Jack enlarged the picture of Stormy then checked out the other stallions standing stud at MacKlenna Farm. “Braham’s been a spy for four years. He’s learned to play his cards close to his chest, for survival if for no other reason. I doubt you’ll get much out of him.” Jack handed the iPad back to her. “Beautiful stallions.”
She set the iPad on the coffee table along with the charger and her car keys. “I wish I could do more to help him.”
Jack gave her a hug. “You’ve done a lot for him already. Give him time. He’ll find his way. If you’d let him back on a horse, he might feel like he had a bit more control of his life.”
“I’d rather give him a watch. I learned the hard way that not knowing the time of day makes you feel even less in control over your circumstances. I didn’t like it at all.”
She rinsed out her glass at the bar and left it in the sink. “You know, two weeks ago, Braham was almost dead. He’s making a remarkable recovery, but he’s not healed yet. Let’s see how he’s doing next week. If he promises not to go galloping around the farm, he can probably ride. But not until then.”
Jack grinned. “We don’t have to gallop to go hunting.”
Charlotte’s mind spun with worst-case scenarios. “I only hope he doesn’t go off hunting on his own.”
19
Mallory Plantation, Richmond, Virginia – Present Day
An hour after Jack left with the car service, Braham carried a change of clothes and a sack of food out to Charlotte’s Range Rover. If he was going to leave, it had to be now. Earlier he had read the driving manual on the iPad. He’d watched videos on YouTube, and he knew the rules of the road. The real question now was could he drive a car Jack said could drive itself?
He started the engine and entered his destination in the GPS device. At seventy miles an hour it would take six hours to reach Lexington, Kentucky. He had calculated gas mileage, and driving at a constant rate of speed he could make it on one tank of gasoline. If he had to buy more fuel he would use some of Jack’s pizza money. He hated leaving without an explanation, but even if he had tried again to explain, he knew they wouldn’t have understood.
He had called MacKlenna Farm and been told Elliott and his wife, Meredith, were at the farm until the end of next week. If Braham didn’t leave now, he would miss the Frasers and the only means of returning to his time. The plan he had formulated might not work, but he had to try. Although he’d never been behind the wheel of an automobile, he dismissed it as insignificant. He would learn on the way and pray a traffic officer didn’t stop him. He understood the traffic laws and how much trouble he could get into without a license. But he didn’t think they would shoot him or hang him, and hopefully jails had improved a wee bit since the mid-1800s.
He adjusted the seat and mirror as he had seen Charlotte do the day before. Then he put the car in gear. Before pressing the accelerator, he took a steadying breath. The moment he touched the accelerator, the car shot forward.
Braham slammed his foot on the brake and his chest hit the steering wheel. “Damn.” He had forgotten to buckle up. He left his foot on the brake, put on the belt, put the car into park, and sat perfectly still.
While the car remained in park, he pressed the accelerator with a much lighter touch, listening to the roar of the engine. Obviously, he couldn’t master driving techniques simply by reading instructions. He put the car in gear again and pressed on the accelerator. The car shot forward, but this time he didn’t use the brake. Instead, he lifted the foot on the gas pedal a bit and the car slowed. He continued to practice both braking and accelerating until he felt familiar enough with how acceleration worked.
Feeling more confident, he followed the farm road and circled the plantation. Then he circled again. By the third time, his confidence had increased dramatically until he looked down at the speedometer. He was only traveling at five miles per hour. He stopped the car and pounded his palms against the steering wheel.
At this speed, he could get to Lexington faster riding a horse. He blew out a long breath and drove more circles around the farm, increasing his speed with each loop. When he felt comfortable at forty-five miles per hour, he ventured out onto the lane leading to the highway. As the first stop sign came into view, he stopped, and inched his way up to the sign. A car was coming from his right. He cringed, waiting for the impact he knew would come. The car zoomed by, and he relaxed. If he was going to panic every time a car came toward him, then he might as well turn around and go back to the plantation.
