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

by Katherine Lowry Logan

  Daniel’s gaze flicked almost imperceptibly at her breasts—the rise and fall of them visible beneath the plunging neckline of the silky gown—as he flipped the quilt back up to her chin. “He won’t like me being here.”

  But I like you here.

  “He won’t care. Just let him in.”

  Daniel opened the door enough to let Rick slip through, without throwing the door wide open for anyone else passing by to see inside the room.

  “I saw light beneath the door and figured you were awake.” Wobbling slightly, and in a serious state of dishabille with the ends of his cravat hanging loose, vest unbuttoned, tuxedo jacket hanging by two fingers over his shoulder, Rick threw a hard glance at Daniel. “What are you doing here?”

  Before Daniel could answer, Rick’s gaze landed on Amber. “I’ll be damned. Well, you two do whatever you want. I’m going to bed.”

  “It’s not what ye think,” Daniel said. “Amber had a breathing attack.”

  From the dramatic lift of a singular eyebrow, Rick wasn’t buying into the explanation.

  “I woke up, ran into Daniel in the hallway, and we’ve been sitting here talking until I had a breathing episode,” she said. “He carried me to bed, and then you knocked. All very innocent.”

  Rick gave a low murmur of assent. “If you say so.”

  Amber rearranged her pillows again, trying for a different position to ease the pain in her chest. “So how was the party?”

  Rick flung his jacket onto a chair and slapped his palms then slid one hand down the other. “I got out of there as fast as a sprinter pushing off from the starting block.”

  “Liar.”

  He laughed. “No orgies. No drugs. No loud music. Just alcohol, scantily dressed women, and games of chance. I stayed for a while, then walked back here.”

  “Alcohol, prostitution, and gambling. Your run of the mill party, huh,” she said.

  He sat heavily on the opposite side of the bed and kicked off his shoes. “Unless I’m overstaying my welcome, I’ll tell you what I found out.” He fluffed a pillow and relaxed against the headboard. Millie jumped up on him, and Rick immediately cuddled the cat.

  Daniel leaned against the bedpost, ankles crossed, looking as attentive as an audience witnessing a stage production.

  “You smell like someone poured a bottle of cheap perfume all over you.”

  “Must not be too bad, the cat loves me. Listen to her purr.” Rick raised his arm and sniffed his white shirt. “You’re right, though. A few women might have rubbed up against me, and I might have kissed one or two, but—”

  “O’Grady, stop.” Daniel’s mouth was tight with disapproval. “That’s not a topic to discuss in front of a lady.”

  “Are you kidding? Amber doesn’t care.”

  She wheezed out a laugh. “You’re right, I don’t, but skip the salacious details and just give us the scoop.”

  “Guess who’s coming to town?”

  “You’re dragging this out, O’Grady.”

  “Benjamin Franklin Mudge, Dr. Othniel C. Marsh’s trusted fossil collector, is coming to Denver to lecture and meet with investors.”

  Amber wheezed again. “How do you know?”

  “I overheard Alec mention he was sponsoring Mr. Mudge’s trip. I don’t know any more details than that, but I figured you’d be interested in hearing a lecture by a fossil collector.”

  She rolled over, kissed his cheek, and petted the cat. “You’re right. This news is better than anything I could have imagined. Mudge is a prestigious geologist, teacher, and avid collector. Marsh hired him to lead fossil hunting expeditions. He worked with Arthur Lakes in Morrison and Marshall Felch in Caǹon City.” She rubbed her hands together. “And he’ll be in Denver. I can’t wait to meet him and hear about his work with Dr. Marsh.”

  “Didn’t ye study under Dr. Marsh?”

  A chill settled over her, and she pulled the covers around her shoulders. How many lies ago was that? A sense of foreboding screamed at her. “Not exactly. I might have exaggerated my resume for the judge.”

  Daniel’s fingers wrapped around the intricately carved bedpost, clenching it until his knuckles stood out like white stones. “I wonder how many other exaggerations I’ll find”—his voice pierced her disclaimer—“when I, as ye say, drill down?” His mouth tightened, flattening into a grim line, and his smoldering gaze locked on her, held her immobile until he turned on his heel. Millie jumped off the bed and followed Daniel as he stormed from the room. The door closed with finality and a protesting creak.

