After setting the rug and table to rights, Connor asked, “What kind of music do you like?”
“All kinds, but I don’t have a radio. Up here, you have to make your own music.”
“There’s a guitar and fiddle hanging on the wall. Are they just decorations?”
“If you can play, have at it.”
Olivia opened one of the packages and poured the contents into a pan. Even preparing freeze-dried food she looked sexy. Maybe it was the lamplight backlighting her. No, it wasn’t the lighting or the setting, because she stimulated every circuit in his man brain, whether she stood in sunlight or shadow, rain or dusty road, freezing cold or summer heat. His brothers would roll on the floor laughing at him for being such a romantic fool. Instead of groaning with frustration, he chuckled. Olivia cocked her head, apparently pondering the reason for his laugh.
“I was just remembering my earlier comments about freeze-dried meals,” he offered quickly. “I’m a convert now.”
“Not all freeze-dried food tastes the same. I could make the scaloppine and freeze-dry it, but you wouldn’t eat it. You have to start with expertly prepared meals like Amber’s.” Olivia picked up the wine bottle. “Will you do the honors?”
That was one thing he could do, even using a vintage, direct-pull corkscrew. He wiped out the glass before pouring a small amount into one, then handed it to her. His pulse, which had been jumping up and down, easily settled to a quick, light thump, discernible in his fingertips. And then he touched her hand—her warm skin—and his pulse quickened again.
“You can be the designated sniffer,” he said.
She gave the glass a swirl before hovering her nose over the top, taking a few short whiffs before tasting. “Nice. It has a lingering fruity taste.” He filled her glass and one for himself. “When do you want to eat? I just need to add water to rehydrate the food and voilà”—she kissed her fingers—“another Amber original creation.”
He sipped from his glass. “Lunch was spectacular, and I’m sure dinner will be, too, but let’s drink wine and enjoy some music. I’m no Jimi Hendrix or Eric Clapton—”
“Or Paul McCartney?”
“Not even Paul,” he said.
He crossed the room and picked up the guitar, strummed a few chords then took the time to tune the instrument by ear. “I’ve always believed that lead guitarists gave rock its icons, but rhythm players gave it soul.”
She reclaimed her rocker in front of the fire and watched him over the rim of her glass. “Really? That’s interesting. Who do you think informed your musical style?”
The question made him rewind his mental tape to the first day he picked up a guitar. “My mom sang and danced on Broadway. After school, I’d go by the theatre and watch her rehearse. She was in this production that had a guitar solo. The way the guitarist’s fingers manipulated the strings mesmerized me. On the way home, I told Mom I wanted to play the instrument. My first lesson was the next day. God knows why, but I told my teacher I wanted to play like Elvis.”
Olivia laughed. “I’ve watched you ride a horse, watched your hips sway in the saddle. You could do a great impersonation, at least with the dance part, since I haven’t heard you play yet.”
He flushed a little, realizing what she’d said, that she’d watched him and liked the way he moved in the saddle. Now if he could impress her with his musical talent, he might have the confidence to kiss her the next time he had an opening. God, he was pitiful. You’d think he was sixteen. But when a man was hoping for a—forever—he had to take his time.
Of all the songs in his repertoire, “Hotel California” by the Eagles best exhibited his talent. He’d start with that and move on from there.
He strummed the last chord and as the sound vibrated through the room, her eyes widened along with her smile. “You can play. Would you believe that’s one of Amber’s favorites? When she performs at local charity events, she always opens with that song. It’s the string bending and vibrato that she loves. There’s a timeless quality in the music she creates. It’s the same with you. You two could do a record-worthy duet. I can’t wait to hear you jamming with her.”
He didn’t want to jam with Amber. He wanted to… Thinking about what he wanted to do with Olivia only frustrated him more. “What about you? Do you play an instrument?”
“The piano, but you can’t take that talent to a campfire jamboree.” She refreshed their drinks. “Your act belongs on the stage. Denver has several small theatres. I believe you’d have a sellout audience. If you and Amber worked up a few duets, gosh, you could play anywhere.”
