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

Sean looked stunned. “As splintered as the door is, I’m not sure we can save it, but I’ll ask the carpenter to do what he can.”

They entered the house, crushing broken glass.

“It’s over. Come on out,” Sean said.

Joe was the first one to reach the foyer, shuffling and shaking his head. “Sur’ ’nuff trouble came a home today.”

Other house servants followed, carrying brooms and baskets, and talking low-voiced among themselves.

“Let’s get these bodies out of here. Joe, send a message to the barn to bring a wagon, canvas, and a burial detail.”

“Yes, suh, Mistah Sean.”

Joe left the house, and the other servants went to work sweeping up glass and pieces of frames and plaster.

“I need a drink.” Braham went into the office, dropped the dead man’s gun on top of Sean’s desk, and headed straight for the whisky. His hand shook as he poured.

Sean joined him. “If ye hadn’t been here, I’d have died.” He picked up the whisky bottle, but set it down with a thud. His hand shook too much to pour.

Braham filled a crystal glass and handed it to Sean. “We should have jumped out of the window and run for help.”

“Being a Scotsman is a blessing and a curse.”

Braham took a long swallow then refilled his glass. “Damn stubborn pride kept me in a fight with terrible odds.”

Sean laughed. “Ye didn’t see me heading for the window, did ye?”

“I’m glad to see you’re both laughing.”

Sean and Braham jerked around to find Lyle Anne, Sean’s wife of ten years, standing in the doorway, hands on hips, dressed regally in a forest green silk gown, her hair still perfectly coiffed.

“Did you have to shoot up the house?”

Sean opened his arms and pulled her into an embrace, holding her close. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped his shoulders. “I had to give ye and the bairns time to escape.”

Lyle Anne gazed into her husband’s eyes while she stroked his face tenderly. “You weren’t supposed to put your life in danger. From the looks of the foyer, you should be on the floor bleeding, or worse.”

Sean kissed her soundly before burying his face in her honey-colored hair. “Aye, if Abraham hadn’t been here, I would be.”

She glanced at Braham as if seeing him for the first time. The corners of her full lips turned up slightly in a constrained smile, but the tightness around her eyes remained, and her porcelain skin still lacked color. While the servants swept and picked up broken pottery and portrait frames, they kept glancing at her, as if their own composure depended on hers. If she broke down, they, too, would shatter into millions of pieces like the glass on the floor.

A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, but she didn’t draw attention by wiping it away. Instead, she lifted her chin and kissed her husband’s cheek. “I’ll go settle the children. Their naps were interrupted.” Her dress swished as she left the room, and her shoes made soft clicks against the floor.

“Sukey, Mr. McCabe will be staying for dinner, and please have a guest room prepared,” Lyle Anne said.

Her exit was as smooth as her entrance.

Braham had never seen a woman so composed. Five minutes earlier her world had hung by a weak thread. Her home, her husband, her children, her life could have ended if he and Sean had failed. Kit, Charlotte, Lyle Anne…three Southern women with amazing strength and beauty.

For the first time, he had a visceral sense of what it must have cost Charlotte to be caught up in a battle, dragged to Washington, and have her family and property threatened if she didn’t do what the president required of her. She did what she had to do without complaint, but the experience had terrified her. After seeing the look on Lyle Anne’s face, he realized Charlotte’s fear had been the same or worse. Had anyone noticed her silent tears? Because he was sure she had to have shed at least one.

Braham finished his drink. “I’ll help ye haul off the bodies.”

“Nay. Ye’re bleeding.”

Braham patted down the front of his jacket. “Can’t be bad, I’m still standing.” Then he noticed blood on his hand. “Must have gotten cut on the glass when I rolled across the floor. I’m very glad I didn’t get shot again.”

“I’ll take care of the bodies,” Sean insisted. “Ye go find Sukey. Let her dress the wound, or I’ll have to send ye back to Charlotte for sure.”

“I wouldn’t be happy if ye did.”

“I hope I’m around when ye finally admit ye’re in love with her.”

“It won’t happen, and for God’s sake, don’t tell Kit I used her brooch. She’ll send Cullen to find out what happened.”

“Maybe he can convince ye to go back,” Sean said.

Braham shoved the guns into the smooth-grain leather holster. “There’s no reason. I’m not in love with her, and she’s not in love with me. She was my doctor. That’s all.”

Sean harrumphed.

Braham threw up his hands. “I’m going to find Sukey.” He dragged himself along, trying to ignore a splitting headache, a burning incision, a fresh wound, and shaky legs. He’d thought driving fifty miles an hour had been scary. The prospect of getting shot again was a hell of a lot worse.

27

En Route to Washington City, December 1864

On Monday following the MacKlennas’ Thanksgiving Day celebration, officially set by President Lincoln as the fourth Thursday in November, Braham departed the farm, leaving behind a swarm of workmen repairing plaster and cutting new glass for the windows. Bloodstains had been meticulously scoured. Broken tables and chairs had been replaced with furniture brought down from the attic.

Though their faces were stoic, the MacKlennas couldn’t mask their lingering fear. The war had hung around near their door, poking and prodding, for almost four long years. Finally, it had barged in with guns blazing. Thankfully he and Sean had emerged with only a handful of cuts and bruises, but the bloody skirmish still left people and property indelibly stained.

Braham