The few decorations he could see all continued the nautical theme: strands of shells hung like wind chimes, a decorative driftwood sculpture, blown glass globes, and the kinds of odds and ends you might find beachcombing. The futon cover was some soft woven material in shades of blue and green that reminded him of the ocean.
The only jarring note was a collection of knives and a few swords that ran along the top of the walls above the windows; some of them looked brand-new, and others as if they might have been salvaged from the wrecks of ancient ships, but all of them appeared to be sharp and ready for use. Maybe she was expecting to be boarded by pirates.
“Nice place,” he said, not commenting on the cutlery. “It’s not what I expected.”
Beka snorted, wrinkling her straight nose and revealing a couple of adorable freckles he hadn’t noticed before. “You were expecting a lot of tie-dyed throw pillows, billowing incense, and some pot plants, maybe?”
Actually, he had been. The reality was a lot more cheerful and appealing than he’d anticipated (sharp-edged weapons aside), and he couldn’t quite make it mesh with the mental image he’d formed of the girl so far. So which one of them was misleading?
“Was the interior like this when you inherited it too?” he asked. Maybe the foster mother she’d mentioned had been the tidy one. Although the outside of the bus screamed hippie, and he’d never met a tidy hippie. He loved California, but the state had more flakes than a bowl of Raisin Bran.
Beka shook her head. “No way. We’ve been changing things around ever since my foster mother moved out about two years ago. It used to be a lot more cluttered.” A dimple flashed as she grinned. “And there were, in fact, tie-dyed pillows.”
We. Oh. So she didn’t live alone. Marcus wasn’t sure why that fact hit him so hard, especially since he didn’t intend to ever see her again after today.
Of course someone that gorgeous had a boyfriend. Maybe even a husband, although a glance down at her slim left hand didn’t reveal a ring. The only jewelry she wore was a tiny gold dragon necklace and matching earrings; odd accessories for a surfer, but clearly sturdy, since they’d survived her tangle with his father’s nets.
What the hell. “We?” he asked, not really wanting the explanation.
She laughed, a sound like bells. “Oh, sorry, I haven’t introduced you.” She gave a sharp whistle. “Hey, Chewie, come say hi!”
For a moment, Marcus was baffled; it wasn’t as though there was any place for someone to hide in the open space of the bus. Then a large shape lumbered up from behind the futon and shambled over to sit in front of Beka like a gigantic walking mountain of black hair and gleaming teeth.
“Jesus!” Marcus said, taking an involuntary step backward. The thing had to weigh at least two hundred pounds, maybe more, and its head was almost as high as his waist, even sitting down. “What is that?”
Beka tutted, leaning down to pat the monster on its furry head. “This is Chewie. He lives with me. Be nice, now.”
Marcus couldn’t tell if she was talking to him or to the dog, but the creature put out one massive paw to shake. Blinking a couple of times, Marcus took it, mindful of the tough claws.
“Er, hello, Chewie,” he said politely.
“Woof,” the dog said back.
“Chewie is a Newfoundland,” Beka explained. “They’re great water dogs. They swim better than we do, and even have webbed feet. They’re often used for water rescue, and the breed started out as working dogs for fishermen.”
“Uh-huh.” Marcus tried to imagine what his father would say if Marcus brought him a huge black dog to help out on the boat, and failed miserably. Instead, he commented on the dog’s unusual name. “Chewie—I guess you named him for Chewbacca in Star Wars. I can see why; they’re both gigantic and furry.”
Beka giggled. “I never thought of that. Actually, Chewie is short for Chudo-Yudo. Also, he chews on stuff a lot, so it seemed fitting.”
“Chudo what?” Marcus said. The dog made a snuffling sound that might have been canine laughter.
“Chudo-Yudo,” Beka repeated. “He’s a character out of Russian fairy tales, the dragon that guards the Water of Life and Death. You never heard of him?”
Marcus shook his head. “My father used to tell the occasional Irish folk tale when I was a kid, but I’m not familiar with Russian ones at all. Sorry.”
“Oh, don’t be,” she said cheerfully. “Most of them were pretty gory, and they hardly ever had happy endings.”
“Right.” Marcus looked at the dog, who gazed alertly back with big brown eyes, as if trying to figure out if the former Marine was edible or not. “So, you named him after a mythical dragon from a depressing Russian story. Does anyone get eaten in that story, just out of curiosity?”
Chewie sank down onto the floor with a put-upon sigh, and Beka shook her head at Marcus. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course people got eaten. But don’t worry; Chewie hasn’t taken a bite out of anyone in years. He’s very mellow for a dragon.” She patted the massive dark head fondly.