The Sapphire Brooch (The Celtic Brooch Trilogy Book 2) (13 page)

“Charlotte said Sheridan threatened.”

“Obviously he never carried out the threat. Come on. I have orders to feed you lunch, guide you on a short tour if you’re up for one, then make sure you rest.”

“Don’t you have a mystery to write?”

“I’ve got some ideas I’m tossing around for a new novel, but nothing has grabbed me so far. Got any suggestions?”

Braham limped toward the house, grimacing from the pain in his abdomen. “How about a time-traveling doctor and a beat-up old soldier? An old, decrepit soldier.” He gingerly climbed five stone steps, cursing under his breath. He reached the portico, latched onto one of the support columns, and assessed the property.

A light breeze ruffled his hair. He breathed deeply, inhaling the crisp scent of autumn. A large oak tree standing between the house and river had to be three hundred years old. Its yellow and orange leaves swayed in the wind and rained down in a sudden gust of cool air. Falling leaves cascaded into one another as they rustled against piles accumulating on the ground. Squirrels bounced and darted in all directions, searching for acorns.

Jack bounded up the stairs behind Braham.

Braham searched the gray-tinted sky. The clouds were moving from the west. “Charlotte said she was driving out here tonight? It’s going to storm. She should stay in Richmond.”

“Weather never stopped her from doing anything she had a mind to do.”

“She shouldn’t be out by herself. It’s dangerous. What if her conveyance breaks down?”

“She’ll call Triple A.” Jack put his arm across Braham’s shoulders and led him toward the front door. “Let’s get you settled. If you’re not tucked in when she arrives, I’ll lose our bet, and she’ll win a thousand shares of my Apple stock.”

If Braham hadn’t spent the last decade listening to Kit’s unusual vernacular, he’d be at a complete loss, with no idea what Jack meant. Braham knew Apple was a company which had helped make Kit’s wealthy family richer. Whatever the company made, it wasn’t fruit.

When Braham entered the entryway, his eyes went immediately to the stunning carved walnut flying staircase, which rose three floors without any visible support structure. Jack closed the front door and joined Braham at the foot of the stairs.

“This staircase is the most outstanding architectural feature in this old house.”

Braham studied the underneath side of the first landing, pinching his face in concentration. “What holds it up?”

“There’re two flat iron straps running wall to wall which allow it to float in place. Quite an engineering feat for the eighteen hundreds. A building inspector wouldn’t approve it today.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer not to climb any more stairs today. I’ll sleep here on the floor.” His incision burned as if a doctor was pulling out the stitches using fingernails.

“We have a guest suite down this way. You’ll be comfortable in there.”

Jack led him into a large and well-apportioned bedroom. The fireplace’s hand carved woodwork featured more pineapples. The tall four-poster bed was the biggest Braham had ever seen. After the skinny hospital bed, he looked forward to having room to roll over. Two of the room’s walls had floor-to-ceiling windows, bringing light into the dark blue room. A set of French doors were open. When he lay in the bed he’d be able to see the river.

“I put jeans, sweaters, underwear, T-shirts, and socks in the dresser. Shirts are hanging in the closet. The bathroom is stocked with personal care items. If you have any questions, yell. My office is across the hall and my bedroom is directly above.” He took a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. “Charlotte shoved this into my hand when we passed each other at the hospital. You need two o’clock meds, a light snack, and a nap. She also listed four prescriptions.”

Braham set four medicine bottles on the table next to the bed. “It’s time for the antibiotic and pain medication, right?”

“It’s what the note says.”

“I don’t want the pain medicine. It makes me tired.”

Jack sighed. “You don’t want to get on her bad side. If she said to take the pills,
take the pills.
”

Braham opened two of the bottles and poured out the necessary pills. “I need to move and get my strength back. Not sleep the day away.” He’d hold the pill under his tongue until Jack looked away.

Jack handed Braham a bottle of water from a silver tray on the dresser. “Drink this.”

Braham studied the bottle and gave an impatient huff as he pulled on the top cap.

“Twist the cap. It breaks the seal.” Jack opened a dresser drawer, pulled out some clothes and tossed them on the bed. “Pajamas and a T-shirt. You might want a shower to get rid of the hospital smell. I don’t know how Charlotte can stand smelling like sanitizer all the time. It dries out her hands, too.”

Braham didn’t think so. He remembered them as quite soft. They had warmed him when he shivered, comforted him when he was dying, and held a cup when he needed a drink.

“I’ll go fix lunch while you shower.”

“You don’t have to do anything else. You’ve done enough.”

Jack folded his arms, leaned against the desk, and crossed one booted foot over the other. “I spent two years in a Tibetan monastery studying an esoteric meditative discipline. For the first six months I couldn’t speak the language or do the meditations. I felt inadequate and doubted my purpose for being there. A monk took me aside and said in English. ‘Follow me.’ He never said another word, and for the next six months I never took my eyes off of him. Then one day he said, ‘Follow your own path.’ I never followed him again. You said I’ve done enough. How much is enough when a person is in need?”

“Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day—”

“Teach a man to fish you feed him for life?” Jack finished Lao Tzu’s proverb.

“You don’t have to teach me to fish, but you might need to show me around the bathroom.”

“Good idea. This shower has all the bells and whistles. Come here.”

After Jack showed Braham how to operate the controls, he gave a two-finger salute and left the room.

Finally alone for the first time in days, Braham stared out the French doors, which opened onto the riverside portico.
Teach a man to fish. Fine.
But he didn’t intend to stay. He didn’t belong here. It was different for Kit. She was out of place to begin with, but not him. He had a home, a winery, and a law practice to return to after the war. He had a life planned out in intricate detail—a plan he would not veer from; a plan which included a political career. The door to the office of the Governor of California would one day have his name engraved on a brass plate.

