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

He had to push on without being impeded by fear. He swallowed hard. It was true one of those bullets could rip another hole in him. And if it did, he’d either die or recover, but he wouldn’t cower in a corner. He stiffened his spine.

He belly-crawled to the window to the sharp crack of bullets which flew over his head and ricocheted off the walls. “Keep yer head down,” he yelled to Sean. Bullets smashed the wooden muntins separating the windowpanes, turning them into the sharp-edged projectiles which flew across the room and wedged into the furniture.

“Do ye have guns in here?” Braham asked.

“Desk drawer.”

“I’ll cover ye. Get ’em.” He fired several rounds. “There’re three in the tree line, two more by the paddock.” He craned his neck to see the far side of the house. “Are ye sure yer family’s inside?”

“Aye.”

“Where’re the slaves?”

“Don’t have any. My father freed them years ago. Treating men like animals didn’t sit well with a Scot’s love of freedom. Most are still with us, working for wages. My men carry guns, but they’re all in the fields. The women are in the cookhouse, and they have guards.”

Braham raised his head far enough to see over the windowsill. The deserters were maintaining their positions. He kept them in his sights, but he couldn’t afford to shoot and waste ammunition. He had to wait until they were closer.

“Will the men guarding the women come to the house?” he asked.

Sean shook his head as he cocked his rifle. “They have orders to lock the doors and protect the women and children.”

Memories of being close to death warred once more with his soldier’s battle instincts. “What about the men in the fields?”

“They won’t hear the shots.”

“Where’s yer warning system?”

“The bell is between us and them.” Sean nodded in the direction of the attackers while swinging his rifle toward the front of the house.

Braham swept his tongue across dry lips. “What’s yer plan for protecting the house?”

“Delay long enough to allow Lyle Anne and the children to get to the safe room and through the escape tunnel.”

“If they haven’t been watching the front door, they probably believe ye’re alone. It’s a definite advantage for us.” Movement to the right caught Braham’s attention. “They’re about to make a move. How’s yer ammunition?” Braham asked.

“Got enough. And ye?”

Braham steadied himself. “Elliott sent me back battle-ready. Thank God.” As Braham spoke, he couldn’t deny the raw sound of mingled worry and fear in his voice. The odds of repelling the attack weren’t worth betting on. He sighed, hoping the carnage wouldn’t extend to the family.

Firing in a single deadly salvo, five men rushed the porch. Braham got off several shots before taking cover behind the solid brick wall bordering the window.

“Did ye hit any?” Sean asked.

“Maybe one.”

“I got one rolling on the ground. Another one’s limping.”

Braham peered above the windowsill. “Three of ’em are hiding behind the columns. Is the front door bolted?”

“No,” Sean said.

Braham ducked, giving vent to a loud expletive. “All hell’s about to break loose. I’m going to the hall.” He staggered to his feet. “If they burst through before I get into position, cover me.”

He sprinted across the office to the door then glanced quickly around the doorframe toward the main entrance. Two men were peering through the sidelights, and the others were a shadowy presence behind them. Braham took aim and waited for the Rebels to crash through the front door. He held his arm steady and swallowed hard.

The Rebs fired indiscriminately into the front door, peppering it top to bottom. The gunfire shattered the glass panes in the sidelights, sending shards across the floor. There was a loud bang, and the door burst open, followed by three men barging in with guns blasting in both hands. Plaster on the ceiling crashed down and glass crunched beneath the scallywags’ boots. The chandelier tinkled and paintings smashed to the floor, shattering the frames. Gunfire smoked up the foyer and bullets whistled around like hailstones in the gunpowder-scented air.

Braham fired through the smoke. One man dropped to his knees then fell face forward—dead or alive, hard to tell. Two others ducked into the parlor. He signaled to Sean his plan to go through the dining room and sneak up behind the intruders.

As they prepared to move out, Braham whispered, “If I get hit—”

“I’ll send ye back to Charlotte.”

Sean dashed across the hall to take cover behind a cabinet. The Rebels pushed the parlor sofa to the doorway, creating a shield, then fired at them from behind it. While Sean returned fire, Braham ducked, rolled across the hall, jumped up, and ran for the dining room. He drew both Colts and waited behind the wall separating the two rooms until he heard the floorboards squeak. Immediately he turned into the open doorway and fired, hitting both intruders.

“Got ’em.” Braham kept his guns pointed at the two men as he cautiously approached the bodies. He kicked weapons out of their reach and checked for pulses. “Both dead.”

“This one’s dead, too,” Sean said from the hall.

Braham holstered one revolver and reloaded the other as he approached the front door, heart pounding. He hugged the wall and peered out onto the porch. “One dead outside. Three inside. Don’t see the fifth one.” Braham inched out onto the portico, sweat pouring down the sides of his face, guns cocked.

Sean joined him at the doorway. “I think he’s on the ground toward the side of the house.”

“Cover me.” Braham darted from one column to the other until he reached the end of the portico. “Looks dead from here.” He kept his gun trained on the deserter while he jumped off the porch and checked the man’s pulse. “He’s not going anywhere. Believe we got all of ’em.” Braham picked up the dead man’s weapon and holstered his revolver. When he climbed back up onto the porch, he stopped at the bullet-riddled door.

“I asked Elliott the other day where the holes came from. Now I