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

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- Author: Katherine Logan
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With fifteen minutes remaining before the battle began, she pulled into the battlefield parking lot. Drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, she drove up and down rows until she found a spot between a tree and a camper where she could squeeze in her SUV.
Whether she would have enough room to open the door was debatable, but operating in tight spots was a regular occurrence in her life. She held her breath while she pulled in. When she didnβt scrape off paint, she let her breath out. If she scooted flat against the side of the car, sheβd be able to exit the vehicle. Years of running had kept her long and lean, not skinny, in spite of what her brother and colleagues were fond of saying.
So what? Skinny could be sexy, too, right? Although, judging by the dearth of men in her life, maybe not.
The carβs cargo space was packed with all the supplies she would need for the weekend: coolers, change of clothes, makeup case, cot, blankets, and food.
Before locking the car, she grabbed the package from Scotland and opened it. Inside was a Japanese puzzle box about six inches long. βCool.β She loved puzzle boxes, and the challenge this box promised gave her a little surge of excitement. She flipped it around in her hands, twisting here and there like a Rubikβs cube.
βMajor Mallory.β
She glanced up to see Ken, her medical school classmate and longtime friend, waving from the other side of the parking lot. It had been a couple of weeks since she had talked to him, and she was anxious to hear about the new woman in his life.
She waved back, calling out, βGeneral Ramseur.β She slipped the box into her haversack, slung the bag over her shoulder, and forged a path through the throng of reenactors and spectators.
βI was worried,β he said. βYouβre late. You okay?β
βA consult slowed me down.β She gave him a hug before stepping back and giving him a once-over. βI like the new uniform.β
He slipped his right hand inside his tunic, resting it over his heart, and placed his left hand on the hilt of his sword as if posing for the camera. βWorth every penny, donβt you think?β
She straightened his collar. βYou didnβt find this on eBay. It looks custom made.β
βIt is. Your tailor does good work.β
Brushing crumbs from the power bar sheβd eaten in the car off her own uniform, she mentally counted the handful of times sheβd worn it, grimacing at the low number. βHe keeps altering my uniform. As little action as these threads get, itβll last a century.β
βThen use it more often. Go to Gettysburg or Perryville with me next year. Get out of the rut youβre in.β
βIβm not in a rut, and besides, I canβt take the time off.β
βThe hospital will survive a few days without you,β he said.
βSure. The hospital would be fine, but what about my patients?β
He threw his hands up in mock surrender. βThereβre a dozen attending physicians in your department. You cover for them all the time.β
βI canβt ask them.β
Ken frowned, and the deep vee between his eyebrows made his disapproval obvious and also darned annoying. βWhat youβre really saying is you wonβt.β
This was a sore spot, and they both treaded its boundaries carefully. Ken accused her colleagues in Richmond of taking advantage of her. She didnβt think they did. The other surgeons had families and lived in the suburbs. She lived alone in a house a few blocks from the hospital. Plus she was happy to help her associates out.
She made a tee with her hands. βTime out. Letβs change the subject.β
βOkay. Who are you inviting to escort you to the reunion next month?β
She fidgeted with the standup collar, which seemed to squeeze tighter at the mention of the soiree. βI donβt know.β
βI have a lawyer friend in Winchester who wouldββ
She shook her head, anxiety scoring the back of her throat. βYou know the rules. I donβt try to fix you up and you donβt try to fix me up.β
βCome on, Charlotte. You havenβt been on a date since medical school.β
βI havenβt had a date lately, but I did have one this year. Iβm too busy. I run early in the morning, I operate and lecture during the day, and Iβm on call twice a week.β
βYouβre not any busier than I am, and I find time to socialize. So, whatβs the real problem?β
Her tension turned into exasperation. βCan you believe men find me intimidating? The few who donβt are egotistical workaholics who only want to get laid. I want more. I want to wake up next to a loving partner, and have breakfast with him, too. There arenβt any romantics left.β
Ken gave an exaggerated sigh and rolled his eyes. βYouβve got to be kidding. You want to be romanced? What happened to friends with benefits? You said it fit your lifestyle.β
βIt doesnβt work for me anymore.β
She looked away, through the trees and above the red-roofed barn, toward the northern end of the Massanutten Mountain range. Ridges etched by thousands of years of wind and rain snaked down its sides. In 1864, tears and bloodstains had soaked the ridges and gullies when so many died on a foggy October morning. Like the land, she too was etched with crevices, or at least itβs what her therapist had told her before she gave up counseling in favor of long-distance running. A rush of endorphins gave her more peace and satisfaction, involved far less hassle, and except for running shoes, cost almost nothing.
βNow I want more,β Charlotte repeated. βAnd thereβs no one around to make adjusting my schedule worthwhile.β
βYou arenβt looking in the right places.β
βOh yeah? Where should I be looking?β she asked in a voice heavy with sarcasm.
βThereβre thousands of men here today. Thereβs got to be one you might find interesting.β
βI donβt need a real or pretend soldier in my
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