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

but I forgive you. I want you to go with me to…” The next part snagged on a logjam in her throat. She grabbed a bottle of water off the desk, took several sips, and then tried again. “I want you to go with me to…to stop Braham.”

He bit his lip, seeming to concentrate, then nodded as if he’d come to a decision. It was all for show, and she wanted to smack him, but it was part of the game.

“When do you want to leave?” he said finally, with a twinkle.

“As soon as I can arrange time off. I don’t know how much I’ll need. Maybe the rest of the year. Maybe more. It will be a setback for my career, but right now my sanity is a bigger concern.”

He hauled her into a bear hug. “You’re making the right decision.”

She hugged him back. “Then why don’t I feel better?” She pulled out of the embrace. “I’m going to the hospital tomorrow to talk to my colleagues. See if I can work out a schedule.”

“I’ll do the same. My agent will need to reschedule a few book signings. She’s expecting an outline for my next book, so I’ll have to promise to have one ready as soon as I get back.” He picked up a legal pad and pen and jotted down a few notes. “No big deal, though.”

“What about the plantation and your cat?” she asked, petting the animal curled up on top of the desk.

He continued writing. “We do have a farm manager, even though he doesn’t have much to manage right now.”

Her phone beeped, and she checked the message. Ken was coming to Richmond and wanted to meet for dinner. She texted back a simple yes. “I’m on call tomorrow night, but on Sunday let’s have dinner and talk about what we need to do.”

He tossed the notepad on the desk. “I’ll add it to my calendar, but do you mind if we eat early? I might have something going on later.”

She rolled her eyes. Her brother had more ex-girlfriends in Richmond than all his single buddies combined. “Who is it this week? Susan? Laurie? Jennifer?”

He smirked. “Susan was last year. Laurie went back to her ex-boyfriend, and Jennifer was hinting about a ring for Christmas, and that was the end of that. This is someone new. I met her at Starbucks yesterday.”

She stared at him for a long three-count. “Whatever.” She shook her head, puzzled, but he was as puzzled by her opposite position on dating. “Okay, we have a date Sunday night, six thirty. Text me where to meet, and I’ll be sure we get through early enough so you can hook up with”—Charlotte threw up her hands—“whoever.”

When Jack couldn’t contain his excitement any longer and started slapping high-fives with a poster of himself, she escaped the house, wondering if she was about to make another big mistake in her life.

Underestimating Braham was the first, trusting Jack was the second.

26

MacKlenna Farm, Lexington, Kentucky, December 1864

When the fog lifted, Braham found himself on MacKlenna Mansion’s front portico. He leaned against the porch railing, waiting for a wave of nausea and dizziness to pass. He had no memory of his first passage through time, but this trip had been exactly as Kit had described—twisting and tumbling inside an enveloping, peat-scented fog.

He stared into the glow from the sidelights bracketing the door, much as he had years earlier when he had journeyed to the farm. Last time he’d been anxious in anticipation of a reunion of sorts. This time all he felt was a prevailing sense of dread—not about seeing Sean MacKlenna again, but about being pulled back in an atmosphere of uncertainty and violence—and the dread kept him nailed in place.

He glanced out over the surrounding fields. The colors of late fall were gone, and naked branches swayed and rustled in the breeze. Although the grounds were pristine, Braham’s appreciation had been diminished by the beauty and refinement of the twenty-first century farm’s manicured lawn, concrete driveway, and freshly painted white plank fences.

He had also been tainted by being behind the wheel of a car, and how the slightest pressure of his foot against the pedal increased the vehicle’s speed to a heart-stopping fifty miles an hour. For the rest of his life he would covet the sensation of high speeds and the accompanying rush.

Would he now view his proper world through soured lenses? Would his short time in the twenty-first century affect his life in the present? Of course, it would. He intended to use what he had learned to change the future.

Still stiff from days of inactivity, he moved slowly toward the door, where he paused, his fist inches from the sturdy oak door. It’s wasn’t too late. He could still go back, but once he passed through the door…

No, he wasn’t going back. He intended to save the president and would allow nothing to stop him.

The MacKlennas’ longtime servant, Joe, answered the door. “Mistah McCabe, been a long time since you be here last.” Joe ducked his head and opened the door wider. “Come in.”

Braham handed over his slouch hat. “Afternoon, Joe. Is Mister MacKlenna in today?”

“Yes, suh. ’Spec he be happy to see you. You’n wait in a parlor.”

The foyer spilled into the parlor, where the walls were painted a dark blue and matched the loch in the painting of Eilean Donan over the fireplace.

Braham glanced around the room to see what new pieces Sean had acquired since his last visit. Braham had used his memories of Sean’s home for inspiration while furnishing his Washington townhouse. The house in Georgetown had been fully furnished, but the townhouse, across the street from the White House, hadn’t included so much as a stick of kindling for the front room fireplace.

Braham turned toward the clomping of bootheels.

“Abraham McCabe.” A grin split Sean MacKlenna’s face, and he pulled Braham into a backslapping hug. “What are ye doing here? Why aren’t ye in