The Sapphire Brooch by Katherine Logan (reading eggs books .TXT) 📗

small grunt of amusement but lay still. A magical brooch was one thing he did understand, but he didn’t intend to tell the doctor about Kit’s ruby brooch or where it had taken her.

Another woman wearing the same type of shirt and pants entered the room. “I have his six o’clock meds,” she told Doctor Mallory.

His angel moved aside, and the other woman wiped off the cord to his arm before sticking something into it. She wrote on her hand as she left the room.

Doctor Mallory leaned over him again and tucked his arm back under the blanket, and he breathed in the sweet fragrance of her skin.

“Your doctor’s name is Ken Thomas.”

“I thought ye were my doctor.” He reached out a finger and traced the curve of cheek and chin. A fetching pink bloomed in her cheeks.

“This isn’t the hospital where I work. Ken knows you’re from 1864, although I’m not sure he believes it. My brother, Jack, will be here soon. He’ll believe it, although not right away. He won’t leave you to fend for yourself. I’ve got to go back to my hospital in Richmond, but I’ll return tonight to check on you.”

“If we’re not in Richmond, where are we?” Kit’s brooch had taken her back and forth in time, and to different locations. Doctor Mallory’s must work the same way.

“Winchester, Virginia.”

She turned to leave but he caught her hand. “Thank ye for saving my life.”

She smiled. “You’re special to some very important people. The nurse just gave you some pain medication so you can rest. When you wake, Jack will answer your questions.”

Braham drifted off to sleep, dreaming of magical brooches and his angel of mercy.

10

Winchester Medical Center, Winchester, Virginia, Present Day

Braham was awakened sometime later by a plain-looking woman peeling the sticky patches off his chest, along with most of his chest hairs.

“Ouch. Do ye have to take all the hair, too?”

She pushed her glasses up her nose, smiling. “I’ll try to leave you some.”

Another woman standing on the opposite side of the bed said, “We’re moving you into a private room, Mr. McCabe. You’re doing so well Doctor Thomas thought you were ready to get out of ICU.”

Both women wore identical green pants and shirts. They pushed the bed, with him still in it, out of the room, through a set of double doors, and down a long corridor lined with a dozen numbered doors. In a few of the rooms men and women wearing similar shirts to his shuffled in and out, pushing poles with hanging clear bags also connected to their arms. There were no guards or men in uniform, which eased his mind considerably.

The women guided the bed into room 214. “Here we are—your new room.”

A large window was covered with vertical hanging slats which allowed streaks of sunlight to filter into the room. Outside, far off in the distance, gold- and red-leafed trees clustered between buildings with oddly shaped roofs.

Sitting in a chair next to the window was a man with neatly trimmed golden hair. He was concentrating on a rectangular, thin black box in his hand. A purple chambray shirt stretched over muscular arms and shoulders, and the sleeves were rolled to the elbows. He wore odd-looking trousers, and his black boots looked supple from frequent use. And he hadn’t shaved recently.

Braham stroked his chin, listening to the faint rasp of his whiskers. Neither had he.

The man climbed to his feet, setting the black box on the windowsill. “That was quick.”

“We just had to unhook a few wires,” the woman said, attaching Braham’s remaining wires to another box. “The floor nurse will be in shortly,” she told him. “Do you need anything before we go?”

“No. Thank ye,” Braham said.

After the women left, another odd, melodic noise had him searching the room to find the source. It wasn’t coming from the box on the wall.

The man pulled a smaller thin black box from his shirt pocket and poked it with this finger. Then he put the black box to his ear and said, “Hey, sis…at the hospital…yes, they just moved him…what’s up?” He went to the door and looked out. “They’re not here yet…thanks for the warning.”

The man poked at the box again and returned it to his pocket. From what Braham could see, it was similar in shape and size to Kit’s iPod.

The man looked completely blank for an instant and then he grimaced. “The police will be coming to talk to you some time this morning.”

The man’s chest lifted as his breathing deepened, and his brows drew together in thought. He wasn’t pleased with the news. But why? And why would the police be interested in Braham?

Braham kept a wary eye on the obviously distressed gentleman. “Doctor Mallory said her brother would be here. Are ye Jack?”

The man paused at the end of the bed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yes, I am. My sister thinks you need watching. She told me a wild story. If it’s true, I’d advise you to tell the police when they get here that you have no memory of who you are or what happened to you.”

Braham cocked his head with interest. “Are ye telling me to lie?”

Jack dropped his chin slightly to hide a smile. “I would never advise a client to lie to the police. But in this case, they would believe the truth was a lie, so it’s best not to say anything.”

“Should I hire ye to represent me?”

“You could,” Jack said, shrugging. “I have a law degree from Harvard, but I don’t practice.”

“I have one from Harvard, too, but haven’t practiced for a few years.”

On the bed was a white box, attached to a cord connected to the wall. Jack pushed a button on the box. The head of the bed slowly lifted, making a low grinding noise.

He adjusted Braham’s pillow. “What year did you graduate?”

“1848.”

From the dark look in Jack’s eyes, he was working hard to keep his temper from rising to