“Denver puts on fantastic shows. I was the only male in a performance of Girls Only at the Garner Galleria Theatre & Bar a few weeks ago.”
“Really?”
“Maggy O’Grady always said, ‘The subject matter should never keep you from going to the theatre.’ I was in Denver with a free night and a ticket. So I went.”
“You should have called me. I would have rescued you.”
He put the guitar aside and gazed at her for a long moment. The night was planted so clearly in his memory. She had turned down his dinner invitation, and as a consolation he’d gone to the theatre by himself. There was an ache in his body and soul, then as well as now, that would only be satisfied by pulling her into his arms and kissing her. But he didn’t. Instead, he said, “You probably had other plans.”
Her gaze left him and traveled across the room to the far corner. Whatever she saw there in the empty space was visible only in her mind. The worry lines between her eyebrows that had softened while she listened to the music appeared once again, and this time they set deeper into the smooth skin of her face.
“Maybe not.” She looked at him and was unable to hide the storm clouds in her hazel eyes. And then she cleared her throat. “Are you hungry now?”
“I could eat something.” Her stare was like a physical pressure on the center of his chest, and he wanted to know why she’d turned him down that night, and why she was turning him down now. His intentions couldn’t be any more obvious. He was like a character in one of his mom’s plays, suffering from unrequited love. The truth, he feared, was that he was a former cop from New York City and simply not her type.
“It’ll only take a couple of minutes to put dinner on the table. Do you want to open another bottle of wine?” She held up the empty bottle and her fingers played along the label as if picking out a random tune on the piano. “I can’t believe you drank all this.”
“Me? I think you refilled your glass more than I did.”
She laughed. “Maybe, but I never admit to anything until all my ducks are in a row, all my questions answered, all my doubts assuaged.”
The lamp cast wavering shadows on her as she walked toward the kitchen area to heat water in the oversized iron pot. He had one thought circling about his head…
That was a merry little waltz around the elephant in the room.
Dinner was exceptional, the wine paired perfectly, and his dinner companion had him so turned on that he fidgeted constantly. Maybe he should go chop some wood. When his phone rang, he welcomed the distraction. “It’s Sheriff Hall.”
“Have you heard from Amber?” the sheriff asked.
“Not yet, but with this rain, she’s probably holed up somewhere,” Connor said. “I’m hoping we’ll find her in the morning, or she’ll find us.”
“I’ve got a team ready to come up day after tomorrow, but if you hear from her, let me know.”
“Sure thing.” The call ended abruptly, and Connor couldn’t hide his irritation. He swung his hand, accidentally knocking over his glass, spilling wine on his lap in a cool amber splash. Olivia wiped up the spill while he dabbed at his sweatpants with his napkin. The mishap didn’t improve his mood. If he had his druthers he’d rather the sheriff stay far away, but Olivia wanted him there.
“What’d he say?” she asked.
“It’s not in his job description to pick and choose cases to investigate.”
“He’ll be here, but not until day after tomorrow.”
A devastating look crossed her face and Connor felt like an absolute cad. David and Kenzie were leaving in the morning and would return almost instantly with Amber. Olivia would hear from her sister in a few hours. He recalled David telling him about lying to Kenzie when she went back to World War II. He said it was the biggest mistake he’d ever made. Connor wasn’t lying to Olivia per se, he just wasn’t telling her everything he knew. But as he’d learned as a teenager, when he intentionally misled his mom, lies of omission were still lies.
“If the sheriff isn’t coming up here tomorrow,” Olivia said, “we’ll cover as much ground as we can until he gets here. We’ll find her, and if she’s injured, I’ll do everything I can to see that Sheriff Hall loses the job he’s held for twenty years.”
Silence filled the cabin, interrupted only by the soothing sound of rain. But it did nothing to soothe Connor, whose heart tried to crawl up his throat. If Olivia would campaign against the sheriff for neglecting his duty, he had little doubt what her reaction would be when she discovered the part he’d played.