He pulled out faster than he intended and didn’t turn the wheel as far as necessary, which put him close to the edge of the pavement. To avoid hurling off the road, he cut the wheel too sharply, causing the car to swing. He then yanked the wheel in the opposite direction. The rear end swerved from side to side, and he ran into the grass. He hit the brakes and threw the car into park.
“Damn.” He slammed his palms against the wheel again, breathing heavily. This might be the hardest task he’d ever undertaken. He should practice more before he set out, but he had no time to lose. He took a moment to regain his composure then pulled out onto the highway. By the time he reached the I-64 West exit, his palms had stopped sweating.
He watched the gas gauge needle creep toward the halfway point with the same fear as going into enemy territory. What could he do if he ran out? Walk. But he wasn’t going to run out. He had calculated carefully. He’d make it to the farm.
Toward ten o’clock he stopped, rummaged through his food bag, and gobbled a ham and cheese sandwich and an apple before getting back on the road quickly. At noon, he passed the exit to Morehead, Kentucky, and pulled off to eat the other sandwich. He arrived in Lexington with little more than an eighth of a tank of gas left. Was it enough to get to the farm? If it wasn’t, he’d get out and hike the rest of the way. He had the directions written on paper, just in case.
When he spotted a sign for a park, he pulled over, got out, and stretched his legs. Although he had spent the past seven hours rehearsing his speech to Elliott Fraser, he took the time to practice once more. His presentation was almost as important as delivering a closing argument in a murder trial.
After a quick walk through the park to loosen the tension in his shoulders, he got back in the car, followed the GPS directions, and thirty minutes later pulled up to the security gate at MacKlenna Farm.
A man stepped out of the guardhouse. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No,” Braham said. “My name is Abraham McCabe. I’d like to speak to Doctor Fraser about his goddaughter, Kit MacKlenna.”
The guard went back into the guardhouse and picked up a phone like the one Jack had on his desk. Braham had decided using Kit’s name would be his best approach. It at least guaranteed he would get Elliott’s attention.
The guard returned and the gate opened. “Follow the road to the house. Doctor Fraser will meet you there.”
Braham nodded and proceeded down the road. The grounds had changed since his visit in 1852. There were more paddocks, more horses, and fewer trees.
The two-story red brick mansion finally came into view. The portico’s four Doric columns guarded the residence as they had for more than two hundred years. He brought the car to a halt in front of the porch and, after taking a moment to mentally prepare himself, he climbed out.
A tall, trim, distinguished-looking man with graying hair was waiting in the doorway. Braham could have recognized Elliott Fraser in a crowd. The doctor looked exactly like Kit’s sketches of him. Braham took the stairs to the porch slowly, partly to avoid pulling his incision and partly to prepare for the conversation.
Elliott reached out his hand. “Mr. McCabe. Ye certainly have a familiar name.”
Braham shook the older man’s hand. “After all Kit has said about ye, I feel I already know ye.”
“Come in. We have much to discuss.”
Braham followed Elliott through the door riddled with bullet holes. “Where’d the bullet holes come from? They weren’
t there when I was here with Kit in ’52.”
“The MacKlennas were attacked by renegade soldiers toward the end of the war. They saw the holes as a badge of honor and refused to replace the door.” Elliott led the way into his office. If the leather chairs in front of the fireplace weren’t the same ones, they damn well looked like it. The wet bar was a new addition though, and Braham was ready for a drink.
“What can I get ye? Water? Soda?”
“Whisky.”
Elliott poured Braham’s drink and got a bottle of water for himself.
“I thought ye were a whisky man, too.”
“A few years ago, I realized alcohol had more control of me than I had of it. Gave it up one day and haven’t had a drop since. Don’t miss it. I feel better, my leg healed, and I’m running longer distances now. Enough about me. Let’s talk about ye. My goddaughter mentioned a friend named Braham McCabe. But I don’t see how it could be ye.”
“We’re cousins,” Braham corrected.
Elliott smiled. “Please, sit.”
