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

She spotted TR. His horse was slowing down, too, so she spurred Tesoro, passing the others to catch up to TR. “Are you okay?” she asked.

He removed his hat and wiped his sleeve across his forehead. “Bully. And you?”

“Exhausted.”

“I’ll get Sewall to ride the rest of the watch with me. Get some sleep. Daybreak is only an hour or two away.”

She was about to say that he should rest, too, but he was a big boy and could decide what he needed for himself. “Okay, see you later.”

When she reached camp, Norman had already set her bedroll near the side of the wagon.

Tesoro was quivering, and she was almost as bad. The adrenaline shooting through her left a trail of liquid fire that was slowly burning off, and she just wanted to lie down, but Tesoro came first.

She wiped him down, then gave him a proper brushing, talking to him all the while. “Thank you for taking care of me tonight, boy. Any other horse would have failed me, but not you.”

She’d kill for a shower, clean clothes, and rest, but only a short rest was available to her. Every muscle in her legs, back, and arms ached, and for the hundredth time, she wondered if she made a mistake by not going to Kentucky.

They’d be back at the ranch tomorrow. Then they’d have a couple of days before they had to leave for the roundup. Sixty-some cowboys would spend five weeks scouring two hundred miles of the Little Missouri Valley—about a hundred miles on either side of the river—combing every ravine, creek, and coulee for all the free-roaming cattle.

After the past few weeks, was that what she wanted? Tonight the answer was no, but who knew what tomorrow would bring?

37

Elkhorn Ranch (1885)—Ensley

Ensley was riding point with TR when they neared Elkhorn Ranch with the herd. It had been a tough week, but despite the hardships, Ensley was jubilant. The experience had stretched her so far past her comfort zone that she knew she would never snap back. She still believed she belonged in New York City working as an editor, but even that had diminished from a hundred percent conviction down to about eighty-five.

Participating in the roundup would either drop that percentage another notch or two or push it back up to a hundred.

And what would happen to her if her conviction slipped to fifty percent? Where would she live then? She no longer had a ranch, but she could buy a smaller one, and it didn’t have to be in North Dakota. It could even be upstate New York.

She could go anywhere.

And she didn’t have to quit being an editor, either. She could work for authors who self-publish. She’d had conversations with several editors who were considering making the jump from New York to either a small press or working with independents.

What interested her about that possibility was specializing in three or four genres—historicals, time travel romance, fantasy, and sci-fi—instead of slogging through slush piles to find unsolicited books, stories, or poems that merited further consideration.

Quit worrying about that! You’re on an adventure—so revel in it!

She scolded herself for planning a life in the future when that possibility was so uncertain. It was times like this—imagining her future—when she missed JC the most. What would he think of the idea? Although first she’d have to confess that her publishing company fired her.

And what was up with the nightmares she’d been having about him for the past two nights? They’d been so unsettling that she hadn’t been able to go back to sleep and ended up volunteering for the night watch. Her unease still hadn’t gone away. If only she could talk to JC to make sure he was okay, she’d feel better and sleep easier.

The past two days with TR had been so much fun—well, at least, they were after the stampede. But surviving that night and only losing a half dozen cows had given the drovers confidence in their ability to handle the job. And the cowhands’ stress vanished with that confidence.

When they reached Elkhorn Ranch, Ensley borrowed a skirt and blouse from Mrs. Sewall to wear after taking a bath in TR’s rubber bathtub. Once she was clean, Ensley poured hot water in a tub and used a washboard to scrub her jeans, jacket, underwear, and what was left of her white blouse. She soaped, boiled, rinsed, wrung out, mangled, starched, dried in the sun, and then ironed her clothes. Thank goodness she only had one outfit. But, as soon as her clothes dried, she washed Mrs. Sewell’s borrowed skirt and blouse. She’d never take a washing machine for granted ever again.

Somewhere between the rinsing and starching, she found a ragged-edge piece of red linen-type fabric caught in the hem of her jeans and set it aside to study later. It had obviously ripped off something. The only red garment she’d seen was Erik’s cloak. Had he wrapped her broken foot in that?

Gold threads in the fabric shimmered in the bright sunlight. According to a nonfiction book on the benefits of wearing gold and silver she’d recently edited, gold supposedly relaxed the body, which in turn improved blood circulation and expedited the healing process.

But a broken bone? Well…why the hell not? Something healed it. Why not Erik’s cloak?

She treated the piece of fabric as a talisman and tucked it in her bra to keep it close. If she cut herself, she’d place it on the wound and see what happened.

After finishing her chores, she asked Mrs. Sewall and TR if she could sit on the porch for a while to do some writing. They both encouraged her, saying she should have a day to rest and prepare for the roundup, so that’s what she did.

Later in the day, TR joined her on the veranda, carrying a stack of papers, a book, and a pencil.

“Are you working on your manuscript?” she asked.

“Yes, and I