A slap in the face, for starters. And downhill from there.
God help him. He’d prefer to face New York City’s number one crime boss than the hell-hath-no-fury temper of a woman deceived.
12
The Present, MacKlenna Farm, Lexington, Kentucky—Kenzie
Kenzie sat next to David in the command center at the farm, drinking her fourth or eighth or twelfth cup of coffee for the day. She’d lost count around five o’clock. Now as it neared midnight, yawning, she’d switched to juice.
“You look exhausted. Can’t you take a break, and I don’t know…” She made her eyebrows dance. “Come to bed for a while.”
He leaned toward her, cupping his ear. “Are ye asking me to make love to ye again? Didn’t I give ye all the attention and pleasure this afternoon that ye wanted?”
“Oh,” she sighed. “I can never get enough McBain. It’s like eating premium ice cream. A McBain has all the right ingredients—voice, eyes, a heart bigger than Scotland.” Her eyes zeroed in on his crotch. “After seven years of marriage, you still turn me into a quivering puddle.”
His eyes darkened and filled with mischief. His lips half parted as his little finger hooked a strand of her hair and tugged her to him for a kiss. “And I never tire of hearing the sounds of yer pleasure.”
She kissed him back, then remembering the hour, said, “Let’s get in our correct lanes and figure out what we need to do before we drop and roll right here under the desk.” She squared her shoulders as if that would redirect her hormones. “Do you know anything more than you did this afternoon?”
He cleared his throat, swiveled his chair to face the keyboard and monitor. “There are three distinct prints on the puzzle box: Amber’s, Olivia’s, and Connor’s. The rest are partials and don’t show up in any database. One partial matches a partial on yer box.”
“After all these years, you pulled off a partial print? That’s amazing. But how’d Connor lift any prints? He doesn’t have any equipment with him.”
“A MacGyver trick using soot and tape.”
“I should have known. But what about the envelope Charlotte’s sapphire brooch came in or the wrapping paper Jack found at Amy’s house?”
“I sent Charlotte a text asking her to send me the envelope and another text to Jack asking for the wrapping paper. It’s possible those prints haven’t degraded.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t compared the prints before now.”
“I’ve never put much effort in finding Digby other than visiting his office once.”
“I find it curious that you don’t want to meet the solicitor.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to meet him. I have dozens of questions to ask, but I don’t believe he exists. What we already know about the stones is dangerous enough. More information compounds the danger and puts all our lives at risk.”
She jerked as if pulled by a puppeteer’s strings. “You really believe that?”
“Once we recover Amber and her brooch, we’ll have six stones. If twelve are needed to open the mysterious door in the cave beneath the castle, we’ll be halfway there. It’s possible…” He paused, turned again to face her, taking her hands in his. “Think about it, Kenz. We can’t be the only ones who know about the stones. If there’s a dark force of some kind, it has to be sensing the growing power of the stones we have.”
“Would you stop watching sci-fi movies. That’s crazy talk. There’s no dark force. There’s only Mr. Digby. And I believe he sends the brooches out when owners die.”
“Then how do ye explain Amber’s brooch? It’s been locked up for over a century,” David said.
“We don’t know how long it’s been inside the loom. Maybe Amber’s grandparents put it there.”
“Why would they put a valuable treasure in a cabin when they could put it in a bank vault?”
“Then it arrived with the loom. Hell, I don’t know. But the brooches are all finding their way to us, and if we need help, Mr. Digby lends a hand. We know they were disbursed throughout the MacKlenna Clan because every brooch we find has a direct connection to the family. Which brings us to the Kellys. Do you know yet how they’re related?”
“I found the title to the Hughes Mine, which led me to Craig Hughes’ will. He left everything to his son Adam with a life interest to his wife, Lindsey MacKlenna Hughes. Lindsey was one of James MacKlenna’s four legitimate children.”
