The Sapphire Brooch (The Celtic Brooch Trilogy Book 2) (9 page)

The tall officer made notes. Grouchy just glared. If they were trying to intimidate her, good luck. She had been trained by surgical professors who had perfected the art of intimidation.

Thin man flipped a page in his notebook. “Have you ever seen him before?”

She shook her head. “He’s a pretty good-looking guy. I would have noticed him.”

“He told you his name was Major McCabe,” thin man said. “Is that his rank or first name?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Thin man wrote in his notebook. “Why’d you call Doctor Thomas? The ER docs could have handled the case.”

“No, the ER docs would have had to call a surgeon. Dr. Thomas is the best. He’s my friend, and I thought he’d find it an interesting case. Besides, he would have been pissed if he had missed this one.”

Thin man tapped his pen against the notebook. “Is that right, Doctor Thomas?”

Ken gave her a wry grin. “That I’m the best? Yes.”

“Did you see anyone else? There was a chair next to the bed as if someone had been sitting with him,” Grouchy said.

Charlotte shook her head. “No.”

“The bed and chair looked old. Very old. Have you seen them before?”

Charlotte gave him a
what-the-fuck
look. “Are you saying I’m old like the furniture?”

He had the decency to blush. “No ma’am. I meant that the bed and chair looked similar to ones I’ve seen in Civil War books. You’re a Civil War reenactor. I thought you might have seen the furniture in someone’s tent during the weekend’s events. That’s all.”

“What happened to the rest of his clothes?” thin man asked.

“You’ll have to ask him.”

Grouchy shifted his squeaky, leather duty belt. The clatter from his attached equipment sounded like a Roman Army on the march. “We’d like to talk to him as soon as he wakes up.”

“Fine. Check back tomorrow,” she said. She wanted to tell him to put a little saddle soap on his Sam Browne to keep it from squeaking, but decided it would be wise to keep her mouth shut.

Thin man put his notepad in his pocket. “If you think of anything that might give us a lead on him, please let us know. We’ll give you a call if we have any more questions. Are you going to be working at your office in Richmond tomorrow?”

“Yes,” she said, smiling. “Call me there if you have any questions.”

The officers caught the next elevator off the surgical floor, and Charlotte let out a relieved breath when the door closed behind them.

Ken eyed her from under his thicket of eyebrows. “That went well.”

She linked her arm with his. “Do you still have those steaks? I’m starving.”

“It’s after midnight.”

“My stomach doesn’t care what time it is.”

“I’ll cook for you but only if you promise to tell me the truth about where you’ve been.”

“Deal.”

Thirty minutes later she was soaking in the hot tub with a glass of wine in her hand, while Ken grilled the steaks on his he-man barbeque, several feet away.

“Okay, spill it. Who’s the guy and how’d he get shot?”

“You’re not going to believe this, so I’m only going to give you the synopsis. Are you ready?”

“Go for it.”

“Someone from Edinburgh, presumably a lawyer, sent me a Japanese puzzle box. Inside the box was a sapphire brooch. Inside the brooch were words written in Gaelic. I spoke the words, traveled back in time, and landed in the middle of the actual Battle of Cedar Creek. I was captured with the wounded General Ramseur and tended him all night until he died. The next day Sheridan sent me to Washington to meet with President Lincoln, who personally asked me to go to Chimborazo Hospital in Richmond to rescue Major McCabe, a secret agent. When I found the major, I realized he would die without antibiotics and surgery. The President had gone to extraordinary lengths to save him, so I did the only thing I could think of to give him a chance. I brought him here.”

Ken pointed at her with the grilling tongs. “That story is so far-fetched not even Jack could have made it up.”

“It’s true.”

“Well, if it’s true, I have one question for right now. Did you tell Ramseur he had a daughter named Mary?”

“Of course.”

“Then it was damn well worth the trip.”

Her eyes widened, her jaw dropped. “You believe me?”

“Hell no, I don’t believe you. I think you hooked up with some guy and have been screwing in the woods for thirty-six hours.”

She lightly thunked her head on the edge of the hot tub. “Why do you do this to me?”

“Look. It makes no difference to me. In fact, I’m glad you got laid. But you were less than forthcoming with the police. Tell me the truth. Is your new lover in some kind of trouble?”

“
Trouble?
If I hadn’t brought him back with me, and he’d survived, the Confederate Army would have hanged him. Trouble? Yes, he’s in trouble. He’s a Union officer who was caught behind Confederate lines out of uniform.”

“Calm down. I’m on your side, remember.”

“I’ve never lied to you or given you any reason to doubt me.”

Ken flipped the steaks and adjusted the cooking temperature. “Just for the sake of argument, if he’s who you say he is, what are you going to do with him?”

She put the wine glass to her lips and mumbled, “Take him back,” against the rim, grimacing and doubting she had the fortitude to make another trip to the past.

Ken jerked his head in her direction, dropping the tongs, which skidded toward the hot tub. “
What?
You can’t be serious. You barely escaped unscathed. Why would you return?”

“He didn’t ask to come to the twenty-first century. He deserves to live out his life in his own time.”

“If soldier boy had survived the gunshot, he would have been executed. One way or the other, his time was up. What you did was give him a brand new life. He needs to live out the new life he’s got, not the one he would have lost.”

She took a long drink that emptied the goblet, then held out the glass to Ken.

“Are you asking for a refill?”

“Yes, please.

“The steaks are done.” He turned off the grill and shut off the gas value. “You need a towel. Hold on.” He opened the storage cabinet and grabbed a pair of clean scrubs and an extra-large, fluffy towel that smelled faintly of Downy Clean Breeze dryer sheets. She wrapped it around her bikini-clad body.

