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

Tavis had been on the receiving end of Erik’s disappointment and anger, and it was scary as hell to be in the presence of a Viking warrior on a rampage.

Maybe that was just what Austin needed.

29

Elkhorn Ranch (1885)—Ensley

After JC rode off the property, an overpowering wave of grief rolled through Ensley, and tears streamed down her face. She limped away, praying the peace and tranquility the ranch was known for would soothe the deep-seated loneliness and loss.

A line of poetry by Lang Leav came to mind: “It should be my right to mourn someone that has yet to leave this world but no longer wants to be part of mine.”

Did she honestly believe that? Or was JC only part of her past wrapped in twine and tossed on the sharp-elbowed, knobby-kneed scrap heap of lost loves and regrets? She mentally shrugged, acknowledging an ongoing tug-of-war with herself and unsure which side would win. The wrong one could unravel it all.

Take a break. Focus on the birdsong and the rhythmic melody of the Little Missouri River.

She turned her face into the sweet breeze blowing through the cottonwoods and pinched the bridge of her nose, distracting her emotional pain long enough to stop the tears.

Slowly her mind panned out, giving her a broader perspective, and it allowed her soul to soak in the surrounding tranquility. It didn’t work immediately, but within a few minutes, a smile blossomed, and doubts and grief receded, landing with a thud on top of that scrap heap.

TR cleared his throat and adjusted his pince-nez, pushing them closer to his eyes with the tip of his finger. She had almost forgotten he was standing there.

“You need a horse,” he said. “Let’s go to the corral and pick one out. Your husband paid me for a horse and saddle.”

“He didn’t mention that, but, yeah…sure.” She wiped her face with JC’s handkerchief, and as she unfolded it to blow her nose, she noticed his damn initials and had to choke back a fresh supply of tears. He was the only guy she knew who always had a handkerchief and a monogrammed one to boot.

She pinched the bridge of her nose again, and when that self-inflicted physical pain didn’t work, she tried pinching the skin between her thumb and index finger.

“Sorry about my outburst. You can’t put off grief, can you? Like, say, ten o’clock next Tuesday morning, I’ll grieve until eleven. No, make it eleven-thirty. I had a bad night.” It was a rhetorical question, and she didn’t expect an answer.

Her breath hitched, and she continued babbling. “Loss hits you out of the blue, and wham!” She smacked her hands together. “You’re suddenly knee-deep and wallowing in it. If you try to suck it up, it festers like an open wound. Watching JC leave reminded me of losing my parents, and the combined loss of them and JC was like a fresh bucket of hurt dumped over my heart.”

TR glanced away, clearing his throat again. “Grief’s a burden to bear. I’ve found it’s best not to talk about it. Now, shall we go?”

He might not want to talk about the loss of his wife and mother and missing his daughter, but the pain tightening his face was a tome open for all to read. He walked ahead of her, and she had to jog to keep up with his much longer stride.

When they reached the paddock, she climbed up on the lower rung of the fence and hung her folded arms over the top rail while she studied the horses clustered together on the opposite side.

They suddenly separated, leaving an Arabian stallion with a glistening golden coat and blond mane standing alone. He lit up the paddock like a newly minted 18-karat gold coin.

She had a visceral reaction to him—a giddy, gut-level wave of empowerment. And she had to have him, even if it cost her every nugget of her emergency funds.

She pointed with a shaking finger. “That’s…the…one.”

TR shook his head. “He won’t let anyone on his back.” He picked up a lariat and stood beside her. “Pick another one.”

There is no other horse on this side of the world, or the other, that speaks to me as he does. He’s mine.

“I’ve ridden horses like him before. Let me try.” That was a lie. She’d never ridden such a magnificent horse, and without TR’s permission, she’d never get the chance.

The horse turned his head toward her, and her heart thumped like a kettle drum. He was watching, waiting for her—only her—and her fingers itched to thread themselves through his silky golden mane.

“He’s too dangerous.”

She switched tactics. “Maybe not…for the right person, I mean. Where’d he come from? What’s his story?” she asked, but she already knew the answer. The magical horse came here for her.

“I don’t know his story, but I bought him off an old man who wandered by here a week or so ago. He wasn’t from any of the local tribes, and he said the horse came from the other side of the world.”

“Why’d he sell him?”

“He didn’t want to, but I kept upping my offer until he finally agreed. He took the money and never looked back. I thought I’d made a great deal until I discovered the horse wouldn’t let anyone ride him. We’ve all tried. So save yourself a few bruises and possibly broken bones and pick another one, Mrs. Fraser.”

Impossible. The horse was hers.

“I’ve got a couple of days to work with the stallion. I’ll put him on a longe line to see what he knows. If I can’t get him to understand basic commands by the time we’re ready to leave, I’ll ride another horse and work with him along the way.”

“I assured your husband you’d be safe with me. Riding a green horse wasn’t part of our understanding.”

“Getting along with a horse is all about establishing balance and trust. If the previous owner had a trusting relationship, then it’s possible to create another one. Let me