The Lawman Claims His Bride
The Lawman Claims His Bride
Renee Ryan
For five years, U.S. Marshal Logan Mitchell has dreamed of returning to his sweetheart in Denver.He never imagined he'd find Megan Goodwin locked in a prison cell. Megan has no memory of what happened the night the outlaw was murdered. And though Logan is sure of her innocence, proving it is only half the battle. Remembering the killer's identity will clear Megan's name but could lead danger right to her door. Logan will protect her life with his. But forging a true marriage takes trust, faith and the courage to open their hearts to God's plan–wherever it leads….
A row of impenetrable iron bars stood between Logan and the woman he loved.
He balled his shooting hand into a tight fist. The urge to hit something, or someone, came fast, but he reminded himself he’d taken a different path than his brother. Still, a low growl of frustration rumbled deep in his throat.
At the sound, Megan looked up and slowly turned her head.
Their gazes met.
Logan’s heart pummeled his rib cage. The brutal assault made each intake of air a struggle.
Lost in her eyes, a compelling tapestry of silver over blue, he experienced a deep sensation of completion. The emotion was so simple, so pure, he wondered how he’d been able to walk away before.
Well, he was home now.
“Logan?” A little sigh slipped from her lips. “Is it really you?”
“Yes, Megan.” He forced his words around the breath clogging in his throat. “I’ve come for you, just like I promised.”
RENEE RYAN
grew up in a small Florida beach town. To entertain herself during countless hours of “lying out” she read all the classics. It wasn’t until the summer between her sophomore and junior years at Florida State University that she read her first romance novel. Hooked from page one, she spent hours consuming one book after another while working on the best (and last!) tan of her life.
Two years later, armed with a degree in economics and religion, she explored various career opportunities, including stints at a Florida theme park, a modeling agency and a cosmetics conglomerate. She moved on to teach high school economics, American government and Latin while coaching award-winning cheerleading teams. Several years later, with an eclectic cast of characters swimming around in her head, she began seriously pursuing a writing career.
She lives an action-packed life in Georgia, with her supportive husband, lovely teenage daughter and two ornery cats who hate each other.
The Lawman Claims His Bride
Renee Ryan
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Many are the plans in a man’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.
—Proverbs 19:21
To Donnell Ann Bell, my favorite pair of fresh eyes.
Thank you, my friend, for all the times you answered the call for a “quick” favor.
I owe you more than words can express.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
Letter to Reader
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
Chapter One
Denver, Colorado, 1888.
Megan Goodwin had not intended to die today. But as she stared at the knife inches from her throat, she feared her plans were about to change.
Yet to face her end in a brothel, the same one where her mother had died five years before, was simply unacceptable.
Frozen in terror, she watched the knife’s deadly point creep closer.
Megan prayed for courage to face the next few minutes. Oh, Lord. Oh, God, please help me.
She lifted the silent appeal to the God she’d counted on her whole life.
Where was Mattie? The madam had promised to return shortly. She’d left Megan here in the safety of her private boudoir, out of sight and hidden from Cole Kincaid.
He’d found her anyway.
Gritting her teeth, Megan forced her gaze to stay on his face, if only to prove to herself she still had some control of the situation.
He was big, just over six feet. His face was hideous, all flat planes, sallow skin and dark, dirty beard. He had small, black eyes. Mean eyes. The eyes of a killer. The—
He yanked her head back with a hard tug, cutting off the rest of her thoughts. Small white dots of light burst in front of her eyes.
She’d done nothing to warrant this savage attack. Nothing, except put herself in the wrong place at the wrong time for what she thought was the right reason. The act of kindness might be her last.
Cole eased his grip from her hair and lowered the knife, shoving her back against the divan. “Let’s have us some fun, shall we?” His voice had a soft note to it, as though he were suggesting they share a cup of tea.
The man was a monster.
Megan pulled her gaze from him and focused instead on the room that had been intentionally decorated for sin. Beneath the expensive silk and garish furnishings hung a decadence that spoke of the ugly work performed here.
So this was it, then? This chamber of wickedness was where she would die? No matter that she’d lived a pure life, no matter that she’d been raised in a Christian orphanage across town, she’d failed to escape her mother’s vile world after all.
“Look at me,” Cole snarled.
When she kept her gaze averted, he muttered a curse and clutched her jaw, forcing her head around. “Mattie shouldn’t keep a pretty thing like you hidden from her paying customers.”
The smell of whiskey and week-old sweat trailed in the wake of his words. He swayed, just a little, but enough to tell Megan he’d consumed quite a bit.
“I…I’m not one of her girls.”
He laughed at her, an easy sound full of heartless pleasure. “All the better. I like ’em innocent.”
Panic clawed for release, but Megan refused to give in to the emotion. She pressed her eyes tightly shut.
She would think of Logan. Only Logan, the good, solid man she’d promised to love the rest of her life. He would be home soon, any day now. Then they would be married.
The thought brought sorrow, not peace. Megan should have never set foot in Mattie’s brothel today. She’d only come to read to Suzanne, a young prostitute dying of the same disease that had claimed Megan’s mother.
What had she been thinking? That she’d be safe simply because her motives were pure?
Well, it was too late for regrets, too late to scold herself for coming here at all. She’d thought her midafternoon arrival would get her in and out before customers started arriving. Normally, she would have been right. Today, she’d woefully miscalculated and Cole Kincaid had been here, a man known for his cruelty to women.
And now Megan was snared in his trap.
He placed his lips close to her ear. “I promise you one thing, my little beauty.” He wrapped velvet around his words. “This will hurt.”
Something dark inside Megan snapped at the threat.
Cold, ruthless rage took hold of her.
She forgot about the knife at her throat. Forgot about the menace in her attacker’s eyes. And only focused on the black emotion spiraling through her.
Fury controlled her now. She allowed the power of it to spread, allowed her hands to act without permission from her brain. Slowly, resolutely, her palms snaked up her attacker’s arms and latched onto his shoulders.
Cole grinned and lowered his head toward hers. His eyes were a bit unfocused, as though the whiskey had dulled his thinking.
Megan shoved him with all her might.
Unprepared for the attack, Cole staggered back a step. The knife dropped from his hand. It hit the floor with a loud crack. Roaring a curse at her, he caught his balance and lunged for her again.
This time, murder glittered in his eyes.
Everything Megan wanted in life flashed through her mind. Logan. Children. A home of her own. “No!” Using her nails as talons she rushed at the man. “No.”
Trying to cover his face, he fumbled back a step. He began to fall but he grabbed her arm for support. They lurched backward, together, heading straight for the stone fireplace.
Megan fought to free herself, pulling her weight in the opposite direction. Another yank on her arm carried her straight into him.
Tangled together, they stumbled two steps back. Three. His head slammed against the mantle.
The hand on her arm went limp and he slid to the floor like a bundle of discarded rags.
Megan fell to the ground a second later, struggling for air. Now on her hands and knees, she blinked in horror at the man beside her. As quickly as they had come, all the dangerous emotions inside her disappeared. In the next instant, tears welled. Tears of frustration, of fear, of…
Why wasn’t he moving?
Hands shaking, Megan reached out. Attacking an innocent woman, indeed. She poked his cowardly shoulder.
He didn’t respond, didn’t budge.
Heart hammering in her throat, she glanced at the clock above her head, the one sitting on the center of the stone mantle. Megan was shocked to discover that no more than five minutes had passed since the outlaw had entered the parlor.
Feeling as though she was looking at him from a very far distance, she forced herself to study his face. His mouth hung open, slack at the jaw. And with each tick of the clock, he turned deathly pale.
Thou shalt not kill.
What if he was dead?
Thou shalt not kill.
What if he wasn’t?
She had to know for sure.
For several heartbeats Megan watched him closely. His chest rose and fell in an unsteady rhythm.
He was alive. But injured.
Megan tried to force up some regret, but she felt no remorse. Cole had attacked her. Given a few more minutes he’d have forced himself on her. Or worse yet, killed her.
Bile rose in her throat. Covering her mouth, she rushed into the bathroom. At the same moment, the door in the outer room opened and closed with a bang. She heard a man’s voice.
The sound brought with it a terrible thought. Men like Cole Kincaid ran in packs. Had one of his gang come to check on him?
No. No one could know he was here. He’d slipped out of one of the upstairs rooms when he’d seen the owner of the brothel rushing Megan down the back stairwell. He’d told her that himself, right before he’d pulled the knife.
Then who could be sneaking into the madam’s private parlor?
Megan took a tentative step toward the door and listened. She heard a muffled, “Get on your feet, Kincaid. Now.”
A nasty oath came in response to the demand.
“I said get up. I want you standing when you face the devil.”
Megan couldn’t identify the newcomer’s next words, precisely, yet the husky baritone sparked a feeling of relief. She knew that voice, knew it well.
What was he doing here tonight, in Mattie’s brothel, at this hour?
Bewildered, she edged forward and peered into the parlor. The man’s back was to her so she couldn’t see his face. But she recognized that powerful build. Except…
The way he held his shoulders wasn’t quite right.
Her thoughts knotted together in her mind, blurring like a distant dream just out of reach.
The man suddenly turned to face her. Their gazes met for only a brief moment before Megan’s vision grayed, darkened. And then her world went black.
Winter clung to the damp March air, refusing to relinquish its frigid grip on Denver. In an attempt to calm his raging emotions, U.S. Marshal Logan Mitchell filled his lungs with the biting cold. Eyes narrowed, temper hot, his thoughts pinpointed to one impossible reality.
Megan had been arrested. His Megan.
The churning in his gut formed into a tight, angry spasm. He could easily allow the dark emotion to take hold, but that would unleash a part of him he’d held tightly controlled since childhood.
Rubbing at the tension at the back of his neck, Logan studied the unassuming brick building directly across the street. He didn’t need perfect vision to read the words embossed on the plaque nailed to the door. Sheriff’s Office and Jailhouse.
This had to be a mistake. His future wife should not be locked up. She should be back at Charity House, the orphanage where she lived and worked, helping settle the younger children into bed for the night.
Logan lifted his eyes to the dark heavens, tried to formulate a prayer, but words escaped him. How did he turn to God for guidance when he had yet to discover what Megan had done, or why Trey Scott had locked her up like a common criminal?
No one at Charity House had given him a direct answer as to Megan’s whereabouts this evening. Instead, they’d given him some cryptic explanation about her reading to a sick woman living in Mattie Silks’s brothel. Mattie Silks’s brothel!
When Logan had questioned the ornery madam, she’d been the difficult, condescending woman he remembered all too well. She’d circled him like a rat sizing up a meaty piece of garbage, all the while talking to him in half sentences and irrelevant facts.
But Logan had been on to her game of distraction. He hadn’t missed her covert glances toward the back of the house, where her private suite of rooms was located. The woman had been hiding something. Or someone. Only when he’d started toward her boudoir did she direct him to the county jail. The county jail!
He sucked in another hard breath. The dark, damp air magnified the stench of stale liquor, cloying perfume and the polluted smells of Denver’s underbelly.
