Page 11 of Troy Story
Dusty looked away, trying to hide her heartache. She was so screwed.
“Dusty?”
“What?” she snapped.
“Don’t be mean to Clarissa, okay? She’s not Shelby.”
She glared at him. “For the record, I wasn’t mean to Shelby, either. I treated her decently, even though it wasn’t easy. Do you remember what she said when I told her about my childhood?”
Now it was Stuart’s turn to look ashamed. “She just didn’t get it.”
“She felt sorry for me because I didn’t have a ‘normal’ childhood, whatever that means. Because I had the misfortune to spend a chunk of my life in Egypt instead of good old America.” Her voice rose. “I had an amazing childhood. Not everyone can be Malibu Barbie.”
He placed his hand over hers. “I’m sorry. I think she was jealous of us and all the fun we’d had together. But she told me she liked you.”
She pitied me. There’s a difference.Shelby had never acted jealous of Dusty because she didn’t consider her a threat, not in terms of looks or personality. Shelby had once said to her, albeit jokingly, “You’re lucky you don’t care about your appearance. Must make life so much easier.”
Dusty shook off the memories. She didn’t want to rehash any of it. And she didn’t want to fight with Stuart, either. “I’m sorry, too. I know this dig won’t be easy. Just let me know how I can help.”
“Be nice to Clarissa. Even if she seems confident, she’s taking a leap outside her comfort zone. The first season in the field can be really challenging. Think of all the times we’ve worked with nervous undergrads. You’ve always helped them fit in.”
Dusty nodded. As beautiful and talented as Clarissa was, she’d never worked on a dig before. Rather than seeing her as a threat, Dusty should be helping her adapt. Making her feel comfortable. And maybe, if they became friends, Dusty might not resent her as much.
But it would be a hell of a lot easier if she didn’t look like Shelby.
CHAPTERFIVE
Stuart stood in the kitchen, waiting as the coffeepot filled at a glacial pace. Making American drip coffee in a land known for its thick, rich kahveseemed like sacrilege, but he was preparing breakfast for a dozen people. He’d already poured a full pot into the urn on the counter and had started another in case everyone needed an extra hit of caffeine. Since most of the group had arrived in Turkey yesterday, they were still recovering from jet lag.
With that in mind, he’d planned an easy first day—a visit to the Troy Museum, followed by a tour of the site. In addition to letting the students sleep until eight, he’d also laid out a traditional Turkish breakfast—sliced tomatoes and cucumbers, cheeses, olives, dried apricots, and thick peasant bread accompanied by pots of sour cherry jam, Nutella, and honey.
When Dusty ambled into the kitchen, wearing her Trojan horse baseball cap, her bright smile filled him with a warm glow. Two nights ago, after they’d argued about Clarissa, he’d worried that her sullen mood might linger. But yesterday, she’d given him her full support, even picking up the incoming students from the bus depot in Çanakkale. When it came to driving in foreign countries, she was fearless.
She leaned on the breakfast bar and snatched a slice of beyaz peynir, a tangy white cheese similar to feta. “Look at you, setting out a whole feast. You’re going to spoil them.”
“This is just to ease them into the first day. After that, we’ll shift to a normal dig schedule. Wake-up call at six with coffee, tea, and biscuits. Arrive at the site before seven, break at ten for a full breakfast, and work on-site until two. Clarissa and I did a grocery run yesterday afternoon and stocked up the fridge and the pantry.”
Dusty’s expression clouded over briefly, but she kept her voice upbeat. “Nice to know we won’t go hungry.”
Her forced cheeriness didn’t fool him. For whatever reason, Clarissa’s presence was still bothering her. It shouldn’t. Even if Clarissa bore a striking resemblance to Shelby, she was nothing like his ex. But he didn’t want to bring up the subject again. “Thanks for doing pickup yesterday.”
“No problem. That Land Rover’s a cranky pain in the ass, but it did the job. I also had a few students help me sort through all the crap in the shed. Some of the smaller picks need new handles, and we’re low on buckets, so we might need to do a supply run.” She pointed to the clipboard on the counter. “Everyone here and accounted for?”
“Yep. Fourteen of us: you, me, Mort, Clarissa, and ten students, including the two from Turkey. We’ll be meeting the Turkish archaeologist at the site today. Since he lives in Çanakkale, he’s planning to stay here during the week and head home on the weekends.”
“What about your boss, the esteemed Dr. Hughes? Any sign of him?”
“Nope. I’ve emailed and texted and…nothing.” The professor’s lack of communication was not only unprofessional, but it was also frustrating as hell. “Last I heard, he was giving a lecture in Istanbul, but that was three days ago. He should have arrived yesterday.”
“Do you think he bailed?” Dusty’s eyes widened in excitement. “Wouldn’t that be fabulous? Then you’d be in charge.”
The thought had crossed Stuart’s mind when he’d woken at 5:00 a.m., too anxious to fall back asleep. Given everything he’d heard about Dr. Hughes, he’d grown exceedingly leery of working as the man’s second-in-command. But leading a team of grad students on a site of such significance was a daunting level of responsibility. Besides, Mort was expecting Dr. Hughes to run the show. Wasn’t that why he’d given such a generous donation?
Stuart poured the contents of the coffeepot into the urn and tightened the lid. “ “I don’t think I’m ready to take on the role of dig director yet.”
“You could totally handle it. Plus, isn’t Dr. Özgen actually the lead archaeologist? He’s worked at Troy for years.”
“Right. He’s the real expert.” He was grateful they’d be digging under the guidance of Dr. Kerim Özgen, a university professor from Çanakkale who was intimately familiar with the Troy excavations. “He’s expecting us on-site at noon, so I’m going ahead with today’s tour regardless of whether Hughes shows up.”