“My full name is Michael Abraham McCabe. I’m a major in the United States Cavalry.” Braham settled into one of the leather chairs and Elliott sat in the other. “Cullen Montgomery is as close to a brother as I’ll ever have. I’ve always trusted and believed him. When he told me Kit, your goddaughter, was from the twenty-first century, I was shocked, but I had no reason to doubt him. I know about Kit’s ruby brooch. I also know there are three brooches. Kit traveled to the nineteenth century using the magic in the ruby. I was brought forward by the magic in a sapphire brooch. Now I need to get back, as soon as possible.”
Elliott remained stone-faced. “Go on.”
“While reenacting the Battle of Cedar Creek, a surgeon from Richmond, Virginia was transported back in time to the actual battle—”
Elliott interrupted. “Have ye seen the brooch?”
“Only a glimpse, but I heard the Gaelic incantation.”
“Go on,” Elliott said.
“During the battle, the surgeon was captured and subsequently accepted a mission at the request of President Lincoln. I was the mission.” Braham stopped a moment and sipped his whisky, studying Elliott’s face for a reaction. He saw none. Braham took it for a positive sign. At least Elliott wasn’t dismissing him outright. Braham set his drink on the table and continued.
“I was shot and captured in Richmond while on a special assignment for the president. Lincoln needed the information I had obtained, and arranged for the surgeon to facilitate my rescue. When the doctor found me, though, I was dying. The only way to save my life was to bring me to the future. This all occurred two weeks ago.”
“Then why are ye here in Kentucky?” Elliott asked.
“She’s afraid if she goes back again she might not be able to return, and the experience she had was quite frightening. As a doctor, she doesn’t believe I’ve recovered enough to risk what could be waiting for me in my own time.”
“Have ye told her about Kit or the ruby brooch?”
Braham shook his head. “She only knows my friend Cullen Montgomery started Montgomery Winery, and Cullen is yer wife’s ancestor.”
Elliott crossed one leg over the other, rested his ankle on his knee, and tugged on the hem of his trousers. “What do ye want from me?”
Braham sat back and rested his hands casually on the arms of the chair. “To borrow the ruby brooch and return to my time.”
“I can’t help ye.”
“I think ye can. The brooch seems to take people and return them to the same place, but in a different time. If I use the ruby brooch here, on MacKlenna Farm, then I should show up on the farm in 1864. If so, all I have to do is make sure Sean MacKlenna returns the brooch to its hiding place”—Braham pointed to the desk across the room—“inside yer desk.”
Elliott dropped his leg and leaned forward, pressing both hands on his knees as though to emphasize the importance of what he was about to say. “What ye’re asking for is not the same as asking to borrow my car. There could be repercussions. I’ll have to take those potential repercussions into consideration.”
Braham willed himself to relax, to maintain his composure, but irritation slipped out. “Doctor Fraser. I’m Kit’s first cousin. Which makes me yer wife’s cousin, too—”
“I’m well aware of the relationship.”
Elliott’s statement hung in the air.
Braham had practiced his speech for seven hours and it fell apart in less than five minutes. “This is a family matter,” Braham said. “I need yer help. President Lincoln is waiting for—and desperately needs—the information I have.”
“It will take ye weeks to get to Washington,” Elliott said.
“Two and a half days by train. I should have been back two weeks ago. I can’t afford any more delays.”
“Give me a couple of hours. Let me talk to my wife—”
The woman Braham had seen on the winery’s website when he had gone back and searched for Elliott’s phone number entered the room holding hands with a wee lad dressed like his father in tan pants and a green shirt.
“About what?” she asked.
Both men stood. The toddler ran to Elliott. “Daddy, I took a long nap. I want to ride my pony now.”
Elliott wrapped the boy in his arms with a hug. “Good laddie.” He turned to Braham, smiling. “This is my son, James Cullen MacKlenna Fraser, and my wife, Meredith.”
Smiling, Braham ruffled the wee lad’s mop of brown hair. Then he shook hands with Meredith. She was a striking woman, with Cullen’s black hair and blue eyes. Tall and lithe, she projected a gentle, trustworthy spirit, and he liked her instantly.
“Braham McCabe,” he said.
