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

whoosh, which sent Braham tumbling through the air again. He landed in a soft patch of grass littered with debris and more shards of glass. The heat from the flames alone would roast him if he didn’t get out of its path. Using his forearms, he dragged himself through the glass, now bleeding from both old cuts and new ones.

Familiar hands grabbed him under the arms. “Anything broken now?”

Braham shook his head. “Damned tired of being knocked on my ass. This keeps up, we’ll be crawling to Elizabeth’s door.”

“Let me help you.”

Braham shook his head, not wanting to move, stand, or attempt to walk. Jack, however, paid no attention to what Braham wanted, easily lifting him to his feet.

“Where’s Charlotte?” he demanded.

Jack looped Braham’s arm around his shoulder. “The man wearing an apron took her away, remember?”

Braham’s mind was a jumble of puzzle pieces darting here and there, trying to organize themselves into some semblance of order. While he was rooting for their success, he didn’t think they’d prevail. If an ax split his head wide open, the pain couldn’t be any worse than it was right now. He was almost thankful for the distracting ringing in his ears. “Where’s Charlotte?”

“The man…” Jack looked at Braham curiously, one brow lifted. “You’re in bad shape. I’ll take you to her.”

“Aye, ye’re a good friend.” Braham’s words were slurred, but he’d be damned if he could untangle them.

Leaning on Jack, he hobbled toward a tent on the other side of the street, safely away from the line of burning buildings. His progress was painfully slow, as if he had aged years in the past few hours. A corporal put a cup of hot coffee in his hands, and he drank greedily before collapsing into a camp chair, breathing heavily, clarity slowly returning.

Fire crackled upwind all around them. From the noise, Braham couldn’t tell if the fire, shells, and explosions were the result of the fires which had been deliberately set to destroy the tobacco and other goods or from Grant’s forces bombarding the city. He refrained from shaking his head in order to give the puzzle pieces time to organize themselves fully, but he needed to clear away the gathering fog of apprehension. Was there a safe way out of the fire’s path? They had to find one and get to safety.

Charlotte sat straight as bone on the small cot, clutching a coffee cup with a slightly quivering hand. “How’d you two get here?” she asked.

“Searching for you,” Jack said.

She sipped her coffee, then dabbed primly at her mouth with a filthy finger, as calmly as she would have in Elizabeth’s drawing room. “How’d you know where to look?”

Jack waggled his eyebrows. “Elementary, my dear Watson.”

The man who had brought Charlotte to the tent returned with a blanket. He wrapped it around her shoulders, and then he sat close by, holding his own cup of steaming black coffee.

“Doctor Mallory,” Charlotte said. “This is my brother Jack…um.” She stopped and licked her lips, then pointed to Braham. “And my other brother, Braham. We’re all McCabes from South Carolina.” She then pointed to the man and said, “This is Major Carlton Mallory. He owns a plantation several miles from Richmond, I think he said.”

“Did I? I don’t remember mentioning it.”

Braham detected a flash—just a flash—of possessiveness in Doctor Mallory. Had he, too, become one of her admirers?

Jack’s face went pale beneath a sheen of sweat, and he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Thank you for taking care of my…our sister.”

Doctor Mallory smiled at Charlotte. “Your sister single-handedly saved a hundred or more men tonight. If she hadn’t warned us of the danger, most of the men would have burned alive in the depot. The Confederate Army owes her a great debt.”

There it was again; a familiar look of eagerness. If he flashed it again, Braham would introduce Doctor Mallory—who had a remarkable resemblance to the man Charlotte had impersonated—to his bloody fist. It was time to get out of here, even if it meant rushing into Dante’s Inferno.

Braham wobbled to his feet. “We need to find a way home. The fire’s moving fast. My thanks for the coffee.” He dumped the dregs outside the tent and handed the corporal the empty cup. Braham studied Charlotte closely: the exquisite lines of her face, the curve of her nose, the patches of soot below her eyes, the furrow of concentration as she negotiated her good-byes to Doctor Mallory. Her features, though pale, had lost their ashen quality. The shock had passed. Now she needed to get home and rest.

Charlotte tried to return the blanket, but Doctor Mallory insisted she keep it to wrap around her head, then he wished them good luck, and, as a parting gift, invited them to visit his plantation after the war.

After Braham, Jack, and Charlotte had gone several yards away from the tent, she asked, “Why aren’t we staying? Isn’t it safe here?”

Braham answered, “These men may be wounded, but I don’t care to spend another minute in the midst of two hundred Johnny Rebs. After a week in their prison, I’ve had enough of them. And besides, we have cuts needing treatment, and Elizabeth is very worried.”

She gave him a slight smile. “You’re right. Let’s go home.”

Watching her return to herself triggered a throb of affection in Braham. He took a deep steadying breath, then another. They had almost died in the fire, and they still might. He had to keep her safe. She was in Richmond because of him, and if something else happened to her, he would never forgive himself.

“The wind could change again,” Jack said. “We’ve got to get past Main Street. Then we might be safe.”

“Go over to Sixth Street,” she said.

They plunged back through the narrow street. Firelight as bright as day dazzled their eyes and scorching heat seared their already tender skin.

“Hurry.” Braham pulled Charlotte behind him. Unsteady on her feet, she stumbled, so he picked her up again and ran.

“Let