“The remaining brooches could link to unknown illegitimate children. I’m sure Meredith has had her genealogy team searching for possibilities but what good does that do? Are we going to ask strangers if they have a brooch? Sounds like a waste of time.” Thinking about it gave her a headache. “Let’s just deal with this one right now. What else have you discovered about Amber? What’s her plan?”
David clicked several keys on the keyboard. “I’ve added additional pieces of information. The program should give us a more exact time frame.” He squeezed her hand. It wasn’t an anxious squeeze but one of confident waiting. The pointer on the screen whirled in circles then it stopped, and a date flashed—Fall 1878.
“Brr,” Kenzie said. “Colorado mountains at that time of the year wouldn’t be like fall in Kentucky. I’ll have to rethink my wardrobe.”
“Based on all the information I have, I’d say the time of year is ninety-seven percent accurate. As for where she landed, I can give ye odds in favor of Leadville, Cañon City, and Morrison, but based on anecdotal experience, Amber should have landed close to where she disappeared—the cabin or Leadville.”
“I wonder what she was wearing.”
“I asked Connor to check with Olivia. She said probably jeans, flannel shirt, and a canvas jacket.”
“No hat. No gloves. She wasn’t dressed for cold weather.”
“If she landed near the cabin or town, she’d have been around people who could provide food and shelter. Her seven-times great-grandparents were in Leadville then. As for her skills and expertise, she’s a gourmet cook, lawyer, plays multiple instruments, and knowledgeable about mining. Her knowledge and experience might be questioned, but I don’t think anyone would believe she was a spy.”
“Thanks.” Kenzie shivered. “I could have gone all evening without remembering the London Cage.”
“If I had just told ye who I was, that could have been avoided.”
She kissed him. “You might have been slightly off your game that trip, but you saved my life.”
David opened the desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of whisky and two shot glasses. She put one glass back in the drawer. “I’ve got too much to do tonight, but you go right ahead.”
David poured his drink and took a sip while typing with one hand. “If Amber isn’t in Leadville, it’s a tossup between Morrison and Cañon City. The first Stegosaurus was discovered in 1877, and the Bone Wars be
tween two famous paleontologists, Dr. Marsh and Dr. Cope, were going on at that time. Based on her passion for fossils, I believe she’ll go to one of those cities. Plus, Cañon City is a double draw for her. It was at the center of the Royal Gorge War between the Rio Grande and the Santa Fe railroads.”
“Why would she care about a railroad war?”
“I’m not sure she would, but from articles I found, her father has spent years researching what happened in the gorge and has written several articles about the lawsuit filed by Santa Fe. The case went all the way to the Supreme Court, arguing over which company had the right-of-way through the gorge. It got mean and ugly. I’m sure his passion for the case rubbed off on his daughters.”
David clicked more keys and a map appeared on the large screen on the wall. “Here’s the other draw: Garden City is located a few miles from Cañon City. Right there”—he pointed with a laser pointer—“A Stegosaurus was discovered in 1937.”
“So she knows where one will be discovered. If it was me, I’d be hard pressed not to find it first.”
“That would be fifty years before its time, and she might embroil it in a controversy. Plus, she’d steal the thunder from its rightful discoverer.”
“We can’t let her do that,” Kenzie said.
“I agree.”
Kenzie yawned. “What do you want me to do?”
David picked up an expandable file folder. “Ye won’t get much sleep tonight.” He put the folder in her lap. “Railway Company v. Alling 99 U.S. 463 (1878). The attorney for the appellants was Amber’s six-times great-grandfather. The litigation nearly bankrupted the Rio Grande, in which Amber’s family was heavily invested.”
Kenzie pulled the documents out of the folder and thumbed through several pages. “Did you put this together? It’s a lot of work.”
“If ye’re willing to pay, ye can get anything ye want.”
“I hope you’re not racking up serious expenses, especially since we haven’t told Kevin about Amber’s disappearance. I’d hate to dump thousands of dollars in receipts on his desk and expect him to pay them.”
The Amber Brooch: Time Travel Romance (The Celtic Brooch Book 8) Page 16