The Sapphire Brooch Katherine Logan (best beach reads TXT) 📖

The statement hung in the air for a moment. Then Jack said, “But it is, I’m afraid. The depot caught fire when the Richmond & Petersburg Railroad Bridge was torched. As I recall, the army doctors organized a rescue party. But Charlotte wouldn’t go there. Not tonight.”

“If patients were in danger, wouldn’t she move mountains to save them?” Urgency vibrated in Braham’s voice.

“The depot’s a tinderbox. When it catches fire, it burns…”

Braham had one foot out the door before Jack finished his sentence. If she survives tonight, she’s going straight home, even if I have to carry her through the ages myself.

Jack followed him down to Main Street, where they found the mob had deteriorated into total anarchy. Braham put his hands on his knees, panting. He had never seen such lawlessness. Every store had been looted, leaving behind destroyed buildings and empty shelves. Fires blazed from Fifteenth Street to Seventh Street.

“Come on. We have to hurry,” Jack said.

They ran with their jackets over their heads, dodging collapsing buildings. Jack led the way across the short bridge spanning the canal at Seventh Street. Flames shot straight into the sky, and buildings blazed on both sides of the short, narrow street leading to the depot.

When Braham spotted the burning train station, he made a fierce gesture at Heaven, leaped over a pile of smoldering bricks, and ran like he was fire himself, yelling to Jack, “It’s burning. The depot’s burning. Run.” His heartbeat hammered in his ears over the roar of the flames.

Rows upon rows of wounded Confederate soldiers languished on the ground some distance from the burning building.

Braham pointed to his left. “Go that way. Ask everyone if they’ve seen her. I’ll try this way.” They separated and Braham darted in and out among the wounded men. “Have ye seen a woman with yellow hair?”

“She helped me get out, but I ain’t seen her since.”

Braham heard the same comment dozens of times as he continued to search through the rows of wounded men, all coughing from the smoke.

“Last time I saw her, she was running back inside,” a soldier told him.

One side of the building was engulfed in flames and fire was spreading rapidly to the other side. Black smoke poured out of the windows. Braham ran to the only entrance not in flames. “Charlotte. Charlotte,” he bellowed, covering his mouth to keep out the blazing hot smoke. Then he yelled again. “Charlotte. Charlotte.”

Heat blistered his skin and sweat streamed down his face. The overhead beams splintered and crashed down, cracking with fire. Glass exploded from windows and wicked shards turned into dangerous projectiles embedding in already-injured soldiers’ arms and legs.

Braham ran into the building, calling her name, until the roar of the collapsing ceiling jerked him to a standstill. And then his heart stopped. He spotted her dragging a man out of the flames, out of the path of the burning roof, but she wasn’t going to make it.

He pumped his legs faster than he’d ever run, but he felt like he was slogging, dreamlike, through a river of molasses. If he reached her, and they couldn’t escape the flames, at least she wouldn’t die alone. He’d carry her into eternity.

Time stopped. The fire stopped. The burning roof hung suspended. And in that briefest of seconds, he touched her arm and yanked with more strength than he could possibly possess. The momentum pulled her toward him in a perfect pirouette. Her body flattened against him. He folded her up into his arms and ran like hell.

A broken window with shards poking in on all sides of the frame was their only escape. He ducked his head, snugging Charlotte to his chest, and threw himself through it. An anguished, blood-curdling scream came from behind him as the beams hit the floor.

He and Charlotte landed on the ground, tumbled and rolled, but he never let go of her, protecting her head and her back. When they had finished their tumble and roll, he was on top of her, his hands under her, his mouth inches from hers. Her breath gusted on his face. She was alive. His eyes roved over her. Blood trickled down her forehead to her hairline. She was watching him intently, eyes focused and steady. Then she reached up, stroked his cheek, and mouthed thank you before dropping her hand.

“Braham.” Jack rushed over and knelt beside him. “Get up. We have to move before the building collapses.” Braham rolled over, revealing Charlotte beneath him. Jack gasped. “What are you doing here? I saw Braham plow through the window, but I didn’t know he had you in his arms. A man told me you had been sent to a tent set up for the doctors. Are you hurt?”

“Not fatally. Help me up.” Once she was sitting up, her mouth twisted abruptly. She cupped her elbows and shuddered, staring at the burning building. The pain glimmering in her eyes was heart-wrenching.

Braham touched her shoulder gently, aware she was, at this moment, as fragile as his Highlander figurine. “I couldn’t save ye both. I’m sorry.” He looked at her almost pleadingly, but her face had shut down completely.

A man wearing an apron black with soot dropped to her side and gathered her hands in his. “Doctor McCabe. Come this way, quickly.”

Braham stared at the man. McCabe? Then he glanced at Jack who shrugged.

“The entire building is going to collapse,” the man said. He supported Charlotte to her feet then sheltered her beneath his arm, brushing away flying sparks falling on her hair and shoulders.

“We’ve got to get out of here, too. Can you make it?” Jack asked Braham.

Braham’s heart was still thumping wildly “I’m bleeding from my head, arms, chest, and hands, and my entire body is screaming with muscle strain and aches, but nothing is cracked or broken. Yes, I can make it.”

They had only moved a few yards away from the building when it collapsed in on itself in an explosive