The Sunstone Brooch : Time Travel Romance by Katherine Logan (i am reading a book TXT) 📕

following in the tradition of national-minded statesmen like George Washington, Alexander Hamilton, Henry Clay, and, of course, Abraham Lincoln.”

“Your political career started out following their traditions, but your boundless energy will eventually set you on your path, and I have a feeling if you do that, you’ll take the country with you. Not that I’m a visionary or anything.”

Careful, Ensley.

She continued to ignore the warnings because JC said it was okay to lay the groundwork. Didn’t he?

That was about Shakespeare! No, it wasn’t, she argued with herself. It was about conservation. Oh, whatever. Just slow down.

She couldn’t do that, either. Being with TR was too exciting, too intellectually stimulating, too thought-provoking for her to remain silent. “But I don’t think you’ll ever be satisfied unless you’re making a difference—somehow, somewhere.”

“I believe, Mrs. Fraser, that you will make a difference wherever you go.”

She cocked her head. “Maybe, but not like you. I can’t keep up. You run circles around me.”

He gazed at her in a contemplative way, then he rocked back in his chair, and their conversation drifted off. Ensley returned to her writing, making notes of their conversation, and TR opened a book and was quickly absorbed in the story.

She was sitting here with Teddy Roosevelt on the veranda at Elkhorn Ranch. Unbelievable.

Even as a Junior Ranger, she’d walk around the cabin’s foundation beneath rustling cottonwood leaves, and she sensed the peace and solace TR found here. She’d imagined having conversations with him, and here she was, and here he was. Even though she had a hard time when she arrived, and herding cattle was no picnic, she’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.

It wasn’t an hour later that he put his book aside and said, “You’re the best-read woman I know.”

“Are you still thinking about Annie Oakley?”

“I’m just surprised. Your knowledge seems boundless.”

“We’re close in age, Teddy. You read one to two books every day. That’s every day. I doubt there’s anyone in history who’s read as much as you have. And I’m not anywhere close. I’m more comfortable in a barn than a library.”

“I doubt that,” he said. “But if you want a book to read while we’re on the roundup, take whatever looks interesting from my small library.”

“Of the books in your bookcase, what do you recommend?”

He glanced over his shoulder as if he could see the books. “John Burroughs’s book titled Wake-Robin.”

“I’m familiar with Burroughs, but not that book.” She had to think back to what she remembered from a high school 4-H project on naturalists. “He once said, ‘Leap, and the net will appear.’ I love that.”

“That’s faith.”

“I guess it is,” she said. “You’re the complete opposite of Burroughs.”

“How so?”

“You’re mercurial, animated, and action-driven. Burroughs is introspective and a poetic observer of nature. But I can imagine you developing a deep admiration for each other.”

TR raised an eyebrow. “Mercurial?”

“I think so. When people go through trauma or tragedy, their moods can be unpredictable at times. Grief is like a giant wave you fight against to keep from drowning. It beats you up and exhausts you. But if you stop fighting against it and just float for a while and let the wave wash over you, you’ll gain the strength you need to fight again.”

TR adjusted his spectacles. “I disagree. You can choose not to talk about it and continue to fight it.”

“You’ve said that before. I have a girlfriend who can always tell when I’m grieving over the loss of my parents. She buys me ice cream in the summer and hot chocolate in the winter. Those are my comfort foods, and it makes me feel better.”

“Ice cream?”

Ensley nodded. “Try it.” Ensley would give a gold nugget for some homemade fudge or chocolate mint ice cream from Medora Fudge and Ice Cream Depot.

“I have an impressive appetite and a weakness for sweets, especially sand tarts,” he said.

Ensley laughed. “Sand tarts? How funny. Mine’s fudge.”

They both licked their lips and laughed, and she thought how wonderful it would be if she had a car and could drive to Medora, buy ice cream and fudge, and come right back to his time. He would love it.

She went back to writing, smiling to herself, and TR returned to his book.

He was smiling, too.

38

MacKlenna Farm, KY (1885)—Paul

After tumbling for what seemed an eternity through a black hole and being nearly blinded by intermittent flashing strobe lights, Paul finally emerged from the fog.

He had no idea where he was, other than somewhere in the middle of nowhere with a brilliant blue sky, freshly mowed grass that made him sneeze, and horse manure that saturated the air and made this city boy hold his nose.

Before he met JC, the only horses he’d ever been around were the ones cops rode in Central Park.

Out of habit, he checked his satellite phone. “Damn.” No bars. No service. No maps. No GPS. Nothing. Zip. Zero. Zilch. But satellite phones were supposed to work everywhere, even in the most remote areas of the world.

What the hell did it mean that his didn’t work here?

After the past three years of working with JC, Paul could count his experiences with international crises like hash marks on the side of a fighter jet, but this one was too damn weird. Did JC emerge from the fog here or somewhere else after his ride through the black hole?

Paul scanned the landscape. To one side was a white plank-fenced pasture and a dirt road to somewhere beyond that. And on the other side was a tree line of mostly elms, maples, and oaks.

He walked between the fence and tree line over rolling hills until he reached the corner of the paddock. Then he headed in what he believed—based on the sun’s position—to be a northerly direction.

While he walked, he did a pistol press check and put a round in the chamber. He considered carrying the gun openly, but he wasn’t looking for trouble. While the setting was too idyllic to be dangerous, he’d