  “Oops,” Amber said.

  Rick caught her gaze and lifted his eyebrows as if to say he agreed. Then he laughed, and it was a warm, uncomplicated sound, refreshing after Daniel’s abrupt departure. “Now we know who the cat loves.” Rick brushed hair from his trousers. “You know, don’t you. Daniel has a bad case of Amber-itis. And I know he kissed you.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “When you gave me that peck on the cheek, his body shifted, and he almost reached for his pistol. He considered it again, when he caught you in a lie.”

  “You’re observant. I didn’t notice. But yeah, he did, and I kissed him back, and it was nice. But then I had trouble breathing and he carried me to bed. That was nice, too, except for the not-breathing part.”

  “Nice? You’re a legal eagle, Am. Don’t you have any synonyms for nice in that expansive vocabulary of yours? And don’t give me cordial, ducky, fair, good, okay, swell. I’m sure those words don’t describe Daniel’s kiss. And if they do, you won’t be dipping in for seconds.”

  She flipped through her mental thesaurus. “How about erotic and romantic?”

  “That’s still vanilla, but better than okay and swell. How about steamy and tangy, hungry and insatiable? Maybe even ripe and salty. Use your imagination.”

  “Okay, you made your point. But steamy and tangy? I doubt those words are used in Westerns. What else were you reading during your deployment? Romance novels?”

  His smile was enough to entice any girl to start stripping off her clothes. Thank God, she was immune to him. He rolled off the bed and gathered his jacket.

  “Here’s the deal, Am. You’re not leaving the house until the dark circles disappear. And covering them up with makeup won’t work. So, go to sleep, and while you’re sleeping in tomorrow, I’ll go check around. See what I can find out about Dr. Mudge’s visit.”

  With the pain she was in right now, she didn’t object. “If you see Daniel before he leaves for Caǹon City straighten him out, if you can. I don’t want him leaving town thinking I lied to him.”

  “But you have.”

  “Not about anything important.”

  “Nothing important? Like you’re from another century isn’t important. Like you’re not one of the country’s top ten mining lawyers. Like you’re not independently wealthy. What’s more important than who you are?”

  “My beliefs, values, and ideals that make up the essence of who I am.”

  “That’s crap. It sounds like a Hallmark card.”

  “Come on, Rick. What I believe, what I value are more important than my status or wealth or what century I’m from. That’s the person I want Daniel to see.”

  “And believe in,” Rick said. “I get that. But when a guy catches a girl in one lie, he knows he’s only scratched the surface.”

  She rolled over onto her side. “Thanks for the pep talk, O’Grady. Remind me not to initiate another relationship conversation with you. Turn out the lights on your way out?”

  The light in the room dimmed lower and lower as he turned down each lamp until the only light remaining was the flickering fire. “Good night, sweetheart,” he whispered. The door closed softly, and the latch clicked in the deafening silence.

  34

  1878 Denver, Colorado—Amber

  Amber rolled over in bed, searching for the warm hollow Daniel surely left behind. But there was no imprint in the bed, nor was there the scent of him on her sheets, her sk
in, in her hair. It was as if he’d never been there.

  And that was the thing about lucid dreams.

  Some hint at reality more than others. And this one did particularly. She couldn’t ever remember having dream sex before, but man oh man, it was great. An erotic mix of fast and slow, rough and gentle, deliberate and imaginative; teasing, dirty talk, and lots of fingers and tongue.

  She shivered—from her thoughts, not the temperature in the room—and squirrelled into the warmth of the thick covers, recalling every glorious moment of the dream. Would Daniel be the same lover in real life as he’d been in her make-believe world? She hoped so. He certainly had the makings of a first-class lover.

  When she bumped into him last night, or more accurately early this morning, rocking a dinner jacket and stellar smile, she’d thought how handsome he looked. But even in his normal trousers and jacket, he was hotter than a Carolina reaper, perhaps the world’s hottest chile pepper, and her go-to spice when she needed a hint of heat in her dishes.

