The Sunstone Brooch : Time Travel Romance Katherine Logan (no david read aloud TXT) 📖

JC coughed behind his fist. “Thank you for the offer, sir, but I must turn it down.”

“Nonsense. How could you turn down a hundred and fifty dollars?”

“It’s easy when you have something irreplaceable. I helped birth Mercury and managed most of his training. I’ve worked hard to get him this sound and healthy.”

“And I’ll reward you for your investment. I’ll go as high as one hundred seventy-five dollars.”

JC shook his head. “Sorry, sir. But Mercury’s stud fee is normally a thousand dollars. However, I am willing to waive the thousand dollars, and he can service your broodmare for free. Consider it my thanks for your generous hospitality.”

“Hmm,” TR said. “I’ll have to find a broodmare with the necessary performance, pedigree, soundness, and conformation that will compliment your horse. That might require a trip to London.”

“Mercury’s dam came from Ireland. You could look there as well.”

“We’ll have plenty of time to talk further, but in the meantime, I’ll send inquiries to associates in New York. There may be a suitable broodmare closer to home.”

JC tugged Mercury’s reins off the hitching rail and wrapped them around the saddle horn. “Well, I’m going now.”

Ensley was determined not to cry, but she did. After their week together, it’d be lonely without JC around, even though she’d have TR for company.

“Be careful.” JC used his handkerchief to wipe away the tears streaking down her face. “Don’t cry. We’ll be okay.”

Then, before she realized what he was doing, he kissed her, and it riveted her in place. The kiss wasn’t coy or hungry but soft and natural, and he took his time. “Remember your promise.”

Ensley was too shell-shocked for a moment to answer. After she took a breath…or two…or three…she said, “I will. And you’ll be careful, too, right?”

Most rich kids she’d met were oblivious to their good fortune—born on third base, believing they’d hit a triple—but not JC. He was brilliant, sensitive, and caring and didn’t take anything for granted. He was honestly worried about her, and she was concerned about him.

“Always.” JC slipped the handkerchief into her hand before mounting up. Then with a flick of his finger to the tip of his hat, he galloped off.

Turn around, JC. Wave. Give me a sign that you’ll be all right.

But he didn’t. He rode off the ranch without ever looking back.

If I look back and see you standing there, looking forlorn, I’ll turn around. Be careful, Ens.

I will. Promise.

26

Washington, D.C.—Elliott

Elliott was waiting in James Cullen’s home office, sitting in the desk chair, visualizing him working on the computer, reading, talking on the phone.

Where are ye, son? If anything happens to ye, I won’t survive the loss.

So much was at stake right now. It was nine o’clock in the evening, and Elliott and David were in Washington for the second time that day.

Elliott sensed danger in the air and turmoil in the universe. After three years of relative calm, James Cullen had stirred up the evil. What the hell had he done?

Whatever happened to him in Asia wasn’t intentional. Elliott knew that. But he had to find his son quickly before a force too large to contain, much too powerful to ignore, and far too extreme to fight in traditional ways, was set loose on the clan, and maybe even humanity.

An exaggeration? Hell, no. It was real, and it was coming—again. They contained it the last time. Could they do it again?

They would sure as hell try.

Elliott licked his lips and tried to calm a sudden upwelling of fear. Paul had information about James Cullen, and whatever it took to get it, short of killing him, Elliott would do. However, the idea of torturing Paul made Elliott physically sick. But he could do it. He had no other choice.

As Keeper and clan chieftain, Elliott was responsible for protecting his family and the brooches. Erik and the other Council members had committed atrocities to protect the secrets and keep the brooches’ vast powers hidden from all who would use them for ill. And Elliott could do no less.

The outside door opened, and footsteps echoed through the kitchen and down the hallway. David wasn’t trying to mask his passing through the house. He entered the office and stopped, hands on his hips. “The motherfucker’s gone. We should have taken him earlier.”

Elliott pushed to his feet and slammed his fist on the desk. “Shit! So he packed up and moved out? Son of a bitch. Guess he knew we’d be back.”

David paced across the room toward the wet bar. “No. There’s a peat smell in the guesthouse. And before ye ask, he didn’t throw the brooch. I searched for it. Either he was more prepared than JC for the stone’s heat or electrical charge, or the brooch responded differently.”

Elliott dropped his head and shook it back and forth as terror raged through him. “So James Cullen told Paul about the brooches. Why?”

David picked up a carafe, uncorked it, and sniffed. “Whisky. Want some?”

“Aye.” Elliott’s insides curled into the kind of fear that even whisky wouldn’t soothe.

David filled two shot glasses, handed one to Elliott, and they raised their drinks. “Slàinte.” David threw back the contents then poured another, but Elliott waved off a refill.

“Earlier today, Paul told us he took JC to the stables and left him there,” David said. “He must have returned, watched JC disappear, and picked up the brooch.”

Elliott collapsed in the chair and rolled the crystal glass between his palms. The fear now crawled all over him, freezing the sweat on his back, choking the curses in his throat. Oh, Jesus. Why now?

“If Paul returned to the stables, then he went back specifically to spy on James Cullen. The question then becomes, who was he spying for? Himself? Because he wanted to protect James Cullen? The Company? Because spying on my son was part of his job? Or the Illuminati, who possibly planted him here to infiltrate the clan?”

“If the Illuminati planted