by Sharon Ihle
"Oh, my," she said, batting her lashes. "It is a little tender. Sorry to be such a bother. I should have paid more attention to where I was going instead of daydreaming."
Daydreaming? he thought. Or perhaps concentrating on a little "confidential" work for the president.
Maybe that was the reason for all the secrecy surrounding Miss Folsom's family connections. Maybe, he surmised, finding this Colleen Pappas had more political significance for the young lady than a simple hello. That really was no concern of Dimitri's, but it did seem that the excuse he needed for a trip out west could be standing right under his nose.
Keeping a firm but gentle grip on her shoulders, he decided to find out. "Is it possible that you're distracted over your friend's mother? I couldn't help but notice how distressed you were to discover that she'd gone to California."
"Ah, yes, I was—am." Suddenly all too aware of Dimitri's hands and the fact that now they were caressing rather than supporting her, she tried to slip away from him, but he held her fast.
"You'd better let that ankle rest a few more minutes." Now that he'd thought of a plan, Dimitri was determined to have this conversation, and have it while they still had some privacy. "I also overheard the rest of your conversation with our hostess. May I assume that you'll be making plans to leave for California soon?"
She would be if there was any way to pull it off, but the odds certainly were against making such a trip. Shylo had taken a misstep because she'd been straining her brain, trying to figure out a way to get hold of a pair of train tickets. The more she thought about it, the less likely it seemed, unless...
Shylo took a long hard look at Dimitri, wondering why he was so interested in her plans to visit California. Then she thought back to the conversation, recalling with particular clarity how curious Dimitri had been about Colleen's new husband and their honeymoon trip. While she couldn't fathom what his interest in the couple might be, it did occur to her that maybe her way west was standing right beside her.
She grinned, leaned in toward Dimitri just enough to brush against his jacket, and said softly, "You just don't know how much I'd love to go look Colleen up." Her head fell back, and she gazed into his eyes. "You see, what I didn't mention earlier is that my dear friend recently... died. I'm just sure that Colleen would want to hear about her daughter's last days."
The glow from the lamplight illuminated Shylo's exposed throat as she spoke, drawing Dimitri's gaze to the soft skin between her chin and the collar of her dress. The sight distracted him so, he nearly forgot his objective. After clearing his suddenly husky throat, he said, "Then I really think you should go."
"How I wish I could." Something had changed between them, but Shylo couldn't figure what it might be. Dimitri was looking at her in the oddest way, his ink black eyes impossibly darker than before, and for some reason the little plan she'd just thought out was getting fuzzy. If that wasn't enough to get her off track, a strange, warm little fluttering down low in her belly made her feel like cozying up against him, but she fought the sensation off.
"It's not that I don't have the time to go or that I don't have any interest in visiting California, but..." She paused dramatically, preparing herself for the final bluff. "I'm afraid such a long train ride through the untamed West could be very dangerous for a pair of unescorted ladies."
Dimitri's hesitation was automatic whenever money was involved, but he paused now to give himself time to regain his composure. How fortuitous.
Shylo had practically served him an excuse to pursue Uncle Niko on a silver platter, and with very little coaxing on his part. How could Ari possibly argue against the expense of making a trip to the West Coast when the main reason for doing so was to protect Dimitri's wealthy "intended"? All it would cost them was two first-class train tickets to California. Naturally they'd have to travel first-class to impress such a woman.
"What would you say"—he reached up to brush an errant strand of hair off her cheek—"if I told you I might have a solution to your problem?"
Shylo shrugged off a sudden tremor. "That depends on the solution, I suppose."
Dimitri smiled, making a great show of his dimples. "My uncle and I are very new to your country, and would like to see it from shore to shore, if time permits. This train ride sounds like a nice, relatively quick way to do it. Is it possible that my uncle and I would make suitable chaperons for your trip out west?"
It worked—it worked. Shylo's heart soared, beating out of control again, and for a moment she thought she might even faint. The cause was not only sheer excitement over the plan, but the fact that Dimitri was holding her too close, too tight. The scent of him, the very essence of his maleness, had somehow awakened something that had been dormant within her until now. Shylo realized then that she was quivering right down to her toes—quivering. This wouldn't do—it wouldn't do at all. She had to get away from him if she was going to think and talk her way through this latest scheme.
