The Amber Brooch: Time Travel Romance (The Celtic Brooch Book 8)

by Katherine Lowry Logan

  Amber had about three seconds to come up with a name and she did it in one. “Amber Kelly.”

  Mr. Tabor’s eyes widened. “You?”

  “Me. I have a voice that melts sugar with an explosive range, and I play multiple instruments. I’ll fill the house every night—guaranteed.” Amber held out her hand for the settlement funds. “I know you haven’t heard of me, but folks will be talking about my performance for years to come.”

  He handed over the payment and Amber gave the money to Daniel. Then to Mr. Tabor she said, “I’ll expect a thousand dollars for a five-night run.”

  “That’s outrageous. Four hundred,” he said.

  Amber looked at the unsmoked cigar, wishing she could puff on it before clamping it between her teeth at a jaunty angle for effect. “Seven-fifty.”

  “Five-fifty.”

  She sensed Daniel tensing, and while these negotiations didn’t concern him, he was responding as her clients often did when she negotiated on their behalf. That same tension always lodged a pinch of dread in her throat, but she didn’t flinch, and she remained steadily focused on her adversary.

  “Seven hundred,” she said. “Anything less and I’ll cut songs from my act.” Amber rarely failed to get the desired results with her final offer. Several of her clients had told her she should play poker. But what they completely missed was that she was the inveterate poker player in every high-stakes negotiation.

  “Why would I agree to such an outrageous contract?” His tone of voice held a combination of calculation and common lechery, and it made her skin crawl.

  “If I don’t fill the house three out of five nights, you’ll only have to pay me three hundred fifty dollars.” The look in his eyes—the shine of victory—told her the answer. He was no longer seeing the full amount of the contract, only half of it.

  “I’ll expect you here tomorrow night by six o’clock. Your performance will begin at eight.”

  “Oh, one more thing,” Amber said. “I’ll need instruments, a guitar, banjo, or fiddle. Whatever you can get.”

  “I can get a fiddle. Maybe a banjo, but I have a saxophone, if you can play that. A man skipped out on his contract but left the instrument behind.”

  “I can’t play the sax. So here’s the deal: I’ll perform five consecutive nights, beginning tomorrow night, for the agreed sum of seven hundred dollars. If I don’t fill the house three of the contracted nights, I’ll only receive three hundred fifty dollars.”

  He nodded. “That completes our negotiations.”

  Amber picked up the pen again, wrote out the terms and conditions, and handed the document to Mr. Tabor. “When you sign on the dotted line, that will complete our negotiations.”

  He huffed, signaling he was reaching the limit of his patience with her. “You’re an exhausting woman.”

  After he signed, she signed. “If you don’t mind. I’ll hold on to this one.” After blotting the paper, she folded it, and slipped it into the inside pocket of her jacket. Then she reached out to shake his hand, noticing for the first time the tell-tale ink stains on her middle finger.

  “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.” She picked up the cigar. “I might have to smoke this later. Come on, Ripley. Let’s get out of here.”

  As soon as the door closed behind them. Daniel rolled his head back and laughed. “I’ve never seen anything like ye. I was impressed with yer legal mind, but it comes in second to yer negotiating skills. Ye got Noah a three hundred seventy-five-dollar settlement, a dog, and ye booked an act at Tabor Opera House.”

  She disposed of the cigar in the brass spittoon. “I love cigars, the smell and the taste. I learned early on that a woman who holds her head high, puffs deeply and smiles slyly, usually has the upper hand. I just couldn’t handle one today. What a waste. It was pretty good.”

  “Aye. Ye had the upper hand in there. Ye’ve learned a lot pounding the boards.” His face turned stony. “Were ye acting earlier then, when ye met with Judge Adams? Are ye not really a lawyer?”

  “I don’t joke about the law. That’s serious stuff. I’m a lawyer. I also sing. I’m a heck of a cook, and I hunt fossils. That’s why I’m going to Morrison next week.”

  He looked at her genuinely mystified. “And ye wear men’s trousers.”

  Now, she laughed. “Only until I can get to the store and buy a dress. Come on. Let’s get out of here.” She looked around the hall. “Where’s the Chessie?”

  “The what?”

