“For yer sake, I hope they don’t race Thoroughbreds or jump into swollen rivers.”
Cullen slapped Braham on the shoulder. “I can only hope.”
When they reached the farm, the ladies went to visit the nursery, and the men found their way to Sean’s office for whisky and cigars.
“Yer telegram said ye’re on yer way to Washington, but didn’t say why. Is this in preparation for a presidential campaign?” A broad grin creased Sean’s face.
Braham puffed on his cigar. “No. The trip is only to provide a reason for my absence. We let it slip to the press we were going to Washington for business and on to New York on a shopping expedition.”
“What are ye really planning?” Sean watched Braham closely.
Braham made a quick glance behind him to be sure no one was coming in. “I’ve come to MacKlenna Farm to die.”
Sean’s head jerked back, brow furrowed, and he became tight-lipped and pale. “Are ye ill, then?”
Braham rolled the tip of the cigar along the edge of the ashtray and tapped it gently to let the ash fall. The plan he easily concocted suddenly seemed impractical to implement. “It seemed the best place to disappear. I can die here in peace, and that will be the end—” He blinked hard for control. “The end of Braham McCabe.”
Sean puffed smoke out through his lips in genial disbelief. “Ye’re intending to go to Charlotte’s time, then?” He pointedly fixed Braham with a look Braham returned undaunted. If Cullen had been unable to convince Braham to stay, Sean didn’t have a prayer.
Cullen ambled over to the bar, refilled his glass, and then took a long gulp. “After I settle Braham’s estate, I’ll convert all the cash into gold. The gold will then be shipped here to be buried in Braham’s casket.”
“So I’m to dig up the coffin months later and bury the gold.”
“I know it’s a lot to ask,” Braham said.
Sean waved him off, laughing. “I’ll be able to say, ‘Braham McCabe died and took his gold with him.’ Based on yer reputation, no one would doubt it. Of course, we’ll have to bury the gold in secrecy, or I’ll have treasure hunters digging up the entire cemetery.”
“If the timing doesn’t matter to ye, I thought we’d go for a ride tomorrow. My plan is to be thrown from a horse and break my neck. Since there’s no family to inform, there’s no reason to delay the funeral. It might seem heartless, but Cullen could explain he’s following my wishes to dispense with a wake and bury me immediately.”
“Ye’re sure this is what ye want? There’ll be no coming back.”
Braham smiled at him in an attempt at confident reassurance. “I don’t intend to come back.”
“If ye’re set on this course, we’ll bury ye tomorrow, but tonight I think we should drink and sing a few ballads. We’ll give ye a proper Scottish wake tonight before ye break yer neck.”
The next morning the men saddled their horses and left on Braham’s “fatal” ride. And that afternoon, on a cool, crisp fall day with the fiery yellows of beech trees and the vibrant reds of maples providing a glorious backdrop, Kit, Cullen, Sean, and Lyle Ann laid to rest Colonel Michael Abraham McCabe, war hero, lawyer extraordinaire, California senator, and philanthropist, who would be missed by those who loved him.
After the minister departed, Kit and Cullen joined Braham beneath the sycamore tree, its brown-yellow leaves forming a canopy over the small cemetery.
Braham hugged Cullen tightly, seeing their lives flash behind his closed eyes. “I’ll miss ye, Cul.”
Cullen wiped away tears but more came. “Saying good-bye to ye is ripping out my heart. The only consolation is I know ye’re not dead and will have many happy years to come.”
“I’m sorry I left ye on the trail all those years ago.”
Cullen grabbed him around the neck, pulling him close. “Ye’ve more than made up for it.”
Kit wrapped her arms around Braham. “I can’t imagine life without you. There will always be an empty chair at our table.”
He kicked at the pile of red and gold leaves at his feet. “I think it’s my cue to go.”
In spite of Kit’s distress, she laughed. “When I thought I’d lost Cullen, and had to go home to save my baby, it nearly broke my heart to leave the Barretts and Henry. A saying of my grandmother’s saw me through the heartbreak: ‘The day will come when you believe everything is lost, but in fact, it will be a new beginning.’” She took a deep breath and nodded to him.