She slipped out from under Dimitri's embrace. "I can't tell you how much your offer means," she said slowly, even though her wheels were turning faster than a westbound locomotive. "And though I am tempted to take you up on your offer..."
"There is a problem?"
"Maybe just a tiny one." Actually, more like a huge one, she added to herself. Dimitri's offer was nice, but it didn't go far in getting the McBride sisters to California. She and Cassie couldn't scrape together enough money to buy space in a cattle car, much less seats in first class—where rich fellows like those Greeks would want to sit. She had to run one last bluff.
Shylo glanced over her shoulder and fluttered her lashes. "It's probably silly of me, but I'm very uncomfortable with the idea of going to that Grand Central depot alone. Being a single lady and all, I'm afraid—"
"Would it help if I bought your train tickets when I get mine?"
Shylo hoped that meant what she thought it did—that he planned to pay for them out of his pocket and be reimbursed later. She had to find out. "That's a very generous offer, but I can't accept it unless you promise to let us pay you back the minute we get on the train."
"If that is your wish."
"And you're sure escorting us and all is what you want to do? You're really, really sure?"
With his own wheels speeding toward California and a confrontation with Niko, Dimitri didn't even stop to consider what Ari might have to say about buying four first-class tickets. He just smiled, dropped his voice an octave, and said, "But, of course."
* * *
Later that night in the small hotel room he was sharing with his uncle, Dimitri explained his plan.
"You did what?" Ari's booming voice bounced off the walls; he was speaking Greek and therefore not concerned that anyone might hear and understand him. "We cannot even be sure that this Niko Pappas is indeed your uncle Niko. How can you possibly suggest such a trip when it most surely will be nothing but a waste of our time and money?"
As a man who generally believed that actions spoke louder than words, Dimitri's first impulse was to ignore Ari's outburst and let him get his objections out of his system. But since Dimitri was also a straightforward man who knew exactly what he wanted at all times, he possessed little patience with anyone who stood in the way of those goals.
His voice deceptively quiet, Dimitri used his native language as he formed a reply. "Apparently you haven't been listening to me, Uncle. While we're in San Diego, I do, of course, intend to find out if this Niko Pappas is my father's brother, but that is not the only reason I have decided to make a trip to California."
"But I thought—"
"What you think is not at issue here. The Adonis name is mine, and mine to restore as I see fit."
Dimitri stalked across the room to the window in an effort to control himself, lest his anger get the better of him. Instead of the peaceful view of Gramercy Park he sought, his gaze met a hairline crack in the glass running from the top to the bottom sill. Thick layers of paint, both old and new, curled up along the ledg
e there, looking like a cheap depiction of white- caps upon the open sea. At finding himself housed in such an inferior hotel when he should be at the university—and through no fault of his own, no less—he grew incensed again.
"If Niko Pappas is indeed Nikolao Adonis," he said, "I intend to see that he shares the burden of putting the family business back in order, at the least. If he refuses, I will make certain that he pays for what he's done, and pays dearly."
"And if this man is not Nikolao?" Ari, who knew his nephew well enough to stay clear of him while in such a mood, spoke quietly and without challenge in his tone. "What then?"
"If he is not, I will proceed with my alternate plan." His anger cooling almost as quickly as it had heated, Dimitri turned and smiled at his uncle. "If all else fails by the time we reach San Diego, I intend to propose marriage to the president's niece. If she accepts, I will insist that we wed with all haste."
"Ahhhh." A grinning Ari rubbed his hands together and then reached for the leather satchel that contained their dwindling funds. "When she accepts, not if, my son. How much do you think we'll need for our train tickets?"
"I have no idea, but since we're going to have to buy four first-class tickets, you'd better bring our entire bank."
Ari gasped, but before he could comment or object, Dimitri took pity on the man's obsession with frugality and explained the situation. "I promised Miss Folsom that I would pick up her tickets and save her the trouble of going to the station by herself. Once we collect the ladies and get them firmly situated on the train, they will reimburse us for their share. Does that plan meet with your approval, Uncle?"
