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

and pulled out a dark walnut leather journal. “Here. This is for your notes. You’ve never kept up with one before, but this one was especially made for you, so don’t lose it.”

He rubbed the distressed, smooth leather she’d had engraved with his initials, CJM, and then he fanned the textured artist pages, sniffing the mild, easy-on-the-nose leather smell. “It’s beautiful. Thank you. I’ll try to keep up with it.” He slipped the book into his inside jacket pocket and picked up one of the trunks. “Good God. What do you have in here, lead?”

“Shoes.” She opened the next email and read it quickly. This morning she was unusually testy. She had planned to fit in a long run to work off some of her mounting anxiety, but she hadn’t gotten the chance.

“Shoes don’t weight this much. I think you packed Thor’s hammer.” He set the trunk in the back of the SUV and came back for another one.

“You made our reservation at the Willard, didn’t you?”

“Two adjoining rooms for one night.”

“Where’re your guns?”

“In the valise.” He picked up another trunk. “You do realize this is the same list we went over last night?”

“And discovered you hadn’t made the hotel reservations. Today we might remember something else.”

He carried the second trunk to the car. “You’re sure the luggage will go with us? I hate to go to all this work then have them left behind.”

“I don’t know for sure, but Braham’s bed and my chair both went into the fog and came out on the other side. As long as we’re attached to them in some way, they should make the trip.”

“I hope you’re right. Oh, by the way, did you tell Ken we were leaving?”

She sent another email to cancel a speaking engagement at the Rotary Club. “I talked to him about ten minutes ago. He’s insanely jealous.” She glanced at Jack as he emerged from the porch with his long coat flapping in the wind and moving with his characteristic loping gait.

Jack snagged the last trunk and headed back out. “Did he say anything else?”

One more email. Then she’d be done, and she wouldn’t have to put up with this political crap—budget cuts, medical records, Medicare changes—for several weeks. Taking care of patients was only a small part of her job and the one part she truly enjoyed.

“Yes, he hoped I wouldn’t bring home another dying patient. Why?”

“Just curious about what he thought about you chasing after Braham.”

“You make it sound like I’m chasing after him instead of…you know…chasing after him to keep him from changing history.”

Jack came back inside, picked up his valise, and tucked it under his arm. “All I know is it was hard to sit in the same room with you two without getting electrocuted.”

“What are you talking about? Are you writing romance novels now?”

He stopped, tossed back his head, and laughed. “Why do you think I always left the two of you alone? I was trying to help you out, sis. I figured if he fell in love with you, he’d stay and I’d get a huntin’ and fishin’ brother-in-law.”

“You’ve actually gotten subtle in your matchmaking attempts. I didn’t even notice.”

There was an ironic twist to his lips and sparkle in his blue eyes. “If you had, we wouldn’t be hauling ass back to the Civil War.”

“And you wouldn’t be getting a bird’s-eye view into your new story.”

“We’re both getting something out of this.”

“You’re wrong.” There was the sharpest of prickles in her voice. “I’m doing this because what I’ve already done could possibly screw up history for everyone else. I don’t want the responsibility. I’m not getting anything out of this except risking my life again.”

“History is not going to get screwed up. I promise.”

“Are you serious? You can’t make that promise.”

He smiled. “Maybe not, but it won’t be from a lack of trying.” He turned off the lights and picked up her black medical bag. “Car’s loaded. Shut down your laptop and let’s get out of here.”

“I want to send Elliott and Meredith an email to let them know we’re leaving. Then I’ll be done.” Charlotte had already shared her plans with the Frasers. At least someone would know where she and Jack had gone and why. She signed off, wondering if she would ever sign back on again.

She didn’t want to go back in time, but she had to clean up her mess. If she had only thought through the possible consequences of her actions, she would have let Major McCabe die.

Ha. Who was she kidding?

The moment she saw Braham in that filthy ward, she’d known exactly what she would do, and consequences be damned.

She slipped the laptop into her leather computer bag and left it sitting by the entryway table. She managed one last glance around the foyer, imprinting the room on her brain, praying she would come home again. She sniffed. The scent of bacon Jack had cooked for breakfast lingered in the air. Braham had loved Jack’s bacon and coffee in the morning. She shook away the memory and closed the door. There was no room for sentimentality. She had to stop Braham and make it home alive. She had six months.

God help them all.

Part Two

“I will do my part as if the issue of the whole struggle depends on me alone.”

—Abraham Lincoln

31

Washington, D.C.—Present Day

A brilliant sun poked bold fingers through the empty branches of the willow oak trees planted along Pennsylvania Avenue near the Willard Hotel. The Christmas rush was at its peak, the city was festooned with wreaths and garlands with bright red bows, and hundreds of shoppers jammed the sidewalks. The Ellipse, with the National Christmas Tree glimmering in the center, was full of sightseers both young and old, milling around and posing for pictures. When Charlotte and Jack were kids, they never missed witnessing the National Christmas Tree Lighting Ceremony from President’s Park. Now, since their parents’ deaths, the event only triggered bittersweet memories. The holidays were