The Lawman Claims His Bride

At last, she relaxed against him. “I knew you would come home to me,” she said in a soft voice.

His heart twisted in his chest. Despite her confidence in him, Logan could see where he’d gone wrong. He’d not tried hard enough to come back for her sooner.

Easing her head back, he touched the side of her face, his thumb brushing her cheek.

God had brought him home at last. Logan had to make this right. For Megan, if not for himself.

Lord, may I not be too late to undo whatever damage has been done. I pray You give me the courage needed to save this woman.

Just as she rested her face into his hand, just as everything felt right between them she pulled back and shuffled out of reach. Tugging her bottom lip between her teeth, she lowered her gaze to the floor. But not before he saw the flash of guilt in her eyes. Not regret. Not pain. Guilt. Unmistakable guilt.

What had she done?

Trouble rode the uncomfortable silence that spread between them. But a deeper, more disturbing current of secrets ran below the surface.

“We’ll figure this out,” he promised. “And then we’ll be together, like we planned.”

She lifted her head, gave him the sweet smile he remembered so well, the one he’d recalled on his darkest and loneliest nights.

“I missed you, Megan.” It was the simple truth.

As though his words gave her strength, she lifted her chin a fraction higher. Logan’s gaze connected with a long, jagged slash starting just below her jaw and running down the smooth column of her neck. He knew a knife cut when he saw one. It wasn’t deep and it had been cleaned, but someone had held a knife against Megan’s throat.

A violence he hadn’t known possible roared past the regret in his mind, past the anger and morphed itself into blinding fury. “Who did this to you?”

She raised her hand to her neck and covered the wound with trembling fingers. Logan caught sight of the dried blood on her sleeve. Sucking in a hard breath, he lowered his gaze and noted similar stains on her dress.

“Megan, please.” The control required to keep his voice soft brought a physical pain to his chest. “Tell me who hurt you.”

She blinked in an absent manner, and then looked around the cell as though she was searching the room for her answer. “Co…Cole Kincaid.”

Kincaid. The name meant nothing to him. But Logan would find him. And when he did…

“I’ll kill him.”

She gasped. “No. You don’t understand.” Her eyes filled with desperation. “He’s already dead.”

At the catch in her voice, the remorse in her gaze, Logan shut his mind to the truth staring back at him. It couldn’t be. Not Megan. Never Megan. Nevertheless, he pushed for an answer. “Who killed him?”

Taking a deep breath, she clasped her hands behind her back and lifted her shoulders. She stood in the posture of the condemned walking to the hangman’s noose. “I did.” She cocked her head at a defiant angle. “I killed Cole Kincaid.”

There. Megan had made her confession. Even if she couldn’t remember any of the details of her time in Mattie’s brothel after her initial arrival, even if Sheriff Scott wasn’t convinced she had the strength to shove a knife into Cole’s chest, the possibility was there. After all, she’d been found in Mattie’s private rooms. Alone with the dead outlaw. His blood literally on her hands.

What other explanation could there be than the obvious one?

She would lose Logan now. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But soon. He was a U.S. Marshal, sworn to uphold the law. And she was a suspect in a brutal murder.

Elevating her chin a fraction higher, Megan gripped her hands tighter behind her back and willed Logan to say something. Anything. But he didn’t speak. Instead, a frown wove across his forehead and he cocked his head to the left.

The ripple of a memory slithered through her mind. She’d seen him look like this before, as though he couldn’t reconcile her presence in this wicked, dangerous place.

She tugged at the shadowy thought. Tugged and tugged. Just when she almost captured the elusive memory, her mind filled with a void as black and unreachable as her time with Cole Kincaid.

Logan focused on her again. But, still, he didn’t break the uncomfortable silence that stretched between them. He kept blinking at her, his chest rising and falling in an uneasy rhythm. She understood his struggle. She was having difficulty finding words herself.

With a slight tremble in his hand, he ran a finger down her throat. She gave an involuntary shake. The cut was still sore from the knife’s jagged edge and the skin was probably starting to bruise.

What must he think? “Logan, did you hear me? I killed—”

“You didn’t kill anyone.”

How could he be so sure? “You don’t know that.”