Ari clutched the satchel to his chest and smiled.
"Yes, and a fine plan it may turn out to be, my son. Just think of it. I get a trip out west and the chance to meet Wyatt Earp, and you get to woo and wed the niece of a great American president. Can you believe the opportunities before us? Oh, how I love this country."
* * *
From the moment Shylo boarded the train two days later, she had a feeling of uneasiness, almost a sense of impending doom, but for the life of her she couldn't figure out why. Finally, after all these years, it looked as if things were going to go right for the McBride sisters—more than right.
Dimitri had not only purchased first-class tickets for Cassie and her in the parlor car, he'd secured assigned berths for them in the extra-fare sleeping car as well. During their recent, more economical trip from Kansas to New York City, Shylo and her sister had been forced to sit up all night in the day coach and had never even so much as glimpsed the luxurious accommodations surrounding her now. She should have been deliriously happy to have found her circumstances so drastically changed. What woman in her right mind wouldn't be?
The plush armchair she occupied was upholstered in blood-red velvet and mounted on a swivel to allow easy viewing of the countryside as it sped past. In addition to the comfortable chairs, the parlor car featured potted plants, crystal chandeliers, polished wood paneling, and beveled glass in both mirrors and windows. With the exception of the Vanderkellen mansion, Shylo had never seen anything like it. Yet in the face of all that, she had a churning lump in her stomach and felt as if she might burst into tears at any moment.
As the train lurched slowly to life, Cassie let out a squeal of delight. "We're off," she cried, unable to contain her enthusiasm any longer. "By next week, we'll be sitting on the edge of the Pacific Ocean. Can you believe it?"
"Yes, but I have the good sense to keep my excitement to myself."
Cassie glanced at the Greek men, who were seated across the aisle, their noses pressed against the windows as they took in the sights. She leaned forward on her chair and whispered, "I don't see how you can keep everything inside the way you do, Shylo. Maybe this trip doesn't excite you mightily, but Lordy, if I'da latched on to a fellow like that Greek god of yours, I'd be screaming it from the rooftops. How can you be so calm?"
"I haven't exactly 'latched' on to him, sis. He's just escorting us west."
"He could escort me about anywhere he wanted to. I wonder how he feels about lavender hair." Cassie checked to make sure her locks were still hidden beneath her bonnet, then took another glance at Dimitri and let out a wistful sigh. "That's the sort of fellow who rides up on a big white horse in my dreams. I can't believe you got him to buy our train tickets. What are you gonna do when he asks for his money back?"
"Shush." Shylo stole a quick look toward Dimitri and Ari, but they were still captured by the scenery. "I already told you. I don't think a gentleman would ask. If we just go about our business and act like we kind of forgot about the money, I think maybe they will, too. Now leave me be. I'm feeling a little queasy."
Shylo turned her gaze to the window and the disappearing Manhattan skyline. That earlier sense of foreboding was still with her, even though they were finally under way, steaming toward California and the much anticipated reunion with her mother. Yet for some reason, instead of sharing Cassie's enthusiasm or even feeling a glimmer of satisfaction, she felt awful. The lump in her stomach had grown to the size of a large, tight fist; had last night's dinner of stale bread and bruised apples turned on her?
The train's shrill whistle sounded, then sounded again, and something in its tone prompted a rush of emotions so intense that Shylo couldn't control them, much less understand them. What in hell had gone wrong with her? A sudden and completely unexpected onslaught of tears veiled her eyes, blurring her vision. Horrified to find herself coming apart in public this way, especially in front of her Greek escorts, she bolted out of her chair and hurried toward the back door of the car.
Dimitri, who was lounging on a chair directly across from Shylo, caught a glimpse of her white, pinched expression as she passed by him. When he saw Cassie get up as if to follow her, he leapt out of his chair. "Please keep your seat," he said to her. "I'd be happy to go after Miss Folsom and see if she needs any assistance."