Nothing had changed on Market Street in the last five years. One glance at the bustling sidewalks told him that gambling, prostitution and saloons still flourished. Men of various sizes and economic situations spilled out of buildings only to stumble into others. Some moved in packs, others sought their pleasure alone. Raucous music mingled with shouts, cursing and laughter.
Bringing order and redemption to these streets would not come easy or fast. Logan would attempt to do so anyway.
But first, he had to free Megan.
Jamming his hat onto his head, he trekked across the planked sidewalk and wove through the labyrinth of activity on the street.
The moment he entered the jailhouse his heart beat a single, heavy kick against his ribs. The room held little light and the air shimmered with a cold, gray foreboding. Closing the door with a firm click, Logan forced his vision to adjust. He dropped a cursory glance at the desk cluttered with piles of forgotten reports before focusing his attention on the lone occupant in the middle cell.
Megan.
With a fierce mental shake, he slammed shut the part of him that wanted to beat down the bars between them. He willed her to look at him but she didn’t acknowledge his presence.
She appeared lost in thought, so small, so fragile. So…alone. Guilt pushed at him, mocking his attempt to think rationally. He’d waited five years to ask this woman to become his wife. He’d remained loyal to her in the face of every temptation San Francisco had to offer, and he’d done it without an ounce of regret. Until now. Now, as he stared at Megan’s bent head, he knew nothing but regret. Regret that he’d put off coming home for too long.
For one brief moment, he savored the soft lines of her shoulders, the elegant tilt of her head and the wheat-colored curls spilling down her back. She held her shoulders stiff as she twisted her hands in her lap, rubbing them over one another again and again and again.
Logan frowned.
He’d seen her like this only one time before. The day Pastor Beau had told her of her mother’s death. Logan had fought the urge to steal her away back then, to rescue her from her grief.
She’d been too young at the time. That’s what they’d said. Pastor Beau and her guardian, Marc Dupree, had insisted Logan step back and assess the situation like a man and not a “boy in love.” When he hadn’t backed off, Marc had threatened him, resorting to brute force to make his point. In the end, Logan had relented. For Megan’s sake, he’d allowed the others to sway his better judgment.
A mistake.
Now a row of impenetrable iron bars stood between him and the woman he loved.
Logan balled his shooting hand into a tight fist. The urge to hit something, or someone, came fast, but he reminded himself he’d taken a different path than his brother. Still, a low growl of frustration rumbled deep in his throat.
At the sound, Megan looked up and slowly turned her head.
Their gazes melded.
Logan’s heart pummeled his rib cage. The brutal assault made each intake of air a struggle.
Lost in her eyes, a compelling tapestry of silver over blue, he experienced a deep sensation of completion. The emotion was so simple, so pure he wondered how he’d been able to walk away before.
Well, he was home now.
“Logan?” A little sigh slipped from her lips. “Is it really you?”
“Yes, Megan.” He forced his words around the breath clogging in his throat. “I’ve come for you, just like I promised.”
But had he returned too late?
Chapter Two
After two endless seconds Megan finally jumped up and hurried across the cell toward Logan.
Hungry for this closer view, he clutched at the bars and strained forward. Just like it had five years ago, her beauty made his throat ache. Her hair still tumbled down her shoulders in golden waves, and her skin was as luminous as he remembered.
But there were differences, too. Her features had become more mature, less rounded by youth. But her eyes—her glorious, sparkling eyes—were haunted now. Deep purple smudges shadowed the skin beneath. It was clear she needed food, sleep and tender care.
A possessive urgency to see to those needs had him curling his fingers in a white-knuckle grip around the bars. Inhaling slowly, he forced his hands to relax and then reached for her.
She smiled at him, shyly at first. Then, with growing confidence, she took a step closer and placed her fingers in his. Gripping his wrist with her other hand, she brought his open palm to her face.
He cupped her cheek as gently as the barrier between them would allow. The contact eased the furious knot of tension in his stomach. But only for a moment. Old guilt warred with a new sense of regret, and Logan couldn’t say which hurt more to suppress. He clenched his teeth so hard a muscle jumped at his jaw.
Suddenly, she staggered back a step. “Oh, Logan, I have to tell you—”
The outer door burst open, cutting off her words.
Heavy, purposeful footsteps approached from behind. Logan’s shoulders stiffened at the familiar sound. He’d know that clipped, efficient cadence anywhere.
Frustrated at the interruption, he turned on his heel and came face-to-face with his former mentor. Trey Scott. The man who had trained Logan to think before shooting. The man who had recommended him for the U.S. Marshal position.
The man who had locked Megan in a cold, dark cage.
“Give me the key…Sheriff.”
“Ah.” Trey hitched his hip against the desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “I see we’re dispensing with the pleasantries. Nevertheless, welcome home, Logan.”
Logan swallowed back an angry response and forced out his words with precision. “As the newly appointed U.S. Marshal I have a duty to—”
“I know your job description.” He gave Logan a meaningful look, reminding them both who’d held the position first. “But this is my jail now. And you’ll play by my rules.”
Out of respect for all this man had done for him, Logan relented. For now.
Changing tactics, he appealed to their history as partners and friends. “I saved your life when Ike Hayes was bent on destroying you. You owe me this one request.”
“Logan,” Trey began, unfolding his arms and pushing to a standing position. “You need to understand the situation. You won’t be so ready to release her once you know the truth.”
The truth? There was only one truth. Megan didn’t belong in a cold, impersonal jail cell.
Logan had failed her once, by leaving town when he should have married her. He wouldn’t walk away again. Nor would he allow her to rot in a cage another hour, much less another day.
“One thing in particular you should know.” Trey cast a look over Logan’s shoulder, sighed. “She—”
“Explanations can wait. I want to speak with her first. Alone.”
Trey’s lips compressed into a thin line. Logan knew the look well. Trey Scott was in an unrelenting mood.
Well, so was Logan. He needed to be near Megan, needed to know she was truly safe. “You can lock me in with her.”
Clearing his features of all expression, Trey glanced over Logan’s shoulder again. For a moment, he simply stared at Megan. A silent message seemed to pass between them before he focused on Logan once more.
“All right.” He retrieved an iron key from his vest pocket. “You can have a few minutes with her. But then you’ll listen to what I have to say.” The last was not a request but an order.
Unwilling to battle his longtime friend—yet—Logan nodded his agreement.
“Now that we understand one another…” Trey lifted his hand.
Logan snatched the key then turned toward the cell door. Before releasing the lock he glared at the other man. “Don’t you have something to do? Outside?”
Unmoving, Trey lifted a single eyebrow. The gesture made him look like a protective father.
Logan remembered the other men with that same look in their eyes. He remembered their resolve as they told him to stay away from Megan. She was too young, they’d claimed a hundred times over. He was too old. She was grieving her mother’s death. He needed to make a secure future for her before whisking her off in marriage. On and on they’d argued against him.
If he had ignored them, if he’d taken Megan as his wife when he’d had the chance, she wouldn’t be in jail now.
Logan had to make this right.
Some of his torment must have shown in his eyes because Trey patted him on the back in a fatherly gesture. “I’ll be just outside, my friend. You have five minutes, no more.”
Logan nodded.
Trey left the jailhouse without another word.
Pivoting, Logan kept his gaze on Megan as he unlocked the door. The grind of metal hinges filled the silence between them. Taking a step into the cell, a sudden wave of helplessness enveloped him. What if he couldn’t save her?
No. Whatever had warranted Megan’s imprisonment Logan would find a way to fix the problem, but for now…
He opened his arms wide.
She hesitated only a second, then a swift smile flashed across her face and she rushed into his embrace.
“Logan,” she whispered, wrapping her fingers around the lapels of his jacket with a fierce grip.
He folded her tightly against him, breathing the scent he remembered well. Clean and fresh, like soap mixed with spring flowers. A pleasant calm descended over him, smoothing the jagged edges of his embittered soul.
So many mistakes to regret.
Exhaling, he dropped his chin on the top of her head. So many choices he should have made differently.
But he was home now. They were together. Everything would be all right. Except…
Everything wasn’t all right.
Megan held her shoulders stiff, as though she intentionally kept a part of herself back from him. In all the times he’d dreamed of this moment, in all the ways he’d expected their reunion to go, none of them included her unyielding in his arms.
He tried not to feel disappointed by her reaction and focused on calming her. After all, she’d been through an ordeal. That alone explained her reticence now.
With a gentle stroke, he smoothed his hand down her hair. One time. Two times. Three.
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.”
“I know you will.” Trey released his hold and stepped back. “But we need answers first.”
Absently, Logan rubbed his throat. “We have to find Kincaid’s real killer. Before he finds Megan.”
“Right now, all we have is supposition. We need more information.”
Then Logan would get them more. And he knew exactly where to start. “Promise me you won’t let Megan out of your sight, not for any reason.”
“That goes without saying.”
Logan took two steps in the direction of Market Street but Trey blocked his path. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To Mattie’s.”
“Waste of time. You know the woman will run you around in circles if she decides to speak to you at all.”
“She’ll talk.”
Trey tried a different tactic. “My deputy has been there for several hours, looking for any clues we may have missed earlier. You’ll just be in the way.”
“I don’t plan to interfere. I plan to get answers.” From the most likely source, Mattie Silks herself. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
He shoved past Trey.
This time, the man didn’t try to stop him.
With each step he took, Logan calculated how best to go about questioning Mattie. There was no room for emotion now. Only harsh, unyielding intent. Someone in that den of iniquity had seen the real killer. Someone besides Megan.
And Logan wouldn’t rest until someone started talking.
Chapter Four
By the time Logan rounded the corner onto Market Street, the wind had taken on a nasty bite. He turned up his collar against the cold and instinctively increased his pace. Hollow laughter rang out in the distance, followed by the slam of a door.
He hated this time of day. In the eerie, predawn light, when the world stood poised between night and day, a desolate sheen seemed to cover everything. The oppressive stench of rotting garbage and stale liquor added to his already bleak mood.
A shadow slithered across his feet, then disappeared.
He turned quickly, scanning the area with a narrowed gaze. He found nothing more than a stumbling drunk and a scrawny mutt digging for scraps in the frosted earth.
Frowning, Logan resumed his trek toward Mattie’s. Every few steps he stabbed a covert glance over his shoulder. He couldn’t shake the notion he was being followed, yet he didn’t get a sense of imminent danger.
Puzzling over the contradictory sensations, he arrived at his destination. The most elegant house on the block, the brothel’s pale pink stucco, sweeping ivy and heavily sloping roof presented an inviting picture of hearth and home.
It was a lie, of course. The temporary pleasure offered in this house only resulted in despair. For all parties involved.
What Logan couldn’t fathom was Megan’s decision to come here at all. What had she hoped to accomplish with her charity work? What had been worth putting herself in harm’s way?
When and if the time was right, he would ask her.
For now, he lifted the ornate knocker and let it drop with a loud bang. The abrupt sound helped focus his thoughts on the matter at hand.
He would get his answers this morning. Calmly. Methodically.
One question at a time.
The door swung open. Jack, Mattie’s notorious bodyguard, stood just inside the gaudy foyer. He stared at Logan with an unreadable expression on his round, scruffy face. With more brawn than brains, Black Jack O’Malley was as much Mattie’s lapdog as her protector. Nevertheless, the man had always shown Logan respect.
