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

could travel from the Badlands to Chicago to here and back to the Badlands as quickly as he did.”

“He had a brooch, lass. He could go anywhere.”

Bingo! She had him engaged.

“Could he?” she asked. “Go anywhere? You know the brooches aren’t dependable. That’s why Kenzie insisted you return immediately. She was afraid it could take years to get back here for Meredith and the others. Erik couldn’t take that risk. He needed a reliable method to reach JC before it was too late and then get to the Badlands before the bear killed me.”

She paused again to wait for a response. He didn’t say anything, but after a minute or two, the lock clicked, and Elliott opened the door. Woohoo. She high-fived her persistence.

“Where’s the whisky?”

She forced a smile. “Well, I sort of lied.”

“Don’t ever do that again.”

Elliott headed toward a chaise lounge near the window. Plates full of partially eaten food, overflowing ashtrays, and empty whisky bottles littered the floor around the chair. The smell of decay, an unwashed body, and stale cigar smoke stank up the room. Before she did anything else, she had to let in some fresh air.

She threw back the heavy floor-to-ceiling velvet drapes.

“Leave those alone. I want it dark in here.”

“I don’t care what you want. I’m opening the windows, too. It stinks in here, and you need a bath.”

“I didn’t ask ye to come in.”

“Yes, you did. It was a silent invitation when you unlocked the door.”

“If ye want to talk about Erik, talk. Then get the hell out of here.”

She picked up the plates of half-eaten food and set the china on a serving tray. “I heard you were an asshole, but I didn’t believe it until now.”

“Do ye think I care?”

“You don’t care about anything or anyone.” She tossed three empty whisky bottles into the trash basket. “But for some strange reason, people care about you, and that’s why I’m here.”

“If they cared about me, they would have sent ye with a bottle of whisky.”

“Goddamn it, Elliott. Your pity party is disgusting. And you don’t deserve the kindness of others.”

“Then leave!” he growled.

“You’re a goddamn bastard, and I don’t know why anyone depends on you.” She went over to the bed and threw back the quilt to straighten the sheets. “I’ll leave when I’m ready and not a minute before.” After making the bed, she picked up two pairs of trousers, folded them neatly, then placed them in the chifforobe. Boxer briefs went into a clothes basket along with dirty shirts and socks.

“When I was sixteen, a bull bucked me off, kicked me, and broke my hip.”

“When ye get on a goddamn bull, what the hell else would ye expect?”

She almost threw a pillow at him. “A wild, eight-second ride, the biggest adrenaline rush imaginable. There’s nothing like it.”

“If ye want a wild ride and a rush of adrenaline, try having sex with the love of yer life. It won’t kill ye.”

She emptied the ashtrays full of ash and cigar stubs, then cleaned her hands on one of the cloth napkins on the dinner tray. “I’ve had wild sex, and it was an adrenaline rush. But man, it didn’t compare to riding a bull.”

“If ye ever have the good fortune to be with the one God meant for ye, ye’ll find out it’s an order of magnitude better than riding a goddamn bull.”

She held the chamber pot at arm’s length and set it out in the hall. Her willingness to clean up Elliott’s shit only went so far.

“I died that day, you know. Left my broken body behind and hovered above the arena, watching the medics tend to me.” She sat in the chair across from him, and for the first time, saw a disheveled older man without an ounce of resemblance to the great Elliott Fraser.

What a damn pity.

She doubted he would ever regain the respect of those who loved him. And in the state he was in, he would never regain his wife’s love and trust, either. The situation tempted her to pack up and leave, but she hadn’t finished her story. And when a cowboy had a captive audience—as she did—there was no quitting.

“After that bull kicked me and I went flying across the arena floor, I heard a man’s voice. He said, ‘Be strong and fight to survive. You are the chosen one, and the Keeper will depend on you for the coming war.’”

Elliott shifted slightly in his chair, his eyes closed, but she knew he was listening.

Help him to find himself. No one else can lead the clan through the approaching darkness except Elliott. He is the Keeper.

She shivered. You’re back.

I never left you, my child. But you have to guide the Keeper and his woman. The clan is weak without them together. They cannot win if they’re divided. It’s up to you now.

Why me?

You are the chosen one.

Chosen for what?

When it is time, you will know.

“Did Erik tell ye what war?”

She jerked. Elliott’s question brought her back to the nasty room that reeked of stale food and whisky. “I asked him, but he said, ‘You will discover that in time. But always remember you have the handprints of your ancestors on your heart.’”

“Do ye think that was Erik?”

“I’m sure it was. But it wasn’t the first time he played a role in my life. When I was a child, my parents were arguing one day, and my mom sent me to my room. I saw Erik out in the yard. But I had met him earlier that day when my mom and I went to town.”

“What were yer parents arguing about? Do ye remember?”

“No, but I remember the tension in the air. Why?”

Elliott didn’t say anything for countless seconds, and she was starting to believe he had quit talking, but then he said, “There’s no easy way to say this, lass, but to just come out with it. Erik was in love with yer mother, and ye’re his child.”

Ensley turned stone cold, and the bear’s