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

a shoebox with a pair of riding boots, she discovered two small boxes. One held an ivory handle comb and brush set and hairpins, and the other had an exquisite pearl necklace and earbobs. The jewelry didn’t exactly go with the riding habit, but what the hell. She wore them anyway.

The last thing she did was pin up the slightly damp waves, letting them cascade down to her shoulders. Now, presentable for the first time in weeks, despite the pain in her hip, she had a bit of a bounce in her riding boots when she opened the door and stepped out, savoring the aroma of roasting venison.

She immediately grabbed the hall railing to stabilize herself on the swaying train as she made her way to the drawing room.

When she entered, she found Austin and Remy huddled near the liquor cabinet whispering and figured they were talking about the steward and the cook.

She cleared her throat to announce her arrival. Both men looked up, whistled, and stared a moment too long with an intensity that was so delicious she had to freeze in place like a model in a window display so she could soak it all in. After knowing she looked like a homeless person for weeks, their appreciation made her feel desirable. And maybe pretty, as well.

“You clean up good.” Remy studied every inch of her from face to feet, grinning.

She curtsied. “Thank you. Soap and clean clothes work magic on a girl’s psyche.”

Austin noticed Remy’s attention and stepped in front of him, blocking his view. “You look beautiful. It wasn’t hard to see the beauty beneath the grunge, but without the grunge, you’re a knockout, baby—”

She growled, “Don’t you dare say it!”

“If I can’t say baby doll, can I say…babycakes? Sweetcheeks? Turtlecakes?”

“Turtlecakes? Seriously?”

“Well, hell, I was just going with the Mutant Ninja Turtles theme.”

“What are you? Five?”

He peered down at her as if he wore glasses. “I hang out with the second-gens. I know all about Ninja Turtles.”

“Oh, good grief.” And then she smiled. She adored it when he talked about the kids. It made him so normal, even lovable.

He grinned, and that dimple popped out above his right cheek again. She didn’t always notice it because every time she gazed up at him, she got lost in his green eyes. The color was every hue of a forest and reminded her of a New England summer.

“You’re a knockout.” He held an elegant elbow out toward her. “May I escort you to dinner?”

She tucked her hand into the crook of his proffered arm. When he looked at her the way he did now, she simply couldn’t resist him. If he had asked for a kiss, she would have given him that and more.

As soon as they entered the corridor, she dropped his arm and grabbed the railing again. The hallway was too narrow to walk side by side, and the swaying too dangerous not to hold on to something.

She entered the dining room first and paused to appreciate the ambiance. The candlelight reflected off the china and silver, and the room beckoned with its romantic glow and the scent of warm bread. Plus, a silver bucket held an open bottle of chilled champagne, ready to fill the three stem wineglasses next to it.

All that was missing was soft jazz playing in the background.

Remy played his drumsticks at a super-low volume against the table. Ba dum-bum ishhh.

“If I had a piano,” Austin said, “I’d play some sweet jazz with warm tones and clear melodies.”

“You play the piano?”

“My uncles play piano and guitar, and when I was a kid, I wanted to be like them, so I took lessons. Pops told me that as long as I practiced guitar or piano at least thirty minutes a day, I could play sports the other twenty-three and a half hours.”

“And chess?” she asked.

“Thirty minutes of piano or guitar and thirty minutes of chess. Pops was determined to make me well-rounded.”

“What about studying, eating, and sleeping?”

“He left that up to me, but he told me if my grades ever dropped, he’d put his foot down. But Rick’s the one who helped me the most. He taught me how to balance my time.”

“Are you any good?” she asked.

“Not as talented as Rick on piano or Connor on guitar, but I can keep up with Remy.”

“You get Austin or Rick on the keys, McBain on sax, Connor on jazz guitar, JL or Amber on vocals, and my sticks,” Remy said, “and we’ve got a band that can bring the house down.”

She gave Austin a caressing smile. “I’ll look forward to hearing you play.” And for the briefest of moments, all the horrors of the last few weeks vanished. Poof!

A man who looked to be in his thirties or early forties with a dark brown comb-over and dressed in a neatly pressed three-piece suit with a standup collar and cravat entered the room carrying a serving tray with slices of venison. He bowed slightly. “I’m Mr. Bailey, your steward. Whatever you need, please ask.”

“I detect an English accent,” Ensley said. “What brings you to America?”

He set the serving tray on the sideboard. “Employment, ma’am. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll bring out the rest of the food.” Once he moved away from the sideboard, he smelled like the cowboys who hadn’t had a bath in weeks.

After he left the room, Ensley looked over at Austin to let him know she didn’t notice anything suspicious. But his eyes were flashing with anger vying with fear, and Remy was reaching for his pistol.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered.

Austin put his finger to his lips, and Remy gave his head a quick shake.

“Shit,” she mouthed.

Fear was a funny thing. It enabled her to do tricky things like hacking away on a bear or riding a bronc, but it could also paralyze her—as it did now—crippling her mind and making it hard to control her breathing.

This paralyzing fear had only happened once before, on the night the drunk driver killed her father.