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

behind the dam, or tried to. Stepped over the spot on the floor, scrubbing it from his conscious thought, or tried to. All he succeeded in doing was chastising himself for being full of regrets instead of being grateful he was still alive.

The door to the office was open. He knocked on the doorjamb. A young, strapping man, broad-shouldered and narrow of waist and hip, peered over Elliott’s shoulder at the stack of papers he was holding. The lad had close-cropped brown hair and, when he turned toward Braham, revealed large brown eyes. He flashed Braham an easy smile. Braham recognized him for what he was—a powerful warrior.

“Come in. Sit.” Elliott pointed to the man standing behind him. “This is David McBain. He’s been busy since ye showed up at the security gate.” Elliott held up the stack of papers. “We know everything that’s happened to ye since ye were supposedly found in the parking lot at the Cedar Creek Battlefield.”

Braham’s heart rate increased, but he steeled himself against showing emotion. He casually set the cookies on Elliott’s desk and prepared to hear the word no. If Elliott did, in fact, turn him down, Braham would take his case to Meredith. He would not leave MacKlenna Farm without the brooch, even if he had to steal it.

“I believe yer story,” Elliott said, “And because ye’re my goddaughter’s cousin, I’ve decided to loan ye her brooch.”

The words loan ye swept away the top layer of tension Braham carried in his tight muscles. But only the top. What conditions would Elliott impose?

David picked up a few sheets of paper from the desk, came around to Braham’s chair, and handed the pages to him. “We found reenactors willing to sell uniforms, pants, shirts, jackets, belts, boots, hats. Everything ye need.”

Braham thumbed through the pages, arching an eyebrow at the detail on the uniforms. Whoever made them knew what they were doing.

“Ye’ll have to try them on, and a tailor will have to make adjustments, but we’ve been assured a complete uniform will be ready tonight,” David said.

“As for weapons, those were harder to come by,” Elliott said.

David flipped to the last page of pictures. “We did find a saber and two Colt revolvers. They’re all in excellent condition, but I decided to go with these,” he said, pointing to the pictures. “The revolvers are reproductions of the 1862 Pocket Navy .38 caliber. If I had my druthers, I’d send ye back with an assault rifle, a SIG, and a laser-guided furball.”

The only thing Braham had understood was the word rifle.

Elliott held out an envelope. “David, hand this to him.”

“Here’s five hundred dollars in greenbacks,” David said. “It’s all we could find on short notice. Again, they’re antiques, but I don’t think this late in the war anyone will notice they’re old.”

“Ye’ve gone to a great deal of trouble and expense on my behalf.”

Elliott sat back in his chair and folded his hands across his flat belly. A sly grin appeared on his face. “I can afford it. Kit would expect it, and Meredith told me if I didn’t help ye I would sleep alone tonight.”

“Ye need to rest now,” David said to Braham. “Ye been out of the war zone for a few weeks. Ye need to prepare for going back in. Ye’re still recovering from major surgery, too, which likely will slow ye down a wee bit, and ye’ll be more afraid to take a punch that wouldn’t have bothered ye verra much before. The guest room is prepared. Take a shower. Rest. When ye get up, it’ll be time to go.” David tapped his forehead. “Ye need to be ready up here.”

His speech confirmed David was also a soldier, as Braham had suspected. Braham shook his hand. “Thank ye.”

David clasped Braham’s shoulder. “I’d go with ye, but this isn’t my war.”

“Mrs. Collins has prepared Kit’s room. Top of the stairs. Go rest,” Elliott said.

Braham nodded. “I do have one question. Are ye going to call the Mallorys?”

Elliott scratched underneath his chin with his buffed thumbnail, thinking. “If I don’t hear from them this evening, I’ll call the doctor in the morning and make arrangements to return her vehicle.”

Braham tapped the envelope against his fingers. “When ye talk to her, tell her…tell her I’m sorry I didn’t thank her for all she did for me. And tell Jack, too. They’re good people.”

Elliott picked up his bottle of water, unscrewed the lid, lifted the bottle to his mouth, and then paused. “I’ll tell ye what Meredith said, and ye can take it or leave it.” Without taking a sip, he screwed the top back on and set the bottle down. “She said, ‘This won’t be the end—’”

Meredith entered the room saying, “—of the Charlotte and Braham story. I predict this is only a crossroads. What lies ahead will be full of potholes, but if you are meant to be together, which I believe you are, you’ll find a way through them, around them, and over them. And I look forward to the day when we’re all sitting in this room together, Charlotte and Jack included.”

Braham hugged her. Meredith had inherited the best of Cullen and the best of Kit.

22

MacKlenna Farm, Lexington, Kentucky, Present Day

Braham was jolted awake in a not-too-soft, not-too-hard bed. His feet didn’t even hang off the end. The only other bed he’d ever slept in that fit him perfectly, other than his own, had been at the Mallory Plantation. He bolted upright, and groaned when his sudden move pulled on the healing incision. More carefully, he leaned over and switched on the bedside lamp. According to the clock, he had slept for almost five hours. Driving, he had discovered, was stressful. His arms were still sore from gripping the steering wheel.

He looked around the room, since he hadn’t paid much attention to the furnishings earlier. He wasn’t an art aficionado, but he could identify the work of a handful of artists. Kit MacKlenna Montgomery was one