The Sapphire Brooch (The Celtic Brooch Trilogy Book 2) (70 page)

“Well, thanks.”

“We’ll stop at the drug store on the way back to the farm. Ye’ should know what’s going on in yer body. Ye’re a brave—”

She shook her head several times, huffing softly. “No, I’m not brave. I even have to talk myself into running a stoplight late at night, even when there’s no traffic on the road. And then only when I’m going in to take care of a medical emergency. I lead a safe life, and I don’t take risks. The damn brooch has brought nothing but trouble, and after I get Jack back, I don’t ever want to see either one of those things again. It may have been a cake-walk for Kit, but the sapphire has only brought me hell and heartache.”

There was a small barbed edge to his voice when he said, “Kit spent six months crossing the Oregon Trail in a covered wagon with bad food and burned coffee. She fought a cholera epidemic, killed three men, saw her husband get shot, and barely escaped being raped, and those are the highlights. I wouldn’t say she had an easy time of it.”

“I’m sorry. It was insensitive of me to assume it.” Charlotte shoved a hand through her hair and snagged her fingers in tangled, windblown curls. “Damn. Should have worn a hat.”

David snatched off the MacKlenna ball cap he had plopped on his head when he parked the Z-4, hooked it onto her head, and tugged on the bill to set the hat in place. “Now ye’ve got one. Let’s go.”

“You know, if I’m pregnant, the baby will be Kit’s cousin.”

“Not sure how ye’d explain it to a wee laddie.”

“Me either, but when he or she grows up, I’ll try.”

“Either do it, or don’t do it, Charley. There is
no
trying—ever.”

David tossed their trash and recyclables into the proper containers, moving about the deck naturally. Only the tension in his shoulders suggested he was under any heightened level of emotion. He paused at the edge of the deck, his chest rising and falling as he breathed in cool air. It was early in the afternoon, and the rays of sun were beginning to shift, slanting down through the trees in the fencerow on the west side of the property. The bright light glowed on his brown hair, highlighting pinpoints of yellow, as if the wind had sprinkled his head with gold dust.

Charlotte joined him next to the stairs leading to the parking lot, tipping her head back to let the rays of sun bathe her cheeks with warmth. She wasn’t in a hurry to leave the restaurant and drive to their next stop—a drug store. Being pregnant now wasn’t convenient, but she had wanted Braham to be the father of her child. At the moment, though, she wasn’t so sure.

“I asked one of the researchers today if she had seen Braham’s name mentioned anywhere in the trial transcript. She said no.” Charlotte tugged on the bill of the ball cap, trying to put into words the thoughts pressing on her heart. “What could have happened to him? Why didn’t…” Her voice broke, and she cleared her throat, trying to regain composure. “Why didn’t he help Jack?”

“My internet searches haven’t turned up any information, either,” David said in a tone indicating mild frustration. “After everything you’ve said about him, I’m surprised. And I’m rarely surprised about anything.”

“I know he was leaving town the day we left Washington, but surely he would have returned.” She gripped the railing, turning her knuckles white as she desperately tried to hold the tears at bay, so afraid once they started she wouldn’t be able to stop. “I thought he cared about Jack. I thought he cared about me. But I must have been wrong.”

“Whatever he did after the war, Braham didn’t distinguish himself in any way.”

“He had a law practice to return to, and his winery. I wonder if he never made it back to California.”

“I’ve got people looking. They may turn up something, or it’s also possible maybe…he didn’t survive his last assignment.”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense, but the war was over. So if he died, it must have been from an accident or disease. Edward, his butler, will know where he is and what happened to him. If he’s alive and well, I’m not sure how I’ll react to seeing him.”

“If ye’re pregnant, he’s the father, and he deserves to know about the baby.”

“Then I hope I’m not pregnant. I don’t want a child by a man who would abandon my brother.”

“Don’t give up on Braham. He might not have represented Jack, but he might have helped in other ways. We’ll find out when we get there.”