“I know you.” The certainty in his voice made her want to weep with relief.

But what if he was wrong? What if she was capable of far more evil than anyone realized? Perhaps that was the reason she couldn’t remember what happened at Mattie’s brothel. Or why she’d been found alone with Cole.

“People change,” she reminded him.

“Not that much.” He stroked her hair. “Not that much.”

His conviction staggered her. She hadn’t expected his unwavering defense of her character. It was disheartening to think she might not be able to live up to his expectations.

“Oh, Logan.” She sagged back a step and lowered her gaze. “What if you never really knew me?” What if I never really knew myself?

“I know you, Megan.” He gripped her shoulders with gentle hands and pulled her toward him again. “I’ve seen you with the younger Charity House orphans. I’ve watched you hug away a hurt. You’re a fine, godly woman with compassion in your heart. You are not capable of cold-blooded murder.”

But what if it hadn’t been cold-blooded? What if she’d been defending herself? What if it was something in between the two? Why, why couldn’t she remember?

As though sensing her panic, Logan kept his hands on her shoulders, his gaze stark and measuring but not condemning.

Her reeling senses couldn’t take all that intensity, all that confidence. Why wasn’t he judging her? Unable to withstand the strain, she pulled free from his touch.

Raking his fingers through his hair, he paced through the cell with hard, clipped steps. Back and forth he went, moving with the lethal grace of a large mountain lion. Every few steps he’d toss her a frustrated glare. His hands were clenched into tight fists, as though he was trying to control his pent-up emotions.

Letting him walk uninterrupted, she followed his progress, greedy for this first opportunity to watch him move in five long years. The sight of him was so familiar, so dear.

Time had changed nothing. Time had changed everything.

He was as tall as she remembered, six feet at least, but there was no boy left in him now. His lean, rangy body had filled out with the muscles of a man and his hair had darkened to a rich sandy-blond. Dressed in a simple black coat and pants, his white shirt stood in stark contrast against his tanned skin. Even without the tin star pinned to his shirt, he had lawman written all over him, with his square jaw, defined features and the shadow of a beard just starting.

Remorse crawled over her, around her, sucking out what little hope she’d held on to since Sheriff Scott had locked her in this jail cell.

If she hadn’t tangled with Cole Kincaid, she might have become this man’s wife in a matter of days. One unfortunate incident and she stood to lose everything important to her. She stood to lose Logan.

Her life was collapsing around her, her dreams crumbling like a house with no foundation. All because she’d set out to show mercy to a woman who had reminded her of her dead mother.

Regret congealed in her throat.

Is this what comes of kindness, Lord? Is the inevitable loss of the only man I’ve ever loved to be my reward?

The question was a betrayal to everything she’d been raised to believe about Christian charity.

Logan returned to her, thankfully cutting off the rest of her troubled thoughts. His expression softening, he took her hand into his, then twined their fingers together in the same way he had years ago. She looked down at their palms pressed tightly against one another. Her hand was so small in his.

“Megan, my sweet, look at me.”

The genuine affection in his voice compelled her to do as he requested.

He smiled, but he didn’t try to pull her into his arms again. She was thankful for that, at least. She barely had power over her emotions as it was. She would probably collapse into uncontrollable sobs if he offered her any more kindness. Tears would do neither of them any good.

“Start at the beginning,” he said. “Tell me everything that happened.”

She saw the many questions in his eyes, the frustration underneath, but he held to his silence as he waited for her to begin.

He was so patient, so willing to think the best of her. How could she not love such a man?

“Logan, I…I…” Her throat cinched around a breath. “I can’t tell you what happened because I—” She broke off, unable to push the words past her lips.

“Because?” he urged, using the same patient tone as before.

“Because…” She broke eye contact and focused on a spot just over his left shoulder. “I don’t remember.”

Chapter Three

Megan waited for Logan to respond to her stunning declaration. But he didn’t move, didn’t blink. In fact, he didn’t react at all.

Perhaps he hadn’t heard her.

Just as she opened her mouth to repeat herself, the outer door swung open with a rattle. She jumped away from Logan like a guilty child.

