Page 8 of Troy Story
While Mort looked as though he were outfitted for a Victorian-era safari, Clarissa was dressed more like a typical tourist in a wide-brimmed hat, a loose cotton blouse, and shorts that displayed her long legs to their full advantage.
“Sorry about the change in plans,” she said. “Father decided to pass on Izmir. The housekeeper was here when we arrived, so she let us in and showed us around.”
“Glad to hear it,” Stuart said. “She cleaned the field house yesterday, so it’s ready for occupation. Although you mentioned staying at a local hotel?”
Mort nodded. “I’m at the Iris a mile down the road. A little shabby compared to what I’m used to, but it has a pool and a spa.” He placed his hand on Clarissa’s shoulder. “I can’t convince this one to join me. She wants to rough it with the rest of you.”
Clarissa offered Stuart a dazzling smile. “I want the full experience. The dirt, the heat, the bonding over dig stories. I can’t wait.”
“Um, Stuart?” Dusty said. “Okay if I drop off my stuff inside?”
Damn.In his haste to placate the Joneses, he hadn’t thought to introduce Dusty. “Right. First, I’d like you to meet Mortimer Jones—I mean Mort—and his daughter, Clarissa. They’ll be working with us this season.”
Rather than offer her hand, Dusty gave the two visitors a quick nod. “Nice to meet you. I’m Dusty Danforth, the site illustrator.”
Though her tone was genial, Stuart wasn’t fooled. She was pissed. If he wanted to defuse her irritation, he’d need a few minutes alone with her. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said to Mort and Clarissa. “I’m going to get Dusty settled.”
After grabbing her backpack from the trunk, he hustled her inside, leading her past the communal living area, then down a hall where the bedrooms were located. He’d put her in a large, dorm-style room outfitted with four twin beds. Along one wall were two large wardrobes and a shared sink.
Once inside the room, Dusty shut the door behind them and whirled around to face him. “Who the hell are they?”
He stared at her, stunned by her burst of anger. Though Mort had arrived a day earlier than expected, it was a minor glitch. Nothing like the disasters they’d experienced on their parents’ digs in Egypt, when they’d dealt with cave-ins, dust storms, and bouts of dysentery.
Even so, he felt the need to apologize. He set her pack next to one of the beds. “Sorry. I was going to warn you tonight at dinner. Mort is a big donor who wants to dabble in archaeology, and Clarissa is his daughter. They’ll be working with us on-site, and she’ll be living here with the rest of the crew.”
Dusty dumped her messenger bag onto the bed. Hoping to soften her up, Stuart was about to point out the Trojan horse cap he’d bought for her. He’d left it on the pillow as a surprise.
But she was staring at the bed opposite hers. She gestured to the luggage propped against it—a black suitcase, a matching carry-on bag, and a travel pillow. “Looks like she’s already made herself at home. Are you supposed to look after her? Is that a part of your job?”
“I just need to make her feel comfortable. It shouldn’t be too hard. She’ll be like any other member of the team.”
“A member who needs extra TLC,” Dusty muttered.
Stuart’s jaw tightened. What was up with her? For all her snark, she rarely criticized anyone for their lack of experience. She’d worked with lots of newbies before, and she’d always treated them decently. If anything, she was good at taking anxious students under her wing.
Maybe she was just disappointed they wouldn’t get to talk alone tonight. He was disappointed, too, since he hadn’t seen her in person for almost a year. He’d wanted to reconnect with her before everyone else arrived, but he had a job to do.
“Come on,” he said. “We can tell Mort we already have plans.”
She gave a brittle laugh. “Right. I don’t think he’ll be that easy to offload.”
Sure enough, once they went back outside, Mort greeted them with a jovial grin. “Since it’s just the four of us, how about I treat you both to dinner at my hotel?”
Stuart held up his hand. “That’s very generous of you. I appreciate the offer, but—”
“No buts. I insist you join us. This way, you can fill us in on the excavation.”
Clarissa clasped her hands together. “Please come with us. It’s the least we can do for showing up early.”
Stuart managed a weak smile. He couldn’t say no, not when Dr. Fiorelli had asked him to keep Mort happy. “Sounds good.”
Somehow, he’d make it up to Dusty. He owed her that much.
CHAPTERFOUR
Dusty sat beside Stuart at the outdoor restaurant of the Iris Hotel. If they’d been alone, the setting would have been perfect. Shaded by a wide canopy, their table was protected from the sun and cooled by the breeze blowing off the ocean. In the distance, the Aegean Sea provided a soothing soundtrack, the waves breaking against the shore in a steady rhythm. A banquet of mezes had been laid out before them—olives, cheeses, stuffed vine leaves, stewed eggplant in tomato sauce, and plenty of pita bread to accompany the delicious bowls of hummus, baba ghanoush, and fava bean dip.
But instead of bonding over a romantic dinner, they were sharing a table with Mort and Clarissa.