Yes, they would find out, and if she was pregnant, she didn’t intend to tell him. Nor would she allow the pregnancy to overshadow Jack’s situation. She went down the stairs, clutching her brow. She must have moaned, for David reached her quickly and cupped her elbow, supporting her weight.

“What is it, lass?”

“Besides Braham’s betrayal?” The tears flowed freely now. “Everything.” She wiped her face with the heel of her hand. David pulled her into his arms and held her, and she cried until she soaked his shirt.

When the tears stopped she said, “I’m sorry, I thought I had cried them all out.”

He reached behind him, grabbed a handful of napkins off the table next to the railing, and gave them to her. “Blow yer nose. Ye’ve been close to tears all morning. It was time to let them out.”

She did as he asked, then took several hiccupping breaths. She breathed easier now the tension in her chest had eased. “How’d you get to be so smart?”

He laughed. “Everything I know I not only learned in kindergarten, but I also learned from Elliott, especially about women.”

She threw the used napkins in the trashcan, chuckling. “From what I heard about Elliott prior to meeting Meredith, I’m not sure it’s knowledge to be proud of.”

“Aye, but ye’ have to understand. Before he fell in love with the right woman, he fell in love with the wrong one. The first lassie caused him a wee bit of trouble. It took Meredith a while to straighten him out.”

“He reminds me of Yoda in
Star Wars,
building his knowledge, experience, and wisdom into others. I can’t imagine undertaking this
mission
without his support and,” she paused, glancing up at David, “his Jedi knight. I’d never be able to kick evil’s butt without you.”

“Where would ye’ like to start with yer ass-kicking?” he asked, smiling into her eyes.

“Oh, that’s easy,” she said, letting David divert her focus. “A certain kangaroo court with the power to execute. We’ll start there, then I’m going after Johnson and Stanton in the press. The
Tribune, Times, Post, News
and the
World
are five of the newspapers whose editors disagreed with Johnson and Stanton about how the trial should be conducted. I firmly believe those two men bullied Attorney General Speed into writing an opinion supporting their position.”

She stopped and slammed her fists to her hips. “An opinion is only an opinion, for God’s sake. It doesn’t have the force and effect of the law. A criminal court should have tried the conspirators, not a military court. Knowing Jack, he’s suffering more from the injustice than the torture.”

David rubbed his knuckle across his upper lip as a broad grin spread across his face.

“You’re laughing at me.”

“Nay. I’d never laugh at a lassie strapping on a gun belt, ready for battle.” The lines of his face curved in such an irresistible smile that her own laughter bubbled up in response.

“You’re damn right I am, but I have to warn you, I’m a lousy shot.”

They meandered toward the car, taking their time, listening to the trees whisper and the chatting and courting of the birds. She had become accustomed to the sounds of nature, to hearing the trills and odd yowls instead of the roar of engines and blasting music.

“I’ve changed my position since the videoconference this morning,” she said.

“To what?” David asked. “Are ye’ coming down on the side of the press?”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, because I can’t stand the press, but if we can’t win the trial in the courtroom, we’ll win it in the newspapers.”

“And if we can’t win it in the press?”

She opened her door and slid into the passenger’s seat. “Easy. Do you know where we can get a drone?”

“What do ye’ want to do with it? Fly it into the Old Arsenal Penitentiary?”

“Yep. Blast a hole in Jack’s cell and rescue him during the confusion.”

David’s mouth twitched slightly as he cast a sidelong glance at her. “I can see it all now.” He spread his hands as if clearing the way of visual obstructions. “On the left, we have the steady hands of a surgeon operating a drone’s controls. And on the right, we have a writer inciting the public to reject the Attorney General’s opinion as both unlawful and a gross blunder in policy.”

In spite of her distress, Charlotte laughed. “You have a future in either politics or the theatre.”

Chuckling, David put on his seat belt and started the engine. “The ancient Greeks and Shakespeare had it figured out. They combined the two and created political theatre.”

“Great. If we had a script ready, we could press our case on the stage, too.”

