms—in Greek. The single matron of honor, a woman who also happened to be the mother of both brides, got the giggles when she overheard her husband muttering vows he had no business repeating, and in his native language, no less. By the time the justice of the peace got around to the I-do's, the entire wedding party had become infected by her laughter, and both couples had one hell of a time spitting out their vows well enough to be understood.
At the ceremony's conclusion, after plain gold bands and kisses had been exchanged, the mother of the brides announced the wedding gifts she'd chosen for her daughters. Shylo and Dimitri were given first-class passage to Greece on the luxurious ocean liner, the City of New York. She also threw in her country home in Switzerland, which happened to include a working and very profitable vineyard along the Rhine River.
For Cassie and Buck, who had yet to choose their honeymoon destination, first-class tickets were offered as well, along with twenty acres of land and a small hotel in the nearby community of La Jolla, a beachfront block of property that Colleen had been trying—unsuccessfully—to unload since her arrival in San Diego.
After the proper thanks and congratulations were given all around, Dimitri checked the papers he'd just signed to make absolutely certain that he had married the real Shylo McBride this time, and then helped himself to two fresh glasses of champagne from the catering wagon Colleen had commissioned for the occasion.
After offering one of the drinks to his new bride, Dimitri took her by the hand and led her away from the group for a quiet moment alone. Standing near the edge of the cliffs so they could watch the crashing surf below, he raised his glass and said, "Here's to you, Mrs. Adonis—to you and your extremely generous mother."
Shylo touched her glass to his. "I'll drink to that. I never dreamed she'd give us so much."
After they'd each taken a sip of champagne, Dimitri said, "Neither did Buck. He almost fainted from shock."
"Actually Mother told us about paying for our honeymoon trips this morning, but made us promise that we wouldn't tell you fellas."
"Ah, so your whole family is sneaky, then."
He winked when he said it, but Shylo knew he was about half serious. And pretty much right, since she was about to put a plan in motion that she and Cassie had cooked up earlier.
"Dimitri," she said, her voice suspiciously sweet, "speaking of my sister... Cassie was saying just this morning that it might be a real good idea if she and Buck went to Greece with us."
He immediately drew his brows together. "I cannot imagine why. This does not sound like such a good idea to me."
"Well, you know, what with Buck's former job and all, she thinks it might be best if he left the country for a while. Besides, I don't see how that would put us out any. Mother's offered them first-class passage anywhere—might as well be to Greece."
Dimitri sighed heavily. "And after we arrive? I will be too busy at the university to make certain they stay out of trouble."
"Well, I figured after we got there that maybe you could get him a job with you and they could stay on a while?"
Again Dimitri sighed, this time with resignation, but still he tried to make her see the folly of her suggestion. "What kind of work could I possibly find for this kidnapping train robber at the university, or anywhere else, for that matter? He has no qualifications that I'm aware of."
Shrugging coyly, Shylo dragged the toe of her shoe along the sandstone. "He's n
ot all that useless. Cassie says that Buck is real good at lighting fires and holding the horses."
"Lighting fires?" Dimitri rolled his eyes, and then recalled wishing Shylo "better luck next time" the night he thought he'd never see her again. He'd said those words in the most sarcastic of ways, but sarcasm and all, he had a feeling he should have uttered them to himself. He suspected he was going to need all the luck he could get once both of the former McBride sisters hit the docks at Piraeus.
"Can they go with us?" she asked again, her eyes aglow.
After raising his glass to Shylo one more time, Dimitri tossed down the last of his champagne. "But, of course."
Then he pitched the glass over the cliff, the exquisitely cut crystal catching a million raindrops of liquid sunshine.
The End
Page forward for a note from Sharon Ihle
followed by
The Marrying Kind
The Inconvenient Bride Series
Book 3
Author's Note
Sadly enough, the story of my fictional heroine's experience with relation to New York's orphan train program happened all too often. The "experiment," conceived by Reverend Charles Loring Brace of the Children's Aid Society in New York, ran from 1854 to 1929. More than 150,000 orphans, some only infants, were plucked from the streets and overcrowded foundling homes, placed on trains, and sent out west to be adopted by farm families, many of whom did not have the children's best interests in mind. Today there remain around six hundred survivors of this program.
As for the so-called Elgin marbles, the Greek government continues to have an ongoing argument with the British over their return. The legend of the missing caryatid sister and her nightly flow of tears persists to this day. During my visit to the Acropolis, I saw the Erechtheion, complete with the porch where the six caryatids had originally stood. Because of the heavy air pollution in the Athens area, the statues on the site are replicas, but the five original sisters remaining in Greece are housed in an oxygen-controlled environment at the Acropolis Museum nearby.
Page forward for an excerpt from
The Marring Kind
The Inconvenient Bride Series
Book 3
The Marrying Kind
The Inconvenient Bride Series
Book Three
by
Sharon Ihle
Bestselling, Award-winning Author
Dedication
For my editor, Abigail Kamen Holland, who was lolling about on the sands of Hawaii, honeymooning, while I sat chained to my chair, slaving over this manuscript.
and
For my agent, Patricia Teal, who was seen perusing the shops along the shores of Maui at around the same time. What am I doing wrong?
Write women back into history.
Chapter 1
Laramie, Wyoming Territory 1883
Since she'd heard that trouble came in threes, Libby Justice had high hopes that the rest of her day would go a little easier than it had started.