“You know any man, even your nineteenth-century major, would fall in love with you if you’d only give them a chance. Open up more than a corner of your heart, Charlotte, and let some deserving guy in. Let him win the whole kit and caboodle.”

“I’m not a contest.”

“That’s not what—”

She pressed her finger against his lips. “Not tonight, please.”

He kissed the fingertip. “Okay, let’s talk about the patient. He might not survive, although he looked better than I expected when we left.”

She slipped into scrubs that smelled like the towel, clean and fresh.

“He’ll survive.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Any man who can call President Lincoln and General Grant his friends,
and
can linger for a couple of days with a gut shot,
and
can fly through a two-hour surgery, is going to be hard to kill. Plus the bacteria infecting him have absolutely no drug resistance. I predict not only will Major McCabe survive, he’ll probably handle living in the twenty-first century with aplomb, and will still demand to be returned to his time.”

“If we’re making predictions, I’ll predict that the green-eyed major will worm his way into your heart. I’ll even wager another steak dinner it happens before Christmas.”

She laughed. “You’ve got a bet, and when you lose, I want sautéed mushrooms and a loaded baked potato with my next steak.”

He put the ribeyes on a platter and opened the door into the kitchen. “Don’t hold out for the mushrooms unless you intend to cook them.”

She collected the bottle of wine and the glasses. “You know, Ken, you’re forgetting the most important element in this conversation.”

He put the steaks on the table. “What?”

“That the doctor-patient relationship is sacrosanct. The major is
my
patient.”

He pulled the chair out for her to sit. “No, my dear, he’s mine.

9

Winchester Medical Center, Winchester, Virginia, Present Day

S
hivering under a
light blanket, Braham opened his eyes a bit. A noise, not a chirp or a squeak—unlike anything he’d ever heard—had awakened him in a dim room. The sound came from a box mounted on the wall with green, blue, and red lines jumping in time with the odd noise. If he had died, he was pretty sure he hadn’t gone straight to hell. It was too damn cold. Cords hooked to patches on his chest led to the box on the wall. A thicker cord was attached to his arm with a tube extending to a clear, fluid-filled bag which hung from a hook over his bed.

An old memory of a clear rubber bag with an expiration date came to mind, and the shock of the memory was tantamount to dumping icy water on his groggy brain. His eyes bounced from one side of the room to the other as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.

A dim light in the ceiling cast eerie shadows against smooth, whitewashed walls. The glass door was partially open, showing the hall outside was also dimly lit. There was no movement in his room or out there. His high bed had a metal railing on both sides. His head was slightly raised, although he had only one pillow. A tall armchair with an extended back sat in one corner, and another small box was mounted on the wall across from the bed with large red numbers in a row: five, five, six. Could it be the time? If so, the room was so dark he couldn’t tell if it was early morning or night.

He peeked beneath the bedcovers. Someone had undressed him. He wore a long blue shirt and nothing else. His pants weren’t hanging on the end of the bed. What would he wear when he got up? And where were his boots? He couldn’t see the floor next to the bed, but if his pants were gone, his boots probably were, too.

A band encircled his wrist. There was a line for the patient’s name. His band read: McCabe, Major. Had he given someone his rank? No. The surgeon had called him Major McCabe.

Braham had thought he would die, but he hadn’t, yet. If he wasn’t dead, it appeared he had been transported to the future, maybe to Kit’s time in the twenty-first century. Was he stuck here for the rest of his life, or could he go back? Kit had been given a choice to either return home or live permanently in the nineteenth century. Would he have a choice, too?

He once again studied the room, this time more slowly. He didn’t want to miss any of the strange objects. Kit had worked in a hospital. Was this the one where she had worked? Did the surgeon know her? Braham absolutely must not tell anyone about Kit. When she left the present to live the rest of her life—married to Braham’s best friend Cullen—in the nineteenth century, she had told everyone she was retiring to the Scottish Highlands to live in seclusion at her family’s estate. He couldn’t destroy her cover the way someone in Richmond had destroyed his.

A woman entered the room. “Are you in pain? We can give you drugs to make you comfortable.”

“Who are you?” His voice sounded scratchy, as if he hadn’t spoken for several days.

A brighter light came on behind him. “Charlotte Mallory.”

He blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the bright glow. Now he knew he was truly dead because his Angel of Mercy stood at his bedside. Blonde curls framed an oval face with a gently rounded chin. A slim and delicate nose with high cheekbones gave her the timeless beauty of sculptured masterpieces. His eyes lingered on her kissable lips for a moment before moving up to her almond-shaped eyes, bluer than blue. They were like drops from an April sky. His heart skipped a beat and then another, and he shivered.

“You’re cold? I’ll get you another blanket.” She left the room, and when she returned, she spread another thin blanket over him which embraced him with radiating heat from toes to neck. She tucked the blanket under his shoulders. “This should warm you up.”

“You have eyes like the surgeon who rescued me.”

She leaned in close and whispered, “I am the surgeon.”

“Aye. An illusionist?” He gave a weak chuckle and waved his left hand slightly. “Then all this is an illusion, too. You’ve cast a spell to mask my reality. I’m still a prisoner, but have no chains.”

She raked her fingers through the hair, hanging limp on his forehead, pushing the rough whorls of hair away from his face with startling tenderness.

“You’re no longer a prisoner. When you’re more awake, I’ll explain what has happened. You’re safe now. No one will recognize you. No one will hurt you. Rest and get your strength back.”

“Answer a question, and I’ll wait for the rest.”

She held up her finger. “One.”

“When can I go home?”

A smile flickered at the corners of her mouth. “You wouldn’t believe how many times a day I get that question. No one wants to stick around here.” She put the finger to her cheek in a thinking pose. “Must be the food.”

“You didn’t answer me.”

“You’ll be in the hospital for a few days. Afterward you’ll need time to heal.”