“Live a full life, Braham. Love Charlotte with all the love you have to give, and never look back. You’re going where you’re meant to go. Now go with God.”
Kit took Cullen’s hand. Together they walked away. Braham followed their fading silhouettes until they disappeared over a small knoll.
The time had come. He opened the ruby brooch and whispered the Gaelic words he had first heard one night years ago in Chimborazo. “Chan ann le tìm no àite a bhios sinn a’ tomhais an gaol ach’s ann le neart anama.”
99
MacKlenna Farm, Lexington, Kentucky, Present Day
When the fog evaporated, Braham found himself standing in the middle of MacKlenna Farm’s driveway. Several vehicles lined the curve in front of the portico, with signs on the doors identifying the drivers as electricians, florists, party planners, security providers, and caterers. The front door of the mansion stood wide open, and dozens of people marched in and out like a well-organized army. Braham half expected to see General Grant on the porch, cigar in hand, ordering the troops about.
Braham cautiously entered a foyer redolent of flowers, dodging men carrying boxes and crates. Of the dozens of people rushing past, not one offered assistance.
Until the event concluded, maybe he should make himself scarce and wander the rolling green hills seamed with plank fences and enjoy the horses.
Or he could hike over to the cemetery and visit his gravesite.
He squeezed around a large metal box on wheels caught on the threshold and escaped to the portico, out of the way of the troops. Hanging baskets filled with velvety blooms of rich purple draped the porch, seeming to turn even darker under the warm sun. The all-powerful Elliott Fraser must have specially ordered the cloudless blue sky. Braham leaned against the corner of the house, crossed his feet at the ankles, scraped his whiskers with his fingers, and watched men set poles for a large white tent.
A man jumped up on the porch and plowed right into him.
“Oh, jeez, excuse me,” the man said, grabbing Braham’s arms to keep them both from falling. When they straightened and looked at each other, Jack Mallory’s face split into a wide grin. “I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my entire life.” He hugged Braham, slapping his back with exuberance. “You couldn’t have picked a better day to arrive. You’re the mint in the julep, buddy. God, I can’t believe you’re here. Have you seen Charlotte yet?”
Braham swiped at the tears in his eyes. His heart was now lodged in his throat. “She’s here? Where?”
Jack pointed toward the side of the house. “Over by the barn.” He then gave Braham a scrutinizing look. “You need to clean up first. Come up to my room and take a shower. I’ll find you something more appropriate to wear.”
Braham jerked his thumb in the direction of the vehicles. “What’s going on here?”
“It’s Derby weekend. Elliott and David’s horse is an early five-two favorite for the Kentucky Derby tomorrow. There hasn’t been this much hype surrounding a horse in over a quarter of a century. The three-year-old stallion is a favorite to win the Triple Crown, and right now he looks unbeatable.”
Braham hustled up the stairs, following Jack to the second-floor landing. “Is the race here on the farm?”
Jack led him down the hallway and into his guest room. “It’s at Churchill Downs in Louisville. The farm is hosting a breakfast in the morning for a few hundred of Elliott and Meredith’s friends. Afterward we’ll take limos to Louisville for a day of racing. The Derby’s not until late tomorrow afternoon.” Jack
opened the closet door and shoved back hangers, searching through neatly arranged jackets, shirts, and trousers.
“How long have ye been here?”
“A week. Charlotte and I decided we didn’t want to miss any of the festivities this year. So we came up early.”
Braham tossed his bag on the bed. “I packed my kilt. I only need a shirt and jacket.” He looked around. “Where’s the bathroom?”
Jack pointed to the door on the opposite wall. “Through there.”
Braham headed into the adjoining bathroom, looked at the controls on the wall in the stall, and scratched his head. He didn’t want cold water, and he didn’t want scalding water. Finding the perfect temperature, he had discovered, took practice. Today he didn’t have time to experiment. He turned the handle to the left then put his hand into the stream of water. He got it right first try, and stepped into the warm spray, grinning.
“Shampoo, shaving cream, razor—everything’s in the shower.” Jack carried a light blue shirt and navy jacket into the bathroom and hung the clothes on a hook.