  “The dog. Chesapeake Bay Retrievers are called Chessies. Where is she?” As though she knew her own breed, Ripley trotted to her side and nuzzled Amber’s hand.

  Daniel gently rubbed Noah’s head. “Come on, lad. Time to go.”

  Noah stretched his shoulder and held the side of the bench as he pushed to his feet. “What happened, Pa?”

  “I’ll tell ye when we get outside.”

  They exited the theatre as the last of the sunlight faded from the horizon. Twilight was descending, and she didn’t have dinner plans, or a bed arranged for the night. She’d considered asking Mr. Tabor if she could use one of the sleeping rooms for visiting actors. But after the vibes she’d picked up, there was no way she’d sleep anywhere near the man.

  “Let’s talk over there.” She pointed to the corner of the building away from the sidewalk traffic. “Mr. Tabor agreed to pay you three hundred seventy-five dollars, and part of the agreement is that you get to keep Ripley.”

  “Ripley? Really?” Noah asked.

  “Yes, but you have to be a responsible dog owner. Be sure to keep her on a leash so she won’t run out into the street again.”

  Noah knelt on the ground and hugged the yellow-amber-eyed dog. “Did you hear that Ripley? You’re going home with me.”

  “I’m not sure Mrs. Garland will let Ripley come inside,” Daniel said.

  “When she sees what a good dog she is, she’ll let her in. You can pay her a few dollars more a week, Pa. Please. She can’t stay out in the cold.”

  “Miss Kelly can take her home with her until we can make arrangements with Mrs. Garland.”

  “I’d be glad to, but I just arrived in town when Noah fell. I haven’t had time to make arrangements for a place to stay.”

  “Mrs. Garland has room,” Noah said. “You can stay there.”

  “I’m sure she charges more than I can afford right now. I’ll find something else.”

  Daniel took a wad of bills from his pocket. “I believe it’s customary for a lawyer to get a percentage of a settlement. Twenty percent sounds fair to me.”

  “That money is for Noah’s drum and medical expenses. I represented him without any expectation of payment. I’ll ask Mr. Tabor for an advance.”

  Daniel peeled off several bills. “Ye earned yer twenty percent. Ye can either take the cash, or I’ll pay it directly to Mrs. Garland. At fifteen dollars a week that gets ye a month’s room and board. I didn’t think ye’d get a dime from Mr. Tabor. The fact that ye got this much confirms Judge Adams’ opinion of ye.” He handed her the money and forced her hand to close around it. “Ye have no place to sleep. Arguing is useless. But I’d like to know what ye intend to do with the money.”

  She smiled. “Add it to the rest of my millions.”

  6

  1878 Leadville, Colorado—Amber

  Now that the sun was going down, so was the temperature. Trying to avoid the cutting wind blowing down her neck, Amber pulled her collar up and buttoned the top of her jacket. Where was she going to stay warm tonight? A quick glance up to the third floor of the opera house had her reconsidering the rooms available for performers. Where would she be safer? Close to Mr. Tabor or close to Daniel? Mr. Tabor gave her the creeps. Daniel didn’t. Enough said.

  “We better get to the boarding house, Pa,” Noah said. “Mrs. Garland gets worried when we’re late for dinner. Come on, Ripley. See you there, Miss Kelly, and thank you.”

  Amber watched Noah and Ripley run down the crowded sidewalk, dodging pedestrian
s, then she glanced up at Daniel. “Thanks for the money.”

  “Ye earned it,” he said. “If ye’re ready to go, I’ll escort ye to the boarding house.”

  “You go on. I need to stop by Hughes Store to purchase a few personal items, and I don’t want you to be late for dinner. Give me the address and I’ll find my way there.”

  Concern flickered over his face. “Ye might be wearing pants, ma’am, but that doesn’t mean yer safe after dark. I’ll walk ye to the store, then to the boarding house. I’ll be able to speak privately with Mr. Hughes about ordering a drum for the lad without him hearing the details. I’d like to surprise him.”

  “He’s so happy about having a dog he might forget all about the drum.”

  “I thought about that,” Daniel said, “but Noah needs to continue his music lessons. His ma would have liked that.”

