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

He grimaced, and it could have been a smile, not of pleasure or amusement, but sympathy. “As soon as we unload the cattle, we’ll have to move them out and get them bedded down. You won’t have time.”

She settled into the soft, thick fur enveloping her. It was almost as welcoming as a bath. “No bath? Then I’ll have to rely on my tolerance for pain to get me through.”

“You’d have to suffer a lot to develop a pain tolerance.”

“I’ve noticed pain is worse when I’m sad or unfocused. If I stay happy and productive, it’s easier to manage.”

He studied her for a moment, almost as if he was examining one of the critters he used to keep in specimen jars. “For what purpose would you try to become tolerant of any kind of pain? I understand avoiding it, but why work to tolerate it?”

“If you know it’s going to be around for a while, you have a choice. Do your best to tolerate it or be miserable.” She adjusted the length of the robe to cover her legs. “Think about the pain you experience when you do physical labor or exercise. If you’re like me, you’ll push yourself until you can’t take any more. Instead of looking at the exertion as painful, I see it as a sign.”

“Of what?”

“That I’ve put in the effort, worked toward a goal, endured the struggle.” She let him think about that for a moment before she continued, “The more I’m able to tolerate and deal with pain or painful experiences, the more I can push boundaries and open up to new opportunities. I knew long hours in the saddle would irritate my hip, but I didn’t want to miss this chance of a lifetime.”

He gave her another one of those looks. “Going on a roundup is a chance of a lifetime?”

She smothered a laugh, and for the first time, she connected with him, not as a historical figure or a future president, but as a man her age who had also suffered a significant loss.

“Of course. Don’t you feel the same way? Isn’t that why you’re here in the Dakotas?”

“I came to hunt, but I don’t believe that’s why you’re here.”

He was right about that. “Well, I do love to hunt, but I also enjoy stimulating political discussions, educational pursuits, and reading everything I can find. If I stayed where I was comfortable and never built up my tolerance, I’d have fewer chances to broaden my horizons.

“It’s like going on a roundup,” she continued. “It’s grueling, the weather’s horrible, and the food isn’t much better. But at the end of it all, there’s a real sense of accomplishment. At least I hope there will be. Staying in the saddle for forty hours straight, getting thrown off horses, blistering your hands…you love that, and you’re willing to accept the consequences so you can do what you want to do. It’s not about living with pain. It’s about how you handle it.”

He nodded. “And you handle it well, Mrs. Fraser.”

She wasn’t sure Barb would agree with him. She was the only person Ensley ever complained to, and while it wasn’t that often, she did occasionally gripe about her hip, her job, her dates, her landlord, whatever pissed her off that day—like bitchy clients. And Barb complained right back to her.

It was part of being yourself with your BFF. Neither of them carried it to extremes, but they were always honest with each other. And right now, she’d have to confess to Barb that her hip hurt worse than it ever had. She’d trade her gold nuggets for a bottle of ibuprofen. Or better yet, a cortisone shot in her hip.

But she and TR didn’t talk anymore about pain—emotional or physical—as they continued toward Medora. Ensley spent the time sorting the information she was collecting about TR into mental folders. She originally planned to write a short Great American Novel about TR and the Badlands. But by the time she went home, she’d have enough original material to write a full-length one, and they hadn’t even gotten around to the subject of conservation.

A mile outside of Medora, TR pointed ahead. “See that dam? The Marquis de Morès built it to create an ice pond for his refrigerating plant. I’m going to cross there. You can take the footpath between the tracks on the train trestle.”

A footpath between the tracks? Seriously? How safe is that?

Ensley studied the ice-cutting crew and how carefully they were moving around the pond. Crossing over the dam wasn’t safe, either.

“Teddy, if you fall, you could get severe hypothermia, or drown, or seriously injure your horse.”

He studied her gravely and then gave her one of his patented, toothy TR grins. “Once Manitou gets his feet on that dam, he’ll keep them there, and we can make it across.”

“I won’t try to stop you, but you’re taking an unnecessary risk. Look at the river…” She pointed toward the water. “It’s overtopped the dam, and you can’t even see where it meets the bank. If you fall—”

He shot her an irritated glance, then nudged Manitou toward the dam. “I’ll be fine, Mrs. Fraser. I’ll see you on the other side.”

“Give me the reins to the piebald. No point in taking two horses into the icy water.”

Just because she couldn’t stop his crazy stunt didn’t mean she had to stand by and watch passively. She’d been roping steers since she was ten years old. And while she’d never roped a future president to save him from drowning in an ice pond, how different could it be? She quickly tied the reins to the two extra horses over the wheel of a wagonload of ice-cutting equipment parked there, then untied the loop strap holding her rope to the horn.

Her dad’s voice played in her head. “Hold the coil, reins, and tail of the rope in your left hand, Ens. The loop in your right.”

She smiled, remembering that her hand had barely