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

leave ye alone to go up to the house to get her.”

“Why not?”

“If I left ye alone, yer mother would kick my ass back to the twenty-first century.”

James Cullen fiddled with the red cloak. Then before Elliott could take a deep breath, James Cullen’s expression changed into a potent, churning cocktail of rage and fear that must have permeated his brain chemistry.

His dark brown eyes hardened like black granite with bits of history locked inside, and they transformed into a frightening coldness that made Elliott afraid of his son.

His gut tightened, and stomach acid heaved up into his throat. The thumping of his pounding heart dulled the sound of the popping and crackling fire.

He couldn’t rid himself of images of his son’s torture. And based on James Cullen’s terrified expression and rigid body language, he couldn’t rid himself of them, either.

Elliott started reciting the chant, and as the fog swept up around his feet, Elliott tackled his tortured son.

53

Mallory Plantation—Ensley

The ride through the vortex seemed to take only seconds, but the swirling made her so dizzy Ensley couldn’t piece together what happened on the train in those last moments before their escape.

Once the swirling stopped, two muscular bodies held her sandwiched between them.

Gunshots. Remy. Austin.

Remy’s warm breath brushed her neck, and Austin’s fluttered across her cheek. They were alive. And so was she.

With anxious anticipation, she did what she’d done dozens of times during her short bull riding career—breathed deeply and cleared her mind. That was the only way to prepare for what was about to happen—the unknown. Although she mentally choreographed the possibilities, shit happened. She fumbled for her knife.

The fog cleared slowly, but her heart beat faster. All she could see through the thinning, misty veil was a concrete floor, stainless steel cabinets, and bright lights that made her blink.

It looks like a prison. Where am I?

JC’s aunt and uncle, Charlotte Mallory and Braham McCabe, rushed toward her.

“Remy’s bleeding,” Charlotte said.

“They fired several shots,” Ensley said, peering between Remy’s arms still folded over her head. “Austin was knocked unconscious before the shooting started.”

Remy rolled off her, groaning. “Fuck! Those bastards shot me in the ass.”

“Where are you hurt, Ensley?” Charlotte asked, kneeling beside her.

“I’m not.”

“You have blood on you, your buttons are gone, your chemise is torn, and you have what looks like a knife cut down your sternum. You don’t need stitches, but I need to clean the wound.”

Ensley tugged the pieces of her jacket together. “It can wait.”

“Why doan you ask me where I’m hurt?” Remy whined.

“I see two wounds. How many times were you hit?” Charlotte asked.

“Twice. Give me the auto-injector in my bag.”

“You’re ten feet from my exam room,” Charlotte said. “Let me look at the wounds.”

“Look all you want, but get me the fucking auto-injector, or I’ll get up and do it myself.”

Charlotte checked Austin’s pulse, and he opened his eyes as soon as she touched his wrist. “What happened to you?” she asked.

“Son of a bitch caught me off guard and bashed me on the back of the head. I’ve got a hell of a headache,” Austin grumbled. “What’s wrong with Remy?”

“We were trying to get away when the cook and another guy burst into the bedroom and started shooting,” Ensley said. “He got hit twice in the ass.”

Austin chuckled. “That’s what you get for riding on top, cowboy.”

“Where the hell do you expect me to ride, asshole?”

Austin chuckled again. “On the bottom.”

“You fuck. Stop trying to make me laugh.”

“Clean up your language,” Charlotte snapped.

“Sorry, but when you get shot, off-color language is permissible.”

Charlotte looked up at her husband. “Austin has a knot on the back of his head with a possible concussion. Ensley has a minor six-inch laceration on her sternum that doesn’t require stitches, and Remy has two gunshot wounds in his buttocks. As soon as I get his clothes off, I’ll know how serious they are. Call David and Kenzie. We need help down here.”

Braham moved away and made the phone call.

Charlotte dug through Remy’s bag. “Ensley, take these scissors and cut off his trousers. Start at his waist and cut straight down until I can see the entire upper outer quadrant, then continue until his entire right buttock is visible.”

Ensley took the scissors and started cutting through Remy’s wool trousers and black briefs. As soon as she uncovered the two wounds, Charlotte cleansed the skin with alcohol wipes, removed the red safety plug from the injector, placed the yellow end of the injector against Remy’s skin, and depressed the black firing plunger.

“They’re on their way,” Braham said. “What else can I do?”

“Write down the time of the injection and get me more compression pads.” She unwrapped the few pads she found in Remy’s bag and pressed them against the two wounds.

Austin rolled over, and his green eyes widened when he saw her, and they were naked with feeling. He was genuinely worried about her. “Goddamn it. What’d he do to you?”

“When you didn’t show up, I knew something was wrong. He threatened me, and I knew I was on my own.” Her lip quivered, remembering the pop of the bullet, the shell casing pinging on the floor, and the warm blood splatter. “I shot him.”

“Shit!” Austin said. “Dead?”

“Dead.”

“Jesus,” Charlotte said.

“Goddamn,” Braham said.

“Ensley’s got fucking balls,” Remy mumbled. “She was calm as Hang Drum music when she found me tied up. She’s a fucking warrior.”

Austin kissed her forehead. “She sure as hell is. You should see her on a bronc. Got nerves of steel.” He pulled her into his arms and hugged her. “Talk to Charlotte later. She’s our resident shrink, too. What you went through might prey on your mind for a while.”

“We’ll do that today,” Charlotte said. “When I tell you it’s time to talk, don’t put me off. It’s important to work through what happened as soon as possible.”

It wasn’t Ensley’s first trauma, but she’d never talked to anyone before. This time was different. It was trauma upon trauma. What other