  Daniel took her arm and guided her across Leadville’s wide rutted street, dodging wagons and horses and scattered bits of manure. He smacked the rump of a slow-moving mule as they darted through a gap in the traffic. The only difference between Leadville before dark and Leadville after dark was the amount of light on the street. Hammering continued. Freight wagons still rolled by jingling their harnesses, and pianos could barely be heard over the din of drunken voices coming from the saloons.

  Leadville was a nineteenth-century Vegas. It didn’t sleep.

  They reached Hughes Store, and she steeled herself for doing what she’d been unable to do earlier—meet her ancestors. In the past three hours, she’d barely escaped being run over, stood for a bar exam, and negotiated Noah’s settlement along with a theatre gig for herself. To be nervous now seemed rather silly.

  Daniel held the door as she entered her seven-times great-grandparents’ store.

  A bell mounted at the top of the doorframe tinkled as they entered. This was no leather-hinged establishment. It was a nineteenth-century Walmart. The pleasing aroma of strong coffee and spices scented the store. There were bolts of fabric, bins filled with flour, coffee, and oats, tins overflowing with penny candy, butter churns and washing boards stacked high in every conceivable space, along with racks of ready-made clothes. If an item wasn’t on one of the dozen or so floor-to-ceiling shelves that lined the store, or stacked neatly in aisles, it wasn’t needed. The shop catered to the middle layer of Leadville’s citizenry.

  The man she had seen earlier dressed in a white shirt, suspenders, and apron approached Daniel. “Good evening. What can I help ye with?”

  Daniel clasped the man on the shoulder. “Did ye hear about Noah falling out of the wagon?”

  The man shook his head, tssking. “Thank the Lord he wasn’t hurt.”

  Daniel nodded toward her. “Thanks to Miss Kelly’s quick action.”

  The man turned a studied gaze on Amber. “Ye’re a girl. I saw ye earlier when ye banged on the window.”

  “That was an ungraceful faceplant. I’m glad I didn’t break—”

  “The glass? I am, too,” he said.

  “I was going to say my nose.” She couldn’t take her eyes off his. It was like looking at her grandfather again.

  “Miss Kelly, this is Mr. Craig Hughes, proprietor of the store.”

  She struggled to peel her tongue off the roof of her mouth. How could she be tongue-tied? In her law practice, she’d argued cases before the United States Supreme Court and had clients who were CEOs of Fortune 500 companies. Through her charity work she’d met presidents, congressmen, governors and movie stars. Never had she been tongue-tied. But right now, she couldn’t think of anything to say. She glanced up at the patterned tin ceiling, hoping for inspiration.

  “The lad’s drum was busted when he fell off the wagon,” Daniel said. “He said ye had one in stock.”

  The man ran a forefinger along his wide mustache and glanced around the store. “Sold that five days ago. I can put an order in for another one, if ye’re interested. Probably take”—he lifted his eyes in thought—“three weeks to get here from Kansas City.”

  “How much?” Daniel asked.

  “The one I had sold for five dollars. I got a fine guitar off a prospector last week in trade for supplies. Interested in that?”

  “Noah seems partial to the drum.”

  Amber finally found her inspiration. “I’m interested. How much do you want for it?”

  “Oh…I could probably let it go for, say…fifteen dollars.”

  “Make it ten and I’ll take it.”

  “I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head, but the wry twist of his lips said he would enjoy haggling. “Fourteen and a half is as low as I can go.”

  “What a shame.” Amber walked away, sensing he wasn’t done and only needed a little encouragement to seal the deal. “I couldn’t go a penny over eleven and a quarter.” She set her tone to sound only semi-interested.

  To give him time to think, she moved around the store, picking up cakes of soap and sniffing each one before choosing an oatmeal bar advertised for face and bath. She also found a toothbrush and Colgate toothpaste in a jar.

  “Let me see that Colt .45,” Daniel said.

  Grandfather Craig slipped behind the gun case and reached to retrieve an Army Model Colt wrapped in its holster and set it on the glass top. “Took this off a fellow who needed money for a stage ticket west. Guess he gave up trying to be the next silver king.” Grandfather Craig leaned an elbow on the counter. “No rust at all. It’s been well cared for. I can let it go for thirty dollars.”