Logan would return the favor now. “Jack,” he said in a courteous tone. “Is Mattie here?”
Jack nodded. “She’s been expecting you.”
“Of course.” Logan didn’t bother hiding the frustration in his tone. The woman could have given him vital information when he was here before, but she had chosen to send him away with a head full of confusion and worry.
Games inside games.
When it came to Mattie Silks, some things never changed.
As though sensing his annoyance, Jack stepped aside and motioned Logan forward.
“I’ll let Mattie know you’ve arrived.” The big man circled around him. “Wait here.”
Logan remained in the foyer a total of five seconds before he’d had enough of cooling his heels. He strode past the entryway and looked around the main parlor.
Nothing had changed in his five-year absence. And yet everything about the decor seemed more…sinful. Alone, each piece of furniture might be able to pass for tasteful, but together the red velvet divans, ornate paintings and gold filigree defined decadence.
Megan did not belong in this house. For any reason. Logan would have to make sure she understood why she could never come here again.
A movement in the back of the room cut off his thoughts. Mattie Silks had arrived in all her overstated grandeur. Arms outstretched, a flirtatious smile pasted on her lips, she glided to a spot in the center of the room then relaxed into a scandalous pose. Typical Mattie Silks behavior. Control the situation simply to prove she could, even if that meant hurting people in the process.
Logan knew his role in this particular drama. He was supposed to take a moment and admire the woman.
He wasn’t that much of a hypocrite.
Biting back a wave of impatience, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other and did his best not to glare.
Satisfied she had his attention, Mattie spun in a slow circle then continued toward him. With her blond, corkscrew curls bouncing wildly and her dress two sizes too small, she looked like a caricature of herself.
Adding to the absurd picture, she slowed every fourth or fifth step and struck a more ridiculous pose than the last.
Subtlety was not the woman’s strong suit.
Controlling the situation, now that was where she excelled.
She eventually came to a halt directly in front of him. Slipper to boot, she stood close enough for him to get a whiff of her cheap perfume. Normally, he’d step back and reclaim his space. Not today. Today Logan had his own point to make.
“Mattie.” He studied her dress with a critical eye. The frothy concoction of lace and blue silk was cut dangerously low in front and even lower in the back. “You’re as obvious as ever.”
“And you’re still the rude boy of years past.”
“Be careful,” he warned. “I’m also the U.S. Marshal of this territory now.”
“Ah, well, I won’t hold that against you. You see…
Marshal.” She looked pointedly at the tin star on his chest as she gave him a condescending pat on the arm. “I find myself in an accommodating mood at the moment.”
Logan firmed his jaw. Mattie Silks was never in an accommodating mood. Unless it suited her.
He opened his mouth to argue the point, but shut it just as quickly. Patience was his greatest weapon. He would let Mattie play her game, knowing there was too much at stake to lose her cooperation.
That didn’t mean he had to give the woman all the control.
Slanting a hard glance in her direction, he pushed past her and strode deeper into the room.
She was forced to follow him or stand staring at empty air.
It was a small victory, to be sure, but one he would use to his full advantage.
Unfortunately, his plans changed when his gaze landed on a chair off to his left—a very occupied chair. One of Mattie’s girls had yet to go to bed. Seemingly oblivious to his presence, she tugged absently at a loose thread on her dress.
Even with the glazed look in her eyes, Logan recognized the girl. Her name was Emily, no…Emma. She’d been a child when he’d left, barely thirteen. Her mother had raised her under this very roof. And all that that implied. By the way Emma was dressed, it was clear she was now a second generation “employee” of Mattie’s.
But that wasn’t the only thing that bothered Logan about the girl. With her slight build and pale blond hair, she looked a lot like Megan. Too much.
Logan experienced a moment of panic at the alarming similarities between the two, but quickly shoved the emotion aside. Unlike this girl, Megan had escaped her mother’s profession. She’d been given the chance to pursue a respectable life. With Logan. He would not let her down.
But what if he did? What if he couldn’t save her?
Mattie chose that moment to move back into his line of vision. Again, she stood too close. Again, he remained unimpressed. He wasn’t the green lawman anymore, the one who’d been taken off guard long enough to get another man shot.
“Just so we’re clear, Miss Silks.” He glared at the hand she’d rested on his sleeve. “I’m here for one reason only. To rescue Megan from her current…predicament.”
The madam smirked at him. “Your devotion is admirable.”
Her goading tone set him on edge. “Never doubt my loyalty. I will do anything.” He peeled away the fingers on his bicep, one claw at a time. “And I mean anything, to ensure Megan’s safety.”
“Well, then.” She perched on a nearby chair and folded her arms around her waist. “For once we have the same goal. Who would have thought?”
Who, indeed. As much as it galled Logan to admit it, even to himself, this woman—this brothel owner—could be the key to Megan’s freedom. Yet how could he trust such a person as this?
A jolt of helplessness whipped through him. But in the next moment, Trey’s words came back to him. The Lord will direct your way.
Was God at work even now? Could the Heavenly Father mean for Logan to ally himself with a woman like Mattie Silks? Even for a moment?
Logan was well versed in the Old Testament story of Rahab, the prostitute. God had used the most unlikely of women to help the Israelites defeat Jericho.
The Lord will direct your way…
For Megan’s sake Logan would try anything, including an unlikely alliance with a notorious madam. If only temporarily.
Swallowing his misgivings, he focused his thoughts on Megan, then addressed Mattie with a cool tone. “Look, Mattie, I’m not here to argue with you. I’m here to get information that will free Megan. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
To Logan’s utter surprise, the woman nodded. “You may rest easy, Marshal.” Her gaze turned serious. “I’ll do everything in my power to help your Megan.”
His Megan. Yes. She was his. She’d always been his. And always would be. “Good enough. First, I need to know how—” He broke off at the sound of rustling silk, only just realizing Emma was still in the room with them, openly listening to their conversation.
He grimaced at the girl.
Mattie’s gaze followed his. “Go to your room.” Her tone brooked no argument, but the girl didn’t budge.
A foolish mistake. One Mattie would surely punish her for later.
“I said leave,” Mattie ordered. “Or I’ll lock you in your room for two days without food.”
Logan knew the madam meant every word. Apparently, so did Emma. Shoulders hunched, eyes glued to her feet, she made her way toward the staircase leading to the second floor.
Mattie kept her hawklike gaze trained on the girl until she disappeared from sight.
Finished with the delays, Logan got straight to the point. “How did Megan end up in your private boudoir, when she’d come only to read to a sick woman?”
Mattie swung around, parked one fist on her hip and zeroed in on a spot just above his head. As she stood in that particular pose, ignoring him completely, Logan feared she wouldn’t answer his question. But then she flicked her hair off her forehead and focused on him once again.
“I moved her as soon I discovered Cole had arrived earlier than expected,” she said. “I wasn’t about to let that vile man get a glimpse of our dear girl.”
Logan pulled in a tight breath of air. “Why would you have worried about Kincaid seeing Megan?”
“Cole was one of my regulars. He had a penchant for…” Mattie cleared her throat. “Innocents.”
A wave of fury threatened to overwhelm him. For a blessed moment Logan let the anger come, let it flow through him and guide his next words. “If that was true, why didn’t you send her back to Charity House? Why move her to a place where he could easily get to her?”
Obviously used to dealing with angry men, Mattie held Logan’s stare without flinching. “Time was of the essence. I knew if Cole caught sight of her leaving, he might follow her. And then, well…” She held his gaze. “You understand my meaning.”
Yes, he did. It was her meaning that made it nearly impossible for Logan to think rationally. Too many terrible scenarios ran through his mind. “So you thought she was safe in your sitting room,” he said, forcing down his fury enough to avoid doing anything rash. Like shake the truth out of Mattie.
“That is correct.”
“Still doesn’t explain how Kincaid got to her.”
Mattie blinked. Then blinked again. “I had to leave her alone for a moment.”
Logan drew in another sharp breath. “Why would you do that?”
“Because a business matter required my attention.”
“What business matter?”
“I had to break up a fight between two of my girls.” She lifted her hand in a dismissive gesture. “I was gone no more than twenty minutes. When I returned, Cole was lying flat on his back with a knife stuck through his chest.”
Despite the growing urge to shake the woman, Logan made himself piece together the details in his mind. So far, Mattie’s story matched Trey’s. But there was a part of the tale where his friend had been unclear, a minor point that only Mattie could answer.
“Where was Megan when you first entered the room?”
Looking everywhere but at him, Mattie shifted to a spot just behind the chair. Only after the barrier stood between them did she continue. “Dig too deep into this murder, Marshal, and you may not like what you find.”
He scowled at the remark, wondering why she was warning him off. To protect herself? Megan? Or someone else entirely?
What did this woman know? Or rather, what was she refusing to tell him?
Only one way to find out. He kept his gaze on hers, reading every nuance in her body language, and repeated the question a second time. “Where was Megan when you entered the room?”
Mattie sighed in uncharacteristic resignation. “Lying on my settee, out cold.”
Shock rippled through his body, making him shudder. “She wasn’t on the floor?” Like he and Trey had assumed?
“Uh…no.”
Logan gaped at the woman for several heartbeats. Focus, he told himself. He had to focus on the facts. No more assumptions. No more mistakes. He had to think like a lawman. Not a man who’s greatest love had been attacked earlier tonight. “Tell me how Megan was positioned on the divan. Exactly.”
“She looked rather…” Mattie screwed her face into a look of deep concentration “…comfortable. Yes, that’s the word.”
Logan clenched his teeth together. Mattie was hiding something from him. “Comfortable, how?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She lifted a shoulder. “Her head was propped on a pillow and she was covered with a blanket. That sort of comfortable.”
A thousand questions exploded in his brain. But Logan kept his breathing slow and easy, his mind focused on his questions. “Could she have gotten that way by herself?”
“No.” Mattie’s fingers drummed along the chair’s rim. She continued avoiding direct eye contact. “The blanket was tucked neatly around her.”
Clinging hard to his composure, Logan worked the new information around in his head. Instinct told him there was only one explanation. The real killer had moved Megan to the settee. And then—then—he’d covered her with a blanket.
But why?
Neither gesture rang true.
Despite the fact that the details didn’t add up, Logan was certain of one thing. Megan hadn’t killed Kincaid. Now he could take her away from here, to the one place where he knew she’d be safe.
Then why did a sense of foreboding slide down his spine? What was he missing?
“I need you to think hard, Mattie. Did you see anything suspicious last night? Anything out of the ordinary?”
Her fingers tightened on the chair, the gesture turning her knuckles white. “I’ve been over the events in my head a hundred times. Nothing comes to mind.” She took a shuddering breath, but there didn’t seem to be any subterfuge in the act. “Nothing, that is, that will change the very real fact that Cole Kincaid is dead.”
An odd choice of words.
For once in their volatile eight-year acquaintance, Logan sensed she was telling the truth.
And yet…
There was something still missing from her tale, some valuable piece of information that would fit the other details smoothly together. Unfortunately, Logan had been down similar roads with Mattie Silks. She would never volunteer everything she knew, not unless he asked the right questions. If only he knew the right ones to ask.
