The Sapphire Brooch by Katherine Logan (best novels to read to improve english .txt) 📕

axis, but with confirmation of Jack’s return to the past and his death, it spun completely off, yet she couldn’t cry or scream.

If she could hold her breath and die, she would. Jack had been executed for something he didn’t do. How was she supposed to live now, without either of the men she loved? Her heart wasn’t merely broken. The executioner had ripped it from her chest while it was still beating.

The house wasn’t cold, but her teeth were chattering. She curled into a ball on the floor and burrowed into the pile of crumpled and dirty clothes. Tears soaked the T-shirt where she rested her face. She fiercely gripped a pair of running shorts, squeezing tightly, as if the fabric could wick away her pain.

Nothing mattered now, not even medicine. Sobbing gasps exploded from her innermost core, and she wept until she had no tears left. Finally, she drew in a few trembling breaths and fell into numbing sleep.

Hours later she awoke, tense and dry-mouthed. She gulped the last of the wine she had carried upstairs, and needed more, but there wasn’t enough wine in the world to ease the pain of her losses. First Braham. Now Jack. She had believed she could struggle through the loss of Braham only because she had Jack. But who would help her through the loss of her brother? The compounded pain was simply too much.

Once again, she stood in front of the refrigerator, staring at the same four items—wine, cheese, bottled water, and sour milk. Forget the cheese. It had green stuff growing on it. She grabbed the wine bottle and a clean glass.

The first time she had tasted Meredith’s wine was shortly after her return from MacKlenna Farm. She and Jack never should have chased Braham. But they had, and she’d had unprotected sex, and she might now be pregnant.

She glared at the bottle as if it were solely responsible for her possible predicament. Wine and pregnancy didn’t mix, but the odds of her being pregnant were extremely low. She pulled out the cork, but as she tipped the bottle over the edge of the glass, her rational voice told her to stop. Whether she was pregnant or not, the possibility would keep her from using alcohol as an escape. She put the wine back and instead drank a sixteen-ounce bottle of water to rehydrate.

What would Elliott and Meredith think of this story? She should call them. There wasn’t anyone else she could talk to about Jack. Maybe they could help her figure out what to do next.

She had Ken, but he still had reservations about time travel, and right now she couldn’t bear to expose herself to doubters.

Could she go back again and undo what Jack had done? Braham had tried to change history, and he had failed, but Jack had altered what happened at the conspiracy trial and afterward. Surely, she could reverse what he had done. To do it, though, she needed a brooch. Elliott had given the ruby to Braham because he didn’t belong in the twenty-first century. Would he let her use the ruby to save her brother’s life?

What if Elliott hadn’t gotten the brooch back after Braham used it?

She ran into her office to call Meredith. Dashing through the foyer, she banged her shin on the table, knocking over a stack of mail and a pottery candlestick. Flyers and magazines scattered across the oriental runner with its clutter of shoes and socks. The beeswax candle rolled across the floor. She swooped up the mail, kicked aside the shoes, and hurried to the office where she tossed the junk on top of a round oak pedestal table. One of these days, she’d throw out the accumulated crap covering the top and finally have room to eat there.

Now, where was her purse? She dug under the mail and found the black clutch and her keys and phone. The phone showed one missed call. Her heart thumped with surprise and then raced with hopeful expectation.

But it wasn’t from Jack, and her heart dropped sickeningly. The missed call was from Ken. She sat with her head bent, propped on one hand, and her fingers splayed through her hair. Frustrated, she swept the junk mail across the table with her forearm and most of it fell to the floor.

A first-class letter addressed to her from someone in Maryland teetered on the edge of the table. She didn’t know anyone in Maryland. She stared at the letter, wishing it would fall off, too, so she wouldn’t have to deal with it.

The sender had written her name in black block lettering—very precise—to get her attention. What kind of person wrote like that? An architect or engineer or even an artist. Written under her name was: please forward. She had just discovered her brother was dead, and some stranger wanted her to read his letter. She swiped it off the table.

She scrolled through her list of contacts and found Meredith’s number, but before she pushed the call button, she stopped to consider what to say. The best strategy was not to say anything about Jack over the phone. First, she had to find out where Meredith was jet-setting today: the winery in California or the farm in Kentucky. She might even be in Scotland. God, forbid. Charlotte didn’t have time to fly to Europe. She pushed the send button and said hello to her friend.

“You’re back. I can’t wait to hear about your adventure.” Meredith’s voice swelled with excitement.

“We got back several days ago. Sorry I haven’t called before now. I’d like to come for a quick visit. Are you free tomorrow or Sunday afternoon? Some things shouldn’t be discussed over the phone.”

“We’re in Kentucky, and we’re not doing anything this weekend. Fly up, and while you’re here, we’ll make plans for Derby. We want you and Jack to be our guests.”

“I’ll fly out in the morning. As soon as I have an arrival time, I’ll send you a text.”

“I’ll pick you