Since Cassie had heard rather than seen her sister's departure, and had no idea where Shylo was going or why, she dropped back onto the chair. Her mouth fell open and stayed that way as she stared up at the handsome man. "W-why, ah, t-thank you, ah, kindly, Mr., ah..."
As Cassie stumbled over her tongue, Dimitri gave her a brief nod, then turned to his uncle and quickly said in Greek, "Miss Folsom looks as if she's very upset about something. I thought I'd go see if I can help." If, heaven help him, he found that he had no choice but to employ his alternate plan once they arrived in San Diego, the wooing of his future bride couldn't start too soon. "Maybe you ought to keep her maid occupied so we won't be disturbed."
With a decided glimmer in his bright gray eyes, Ari pushed himself out of his chair. "Take your time, my son, and be sure to show her your good teeth."
The minute Dimitri found Shylo outside at the rear of the observation car, he was pretty sure the last thing she would be interested in was his teeth. Her white-knuckled fingers were gripping the wrought- iron railing that surrounded the viewing deck, and her shoulders were hunched, maybe even trembling. As he approached her, he thought he heard a heart- wrenching sob over the rhythmic clacking of the rails. Was she crying? Now regretting his impulsive decision to follow her—for Dimitri hadn't the slightest idea what to do with a weeping female—he tapped her shoulder lightly and inquired, "Is there anything I can do for you?"
Shylo stiffened at his touch, and then fought a wave of nervousness when she recognized Dimitri's smooth voice. Why had he of all people followed her out here? And how was she to explain her bizarre behavior to him when she still didn't understand it herself? Would he think she'd gone crazy or, worse, that she was nothing more than a cotton-headed piece of dry goods who broke into tears for no reason at all?
Struggling to swallow her sobs, Shylo kept her back to him and muttered, "No, thanks. I—I'll be fine."
She thought maybe she would have been, too, if the young woman seated behind her on one of the outside chairs hadn't chosen that moment to shout with glee that she
'd spotted the Statue of Liberty. Then she bade all in hearing distance to wave it a fond farewell. With a morbid sense of fascination, Shylo's gaze shifted toward upper New York Bay, and she focused on the towering monument in the distance. In the space of a heartbeat, one that seemed to last a lifetime, pieces of the past and her disturbing emotions of the present came together with a thunderous and terrifying clarity.
The Statue of Liberty hadn't even been part of the New York landscape eleven years ago, the last place she'd seen her missing mother and the only life she'd ever known. She'd been so excited about returning to her birthplace a few weeks ago, she hadn't felt much of an adverse reaction to boarding her first train in all those years. But now that she was leaving the city again, and by rail...
"Oh, my God—that's it." Shylo turned to Dimitri. "I—I..."
But that was all she could manage. In the next instant she was drowning in memories and her own tears. In desperate need of the human touch—a basic need she'd buried, unrequited, for nearly her whole life—Shylo fell against Dimitri's chest and into his arms, crushing her new straw hat beneath his chin.
How long she stayed pressed against his expensive jacket, she couldn't have said, but she knew that she'd remained huddled there long enough to soak the broadcloth through. Dimitri, God love him, preserved her privacy by holding her quietly the entire time, asking and assuming nothing of her, yet giving her exactly what she needed. Someone who cared.
Common sense, not to mention the chapter on decorum in her etiquette book, dictated that she step away from the comfort of Dimitri's arms and explain herself to him. But how could she? Was there a way to explain that she, a presumed society debutante, had reverted to a terrified child of nine? She certainly could not tell him the reason—that she and Cassie had been rounded up by the Children's Aid Society, tossed aboard what they called an "orphan train" along with nearly one hundred other youngsters, and sent kicking and screaming on a frightening journey to the Midwest.
How did one go about explaining that to a man one hoped to charm? He was supposed to think that she was an heiress, an aristocrat. Rich folks didn't throw their children away, and they didn't run off and forget about them, either. To own up to such a past would be to dash her hopes for the future, and Shylo was not about to do that. The only way out of this mess was to come up with yet another lie, one that would gain Dimitri's sympathy enough for him to overlook her inexcusable behavior.