Meredith eyed him quizzically. “Your name seems familiar.”
A young man came to the door. “Is James Cullen ready for his riding lesson?”
“Kebin.” The lad’s big brown eyes opened wider with excitement. He wiggled to get down and ran toward the man, who picked him up and twirled him around. “I ride Little Stormy.”
“Okay, but tell Mommy and Daddy good-bye.”
“Thanks, Kevin,” Elliott said while the boy waved. “We’ll be out in a few minutes to see ye ride, Cullen.”
Meredith sat on the footstool in front of Elliott’s chair. “Sit down, please, Mr. McCabe, and tell me how you came to be here.”
Elliott rubbed her shoulders. “By way of the sapphire brooch.”
Meredith clapped. “Really? It brought you here? To MacKlenna Farm?”
“No, to Richmond, Virginia.”
“You’re Kit’s cousin, right?” She glanced around the room. “Where’s the woman?”
“Who said anything about a woman?” Elliott asked.
“Of course, there’s a woman. The legacy of the three brooches says the magic in the stones unites soul mates. If Braham hasn’t met her yet, he will.”
“I can tell ye emphatically the doctor who rescued me and brought me to this time is not my soul mate.” Braham had intentionally ignored all thoughts concerning the brooches’ legacy. It would cloud his judgment at a time when hard decisions needed to be made.
“He hasn’t mentioned a woman, Mer,” Elliott said.
Meredith smiled. “Only because you haven’t asked. But I’m asking. There is a woman, isn’t there? Who is she?”
Braham nodded, the muscle jumping in the side of his jaw. “There’s no doubt in my mind ye’re Cullen Montgomery’s great-great-something-granddaughter.”
“Six, I think.” She merely smiled at him, showing her dimple and a crease in her forehead which reminded Braham even more of his friend. “The surgeon who rescued you,” Meredith continued, “must be the woman. What does she look like?”
“She has wild, curly blond hair and deep blue eyes and she wears god-awful clothes she calls scrubs. She’s small and very opinionated.”
“Aha,” Meredith said. “You’re already in love with her?”
Braham’s jaw dropped. “No. I barely know her.
And unlike yer sire, I didn’t take advantage of Charlotte the way Cullen took advantage of Kit.”
Meredith belted out a laugh. Then she grew solemn. “If you’re Kit’s cousin, it means you’re mine, too.”
Braham reached for her hand, took it between his own, and held it lightly. “Will ye help me get home?”
She maintained eye contact while placing her other hand on top of his and patting it gently. Then she withdrew both of her hands. “I came late to this conversation. I don’t know how you got here or how we can help you go back.”
“He wants to borrow the ruby brooch,” Elliott said.
“I vote you give it to him,” she said. “He can leave it with Sean MacKlenna.”
“Which is what I suggested, but Doctor Fraser wants to think about it.”
Meredith got to her feet, leaned over Elliott’s chair, and kissed him. “If Elliott wants to think about it, he has a good reason. I need to go watch James Cullen’s riding lesson. I’ll let you men talk, and I’ll catch up on the conversation during cocktails.”
She left the room, closing the door behind her.
Braham finished his drink and took the empty glass to the bar. “Talking to her is like having a conversation with Cullen. They are very much alike.”
Elliott stood. “Come on. Let me show ye around the farm, and ye can tell me about Kit. How many children does she have now?”
“She was carrying her fourth when I left for the war. Said it was her last.”
“There’s a portrait of her hanging at Meredith’s winery. I don’t know how old she was when it was painted, but she was still beautiful.”
“She’s never stopped missing ye. When I tell her about meeting ye, she’ll want to hear everything about ye and the farm.”
They went out into the corridor, and a golden retriever plowed into Braham, planting his paws on Braham’s chest. Braham hissed, clutching the wound on his belly, but still managed to scratch the dog behind his ears. “Hello, Tate. Ye remember me, don’t ye?” He had very fond memories of Kit’s dog, cat, and stallion. They had gone back in time with her and traveled the Oregon Trail in 1852.
The Sapphire Brooch Page 14