He appreciated the Mallorys’ time and attention, but he had to return. The President depended on him. He had responsibilities and commitments. How could he make Charlotte understand? Abandoning his life would be tantamount to asking her to give up being a doctor, and he doubted she would ever consider doing it. Then how could she expect him to give up his dreams?

13

Mallory Plantation, Richmond, Virginia, Present Day

C
harlotte knocked lightly
on Braham’s door before entering quietly. The French doors were open to an exquisite view of the moonlight undulating on the surface of the river. The windows were slightly cracked, and a cool breeze rippled through the sheer curtains. Braham had fallen asleep on top of the covers wearing Jack’s black pajama bottoms with a lightweight blanket thrown haphazardly over his legs. A white T-shirt stretched tight across his expansive chest, and a dusting of hair peeked through the shirt’s V-neck. He and Jack could be bookends on a shelf stacked with romance novels featuring kilt-clad heroes.

Charlotte squeezed her arms to her chest, surprised by a warm swelling low in her belly. What was different about Braham now to cause such a strong reaction? What did she see she hadn’t seen before? Different clothes? Shaved? Hair washed? All those things and more. In a restful sleep, pain had released its grip, relaxing the tightened muscles around his eyes. No doubt about it. The man was gorgeous, and blessed with a constitution she rarely saw in patients.

He stirred, and his eyes opened. “I worried about you driving here in the rain,” he said in a raspy voice.

She turned on a lamp and the soft yellow light curled around him. “It stopped before I left the city.” She crossed to the other side of the bed and placed her hand on his forehead. “Jack said it only drizzled here.”

Braham’s eyes probed into hers, green and hard and full of questions. “Do I have a fever?”

“You feel slightly warm, but my hands maybe cold. She rubbed them, blew on them, and touched her own forehead for comparison. “It’s me.”

He pulled himself up, grimacing slightly, and his biceps bulged as he leaned against the headboard and laced his fingers across his chest.

She had an insane desire to wrap her hand around his arm to feel muscle flex. A small knot lodged in her throat. “I’m glad you rested. Looks like Jack followed instructions for a change.”

“Doesn’t he always?”

“No. Not often.” It took an effort of will to look away from his sculpted arms and the physical strength they represented. But she did, her eyes moving slowly down to his belly. The pajamas drew her eyes to the area of his incision and down further, to other parts.

She carefully lowered the elastic waistband and peeked at the incision, then gently palpated his abdomen. His body reacted to her touch, and she gently let go of the fabric, steeling herself to not react to his growing erection.

“Looks good.” She cleared her throat. “It’s healing nicely.” She placed her fingers on his wrist. His pulse was strong and fast, but not from illness. So was hers. “Dinner will be ready in about thirty minutes. I’ll bring a tray in for you.”

“Are you cooking?” He watched her. His eyes were liquid and sleepy and full of desire.

Needing a distraction, she reached for an unopened bottle of water on the bedside table, untwisted the cap, and took a long gulp. “If any cooking’s done in this house, Jack does it. He’s an accomplished chef, and has far more patience than I do with certain things.”

“Like what?” Braham asked, his eyebrow arching.

“I don’t do well with patients who ignore my instructions and compromise their healing.”

“I do what I say. Never doubt it.” His biceps twitched ever so slightly, as if to reinforce the statement. “You saved my life, and I’m grateful, but in a couple of days I
must
go home. I have timely information about Richmond’s defenses, the condition of Lee’s army, and, most important, the movement of troops and material between the Petersburg-Richmond corridor and the Shenandoah Valley. Lincoln is waiting for my report, which will directly impact Grant’s major offensives around Petersburg. I
have
to go back. Even if I wanted to stay, Charlotte, it’s impossible.

Her eyes locked with his now, and she saw the faint lines of tension at the corners. A sense of foreboding settled in her gut. “You almost died. You’re not even close to healed. You need to give it a couple of weeks, not a few days.”

He tapped his fingertips together rhythmically. “I can’t wait. I’ll take it slow for a few days after I see the President. But I can’t delay here any longer.”

She pulled a reading chair closer to the bed and sat, sighing. “What if the brooch takes us back to Richmond? You won’t have the strength to fight your way out.”

He stopped tapping, steepled his fingers, and pressed them against his lips. “Where did you leave from? Cedar Creek. Right? And you returned there. If we leave from Washington City, we should arrive there as well.”

“You obviously have more faith in the sapphire than I do.”

He dropped his hands, shrugging. “It’s my Celtic heritage, I suppose. A friend once told me some see darkness where others see only the absence of light.”

Charlotte scratched gently at the side of her face, letting the thought swirl around in her brain. “What does it mean?”

He glanced out toward the river, and his voice whispered over her skin like the cool breeze blowing in through the window. “There is more to the world than we can see. Always keep your mind open. Even without light, you can hear and feel and taste. But if you close yourself off to other possibilities, you’ll wither in the darkness.”

He took her hand in his, with all its cuts and bruises from the fight he had been in, and, using a warm fingertip, traced the lines etched into her palm. The corner of his lip turned up in a wry smile. “When I lay dying, a doctor who I thought was a man came to my bed and held my hand. When I looked into his eyes, I knew I had a life yet to live. It was the darkest place I’d ever been, but I could feel and taste and smell the light.”

His vivid memories held hope. Hers, on the other hand, had turned into nightmares. She shook off the edgy sensation triggered by her traumatic experiences after being catapulted into another world. “Another couple of hours and you would have been dead.”

“You arrived when you were meant to arrive. If I hadn’t been dying, there would have been guards posted, and I probably would have been chained to the bed.”

Heat rose to her face and her heart raced. “Let’s not talk about it. Are you hungry?”