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

stop it. You can’t undo all this.” She waved her hands to encompass the building and grounds.

He started down the stairs, ignoring her plea. Although she had met Lincoln, the president was still only a marble statue to her. She didn’t love him. If she did, she would want to right this wrong, too.

“I. Won’t. Take. You. Back.”

The breath froze in his lungs. No one had ever told him they wouldn’t do what he wanted done or used such a tone of voice—not a client, not an employee, not a soldier, and certainly not a woman.

He gritted his teeth and turned to look up at her, the sun shining in his eyes. A shadow passed over. Then, as if lightning had struck, the pieces of his plan fell into place. He knew how he was going to get back, and he didn’t need Charlotte or her brooch to get there. When the sun shone again, he said calmly, “We’ll work this out.”

“Yes, I believe we will.” Charlotte’s flat tone and blank stare managed to convey the exact opposite.

He fell silent for several moments then roused himself as though coming awake after a bad dream. “Where are we having lunch?”

She checked her phone for a message. “Jack made reservations at the Occidental Grill & Seafood at the Willard Hotel. They have the best seafood in Washington.”

Braham raised one eyebrow and crooked up a corner of his mouth in a too-knowing grin. “The Willard is still in operation? If so, I wouldn’t eat the seafood.”

Smiling, she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. “The food has improved since you were there. I heard they hired a new chef.”

18

Mallory Plantation, Richmond, Virginia, Present Day

After dinner Charlotte and Braham took their coffee to the library so Charlotte could teach him how to use the iPad. “You can access the digital musical collection from here,” she said, pointing to an icon. Braham selected an overture by Mozart. When the music streamed from the hi-fi wireless speaker, his feet hit the floor.

“Where’s the music coming from?”

“The speaker over there, on the bookshelf next to the window.”

He found the source nestled on a lower shelf in the bookcase and knelt to examine it. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. The plaid sport shirt Jack had loaned him stretched tight across his back and shoulders, highlighting his muscles. His hair, still damp from a shower, hung loose over his collar in tousled waves. She had seen almost every inch of his body, and she marveled at how beautifully God had knitted him together. Perfect proportions. Eye-catching. And he’d certainly caught her eye. She snapped pictures of him using the iPad camera. Then chastised herself for drooling over her patient. There were lines doctors didn’t cross, and she was tiptoeing along the edge.

She took a breath, desperately needing a distraction. She tapped her fingers on the iPad cover. “Now you know how to turn on the iPad and have listened to Jack’s long explanation of the Internet, what other questions do you have? Or would you prefer to give me something to research?”

He stood and searched the titles of the books on the shelf in front of him. He pulled one out and leafed through it. “See if Montgomery Winery is still in existence.”

Charlotte typed in the name. “This isn’t your winery, is it?”

“My friend Cullen Montgomery owns it, or did in 1864.”

The website opened and she clicked on the About page. “Looks like his descendants own it now. Meredith Montgomery is the current president, and the winery has been in the family for more than a hundred and sixty years. She’s married to renowned Thoroughbred breeder Elliott Fraser.”

Braham grabbed the edge of the bookcase, rattling knickknacks on the shelf.

She looked up, startled by the noise. Braham’s face had lost all color. She leaned forward in her seat with a slight pang, knowing he didn’t want to be coddled, but she was prepared to go to him if he needed help. “Are you okay?”

He waved away her concern, but his color didn’t return. “Fine. Keep reading.”

She did, but her eyes kept darting between the iPad and her patient. “The Frasers have one son. When not at the winery, they split their time between a farm in Kentucky and an estate in the Scottish Highlands.”

Braham sat heavily in the nearest wing chair, rocking it slightly, and put his head in his hands.

Charlotte jumped up then, dropping the iPad on the table next to the sofa and rushing to his side. “You’re not okay. What hurts?”

“Must have been all the stairs I climbed. My legs gave out.”

She pushed a footstool over to his chair and lifted his legs. “Put your feet on the stool. I’ll get you some water.”

He shook his head. “No water. Whisky.”

She gave his arm a reassuring squeeze, and the rigid muscles beneath her hand eased a little.

The visiting cat jumped off the sofa and followed her across the room to the liquor cabinet, where she rubbed up against her legs. Charlotte scratched her behind the ears. “Go find Jack. Go.” The cat skedaddled. “Good luck,” she said to the vanishing animal. When Jack was in writing mode, he was capable of ignoring fire alarms.

She scooped ice into two highball glasses then splashed whisky over the cubes. The Mozart overture ended and the room-temperature spirits cracked the ice, roaring like an avalanche in the silence.

She handed Braham a drink. “Do you feel dizzy?”

“I’m fine.” He took a long sip and the color slowly returned to his face.

Satisfied he wasn’t in any physical distress, she returned to her spot on the sofa and was rejoined by the cat. “Struck out, huh?” She curled up beside Charlotte, purring.

“What else is written about the Montgomerys and Frasers?” Braham asked.

A chunk of wood split in the fireplace with a loud crack, and sent a swirl of sparks up the chimney and the scent of hickory into the room.

Charlotte picked up