Sheriff Scott had returned. And he was looking directly at her as he entered the cell. The fierce angles of his face coupled with the hard slash of his frown sent a lick of fear through her. But then his gaze softened and she relaxed. A little.

He turned his attention to Logan. “I see she told you about her memory loss.”

Ignoring the comment, Logan closed the distance Megan had created between them when she’d jumped away from him. “You don’t remember anything about the murder?”

She lowered her gaze to the floor. “Nothing.”

“That must be…” He pulled in a hissing breath. “Terrifying.”

Megan’s heart kicked hard against her rib cage. Logan understood her predicament. Perhaps better than she did herself.

She wished she could shake the horror of forgetting. She wanted to escape the terrible reality that a portion of her life was gone, perhaps forever.

She fought for her next gasp of air. What if she never remembered? What if Logan had to bring her to trial? What if she was convicted of murder? What if… What if…

What if…

As though sensing her growing panic, he pulled her into his arms again. Muttering soft words of comfort, he kept the embrace light, holding her with the care he might show a wounded animal.

A part of her relished the tender treatment. Another part—the part used to taking care of herself and others—wanted to shrink from the very real desire to rest in Logan’s strength, if only for a while.

Even as he whispered soft promises to her, her inner battle continued with the independent side of her nature losing ground quickly. Logan was so strong, so good, so determined to make everything right. She could practically hear his brain working through the problem, his mind sorting and sifting potential solutions in perfect cadence with his heartbeat.

“What does Mattie Silks have to do with this?” he asked.

It was not the first question Megan would have expected from him. The madam had been uncommonly kind to her, wonderful even. But would Logan understand?

When Megan didn’t answer the question right away, Sheriff Scott responded for her. “The murder occurred in Mattie’s brothel. In her private suite of rooms.”

Logan recoiled. Not enough for the sheriff to notice, but Megan felt his reaction even as he set her gently away from him. She thought she heard him mutter something about the difficult woman and her maddening games, but couldn’t be sure. He’d spoken just below a whisper.

Fearing what she might find, she ventured a glance into his eyes. He looked stunned. Indignant. Furious.

Megan had never seen him so angry. She was sure of it. But just as the thought materialized a distant memory triggered a peculiar stinging in her throat. She instinctively backed away from him. One step. Two. The third brought her legs up against the cot.

She sat. Quickly, before she collapsed.

Shivering, she rubbed her hands over her arms. Beneath the thin fabric of her sleeves her skin felt clammy, as though the ugliness of death had attached itself to her and wouldn’t let go.

At last, the shadows in Logan’s gaze shifted from anger to sorrow to resolve. He turned to glare at Sheriff Scott. “Tell me everything you know.”

With slow, precise words the sheriff recounted the events in Mattie’s boudoir as he knew them. His smooth, deep baritone lulled Megan into a comfortable daze.

Only half listening, she pulled her feet onto the cot and hugged her knees to her chest. She didn’t mind that they were discussing her as though she wasn’t in the room. She found it oddly comforting to listen to her story from the viewpoint of an outsider. But as the events unfolded around her, Megan had to swallow back another round of panic.

Why couldn’t she remember details from the brothel? She recalled feeling fear. Queasiness. Rage. But nothing more substantial, nothing concrete.

At last, the same tiny thought swam out of the chaos in her mind as it had every other time she’d pushed herself to remember. She’d gone to read to Suzanne, one of Mattie’s girls, a woman who’d contracted the same illness that had killed Megan’s mother. Megan had gone to the brothel to offer what small comfort she could.

But why had Cole sought her out, specifically? She’d been there on an errand of mercy.

Before confusion overtook her, she made herself focus on the story once again. According to Sheriff Scott, Cole had attacked her, probably assuming she was one of Mattie’s girls. All signs revealed that Megan had fought back, at one point pushing the man so hard he’d hit his head against the stone fireplace. But the blow hadn’t been what killed him. The sheriff was positive Cole died of a chest wound.

“Someone jammed a knife straight through Kincaid’s black heart,” he said.

How many times had Megan heard the same series of events, told in the same sequence, always with the same conclusion? A man was dead and his blood was on her dress, as well as on her hands before she’d cleaned them. But no matter how deep she searched her mind, Megan couldn’t corroborate any of the sheriff’s findings.