“Thank goodness we don’t. I have a feeling we’re going to have our hands full as it is.” He tapped her on the head. “Hold on to your hat and tell me why you dislike the press.”

“It’s a long story.”

“It’s a nice drive back to farm.” He pulled out onto Old Frankfort Pike for a scenic drive back to the farm. “Tell me yer story, and I’ll tell ye’ mine.”

“During my residency, one of my first gunshot victims almost died on the table. We worked on him for several hours. It was touch and go. By the time we finished, I was exhausted. Several reporters were waiting for an interview. They reached me first and caught me off-guard. I said, ‘He coded on the table…’ Before I could complete the sentence to add…the patient was resuscitated by the anesthesiologist, the reporters were spreading the rumor he was dead, upsetting the family members sitting nearby. I caught hell from the hospital administrator and the Chief of Surgery. And it’s the last time I’ve ever talked to the press.”

“And now ye’ want to use them?”

“Better to use them than be abused by them. So what’s your story?”

“A reporter in Afghanistan asked me what it felt like to be a hero. Another reporter shouted over the question, asking me what I was going to tell the widow of one of the men I’d rescued. I hadn’t known he had died.”

Charlotte squeezed his arm. “I’m so sorry.”

“I was, too, but my sorry didn’t warm her bed at night.”

77

MacKlenna Farm, Lexington, Kentucky, Present Day

C
harlotte propped her
foot on the bottom rail of the white plank fence surrounding the paddock adjacent to the MacKlenna mansion. A gorgeous chestnut stallion with three white stocking feet trotted past her before stopping and lifting his head, his nostrils quivering as he sniffed the air.

“What do you smell, gorgeous?”

The stallion trotted toward her corner of the fence.

Charlotte sniffed the air, too—freshly turned earth, manure, magnolias—scents unchanging from one century to the next. The whiteness of the clouds was still as fierce against the dark blue of the sky as it had been in Washington. The blue was not as dark as Braham’s uniform, however. She sniffed again, this time to stop her runny nose. The pregnancy test was negative, and she had only herself to blame for dashed hopes. At thirty-eight the odds of getting pregnant without the use of fertility drugs were very low. Even with drugs, her chances were iffy.

“That’s Stormy. He’s a time-traveling stallion.”

She jumped when Elliott spoke from behind her. “Guess that means Kit either took him with her or brought him back.”

Elliott joined her at the fence and rested his forearms on the top plank. “Kit knew she’d need a horse to ride. Took a million dollar stallion on a thousand-mile trip through the wilderness. Ye’ should have seen Stormy when he came home. Ribs were showing. Kit wasn’t in much better shape.” Elliott rubbed the horse’s forehead and Stormy flicked his ears in response.

“Why didn’t she take him back the second time?”

“She intended to, but at the last minute it came down to breeding. She didn’t want to introduce a twenty-first-century stallion’s bloodlines into the nineteenth-century.”

“Is that an indirect way of asking me if
I’m
breeding?”

Elliott lifted only one shoulder in a shrug, and then he pursed his lips a little, as thoughts flashed half-formed across his face. After a moment, he said, “When Meredith and I were dating, she told me she never wanted to see me again. I wasn’t a very nice person, and I deserved the verbal blow to the jaw. A few weeks after she kicked my ass to the curb, she got clobbered with a double whammy.”

“Meredith told me she was diagnosed with breast cancer at the same time she found out she was pregnant.” Charlotte patted Stormy’s neck. Basking in the attention of two people, the stallion’s muscles relaxed and his eyelids began to droop. “If you were being a jerk, I’m surprised Meredith told you. She must have been very scared.”

“Aye, she was. Her doctor encouraged her to tell me in case she became too sick to care for the child. She showed up here one night and told me I was going to be a father. I was thrilled, of course. In the next breath she told me she had breast cancer. I had recently lost Kit and my father, and I wasn’t going to lose Meredith, too. We had a difference of opinion about how to handle both situations. I wanted her to fight for her life. She wanted to fight for the baby’s.”