The Lord will direct your way…
Logan rubbed a hand down his face. Please, Lord, what’s my next step?
As soon as he voiced the prayer in his head, he knew what he had to do. “I want to interview everyone who was in this building last night,” he said. “Starting with your girls.”
After a momentary hesitation, Mattie nodded. She actually nodded in agreement!
As much as Logan wanted to rely on her cooperation, he would be wise to remember this woman had been known to harbor criminals in her own bedroom. She could not be trusted. Not fully.
Dig too deep, Marshal, and you might not like what you find.
What was she hiding from him?
“When would you like to begin questioning my girls?” she asked.
Her cooperation was at odds with the Mattie Silks he knew. “After I look around the crime scene.”
Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Cole’s body is already gone. Sheriff Scott’s deputy took him away over an hour ago.”
“I want to see the room where he was stabbed.” Trey was always thorough, but maybe he’d overlooked an important piece of evidence. Logan clung to that small hope.
Mattie pushed away from the chair and started out. “Follow me.” Without a single argument, coy look or detour, she led Logan directly to her private sitting room.
He didn’t second-guess her continued cooperation. Yet.
“Here we are,” she said, moving aside so he could enter the room ahead of her.
With a quick glance, Logan surveyed the small, confining space. Cataloguing the contents of the room, he counted a fireplace, a small sofa, a winged-back chair and a bookcase actually filled with books.
Surprised by the hominess of the decor, Logan worked his way around the perimeter quickly, with a smooth economy of motion that belied his sense of urgency.
There was something here. He could feel it.
Noting the trace of blood on the mantel, he ran his hand along the wood, searching for the groove where Kincaid had hit his head. After he’d attacked Meg—
Focus. Logan had to focus on the facts alone. No emotion. No thoughts of Megan. No dwelling on what had happened to her in this room.
“Give me another ten minutes to look around,” he said through a tight jaw. “Then send in the first girl.”
“Whatever you wish.” She turned to go.
“And Mattie?” he called after her retreating back. “I’ll need the names of last night’s clients, as well. All their names.”
She stiffened at the request, but didn’t turn around. “Are you sure this is the route you wish to take, Marshal?”
The woman was warning him off? A huge mistake on her part, especially if Logan found out she had a personal connection to the killer.
“One way or another I will find out who murdered Kincaid,” Logan said in the kind of ruthless tone a woman like Mattie understood. “I know that doesn’t mean anything to you, but it could mean life or death for Megan.”
Mattie lowered her head and sighed. “I’ll draw up a complete list of names later today.”
“Thank you.”
Normally, those two simple words would earn him a snide remark. But when Mattie spun around to face him, her eyes were filled with gratitude. And genuine sincerity.
“It’s good you’re home, Logan. Megan needs you, now more than ever.”
Caught off guard by the woman’s heartfelt words, Logan didn’t have a ready response. What the woman didn’t realize, what he hadn’t fully understood himself until last night, was how much he needed Megan in return.
And no matter who tried to stand in his way this time, he would never desert Megan again.
Chapter Five
Megan burrowed deeper under the blanket and forced her mind to relax. But no matter what position she attempted, peace eluded her. Too tired to sit up, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to capture a few moments of sleep.
Every part of her body hurt, resulting in an allover ache that went far beyond the physical. The pain brought an odd sense of relief, a bold reminder she was alive.
Alive was good. That meant God still had a plan for her life. Megan clung to that hope, even as dark thoughts tried to surface.
Shivering from a sudden burst of cold air, she pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and took a slow, steady breath. The smell of blood and death hung in the air. She didn’t want to know why that scent was so strong. Why it seemed so real, so tangible.
Best to forget, a voice whispered in her head. Yes.
Yes. She let her mind go blank, let her sense of time and place garble in her head. The nothingness soothed her.
Distant, hollow voices buzzed around her, like an annoying mosquito.
She took another, slower breath.
At last, sleep began to claim her, promising a temporary respite, if only she could give in to the blessed darkness. She reached out to the void. But then the watery sounds in her head began to form into clear, distinct words.
“You must allow me to wake her.” The urgent request came from somewhere close by. “It’s not good for her to sleep this long.”
A low, menacing growl followed. “I said, leave…her…alone.” There was a deadly calm in the carefully spoken words. And an unmistakable threat. “I mean it, Shane.”
Dr. Shane was here?
“You have to trust I know what I’m doing, Logan.”
Logan, too?
Megan wanted to see him for herself, wanted to know he was real and not a dream like she feared. But opening her eyes required too much effort so she tucked the blanket under her chin and prayed for sleep to return.
“Step back, Logan. Or I’ll have the sheriff personally escort you out of here until I’m through examining her.”
A brief moment of silence filled the room.
“All right. Wake her.” Another pause. “But do it slowly. Don’t scare her.”
A masculine sigh accompanied the sound of footsteps. Very loud footsteps. Like hammers to nails, pounding relentlessly in her head.
She shied away from the noise.
“Megan.” A gentle hand touched her shoulder. “Megan, you need to wake up now.”
She moaned in protest, even as her mind placed the familiar voice. It did indeed belong to Shane Bartlett, the doctor from the clinic connected to Charity House. She knew the man well. Trusted him implicitly. Not only because he was married to her good friend Bella, but because he was an exceptional doctor. Compassionate and thorough.
“Megan.” The hand shook her again, a little more firmly this time.
“Sleep,” she mumbled.
“No. No more sleep.”
She tried to protest again, but her mind drifted over a dark void of shifting images, images she couldn’t quite capture.
Best to forget…
If only her head didn’t hurt so badly.
Eyes still firmly shut, she lifted a hand to touch the tender spot above her temple. The movement sent unspeakable pain spearing behind her eyes.
Another moan slipped through her lips.
“Megan. You need to open your eyes.” Dr. Shane’s voice came at her stronger this time. More insistent. Closer.
Too close.
She snapped awake and sat up with a jerk.
A burst of light flashed before her, momentarily blinding her. She breathed in a quick gasp, blinked past the grit in her eyes, but the room remained hazy. The sickly odor of mold and something else filled her nose. What was that other smell?
She didn’t want to know.
“Sleep,” she muttered again, then squeezed her eyelids shut and started to lie back down.
“No.” The doctor’s hands caught her by the shoulders before her head connected with the pillow. “Stay with us.” He urged her back to a sitting position.
She managed a squint. The sun spread golden fingers of light across the floor, chasing shadows to the outer edges of the room. She opened her eyes fully and connected her gaze with a long row of iron bars. She’d spent an entire night in jail.
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Megan, darling, don’t cry.” The words washed over her like a soft plea.
She turned her gaze in the direction of the voice. “Logan,” she breathed.
He moved toward her slowly, his steps relaxed, careful, as though he didn’t want to scare her with any sudden movement.
The dear, dear man.
“Logan, wait just a moment.” Dr. Shane stopped his progress with an outstretched hand.
Ignoring the command, Logan continued toward her. No hesitation. No hitch in his step. Just bold purpose.
Dr. Shane muttered something about “arrogant, single-minded lawmen.” Megan didn’t listen to the rest of the words. She was too busy watching Logan’s approach.
He crouched down in front of her and placed his palms on her knees.
His movements were still slow, but the fierce angles of his face and the severe expression in his eyes said he was anything but calm.
At the sight of all the intensity directed at her, a quick jolt of fear slithered down her spine.
Megan instinctively leaned back. Away from Logan.
There was a flicker of hurt in his eyes but then he gave her a wide, nonthreatening smile.
Remorse instantly filled her. This was Logan. Her Logan. There was nothing to fear from him. Just being near him was all she’d ever wanted, all she’d ever craved. “You’re still here,” she whispered.
He swung around then sat beside her on the cot. As before, the ancient springs creaked in protest under the additional weight.
Reaching down, Logan took her hand and laced her fingers through his. “I’ll never leave you again.”
The magnetic force of his sincerity took her breath away. For one fleeting moment, every dream she’d ever had about this man and their future together seemed possible.
In the next moment, an onslaught of images beckoned for release and a feeling of dread balled in her stomach.
Her vision blurred.
Logan slung his arm across her shoulder to steady her. “Doc. Do something. She’s losing color.”
Dr. Shane was at her feet in an instant. But he was too close.
She suddenly felt trapped.
“No. Please. Step back.” She waved her hand in his direction. “I need…” She let her voice trail off, not sure what she needed. “Just…give me a moment.”
Breathing slowly—very slowly—she pressed her thumb and forefinger to the bridge of her nose and ordered her mind to slow down. But her thoughts continued running in countless directions. There were too many images fighting for release.
Sights, sounds, smells all came at her at once, attacking her in rapid succession.
“Breathe, Megan,” Logan urged softly in her ear. “Just breathe.”
She tried to do as he suggested. In. Out. In. Out.
Her efforts only made matters worse.
Blood roared in her ears.
Logan’s grip on her shoulder tightened, reminding her she wasn’t alone in this terrible, terrible mess.
Why was there no comfort in the thought?
Was she fooling herself? Was she grasping at a dream she’d built in her head over the last five years?
Confusion and panic tangled together in her mind. Rather than giving in to either, she called on one of her favorite verses. Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavey laden, and I will give you rest.
One heartbeat passed.
And another.
By the third she shrugged away from Logan’s support and tried to stand.
“Megan,” he began.
“No.” She thrust a palm in his direction. “Don’t help me. I need to do this on my own.”
Brave words. Necessary words. She had to call on her strength, like always, or risk losing more control than ever.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t quite get her feet underneath her. Logan grasped her elbow gently. Once she caught her balance, she stepped away from him.
Pain shot through her right foot. And she lowered back down on the cot.
“What is it?” he asked. “What—”
“Just wait a minute, Logan.” Dr. Shane cut him off. “Give her a moment to find her bearings.”
Logan gave an unhappy grunt in reply, but surprisingly didn’t argue this time. Keeping his eyes on her, he moved to the opposite end of the cell in three ground-eating strides, then leaned a shoulder against the brick wall.
The hard look he shot Dr. Shane reminded her of…of…
She pressed a shaky hand to her quivering stomach and felt the knots tighten beneath her touch. What was wrong with her? How could she possibly be afraid?
This was Logan. Her Logan.
Confused, she turned her attention back to Dr. Shane. There was certainly nothing threatening about him. His clear blue eyes held compassion while a hint of concern showed on his handsome face. His dark hair shot out in every direction, as though he’d run his hands through it too many times.
He slowly crouched in front of her, placed his fingertips on the inside of her wrist and began counting her heartbeats. After a moment, he nodded in approval. “Do you hurt anywhere other than your head?”
“My back aches a little. But that could be from sleeping on this cot.”
He cracked a smile. “I wouldn’t rule out the possibility.” His smile disappeared. “Where else does it hurt?”
“Sometimes…it hurts to breathe.” She drew in a sharp breath and winced. “In my ribs.”
Nodding, Dr. Shane probed the area gently. She pulled back and hissed when his fingers landed on an especially tender spot.
At the sound of her gasp, Logan pushed away from the wall and rushed forward. “Megan.”