  Her dream world certainly knew now where to find its go-to spice.

  “Yum.” She fanned her mouth, as if she’d nibbled on a hot pepper, or an even hotter earlobe, or a scorching bottom lip, or… Never mind. She’d gone far enough with imaginary nibbling.

  The dream had convinced her of one indelible truth. She wasn’t returning to the twenty-first century without having sex with Agent Dan. She had to know if he was it—the missing link in her life; the completeness she’d never found in random hookups or long-term lovers. Not that she had broad experience, but she wasn’t a virgin either. But if he was—the one—how could she leave him?

  What would Olivia say? What would Kenzie say? She already knew what Rick would say… “Don’t do it.”

  A hookup wasn’t going to happen today. Daniel had hopped on a train and headed south. And then she remembered what occurred that sent him fleeing her room—lies. But darn it. She just couldn’t tell him the truth.

  Daniel, you see, the reason I lied is because I’m from the twenty-first century.

  If she told him that, he’d put her away. The imagined sound of a bolt sliding into a cell door lock rang in her ears.

  Dwelling on it now wasn’t productive. The situation could wait until she and Rick could talk privately. She stretched, moving a bit this way and that. Her breathing had eased somewhat. There was still a pile of bricks on her chest, but not like last night. The breathing attack had scared the crap out of her, and the fear in Daniel’s eyes had alarmed her. But his quick action—calm and tender—had relieved her fear.

  She’d never been involved with a take-charge kind of guy. Matter of fact, she avoided them religiously. Did she want a man who would pick her up and carry her away? Did she want a man with a plan? Sure. Just so long as the plan was hers.

  She stretched a few more times and considered getting on the floor for a few yoga poses, but when she put her feet on the floorboards, she yanked them back. “Dang. It’s cold.” Forget the poses. Until she fully recovered from whatever was going on with her lungs, she’d take it easy and not exert herself too much, unless it involved a hot Scotsman and a feather mattress.

  Next time, they’d have to start out kissing on the bed instead of scrunching up on the small sofa. Maybe when Daniel returned to Denver, Rick would help facilitate another late-night rendezvous. But somehow, she didn’t think he’d be complicit in an activity that, in his opinion, wasn’t good for her emotional well-being.

  Finally, she got out of bed, crossed the room, and caressed the heavy velvet drapes as she gazed out at the leafless trees in the yard. Sunlight burst through a bank of clouds and streamed through the tall window. She shaded her eyes, closing them for a moment. “Man. What’s that?” The sun had taken a holiday for over a week and she’d spent a majority of her time indoors, protecting her throat from the late fall dampness.

  She tied back the drapes and opened the window. Not only was it sunny, but reasonably warm for the season. And she knew right then that being outside in fresh air was better for her lungs than remaining inside breathing fumes from oil lamps and cigar smoke. Before she gave the day more thought, a plan was hatched. She was going to Morrison.

  Mrs. Murphy had hung Amber’s clothes on pegs in the French-style armoire, standing tall upon clawed feet, its mirrored doors reflecting the sun’s golden light in starburst patterns on the walls and floor.

  She flipped through the skirts and gowns and walking suits and settled on a jacket and skirt of navy wool broadcloth, along with black leather riding boots. Drawers beneath the hanging clothes held various ribbons, lace cuffs, gloves, corsets, chemises, and other undergarments. She pulled a chair over to the wardrobe and stood on it so she could reach the hatboxes on the top shelf.

  “No funky hat today,” she said out loud. A black wool felt derby completed the ensemble.

  When she stared at her reflection, she was surprised by the woman gazing back, not because of the nineteenth-century garb, but because of the wicked smile that reached her eyes. Her dream, stored for safe keeping, might not be playing on a conscious level, but her subconscious wouldn’t stop hitting the replay button.

  Was Daniel thinking of her the way she was thinking of him? Was he as distracted, imagining making love with her? Or were nineteenth-century men different? Somehow, after last night, she didn’t think so. Although she wanted him to be thinking of her, she didn’t want him distracted from the work he was sent to do in Caǹon City. Instead of thinking of her, she’d settle for being remembered—in an erotic way—when he fell asleep at night.