Braham rubbed shampoo into his shoulder-length hair. “Do ye think she’ll be glad to see me?”
“Are you kidding?” Jack folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the sink, laughing. “She has a picture of you she kisses every night. What do you think?”
“I was afraid she might have found someone else.” Braham turned off the water, grabbed a towel, and stepped out of the shower.
A man with a recognizable Scottish burr called from the bedroom. “Jack, where are ye?”
Still chuckling, Jack said, “In here.”
David entered the bathroom carrying two beers and came to an immediate stop, squeaking rubber-soled boots on the marble floor. “Well, I’ll be damned.” He shoved both cans at Jack, pushed up his sleeves, and slugged Braham in the gut.
Braham dropped to his knees, sucking wind like a man with asthma. “What the hell was that for?”
David scowled, fisting both hands. “Because ye waited more than three fucking years to show up.”
Braham pulled to his feet. “It’s been over four for me.”
David threw a right-left jab to Braham’s gut, although not as hard as the first punch, and Braham doubled over. “I thought ye were smarter than that,” David said.
Braham grabbed hold of the counter, weaving slightly. “If ye’re going to hit me again, go on and take yer shot. Let’s get this over with.”
David relaxed his rigid stance and said in a lighter tone, “I’m done. Get dressed and I’ll give ye a welcome hug. I don’t hug naked men.”
“What naked man aren’t ye going to hug?” Elliott entered the bathroom and grabbed the doorjamb when he saw Braham. “Well, I’ll be damned. When did ye get here?” Elliott extended his hand and shook Braham’s with a forceful grip.
“He just arrived. But I wasn’t about to let him hug my sister until he cleaned up. David thought he needed more than a bath.”
Elliott crossed his arms and glanced from David rubbing his hand to Braham rubbing his belly. Elliott made a noise deep in his throat which didn’t need interpretation. “Well, get dressed, then. The van’s ready to take Stormy’s Sun to the track and Meredith wants a group picture. Ye best be in it.” He smiled at Braham. “Ye’re part of the circle now.”
“Charlotte doesn’t know he’s here, Elliott. Don’t ruin the surprise,” Jack said.
“She’s yer sister.” Elliott walked out of the room, shrugging. “Ye know her best. I’ll at least warn Meredith. David, I’ll see ye at the barn.”
A few minutes later, standing in front of the mirror dressed in kilt, blue shirt and blazer, Braham brushed the tangles out of his hair. His jaw quivered, and he cleared his throat roughly. “Are ye sure she’ll be glad to see me?”
Jack popped open one of the cans and took a long pull on the beer. “She’ll be thrilled.”
Braham pushed his hair behind his ears. “How do I look?”
“Like a damn Scot in a kilt. How do you think you look? Come on, let’s go.”
Suddenly, panic grabbed a foothold in a pocket of fear, and Braham hesitated. “I don’t want to see disappointment on her face. Maybe ye should tell her I’m here. Give her time to adjust to the idea before she sees me.”
Jack tugged on the jacket’s lapels. “Once she sees those legs, she’ll be smiling. Trust me. I wouldn’t lie to you.”
Braham dug his hands into the pockets of the jacket, and his heart lurched. Throughout his life, when he needed courage most, it came from unexpected places. His fingers clasped the length of a thin cotton cord—the cord that had tied the hood around Jack’s head—the cord Jack had asked his guard if he could keep. Jack had tied it into multiple knots on the way home from the prison. Admiration and satisfaction clashed with Braham’s unease and wholeheartedly won the day.
With a much lighter step, he sauntered down the stairs and followed Jack through the loud, hectic kitchen. The scents of ham and fresh-baked rolls filled the air. He breathed in the delicious smells, his mouth watering.
“Stay here. I’ll go see what’s happening,” Jack said, leaving the house through the back door.
Braham grabbed a ham biscuit off a tray on the counter while he waited, and ate it in two bites, then wolfed down a second and a third to the disapproving glare of the caterer.
“My God. I don’t believe it.”