Dr. Shane glared him back a step. Then another. Impatience flared out of both men, but Logan finally relented.
Muttering under his breath, the doctor turned back to Megan. “Do you hurt anywhere else?”
“My ankle.”
He lifted her foot and Megan stifled a gasp. The swelling told its own story. Sometime during the evening she’d acquired a minor sprain.
Still holding her foot, Dr. Shane reached for his bag. Digging inside with his free hand, he pulled out a roll of linen bandages and began wrapping her ankle with deft fingers.
“Do you remember falling?” he asked, eyes focused on his work.
Megan forced her mind to concentrate. To focus. Surely a fall that had resulted in a sprained ankle would be somewhere in her memory. “I remember…” She searched her mind. And searched. And searched. “Nothing.”
The doctor must have heard the panic in her voice, because his eyes softened. “Don’t worry.” He tied off the bandage with a firm knot. “Your memory will return with time.”
If only she could believe him. If only she could remember what had happened in Mattie’s boudoir. If only she could say that she knew, without a doubt, she hadn’t killed Cole and that she knew who did. The man who killed him was…
He was…
She glanced at Logan. Then just as quickly folded her hands in her lap and looked away. Her gaze caught sight of the blood on her dress and she choked back a sob. “I have to change my clothes.” She couldn’t hide the desperation in her voice.
“Of course.” Dr. Shane touched her clasped hands and squeezed. “Bella is gathering everything you’ll need. She’ll soon be here to help you.”
“Bella?” Logan hissed. “Who’s Bella?”
“Pastor Beau’s sister and my lovely wife.” Dr. Shane rose and turned to face Logan.
“Your wife?” Logan stared at him for a long, tense moment. “You got married?”
“Two years ago.”
Blinking hard, Logan ran a hand down his face. “You’re married,” he repeated, his voice filled with disbelief. “And I never knew.”
“Our first child is due any day now.”
“A child, too.” Something flashed in Logan’s eyes, something sad and regretful, but he didn’t comment again.
He paced.
Even in the confines of the small jail cell he moved with unmistakable authority. There was no hesitation in him, no pause. Every step he took said Logan Mitchell knew who he was and what he wanted out of life. Handsome, kind, capable, he could have his pick of women.
And he’d chosen Megan.
But five long years have passed. The thought settled over her like a heavy weight. In that time she’d changed. She’d gone from a child who helped around the orphanage to a woman in sole charge of the nursery. She’d grown in her love for the Lord, as well. Best of all, she’d discovered her artistic talent and had used it to turn the bedroom walls of Charity House into joyful expressions of God’s unconditional love for His children.
In Logan’s absence, she’d learned so much about herself. Surely he’d discovered things about himself, as well.
Was he still the man she remembered?
It was disloyal to think otherwise.
As if sensing her change in mood, Logan stopped pacing and turned to face her. “Megan, everything’s going to be all right. I promise.”
How could he be so confident? How could either of these men stand here and give her such promises? She’d lost a part of her life last night and everything hinged on her remembering those forgotten hours.
“What if I never remember?” she whispered to no one in particular.
“You will,” Logan said. “You just need time to heal.”
Time. There was that awful word again. Time had kept her and Logan apart. Time threatened them now.
She swallowed back a sob, chagrined at her inability to contain her emotions.
Logan moved closer and searched her face as though he could pull the missing memories forth by his will alone.
If only he could.
She knew she was letting him down. Yet some other instinct, something buried inside her lost memories, hinted that the blackness in her mind was about protecting Logan.
How could that be?
“Megan,” Dr. Shane interrupted her thoughts. “Focus on getting well. Once your body heals, your mind will follow.”
Logan took her hands in his. “And until then I’m going to make sure you’re safe.”
Those were the same words Sheriff Scott had uttered to her last night. Fighting a sense of defeat, Megan lowered her head and sighed. “You’re going to leave me in here until you find the real killer.”
It made the most sense, even if she couldn’t bear the thought of another night in this cold, drafty, depressing jail cell.
“No.” Logan shook his head fiercely. “I’m not going to leave you locked up like a common criminal. I went to Mattie’s this morning. I have proof of your innocence.”
“You…you do?”
“Yes.” But he didn’t expand, which made her wonder if he really had proof or if he was still basing his assumption on what he thought he knew about her.
Before she could press him for more information, for anything to give her a sense of the truth hidden deep within her mind, he steered the conversation in a different direction. “As soon as I make the arrangements I’m going to take you home.”
Home? No. No. They couldn’t take that risk. “I can’t go to Charity House,” she said in a panicked voice. “We can’t put the children in danger.”
“That’s not what I meant. I’m taking you to my home, where I grew up.”
His words took a moment to settle over her. “You want to take me to your family’s ranch?” Pure joy spread through her. Logan came from a large, happy family with a mother. And a father. And lots of siblings.
“It’s the best solution,” he said. “The only one.”
Glory.
“Will that be all right with you?” he asked.
She wanted to jump off the cot and fling herself into his arms. She wanted to tell him, yes, yes, yes.
But reality held her back. She was the daughter of a prostitute, raised in an orphanage with children from similar backgrounds as hers.
His family might never accept her.
Then again, surely the people who’d raised this wonderful, kind, godly man would have equally gracious hearts.
“I…” Not sure what to say, she lifted her arms in the air and he immediately tugged her into his embrace.
She rested her cheek against his hard, muscular chest and breathed in his scent.
For the first time since she’d walked into Mattie’s brothel yesterday Megan felt at peace. “Yes, Logan, I want to go home with you.”
“Good.” He blew out a long breath then set her away from him. “We’ll leave immediately. We’ll—”
“Logan, no.” Sheriff Scott slammed into the jail cell, his lips twisting at a furious angle. “You can’t take her away.”
At the sound of those five angry words, spoken with such conviction, Megan’s hope shattered.
Sheriff Scott wasn’t going to let her leave with Logan.
That meant she would have to spend another night in jail, alone, with no relief in sight.
How would she ever bear the torment?
Chapter Six
Logan had been shot once. In his leg. The bullet had seared through his flesh with a burning agony he’d never experienced before that moment. Yet compared to the pain sweeping through him now as he stared at the anguish on Megan’s face, the bullet wound seemed a mere pinprick.
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Renee Ryan
For five years, U.S. Marshal Logan Mitchell has dreamed of returning to his sweetheart in Denver.He never imagined he'd find Megan Goodwin locked in a prison cell. Megan has no memory of what happened the night the outlaw was murdered. And though Logan is sure of her innocence, proving it is only half the battle. Remembering the killer's identity will clear Megan's name but could lead danger right to her door. Logan will protect her life with his. But forging a true marriage takes trust, faith and the courage to open their hearts to God's plan–wherever it leads….
A row of impenetrable iron bars stood between Logan and the woman he loved.
He balled his shooting hand into a tight fist. The urge to hit something, or someone, came fast, but he reminded himself he’d taken a different path than his brother. Still, a low growl of frustration rumbled deep in his throat.
At the sound, Megan looked up and slowly turned her head.
Their gazes met.
Logan’s heart pummeled his rib cage. The brutal assault made each intake of air a struggle.
Lost in her eyes, a compelling tapestry of silver over blue, he experienced a deep sensation of completion. The emotion was so simple, so pure, he wondered how he’d been able to walk away before.
Well, he was home now.
“Logan?” A little sigh slipped from her lips. “Is it really you?”
“Yes, Megan.” He forced his words around the breath clogging in his throat. “I’ve come for you, just like I promised.”
RENEE RYAN
grew up in a small Florida beach town. To entertain herself during countless hours of “lying out” she read all the classics. It wasn’t until the summer between her sophomore and junior years at Florida State University that she read her first romance novel. Hooked from page one, she spent hours consuming one book after another while working on the best (and last!) tan of her life.
Two years later, armed with a degree in economics and religion, she explored various career opportunities, including stints at a Florida theme park, a modeling agency and a cosmetics conglomerate. She moved on to teach high school economics, American government and Latin while coaching award-winning cheerleading teams. Several years later, with an eclectic cast of characters swimming around in her head, she began seriously pursuing a writing career.
She lives an action-packed life in Georgia, with her supportive husband, lovely teenage daughter and two ornery cats who hate each other.
The Lawman Claims His Bride
Renee Ryan
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Many are the plans in a man’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.
—Proverbs 19:21
To Donnell Ann Bell, my favorite pair of fresh eyes.
Thank you, my friend, for all the times you answered the call for a “quick” favor.
I owe you more than words can express.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
Letter to Reader
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
Chapter One
Denver, Colorado, 1888.
Megan Goodwin had not intended to die today. But as she stared at the knife inches from her throat, she feared her plans were about to change.
Yet to face her end in a brothel, the same one where her mother had died five years before, was simply unacceptable.
Frozen in terror, she watched the knife’s deadly point creep closer.
Megan prayed for courage to face the next few minutes. Oh, Lord. Oh, God, please help me.
She lifted the silent appeal to the God she’d counted on her whole life.
Where was Mattie? The madam had promised to return shortly. She’d left Megan here in the safety of her private boudoir, out of sight and hidden from Cole Kincaid.
He’d found her anyway.
Gritting her teeth, Megan forced her gaze to stay on his face, if only to prove to herself she still had some control of the situation.
He was big, just over six feet. His face was hideous, all flat planes, sallow skin and dark, dirty beard. He had small, black eyes. Mean eyes. The eyes of a killer. The—
He yanked her head back with a hard tug, cutting off the rest of her thoughts. Small white dots of light burst in front of her eyes.
She’d done nothing to warrant this savage attack. Nothing, except put herself in the wrong place at the wrong time for what she thought was the right reason. The act of kindness might be her last.
Cole eased his grip from her hair and lowered the knife, shoving her back against the divan. “Let’s have us some fun, shall we?” His voice had a soft note to it, as though he were suggesting they share a cup of tea.
The man was a monster.
Megan pulled her gaze from him and focused instead on the room that had been intentionally decorated for sin. Beneath the expensive silk and garish furnishings hung a decadence that spoke of the ugly work performed here.
So this was it, then? This chamber of wickedness was where she would die? No matter that she’d lived a pure life, no matter that she’d been raised in a Christian orphanage across town, she’d failed to escape her mother’s vile world after all.
“Look at me,” Cole snarled.
When she kept her gaze averted, he muttered a curse and clutched her jaw, forcing her head around. “Mattie shouldn’t keep a pretty thing like you hidden from her paying customers.”
The smell of whiskey and week-old sweat trailed in the wake of his words. He swayed, just a little, but enough to tell Megan he’d consumed quite a bit.
“I…I’m not one of her girls.”
He laughed at her, an easy sound full of heartless pleasure. “All the better. I like ’em innocent.”
Panic clawed for release, but Megan refused to give in to the emotion. She pressed her eyes tightly shut.
She would think of Logan. Only Logan, the good, solid man she’d promised to love the rest of her life. He would be home soon, any day now. Then they would be married.
The thought brought sorrow, not peace. Megan should have never set foot in Mattie’s brothel today. She’d only come to read to Suzanne, a young prostitute dying of the same disease that had claimed Megan’s mother.