  She clattered down the stairs. If Rick had already gone out on his walkabout, she’d be marching back up to her room to change into a gown appropriate for convalescing, not by choice, but because Mrs. Murphy would harangue her until she did.

  “Is Amber awake?” Rick asked.

  Oh, good. He’s still here.

  “I’ll send a breakfast tray up at ten, but I don’t expect her to leave her room today.” The rise and fall of an Irish voice was followed by the muted cling of dome lids against silver serving platters and bowls.

  Oh, bad. So is Mrs. Murphy.

  With a swish of skirts and briskly clicking heels, Amber followed the voices into the formal dining room. Mrs. Murphy, dressed in a dark skirt with gray shirtwaist tucked smartly into the waistband and armored with a spotless white pinner apron, stood at the sideboard inspecting the serving platters. The aroma of fried bacon and black coffee permeated the dining room, flooded with morning light from an east-facing window. A white linen tablecloth glittered, and crystal cut glassware, polished silverware, and fine china gleamed.

  “Not only have I left my bedroom,” Amber announced from the doorway, bestowing a good-natured smile on the housekeeper, “but I also intend to leave the house.”

  “Miss Kelly, please return to your room. You’re simply not well enough to go out. Mr. Grant left specific instructions for your care.”

  Amber crossed over to the buffet and peeked under the domes covering the platters to find scrambled eggs, cheese, bacon, biscuits, sausage, porridge, and a bowl of apples. She scooped eggs onto a plate.

  “The way I see it, if Mr. Grant was so concerned, he shouldn’t have rushed off with an expectation that his orders would be followed. I feel much better this morning. The sun is shining, and I need fresh air. I’m not used to being cooped up inside. It’s either go out or go insane. And that’s not a pretty look for me.”

  The sound of a crystal glass clinking against china came from Rick’s direction. His hand was probably shaking from a soundless, deep-belly laugh. She didn’t turn his way to see if he was laughing. Instead, she chose to ignore him.

  “I see,” Mrs. Murphy said, her sharp nose twitching. She picked up empty platters and bustled from the room, the charms on her chain tinkling as her ample hips swung through the narrow servant’s door.

  Rick turned in his chair, twisting his mouth to hold in a laugh until Mrs. Murphy was out of the room. “Did you pra
ctice those lines? If so, you delivered them with chilling conviction.”

  “Good morning, detective. Or is it lieutenant?”

  “Sir will do.” He pulled out a chair for her to sit next to him. “You look better this morning. Daniel’s kiss must have…I don’t know…” He shrugged. “Relaxed you enough that you slept peacefully through the rest of the night.”

  She ignored him for a beat as she drummed her fingers on the table. “I slept well and woke up hungry.”

  He glanced at her full plate. “I can tell. And you probably had a dream or two that woke you with a smile.”

  “I had one.” She held up her index finger. “It went on and on and on.”

  He laughed. “That’s the only kind to have, and I hope it was in Dolby Vision.”

  She grinned, and then turned her attention to her plate.

  “Now that you’re up and feeling better, what do you plan to do with yourself today? Write in your journal? Sketch? Read?”

  She prepared herself as best she could for the skirmish she was certain was coming as soon as she announced her intentions. “Go to Morrison.”

  He turned his head sharply, giving her the stare to end all stares, and his raffish forelock, usually held in place by his hat or a hair product, fell over his right eye.

  “You can’t be serious!”

  She unfolded the fluted napkin pleat by pleat. “Oh, but I am.”

  “After what happened to you last night, you’re not going to Morrison. If you want to go for a carriage ride around Denver, I’ll agree to that, but not a round-trip train ride, and whatever else you’re thinking of doing.”

  “Calm down.” She dug into her eggs and swept a generous serving into her mouth. “Look, the quicker I get my work done, the quicker we can go home.”

  “You don’t have any work to do. You just plan to dig in the dirt. You’re not up for it. I agreed to act as your bodyguard to keep you safe. That’s what I intend to do.”

  “But—”

  “If you try to go on your own, I’ll catch you.”

  The implicit threat—if you try, I’m taking you home—was clear.