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

predict or plan for the future, which didn’t sit well with her. At all.

A rail-thin, petite woman with light brown hair entered the sitting room, wiping her hands on her apron. “Should I set another place at the table, Mr. Roosevelt?” Her eyes widened when she took in Ensley’s appearance. “Oh. Two more places, then.”

“Yes, Mrs. Sewall. Mr. and Mrs. Fraser will be joining us.”

“Dinner is almost ready,” Mrs. Sewall said.

“A home-cooked meal sounds wonderful,” Ensley said. “Trail food gets old after a while. I thought we’d have to wait until we reached Medora.”

“How far is the city?” JC asked.

“It’s close to thirty-five miles, with multiple river crossings. But right now, the river’s too high, too dangerous to cross.”

“We followed it for miles, and it was never dangerous.”

TR pointed out the window. “See how rough the river is now? It’s like that the entire trail to Medora.”

Ensley stared out the window. It was a rushing river now, but it hadn’t been before. How was that possible?

“We plan to make the trip to Medora tomorrow,” JC said.

Ensley made a face. She wanted a long bath, clean clothes, and an entire day to do no walking, no cooking over a campfire, and no washing up in the river. “Thirty-five miles will take us two days.”

“Are you in a hurry to return to New York?” Roosevelt asked JC.

“I promised to visit family in Kentucky before I head back east, but Ensley isn’t fond of her in-laws, and to be honest…”

When JC hesitated, she added, in her best self-deprecating voice, “They aren’t fond of me, either.”

They had gone through their backstories several times and quizzed each other, but flat-out lying wasn’t in her nature. She wasn’t so sure about JC.

“My family wanted me to marry a girl from Lexington, and when I didn’t…” He huffed out a soft, half-humorless laugh. “Well, let’s just say…families can be difficult and very opinionated.”

“Most unfortunate.” TR paused, shaking his head, then asked, “What do you do in New York City?”

“I’m a lawyer in private practice,” JC said. “And Ensley is starting an editing business.”

“You don’t say? An editor? Whose manuscript have you worked on?”

She ran through her list of “America’s Essential Female Authors” and came up with one that might suit. “I’m working with Kate Chopin on a collection of short stories.” Kate wouldn’t become known for a few more years, so working with her now would make sense. “She writes about the inner lives of sensitive, daring women. You probably haven’t heard of her, but you will. Her stories will be perfect for America’s most prestigious magazines—the Atlantic Monthly and Harper’s Young People.”

Roosevelt nodded. “I look forward to reading her work.” Then he turned his attention to JC. “I studied law at Columbia and marched the fifty-five blocks every day from my home to the law school’s location on Great Jones Street in Lower Manhattan. I studied hard, but I was restless and impatient, like a caged lynx. I just wanted to go off with my gun instead of immersing myself in the tedious details of legal cases. Law is a good occupation, but it didn’t supplant my naturalist passions. Finally, I decided the law wasn’t for me.”

“I have that same thought every day,” JC said, followed by an unusually hearty laugh. “My clients are likely looking for new representation by now, but hopefully, they can hold off for another couple of weeks.”

“How long have you been traveling?”

“About three weeks. I warned them I might be away for a month or more.”

“We might be returning to New York at the same time. Mr. Sewall and Mr. Dow are returning to Medora with an extra fifteen hundred cows. Our roundup starts in a few days at Box Elder Creek, so after that, I’ll be traveling back east.”

“A roundup?” Ensley asked. “I’ve been working on a short story about a roundup. I’m not quite sure how roundups work here.”

“The Cattlemen’s Association meets twice a year, divides the area into districts, sets dates for the roundups, and appoints a foreman. The Association sends the information to the newspaper. That way, everyone knows the dates and where to meet. Cattle stray from their owner’s range, and it’s necessary to throw them back where they belong and identify each owner’s calf crop and properly brand them.”

“So your district is meeting at the Box Elder Creek?”

“That’s correct, but tell me about the story you’re editing.”

“I’m not editing it. I’m writing it.” The lie breezed out of her mouth—just like that. But she’d do anything to go on a roundup, including being rude and inviting herself. “Could I possibly tag along?”

“Whatever for?” TR asked.

“Research. Since you’re a writer yourself, you know that firsthand knowledge and experience bring depth and emotion to your writing. I want that for this story. I can compete with women like Annie Oakley and Calamity Jane.”

“I’m not familiar with them.”

“They’re sharpshooters and frontierswomen. Besides, I can take care of myself, and I won’t be in anyone’s way. I grew up on a ranch and can make biscuits, bacon, and beans just like a cattle-drive cook. My father wanted a son, but he only had me. So I can also break a horse and rope a calf as well as any man.” She slapped the sides of her thighs. Sell it, Ens. “Hence the trousers. I’ll fill in wherever you’re short a man, and most importantly, you don’t have to pay me.”

Delight blossomed over TR’s face. “Well, bully. When I was a senior at Harvard, I wrote my thesis advocating equal rights for women. If you say you can ride and rope, who am I to say you can’t?”

JC banded a tense arm around her shoulders, his fingers gripping her upper arm. “Let’s talk about this after dinner. We don’t have to make a decision right now.”

She was about to ask why not, but there was something about JC’s touch and in his eyes. Worry? Fear? She wasn’t sure, but she understood that it was the wrong question to ask at