What had she been thinking? That she’d be safe simply because her motives were pure?
Well, it was too late for regrets, too late to scold herself for coming here at all. She’d thought her midafternoon arrival would get her in and out before customers started arriving. Normally, she would have been right. Today, she’d woefully miscalculated and Cole Kincaid had been here, a man known for his cruelty to women.
And now Megan was snared in his trap.
He placed his lips close to her ear. “I promise you one thing, my little beauty.” He wrapped velvet around his words. “This will hurt.”
Something dark inside Megan snapped at the threat.
Cold, ruthless rage took hold of her.
She forgot about the knife at her throat. Forgot about the menace in her attacker’s eyes. And only focused on the black emotion spiraling through her.
Fury controlled her now. She allowed the power of it to spread, allowed her hands to act without permission from her brain. Slowly, resolutely, her palms snaked up her attacker’s arms and latched onto his shoulders.
Cole grinned and lowered his head toward hers. His eyes were a bit unfocused, as though the whiskey had dulled his thinking.
Megan shoved him with all her might.
Unprepared for the attack, Cole staggered back a step. The knife dropped from his hand. It hit the floor with a loud crack. Roaring a curse at her, he caught his balance and lunged for her again.
This time, murder glittered in his eyes.
Everything Megan wanted in life flashed through her mind. Logan. Children. A home of her own. “No!” Using her nails as talons she rushed at the man. “No.”
Trying to cover his face, he fumbled back a step. He began to fall but he grabbed her arm for support. They lurched backward, together, heading straight for the stone fireplace.
Megan fought to free herself, pulling her weight in the opposite direction. Another yank on her arm carried her straight into him.
Tangled together, they stumbled two steps back. Three. His head slammed against the mantle.
The hand on her arm went limp and he slid to the floor like a bundle of discarded rags.
Megan fell to the ground a second later, struggling for air. Now on her hands and knees, she blinked in horror at the man beside her. As quickly as they had come, all the dangerous emotions inside her disappeared. In the next instant, tears welled. Tears of frustration, of fear, of…
Why wasn’t he moving?
Hands shaking, Megan reached out. Attacking an innocent woman, indeed. She poked his cowardly shoulder.
He didn’t respond, didn’t budge.
Heart hammering in her throat, she glanced at the clock above her head, the one sitting on the center of the stone mantle. Megan was shocked to discover that no more than five minutes had passed since the outlaw had entered the parlor.
Feeling as though she was looking at him from a very far distance, she forced herself to study his face. His mouth hung open, slack at the jaw. And with each tick of the clock, he turned deathly pale.
Thou shalt not kill.
What if he was dead?
Thou shalt not kill.
What if he wasn’t?
She had to know for sure.
For several heartbeats Megan watched him closely. His chest rose and fell in an unsteady rhythm.
He was alive. But injured.
Megan tried to force up some regret, but she felt no remorse. Cole had attacked her. Given a few more minutes he’d have forced himself on her. Or worse yet, killed her.
Bile rose in her throat. Covering her mouth, she rushed into the bathroom. At the same moment, the door in the outer room opened and closed with a bang. She heard a man’s voice.
The sound brought with it a terrible thought. Men like Cole Kincaid ran in packs. Had one of his gang come to check on him?
No. No one could know he was here. He’d slipped out of one of the upstairs rooms when he’d seen the owner of the brothel rushing Megan down the back stairwell. He’d told her that himself, right before he’d pulled the knife.
Then who could be sneaking into the madam’s private parlor?
Megan took a tentative step toward the door and listened. She heard a muffled, “Get on your feet, Kincaid. Now.”
A nasty oath came in response to the demand.
“I said get up. I want you standing when you face the devil.”
Megan couldn’t identify the newcomer’s next words, precisely, yet the husky baritone sparked a feeling of relief. She knew that voice, knew it well.
What was he doing here tonight, in Mattie’s brothel, at this hour?
Bewildered, she edged forward and peered into the parlor. The man’s back was to her so she couldn’t see his face. But she recognized that powerful build. Except…
The way he held his shoulders wasn’t quite right.
Her thoughts knotted together in her mind, blurring like a distant dream just out of reach.
The man suddenly turned to face her. Their gazes met for only a brief moment before Megan’s vision grayed, darkened. And then her world went black.
Winter clung to the damp March air, refusing to relinquish its frigid grip on Denver. In an attempt to calm his raging emotions, U.S. Marshal Logan Mitchell filled his lungs with the biting cold. Eyes narrowed, temper hot, his thoughts pinpointed to one impossible reality.
Megan had been arrested. His Megan.
The churning in his gut formed into a tight, angry spasm. He could easily allow the dark emotion to take hold, but that would unleash a part of him he’d held tightly controlled since childhood.
Rubbing at the tension at the back of his neck, Logan studied the unassuming brick building directly across the street. He didn’t need perfect vision to read the words embossed on the plaque nailed to the door. Sheriff’s Office and Jailhouse.
This had to be a mistake. His future wife should not be locked up. She should be back at Charity House, the orphanage where she lived and worked, helping settle the younger children into bed for the night.
Logan lifted his eyes to the dark heavens, tried to formulate a prayer, but words escaped him. How did he turn to God for guidance when he had yet to discover what Megan had done, or why Trey Scott had locked her up like a common criminal?
No one at Charity House had given him a direct answer as to Megan’s whereabouts this evening. Instead, they’d given him some cryptic explanation about her reading to a sick woman living in Mattie Silks’s brothel. Mattie Silks’s brothel!
When Logan had questioned the ornery madam, she’d been the difficult, condescending woman he remembered all too well. She’d circled him like a rat sizing up a meaty piece of garbage, all the while talking to him in half sentences and irrelevant facts.
But Logan had been on to her game of distraction. He hadn’t missed her covert glances toward the back of the house, where her private suite of rooms was located. The woman had been hiding something. Or someone. Only when he’d started toward her boudoir did she direct him to the county jail. The county jail!
He sucked in another hard breath. The dark, damp air magnified the stench of stale liquor, cloying perfume and the polluted smells of Denver’s underbelly.
Nothing had changed on Market Street in the last five years. One glance at the bustling sidewalks told him that gambling, prostitution and saloons still flourished. Men of various sizes and economic situations spilled out of buildings only to stumble into others. Some moved in packs, others sought their pleasure alone. Raucous music mingled with shouts, cursing and laughter.
Bringing order and redemption to these streets would not come easy or fast. Logan would attempt to do so anyway.
But first, he had to free Megan.
Jamming his hat onto his head, he trekked across the planked sidewalk and wove through the labyrinth of activity on the street.
The moment he entered the jailhouse his heart beat a single, heavy kick against his ribs. The room held little light and the air shimmered with a cold, gray foreboding. Closing the door with a firm click, Logan forced his vision to adjust. He dropped a cursory glance at the desk cluttered with piles of forgotten reports before focusing his attention on the lone occupant in the middle cell.
Megan.
With a fierce mental shake, he slammed shut the part of him that wanted to beat down the bars between them. He willed her to look at him but she didn’t acknowledge his presence.
She appeared lost in thought, so small, so fragile. So…alone. Guilt pushed at him, mocking his attempt to think rationally. He’d waited five years to ask this woman to become his wife. He’d remained loyal to her in the face of every temptation San Francisco had to offer, and he’d done it without an ounce of regret. Until now. Now, as he stared at Megan’s bent head, he knew nothing but regret. Regret that he’d put off coming home for too long.
For one brief moment, he savored the soft lines of her shoulders, the elegant tilt of her head and the wheat-colored curls spilling down her back. She held her shoulders stiff as she twisted her hands in her lap, rubbing them over one another again and again and again.
Logan frowned.
He’d seen her like this only one time before. The day Pastor Beau had told her of her mother’s death. Logan had fought the urge to steal her away back then, to rescue her from her grief.
She’d been too young at the time. That’s what they’d said. Pastor Beau and her guardian, Marc Dupree, had insisted Logan step back and assess the situation like a man and not a “boy in love.” When he hadn’t backed off, Marc had threatened him, resorting to brute force to make his point. In the end, Logan had relented. For Megan’s sake, he’d allowed the others to sway his better judgment.
A mistake.
Now a row of impenetrable iron bars stood between him and the woman he loved.
Logan balled his shooting hand into a tight fist. The urge to hit something, or someone, came fast, but he reminded himself he’d taken a different path than his brother. Still, a low growl of frustration rumbled deep in his throat.
At the sound, Megan looked up and slowly turned her head.
Their gazes melded.
Logan’s heart pummeled his rib cage. The brutal assault made each intake of air a struggle.
Lost in her eyes, a compelling tapestry of silver over blue, he experienced a deep sensation of completion. The emotion was so simple, so pure he wondered how he’d been able to walk away before.
Well, he was home now.
“Logan?” A little sigh slipped from her lips. “Is it really you?”
“Yes, Megan.” He forced his words around the breath clogging in his throat. “I’ve come for you, just like I promised.”
But had he returned too late?
Chapter Two
After two endless seconds Megan finally jumped up and hurried across the cell toward Logan.
Hungry for this closer view, he clutched at the bars and strained forward. Just like it had five years ago, her beauty made his throat ache. Her hair still tumbled down her shoulders in golden waves, and her skin was as luminous as he remembered.
But there were differences, too. Her features had become more mature, less rounded by youth. But her eyes—her glorious, sparkling eyes—were haunted now. Deep purple smudges shadowed the skin beneath. It was clear she needed food, sleep and tender care.
A possessive urgency to see to those needs had him curling his fingers in a white-knuckle grip around the bars. Inhaling slowly, he forced his hands to relax and then reached for her.
She smiled at him, shyly at first. Then, with growing confidence, she took a step closer and placed her fingers in his. Gripping his wrist with her other hand, she brought his open palm to her face.
He cupped her cheek as gently as the barrier between them would allow. The contact eased the furious knot of tension in his stomach. But only for a moment. Old guilt warred with a new sense of regret, and Logan couldn’t say which hurt more to suppress. He clenched his teeth so hard a muscle jumped at his jaw.
Suddenly, she staggered back a step. “Oh, Logan, I have to tell you—”
The outer door burst open, cutting off her words.
Heavy, purposeful footsteps approached from behind. Logan’s shoulders stiffened at the familiar sound. He’d know that clipped, efficient cadence anywhere.
Frustrated at the interruption, he turned on his heel and came face-to-face with his former mentor. Trey Scott. The man who had trained Logan to think before shooting. The man who had recommended him for the U.S. Marshal position.
The man who had locked Megan in a cold, dark cage.
“Give me the key…Sheriff.”
“Ah.” Trey hitched his hip against the desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “I see we’re dispensing with the pleasantries. Nevertheless, welcome home, Logan.”
Logan swallowed back an angry response and forced out his words with precision. “As the newly appointed U.S. Marshal I have a duty to—”
“I know your job description.” He gave Logan a meaningful look, reminding them both who’d held the position first. “But this is my jail now. And you’ll play by my rules.”
Out of respect for all this man had done for him, Logan relented. For now.
Changing tactics, he appealed to their history as partners and friends. “I saved your life when Ike Hayes was bent on destroying you. You owe me this one request.”