Hugging her knees tighter, she fought the familiar fog trying to grip her mind once again. It came anyway, thick and impenetrable.

Logan let out a low hiss when Sheriff Scott began detailing the murder scene. Megan jerked her attention back to the conversation. Catching Logan’s hard expression she easily understood why Sheriff Scott had recommended him for the U.S. Marshal position. Not out of loyalty alone, but because Logan could be ruthless when he wanted to get to the truth of a matter. She shivered.

Would he be her ally now? Or her judge?

At last, the sheriff came to the end of the tale.

Logan’s conviction was stronger than before. “Nothing you’ve said changes my mind about Megan’s innocence. She couldn’t have murdered Kincaid.” He tossed her a quick, reassuring look. “Not in the way you just described. You have to let her go. You—”

“Slow down, Logan.” The sheriff held up his hand between them. “It’s too soon to form any conclusions.”

“I said,” he clenched his jaw so hard a muscle jumped in his neck, “Let. Her. Go.”

“Stop and think,” the sheriff suggested. “If someone else murdered Kincaid that means Megan probably saw him.”

She shook her head fiercely. “I remember no one.”

Neither man acknowledged her.

“Logan.” The sheriff’s tone turned low and insistent. “He won’t know she’s lost her memory. She could be in grave danger.”

Logan drew in a sharp breath. “Is that why you locked her in here? To keep her out of his reach?”

“It’s one of the reasons.” The sheriff gave Megan a sad smile, one filled with unmistakable remorse. “But not the only one.”

Without warning, Logan lurched forward. He grabbed the sheriff by the lapels and then slammed him against the wall behind him. “You might have kept her safe from a killer, but you’ve also broadcasted to the world, including Kincaid’s gang, that you think she’s the murderer.”

Looking cool and composed, Sheriff Scott responded with an even tone. “I’m sorry, Logan, but the truth of the matter is she could be the murderer.”

Logan shoved his forearm under the sheriff’s chin in a brutal choke hold. “You might as well have drawn a target on her back,” he growled, ignoring the sheriff’s last comment. “Men like Kincaid never travel alone. His gang will want retribution.”

As though he knew Logan needed to vent his anger, the sheriff still didn’t try to move. Or fight back. “I stand by my decision.”

Several heartbeats passed. And then several more.

“Logan, think this through with your brain and not your emotions. Megan is in danger. Whether she committed the crime or witnessed it, she’s safer here than anywhere else in town.”

After one last shove, Logan threw his hands in the air. Breathing hard, he pressed his palm against the back of his neck and rolled his shoulders. There was such sorrow in his eyes, maybe a twinge of remorse. But mostly Megan noted ruthless determination in his gaze. He’d come to a conclusion.

What was he planning to do?

“No, Logan,” Sheriff Scott warned. “I won’t let you release her. It’s too dangerous.”

Logan dismissed the words with a hard flick of his wrist. “We’ll discuss that later.”

With careful movements, he sat beside Megan on the cot. The springs gave a series of loud creaks before settling underneath the additional weight.

He touched her wound, then dropped his hand to her shoulder and squeezed. “Have you seen a doctor yet? Did you suffer any other…injuries?”

He spoke so slowly, so carefully. She could tell he was trying not to frighten her but he couldn’t contain the fear in his own eyes, fear for her, fear for what might have happened when she was alone with Cole.

In that, at least, she could relieve his mind.

Swallowing back a wave of shyness, she forced herself to hold Logan’s gaze. “Dr. Shane cleaned the cut on my neck and then he gave me a tonic to help me sleep. But I…” She shook her head again. This time the gesture sent tiny white dots across her vision. “…can’t sleep.”

“Logan, don’t do this now,” the sheriff urged. “She doesn’t remember. She’s been—”

Logan held up a hand to stave off the interruption. “I want to hear the rest from her.”

Nodding in agreement, she pressed her hand to her stomach. She knew how hard this was for him. It was hard for her, too. But they had to speak of this now. And then never again. “He didn’t hurt me in any other way.” At least not physically.