Braham turned his head in the direction of the voice coming from the hall leading into the kitchen. There was something familiar about it, but the man weaving his way around the cooks and coming in Braham’s direction wasn’t anyone he recognized. He only knew a handful of people anyway. The red-haired man, sporting a two-day beard, was tall and lean, but several inches shorter than himself. The man must have mistaken Braham for someone else.
He extended his hand, but the welcoming gesture was at odds with his twisted smile. “I’m Ken Thomas. It is you, isn’t it? McCabe, right?”
Braham nodded with dawning recognition of the name, if not the face.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes.” Ken’s gaze traveled down to Braham’s midsection, then back to his face. “Last time I saw you, you were recovering from a bullet in your belly. When’d you… arrive?”
Braham shrugged. “Thirty minutes ago.”
Doctor Thomas crossed his arms and glared. “It takes a lot of nerve to keep a woman waiting for more than three years.”
Braham grimaced, scratching his chin. “I told her not to, but I’m grateful she did.”
“You don’t deserve her.”
“I won’t argue with ye.”
“She never stopped believing in you.”
“She never should have started.”
“I should punch you.”
Braham spread his arms at his side, opening his body for another punch from one of Charlotte’s protectors. “Go ahead. I deserve it. David already has—twice.”
The doctor rubbed his knuckles. “Lucky for you, I’m a healer, not a fighter.”
The door swung open and Jack entered the kitchen. “Oh, hi, Ken. When did you get here?”
“Just walked in and saw Braham. How’s Charlotte taking the news?”
“She doesn’t know yet. The photographer is placing everyone for a group shot with Stormy’s Sun. We need to get in place before Braham comes out. The photographer knows he’s coming, so he’ll be taking pictures.”
“Okay.” Ken slapped Braham on the shoulder. “She’ll be glad to see you.” Ken left the house, whistling.
“There’re two dozen of Elliott’s friends out there,” Jack said. “They’ve all heard about you and will want to meet you. You can do it later. Charlotte’s waited a long time. Take her upstairs. No one will bother you there. Give me thirty seconds to get in place.” Jack blew out a breath. “I can’t believe you’re finally here.” He gave Braham a hug. “Love ya, man.”
Braham calmed himself and kept his breathing slow and deep. His eyes stayed fixed on the open door as he counte
d. When he reached sixty, he strode out toward the paddock. The heavy wool of his kilt swished about his legs with each easy stride.
A beautiful chestnut with white stockings stood in the center of a group of people. Braham scanned the crowd, searching for Charlotte.
Then a child’s voice piped, “My daddy.”
There was some murmuring, and people looked around.
“It is too my daddy. Look. Let me down. I gotta hug him right now.”
Braham glanced in the direction of the child’s voice and spotted a small blond-haired lad, wearing a blue shirt, tan pants, and a navy jacket, running toward him with open arms. The odd moment caused Braham’s heart to kick up with an extra-hard thud. He blinked, looking at a miniature of himself. The lad ran straight to him with his little arms raised.
“Pick me up. I want to kiss you, Daddy.”
Braham hoisted up the lad, who immediately gripped his little arms around Braham’s neck and kissed his lips with a warm, wet smack. “Love you, Daddy.”
The words rang in Braham’s heart, and tears welled at the sight of his son—a child conceived in a moment of deepest desire.
Braham’s heart beat wildly as he searched the crowd for Charlotte. The sun glared down on a stunningly beautiful woman chasing after the lad with long, shapely legs. Her curls blew wildly about her face, and a short dress, matching the blue of her eyes, molded to the luscious curves of her body.
Charlotte came to a sudden, breathless stop. Her head cocked, staring at him in utter disbelief through tear-filled eyes. Then the most radiant smile he’d ever seen brightened her rosy-cheeked face.
Braham knelt on one knee, his kilt swirling around him, his son in his arm. He held out the sapphire ring and said, “I love ye, Charlotte. Will ye marry me?”
She dropped to her knees, tears streaming down her face.
“Will ye accept this ring now with my promise to love ye and our children? To protect ye and our children, and live here and now with ye for the rest of my life?” His heart stopped beating while he waited for her answer.
The Sapphire Brooch Page 66