“Logan,” Trey began, unfolding his arms and pushing to a standing position. “You need to understand the situation. You won’t be so ready to release her once you know the truth.”
The truth? There was only one truth. Megan didn’t belong in a cold, impersonal jail cell.
Logan had failed her once, by leaving town when he should have married her. He wouldn’t walk away again. Nor would he allow her to rot in a cage another hour, much less another day.
“One thing in particular you should know.” Trey cast a look over Logan’s shoulder, sighed. “She—”
“Explanations can wait. I want to speak with her first. Alone.”
Trey’s lips compressed into a thin line. Logan knew the look well. Trey Scott was in an unrelenting mood.
Well, so was Logan. He needed to be near Megan, needed to know she was truly safe. “You can lock me in with her.”
Clearing his features of all expression, Trey glanced over Logan’s shoulder again. For a moment, he simply stared at Megan. A silent message seemed to pass between them before he focused on Logan once more.
“All right.” He retrieved an iron key from his vest pocket. “You can have a few minutes with her. But then you’ll listen to what I have to say.” The last was not a request but an order.
Unwilling to battle his longtime friend—yet—Logan nodded his agreement.
“Now that we understand one another…” Trey lifted his hand.
Logan snatched the key then turned toward the cell door. Before releasing the lock he glared at the other man. “Don’t you have something to do? Outside?”
Unmoving, Trey lifted a single eyebrow. The gesture made him look like a protective father.
Logan remembered the other men with that same look in their eyes. He remembered their resolve as they told him to stay away from Megan. She was too young, they’d claimed a hundred times over. He was too old. She was grieving her mother’s death. He needed to make a secure future for her before whisking her off in marriage. On and on they’d argued against him.
If he had ignored them, if he’d taken Megan as his wife when he’d had the chance, she wouldn’t be in jail now.
Logan had to make this right.
Some of his torment must have shown in his eyes because Trey patted him on the back in a fatherly gesture. “I’ll be just outside, my friend. You have five minutes, no more.”
Logan nodded.
Trey left the jailhouse without another word.
Pivoting, Logan kept his gaze on Megan as he unlocked the door. The grind of metal hinges filled the silence between them. Taking a step into the cell, a sudden wave of helplessness enveloped him. What if he couldn’t save her?
No. Whatever had warranted Megan’s imprisonment Logan would find a way to fix the problem, but for now…
He opened his arms wide.
She hesitated only a second, then a swift smile flashed across her face and she rushed into his embrace.
“Logan,” she whispered, wrapping her fingers around the lapels of his jacket with a fierce grip.
He folded her tightly against him, breathing the scent he remembered well. Clean and fresh, like soap mixed with spring flowers. A pleasant calm descended over him, smoothing the jagged edges of his embittered soul.
So many mistakes to regret.
Exhaling, he dropped his chin on the top of her head. So many choices he should have made differently.
But he was home now. They were together. Everything would be all right. Except…
Everything wasn’t all right.
Megan held her shoulders stiff, as though she intentionally kept a part of herself back from him. In all the times he’d dreamed of this moment, in all the ways he’d expected their reunion to go, none of them included her unyielding in his arms.
He tried not to feel disappointed by her reaction and focused on calming her. After all, she’d been through an ordeal. That alone explained her reticence now.
With a gentle stroke, he smoothed his hand down her hair. One time. Two times. Three.
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.”
“I know you will.” Trey released his hold and stepped back. “But we need answers first.”
Absently, Logan rubbed his throat. “We have to find Kincaid’s real killer. Before he finds Megan.”
“Right now, all we have is supposition. We need more information.”
Then Logan would get them more. And he knew exactly where to start. “Promise me you won’t let Megan out of your sight, not for any reason.”
“That goes without saying.”
Logan took two steps in the direction of Market Street but Trey blocked his path. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To Mattie’s.”
“Waste of time. You know the woman will run you around in circles if she decides to speak to you at all.”
“She’ll talk.”
Trey tried a different tactic. “My deputy has been there for several hours, looking for any clues we may have missed earlier. You’ll just be in the way.”
“I don’t plan to interfere. I plan to get answers.” From the most likely source, Mattie Silks herself. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
He shoved past Trey.
This time, the man didn’t try to stop him.
With each step he took, Logan calculated how best to go about questioning Mattie. There was no room for emotion now. Only harsh, unyielding intent. Someone in that den of iniquity had seen the real killer. Someone besides Megan.
And Logan wouldn’t rest until someone started talking.
Chapter Four
By the time Logan rounded the corner onto Market Street, the wind had taken on a nasty bite. He turned up his collar against the cold and instinctively increased his pace. Hollow laughter rang out in the distance, followed by the slam of a door.
He hated this time of day. In the eerie, predawn light, when the world stood poised between night and day, a desolate sheen seemed to cover everything. The oppressive stench of rotting garbage and stale liquor added to his already bleak mood.
A shadow slithered across his feet, then disappeared.
He turned quickly, scanning the area with a narrowed gaze. He found nothing more than a stumbling drunk and a scrawny mutt digging for scraps in the frosted earth.
Frowning, Logan resumed his trek toward Mattie’s. Every few steps he stabbed a covert glance over his shoulder. He couldn’t shake the notion he was being followed, yet he didn’t get a sense of imminent danger.
Puzzling over the contradictory sensations, he arrived at his destination. The most elegant house on the block, the brothel’s pale pink stucco, sweeping ivy and heavily sloping roof presented an inviting picture of hearth and home.
It was a lie, of course. The temporary pleasure offered in this house only resulted in despair. For all parties involved.
What Logan couldn’t fathom was Megan’s decision to come here at all. What had she hoped to accomplish with her charity work? What had been worth putting herself in harm’s way?
When and if the time was right, he would ask her.
For now, he lifted the ornate knocker and let it drop with a loud bang. The abrupt sound helped focus his thoughts on the matter at hand.
He would get his answers this morning. Calmly. Methodically.
One question at a time.
The door swung open. Jack, Mattie’s notorious bodyguard, stood just inside the gaudy foyer. He stared at Logan with an unreadable expression on his round, scruffy face. With more brawn than brains, Black Jack O’Malley was as much Mattie’s lapdog as her protector. Nevertheless, the man had always shown Logan respect.
Logan would return the favor now. “Jack,” he said in a courteous tone. “Is Mattie here?”
Jack nodded. “She’s been expecting you.”
“Of course.” Logan didn’t bother hiding the frustration in his tone. The woman could have given him vital information when he was here before, but she had chosen to send him away with a head full of confusion and worry.
Games inside games.
When it came to Mattie Silks, some things never changed.
As though sensing his annoyance, Jack stepped aside and motioned Logan forward.
“I’ll let Mattie know you’ve arrived.” The big man circled around him. “Wait here.”
Logan remained in the foyer a total of five seconds before he’d had enough of cooling his heels. He strode past the entryway and looked around the main parlor.
Nothing had changed in his five-year absence. And yet everything about the decor seemed more…sinful. Alone, each piece of furniture might be able to pass for tasteful, but together the red velvet divans, ornate paintings and gold filigree defined decadence.
Megan did not belong in this house. For any reason. Logan would have to make sure she understood why she could never come here again.
A movement in the back of the room cut off his thoughts. Mattie Silks had arrived in all her overstated grandeur. Arms outstretched, a flirtatious smile pasted on her lips, she glided to a spot in the center of the room then relaxed into a scandalous pose. Typical Mattie Silks behavior. Control the situation simply to prove she could, even if that meant hurting people in the process.
Logan knew his role in this particular drama. He was supposed to take a moment and admire the woman.
He wasn’t that much of a hypocrite.
Biting back a wave of impatience, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other and did his best not to glare.
Satisfied she had his attention, Mattie spun in a slow circle then continued toward him. With her blond, corkscrew curls bouncing wildly and her dress two sizes too small, she looked like a caricature of herself.
Adding to the absurd picture, she slowed every fourth or fifth step and struck a more ridiculous pose than the last.
Subtlety was not the woman’s strong suit.
Controlling the situation, now that was where she excelled.
She eventually came to a halt directly in front of him. Slipper to boot, she stood close enough for him to get a whiff of her cheap perfume. Normally, he’d step back and reclaim his space. Not today. Today Logan had his own point to make.
“Mattie.” He studied her dress with a critical eye. The frothy concoction of lace and blue silk was cut dangerously low in front and even lower in the back. “You’re as obvious as ever.”
“And you’re still the rude boy of years past.”
“Be careful,” he warned. “I’m also the U.S. Marshal of this territory now.”
“Ah, well, I won’t hold that against you. You see…
Marshal.” She looked pointedly at the tin star on his chest as she gave him a condescending pat on the arm. “I find myself in an accommodating mood at the moment.”
Logan firmed his jaw. Mattie Silks was never in an accommodating mood. Unless it suited her.
He opened his mouth to argue the point, but shut it just as quickly. Patience was his greatest weapon. He would let Mattie play her game, knowing there was too much at stake to lose her cooperation.
That didn’t mean he had to give the woman all the control.
Slanting a hard glance in her direction, he pushed past her and strode deeper into the room.
She was forced to follow him or stand staring at empty air.
It was a small victory, to be sure, but one he would use to his full advantage.
Unfortunately, his plans changed when his gaze landed on a chair off to his left—a very occupied chair. One of Mattie’s girls had yet to go to bed. Seemingly oblivious to his presence, she tugged absently at a loose thread on her dress.
Even with the glazed look in her eyes, Logan recognized the girl. Her name was Emily, no…Emma. She’d been a child when he’d left, barely thirteen. Her mother had raised her under this very roof. And all that that implied. By the way Emma was dressed, it was clear she was now a second generation “employee” of Mattie’s.
But that wasn’t the only thing that bothered Logan about the girl. With her slight build and pale blond hair, she looked a lot like Megan. Too much.
Logan experienced a moment of panic at the alarming similarities between the two, but quickly shoved the emotion aside. Unlike this girl, Megan had escaped her mother’s profession. She’d been given the chance to pursue a respectable life. With Logan. He would not let her down.
But what if he did? What if he couldn’t save her?
Mattie chose that moment to move back into his line of vision. Again, she stood too close. Again, he remained unimpressed. He wasn’t the green lawman anymore, the one who’d been taken off guard long enough to get another man shot.
“Just so we’re clear, Miss Silks.” He glared at the hand she’d rested on his sleeve. “I’m here for one reason only. To rescue Megan from her current…predicament.”
The madam smirked at him. “Your devotion is admirable.”
Her goading tone set him on edge. “Never doubt my loyalty. I will do anything.” He peeled away the fingers on his bicep, one claw at a time. “And I mean anything, to ensure Megan’s safety.”
“Well, then.” She perched on a nearby chair and folded her arms around her waist. “For once we have the same goal. Who would have thought?”
Who, indeed. As much as it galled Logan to admit it, even to himself, this woman—this brothel owner—could be the key to Megan’s freedom. Yet how could he trust such a person as this?
A jolt of helplessness whipped through him. But in the next moment, Trey’s words came back to him. The Lord will direct your way.