Cole hadn’t forced himself on her. There would have been signs. But that didn’t mean Megan had escaped free of harm. In truth, she feared the consequences of her night with the outlaw were far worse than cuts and bruises.

Exposed only indirectly to her mother’s sinful lifestyle, Megan had thought she understood the gift she’d been given as a resident at Charity House. The gift of escape. The gift of respectability.

Now, as she faced Logan for the first time in five years, she could no longer dodge the one question she’d avoided since Sheriff Scott had locked her in this cell. Because of this single incident, would she end up like her mother, alone and desperate, with no one to love?

Logan followed Trey outside the jailhouse and onto the planked sidewalk lining the street. Night closed in around him like a menacing presence, taunting him. He hardly noticed. Anger still rode him hard, but he forced himself to focus on the facts first. No emotion. No giving in to despair. Just cold, hard logic.

“All right, Trey.” He spun around to face the other man. “Tell me the rest, the part you couldn’t say in front of Megan.”

Trey rubbed a weary hand down his face and then leaned back on one foot. “You’ve heard most of it.”

Not by half. “The blood on her dress. Is it hers or Kincaid’s?”

“Mostly Kincaid’s.”

Logan’s breath caught in his chest. Megan had been attacked. By a very bad man. He wasn’t sorry the outlaw was dead, but there were too many details that needed explaining. And Megan couldn’t remember what had happened to her. That left them with very little to go on.

At least one thing was clear in Logan’s mind. “She didn’t kill Kincaid.”

“We don’t know that for sure.”

“Yes, we do.” A lump rose in his throat. He shoved it down with a hard swallow. “From what you described—the knife’s angled position through bone and flesh, the direction of the blade’s entry from above not below—she’s obviously innocent. Even if Kincaid had been on his knees, she’s not strong enough to have stabbed him in that manner.”

Trey looked out in the distance before answering. When he turned his head back to Logan, his gaze was filled with remorse. “Under ordinary circumstances, I would agree with you. But Megan was brutally attacked. The will to survive, the power of the moment, fear, any of those factors could have come into play and given her the strength to defend herself.”

“With a knife to the man’s chest? Through bone? No. That doesn’t make sense.”

“You know it’s possible. Not probable, but possible.”

Logan recognized the unbending look in Trey’s eyes as he spoke. The other man wasn’t going to draw any conclusions about the murder until he had concrete information. That did not bode well for Megan’s immediate freedom. Unacceptable.

“Release her into my custody.”

“No.”

“I have the perfect place to take her, a place where she’ll be safe.”

“She’s safe enough here.”

“Not as much as she would be with me.”

“Look, Logan, I know the situation seems bleak right now, but all is not lost. God has not abandoned Megan. Or you. Have patience, my friend. Pray for guidance. The Lord will direct your way.”

Right. He was supposed to stand around and wait for God to free Megan. The same God who’d allowed the attack to occur in the first place.

Logan didn’t have that much faith.

And now he was through taking the passive route. He was through shoving his emotions aside in the name of reason. To what end? To stand around and talk about a silent God who didn’t seem to care what was happening here?

“Release Megan into my custody,” Logan demanded again.

“I said, no.”

Logan went for Trey’s throat. But this time the other man was ready. At the last moment, he shifted to his left. Logan stumbled into empty air. Before he caught his balance, Trey spun him around by the shoulder and slammed him back against the wall, securing him in place with the same choke hold Logan had used earlier.

He fought against Trey’s grip. “If I wasn’t so angry you wouldn’t have gotten the chance to subdue me like this.”

“But you are angry.” Trey tightened his hold. “Allowing your emotions to rule your actions is what gets a man shot.”

Logan was in no mood for a lecture, especially from Trey Scott. “This? From you?”

“You know I speak from experience.” Trey rolled his right shoulder, reminding them both of the time he’d taken a bullet when he’d confronted Ike Hayes over the cold-blooded murder of his first wife. Trey had been bent on revenge and had lost his perspective. Logan had saved the man’s life because he’d been the rational thinker.

Now Logan was the one losing perspective. He dropped his chin and let out a long breath. “I can’t leave her in jail. Let me take her away from here. I’ll keep her safe.”