First thing this morning, she'd accidentally destroyed a perfectly good photo of Sara Duncan's granddaughter by leaving it in the developer too long. In her haste to get back to the darkroom to save the picture, she'd fallen over the sawed-off barrel she used as a trash can and smashed face-first against a corner of the developing table. The vivid blue bruise at the edge of her jaw was already the size of a silver dollar, and promised to grow even larger. Shortly after that, Libby had realized she'd misplaced her spectacles, without which she couldn't tell a man from a hitching post if he stood more than forty feet away.
When she looked up to see the "hitching post" out front of the offices of the Laramie Tribune begin walking up the steps toward the door, she had the sinking feeling that her bad luck had only begun. Squinting extra hard when the stranger reached the porch, Libby could see that he was dressed in a fancy white shirt with ruffles down the button path set off by a vest of crimson satin beneath his black suit. She also noticed he carried a small satchel and a larger traveling bag. A citified dandy if she'd ever seen one.
"Damnation," she muttered as the door opened, setting off the little bell above the jamb. Was her day of reckoning finally at hand?
The stranger swaggered up to the counter, tipped his black Stetson, and said, "Good afternoon. I'd like a word with the editor of this newspaper. Is he in?"
At the sight of his handsome features—once she could see them up close—Libby couldn't find her voice. He had ink-black brows and a pair of astonishing silver-blue eyes that twinkled with both mischief and mirth. This fella wasn't just good-looking, but dazzling, a lady-killer and very well aware of it, if the cocky tilt of his upper lip and sparkle in those bewitching eyes meant anything. Where had he come from?
Andrew Savage had mentioned in his last letter that he'd be in the area soon, and had warned that he would stop by the Tribune's offices to handle matters himself if the editorials hadn't improved by the time he left San Francisco. Until now, Libby hadn't thought he'd actually make good on the threat. She'd never seen a photo of the youngest Savage brother, but who else could this slicker be?
"Ma'am?" he said, his cocky expression growing with every minute she ogled him. "Is Mr. Jeremiah Justice in?"
"Oh, ummm, I'm afraid he isn't." Libby paused to get hold of herself. It wasn't as if she'd never seen an attractive man before. "Perhaps I can help you."
"I think it'd be best if I talk with the editor. When do you expect him back?"
He smiled broadly, the creases bracketing his mouth showing off his squared and rather aristocratic jaw. Why did rich folks always seem to have the best bones? Galled by the thought, she buried her natural western twang beneath a mock and slightly British accent—the kind of voice her man-chasing friend, Dell, affected when trying to sound city-born. "I suppose I should have explained Mr. Justice's absence a little better. He's out of the country on business and I'm substituting as editor while he's gone. Are you sure I can't help you?"
"And you are...?"
"Liberty Justice. Jeremiah's daughter."
"Oh, well, in that case..." He removed his hat, revealing a head of wavy black hair, then swung his satchel up to the counter and unfastened the clasp. After retrieving a few papers from inside the small bag, he looked back at Libby and said, "I'm afraid my business with the Tribune is a little sensitive. But, if you don't mind, I suppose there's no harm in taking it up with you."
Calling his business with her "sensitive" was too kind, Libby decided, as she spotted a few of the letters she'd written to Andrew Savage among his papers. Although confirmation of the stranger's identity came as no surprise, her heart sank. She was caught between a rock and a hard place with no way out, that she could see. Libby dropped the British accent.
"There's no cause for you to worry about discussing sensitive matters around me. Here in Wyoming we grow up tough enough to eat off the same plate as a rattler. I'd appreciate it if you'd get right to the point, Mr. Savage. Have you come here to shut the Tribune down?"
He cocked one of those perfectly arched eyebrows as if surprised by the question. Then he hooted. "That's a hell of a thing to say. I'm afraid that you've—"
"Why would you be afraid of me, Mr. Savage?"
At the interruption, he looked haughty, yet vaguely amused. "I'm hardly frightened by you, Miss Justice, but I am thinking that maybe you're just a little 'nervous' about me."
Did it show? Libby's father had taught her to face her fears with confident aggression, no matter how scared she might be, so that's what she did. "Think what you will about my nerves, as long as you understand that I won't be giving up my editorial rights without a fight."
"Is that a fact, ma'am?"
"That's a fact... sir."
"It looks to me like you've already had one fight for the day, Madam Editor." He laughed, then reached across the counter and lightly brushed the backs of his fingers across the bruise on her jaw. "Did you win or lose?"
Her skin tingling where he'd touched her, Libb
y instinctively reached up to the spot. Savage grinned. Had he employed the intimate gesture just to rattle her? Be aggressive, she reminded herself, confident. "There's only one fight around here that's any concern of yours, Mr. Savage, and that's the one you insist on having with my family over our editorials. It hasn't been easy for me and my brother, what with our father... away. But we're doing the best we can to run the Tribune the way he wants us to run it. That ought to be good enough for your father, even if he is Randolph T. Savage."
"Are you always so quick on the draw, Miss Justice, or only with strangers who happen into your offices?"
Savage winked at her after that audacious remark, but it failed to annoy her. She was too distracted by the contrast between the startling blue of his eyes and the deep ebony color of his hair. Feeling off-balance and less confident by the minute, the best she could offer in return was a slight shrug.
"If I had come here to put you out of business," he went on to say, "your attitude wouldn't do much to change my mind. There's a lot to be said for holding your cards close to your chest until you know a little more about the other players, ma'am. Maybe you ought to give it a try."
Gambling talk from a newspaper man? Libby was stunned by his rather flippant responses, for Savage had never conveyed anything but a deadly serious and businesslike tone in his letters. She didn't know how to respond or if a response was even called for. She'd imagined that Andrew Savage would be a puffed-up buffoon who'd simply padlock the doors to the Tribune with little or no discussion about the matter. Now, she wasn't so sure. Was he implying that he might give her another chance?