  “Come on, Craig. I can get one for seven from mail order.”

  Amber continued to browse, waiting to hear Grandfather Craig’s bottom number. On a shelf with pens and inkwells, she found a brown leather journal with a tree design on the front. She added the notebook to her purchases and would start journaling tonight. She didn’t want to forget one moment of her time here.

  “I’ll take it for fifteen,” Daniel said.

  “I like ya, Daniel, but I’d lose money letting the gun go at that price.”

  Daniel chuckled. “I’ll come back tomorrow then and look through the catalogue.” He looked at her. “Maybe I should hire Miss Kelly to negotiate for me. She’s the best I’ve ever seen.”

  “It’ll be the same price,” Craig said, “regardless of who does the haggling. If ye need the gun now, this is the best you’ll do.”

  Always be prepared to walk away.

  She took her items to the counter. Craig Hughes left his conversation with Daniel and opened a ledger book to record her purchases.

  “If ye’re still interested in the guitar, I could maybe let it go for twelve dollars.”

  “Maybe…” She scratched her chin, thinking, stalling to keep him guessing. “If you…I don’t know…throw in a music book, I’ll take the deal.”

  His head bobbed, and he smoothed his brown hair absently, running his hand over the top of his head as he turned his back to the counter and looked at the shelves. He took a coffin-style wooden guitar case down and handed it to her.

  “Can ye play this?” he asked.

  “I hope so,” she said.

  She opened the case and bit the inside of her cheek to control her excitement. The rosewood and ebony instrument had a neck made entirely of ivory. It was a museum-quality guitar. She’d seen a similar one at the Met in New York City. It was exquisite. Her hands shook slightly as she gently lifted the guitar from the case. “C.F. Martin/New York” was stamped on the back of the pegbox.

  “This is a Martin—a Martin guitar.” Her voice was a reverent whisper.

  Grandfather Craig’s brow quirked as he looked at her with unveiled curiosity. “Twelve dollars is as low as I can go.”

  “Where’d you say this came from?” She rubbed her hand along the body. It was a priceless and irreplaceable instrument. She slowed her breathing. Grandfather Craig needed to believe he was getting the best end of the deal.

  “Prospector nearly cried when he traded it for gear.”

  She understood why. Martin guitars we
re as timeless as the music they played.

  She dug into her pocket for a pick with her personal imprint, something she was never without, and strummed a few chords, getting a feel for the strings vibrating beneath her fingertips. The instrument was badly out of tune. She stepped aside to let other customers pay for their purchases while she tuned the guitar by ear.

  Daniel leaned back, cupped the edge of the stained pine counter with his hands, and crossed his long legs at the ankles. At first, she had thought he was a man of few words, but it wasn’t that. He was probably a great conversationalist. No, he was studying her like a firefly in a jar. She’d had plenty of first dates with men like him. They were never sure what to make of her unusual interests. In Daniel’s case, though, it was probably her odd dress and aggressive personality that he found standoffish. She couldn’t worry about him now.

  Once the instrument was tuned, she strummed a few more chords, finding the guitar perfect in tone and warmly melodious. She played her own version of the legendary “Hotel California” solo by The Eagles, moving quickly around the fretboard with precision and dexterity, using string bending and vibrato. She lost herself in the music and the tone of the instrument and was unaware of her audience until she stopped and glanced up. The last sound echoed from within the instrument and faded from the room. And what she saw on Daniel’s face was not an expression of pensive admiration, but a perplexed frown that knitted his brow.

  “I’ve heard Mexicans play the guitar like that. Is that where ye learned to play?” he asked with a cool bite to his voice. Whether he intended her to hear it, or was unaware it was there, he failed to keep it leashed.

  “I was influenced by Spanish music, but I’m mostly self-taught.”

  Customers who had stopped to listen stood nearby wearing rather bewildered looks. A short man with a haggard face and deep sorrel hair said, “Not sure what I heard, but ma’am, you can sure play that guitar.”

  “I couldn’t stop watching yer fingers,” Grandfather Craig said.

  “The music probably sounded more complex than what you’re used to hearing.” She placed the guitar back into the box on the counter and returned the pick to her pocket. “I love it, and I hope the previous owner doesn’t want to buy it back.”