Was God at work even now? Could the Heavenly Father mean for Logan to ally himself with a woman like Mattie Silks? Even for a moment?
Logan was well versed in the Old Testament story of Rahab, the prostitute. God had used the most unlikely of women to help the Israelites defeat Jericho.
The Lord will direct your way…
For Megan’s sake Logan would try anything, including an unlikely alliance with a notorious madam. If only temporarily.
Swallowing his misgivings, he focused his thoughts on Megan, then addressed Mattie with a cool tone. “Look, Mattie, I’m not here to argue with you. I’m here to get information that will free Megan. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
To Logan’s utter surprise, the woman nodded. “You may rest easy, Marshal.” Her gaze turned serious. “I’ll do everything in my power to help your Megan.”
His Megan. Yes. She was his. She’d always been his. And always would be. “Good enough. First, I need to know how—” He broke off at the sound of rustling silk, only just realizing Emma was still in the room with them, openly listening to their conversation.
He grimaced at the girl.
Mattie’s gaze followed his. “Go to your room.” Her tone brooked no argument, but the girl didn’t budge.
A foolish mistake. One Mattie would surely punish her for later.
“I said leave,” Mattie ordered. “Or I’ll lock you in your room for two days without food.”
Logan knew the madam meant every word. Apparently, so did Emma. Shoulders hunched, eyes glued to her feet, she made her way toward the staircase leading to the second floor.
Mattie kept her hawklike gaze trained on the girl until she disappeared from sight.
Finished with the delays, Logan got straight to the point. “How did Megan end up in your private boudoir, when she’d come only to read to a sick woman?”
Mattie swung around, parked one fist on her hip and zeroed in on a spot just above his head. As she stood in that particular pose, ignoring him completely, Logan feared she wouldn’t answer his question. But then she flicked her hair off her forehead and focused on him once again.
“I moved her as soon I discovered Cole had arrived earlier than expected,” she said. “I wasn’t about to let that vile man get a glimpse of our dear girl.”
Logan pulled in a tight breath of air. “Why would you have worried about Kincaid seeing Megan?”
“Cole was one of my regulars. He had a penchant for…” Mattie cleared her throat. “Innocents.”
A wave of fury threatened to overwhelm him. For a blessed moment Logan let the anger come, let it flow through him and guide his next words. “If that was true, why didn’t you send her back to Charity House? Why move her to a place where he could easily get to her?”
Obviously used to dealing with angry men, Mattie held Logan’s stare without flinching. “Time was of the essence. I knew if Cole caught sight of her leaving, he might follow her. And then, well…” She held his gaze. “You understand my meaning.”
Yes, he did. It was her meaning that made it nearly impossible for Logan to think rationally. Too many terrible scenarios ran through his mind. “So you thought she was safe in your sitting room,” he said, forcing down his fury enough to avoid doing anything rash. Like shake the truth out of Mattie.
“That is correct.”
“Still doesn’t explain how Kincaid got to her.”
Mattie blinked. Then blinked again. “I had to leave her alone for a moment.”
Logan drew in another sharp breath. “Why would you do that?”
“Because a business matter required my attention.”
“What business matter?”
“I had to break up a fight between two of my girls.” She lifted her hand in a dismissive gesture. “I was gone no more than twenty minutes. When I returned, Cole was lying flat on his back with a knife stuck through his chest.”
Despite the growing urge to shake the woman, Logan made himself piece together the details in his mind. So far, Mattie’s story matched Trey’s. But there was a part of the tale where his friend had been unclear, a minor point that only Mattie could answer.
“Where was Megan when you first entered the room?”
Looking everywhere but at him, Mattie shifted to a spot just behind the chair. Only after the barrier stood between them did she continue. “Dig too deep into this murder, Marshal, and you may not like what you find.”
He scowled at the remark, wondering why she was warning him off. To protect herself? Megan? Or someone else entirely?
What did this woman know? Or rather, what was she refusing to tell him?
Only one way to find out. He kept his gaze on hers, reading every nuance in her body language, and repeated the question a second time. “Where was Megan when you entered the room?”
Mattie sighed in uncharacteristic resignation. “Lying on my settee, out cold.”
Shock rippled through his body, making him shudder. “She wasn’t on the floor?” Like he and Trey had assumed?
“Uh…no.”
Logan gaped at the woman for several heartbeats. Focus, he told himself. He had to focus on the facts. No more assumptions. No more mistakes. He had to think like a lawman. Not a man who’s greatest love had been attacked earlier tonight. “Tell me how Megan was positioned on the divan. Exactly.”
“She looked rather…” Mattie screwed her face into a look of deep concentration “…comfortable. Yes, that’s the word.”
Logan clenched his teeth together. Mattie was hiding something from him. “Comfortable, how?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She lifted a shoulder. “Her head was propped on a pillow and she was covered with a blanket. That sort of comfortable.”
A thousand questions exploded in his brain. But Logan kept his breathing slow and easy, his mind focused on his questions. “Could she have gotten that way by herself?”
“No.” Mattie’s fingers drummed along the chair’s rim. She continued avoiding direct eye contact. “The blanket was tucked neatly around her.”
Clinging hard to his composure, Logan worked the new information around in his head. Instinct told him there was only one explanation. The real killer had moved Megan to the settee. And then—then—he’d covered her with a blanket.
But why?
Neither gesture rang true.
Despite the fact that the details didn’t add up, Logan was certain of one thing. Megan hadn’t killed Kincaid. Now he could take her away from here, to the one place where he knew she’d be safe.
Then why did a sense of foreboding slide down his spine? What was he missing?
“I need you to think hard, Mattie. Did you see anything suspicious last night? Anything out of the ordinary?”
Her fingers tightened on the chair, the gesture turning her knuckles white. “I’ve been over the events in my head a hundred times. Nothing comes to mind.” She took a shuddering breath, but there didn’t seem to be any subterfuge in the act. “Nothing, that is, that will change the very real fact that Cole Kincaid is dead.”
An odd choice of words.
For once in their volatile eight-year acquaintance, Logan sensed she was telling the truth.
And yet…
There was something still missing from her tale, some valuable piece of information that would fit the other details smoothly together. Unfortunately, Logan had been down similar roads with Mattie Silks. She would never volunteer everything she knew, not unless he asked the right questions. If only he knew the right ones to ask.
The Lord will direct your way…
Logan rubbed a hand down his face. Please, Lord, what’s my next step?
As soon as he voiced the prayer in his head, he knew what he had to do. “I want to interview everyone who was in this building last night,” he said. “Starting with your girls.”
After a momentary hesitation, Mattie nodded. She actually nodded in agreement!
As much as Logan wanted to rely on her cooperation, he would be wise to remember this woman had been known to harbor criminals in her own bedroom. She could not be trusted. Not fully.
Dig too deep, Marshal, and you might not like what you find.
What was she hiding from him?
“When would you like to begin questioning my girls?” she asked.
Her cooperation was at odds with the Mattie Silks he knew. “After I look around the crime scene.”
Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Cole’s body is already gone. Sheriff Scott’s deputy took him away over an hour ago.”
“I want to see the room where he was stabbed.” Trey was always thorough, but maybe he’d overlooked an important piece of evidence. Logan clung to that small hope.
Mattie pushed away from the chair and started out. “Follow me.” Without a single argument, coy look or detour, she led Logan directly to her private sitting room.
He didn’t second-guess her continued cooperation. Yet.
“Here we are,” she said, moving aside so he could enter the room ahead of her.
With a quick glance, Logan surveyed the small, confining space. Cataloguing the contents of the room, he counted a fireplace, a small sofa, a winged-back chair and a bookcase actually filled with books.
Surprised by the hominess of the decor, Logan worked his way around the perimeter quickly, with a smooth economy of motion that belied his sense of urgency.
There was something here. He could feel it.
Noting the trace of blood on the mantel, he ran his hand along the wood, searching for the groove where Kincaid had hit his head. After he’d attacked Meg—
Focus. Logan had to focus on the facts alone. No emotion. No thoughts of Megan. No dwelling on what had happened to her in this room.
“Give me another ten minutes to look around,” he said through a tight jaw. “Then send in the first girl.”
“Whatever you wish.” She turned to go.
“And Mattie?” he called after her retreating back. “I’ll need the names of last night’s clients, as well. All their names.”
She stiffened at the request, but didn’t turn around. “Are you sure this is the route you wish to take, Marshal?”
The woman was warning him off? A huge mistake on her part, especially if Logan found out she had a personal connection to the killer.
“One way or another I will find out who murdered Kincaid,” Logan said in the kind of ruthless tone a woman like Mattie understood. “I know that doesn’t mean anything to you, but it could mean life or death for Megan.”
Mattie lowered her head and sighed. “I’ll draw up a complete list of names later today.”
“Thank you.”
Normally, those two simple words would earn him a snide remark. But when Mattie spun around to face him, her eyes were filled with gratitude. And genuine sincerity.
“It’s good you’re home, Logan. Megan needs you, now more than ever.”
Caught off guard by the woman’s heartfelt words, Logan didn’t have a ready response. What the woman didn’t realize, what he hadn’t fully understood himself until last night, was how much he needed Megan in return.
And no matter who tried to stand in his way this time, he would never desert Megan again.
Chapter Five
Megan burrowed deeper under the blanket and forced her mind to relax. But no matter what position she attempted, peace eluded her. Too tired to sit up, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to capture a few moments of sleep.
Every part of her body hurt, resulting in an allover ache that went far beyond the physical. The pain brought an odd sense of relief, a bold reminder she was alive.
Alive was good. That meant God still had a plan for her life. Megan clung to that hope, even as dark thoughts tried to surface.
Shivering from a sudden burst of cold air, she pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and took a slow, steady breath. The smell of blood and death hung in the air. She didn’t want to know why that scent was so strong. Why it seemed so real, so tangible.
Best to forget, a voice whispered in her head. Yes.
Yes. She let her mind go blank, let her sense of time and place garble in her head. The nothingness soothed her.
Distant, hollow voices buzzed around her, like an annoying mosquito.
She took another, slower breath.
At last, sleep began to claim her, promising a temporary respite, if only she could give in to the blessed darkness. She reached out to the void. But then the watery sounds in her head began to form into clear, distinct words.
“You must allow me to wake her.” The urgent request came from somewhere close by. “It’s not good for her to sleep this long.”
A low, menacing growl followed. “I said, leave…her…alone.” There was a deadly calm in the carefully spoken words. And an unmistakable threat. “I mean it, Shane.”
Dr. Shane was here?
“You have to trust I know what I’m doing, Logan.”
Logan, too?
Megan wanted to see him for herself, wanted to know he was real and not a dream like she feared. But opening her eyes required too much effort so she tucked the blanket under her chin and prayed for sleep to return.
“Step back, Logan. Or I’ll have the sheriff personally escort you out of here until I’m through examining her.”
A brief moment of silence filled the room.
“All right. Wake her.” Another pause. “But do it slowly. Don’t scare her.”
A masculine sigh accompanied the sound of footsteps. Very loud footsteps. Like hammers to nails, pounding relentlessly in her head.
She shied away from the noise.
“Megan.” A gentle hand touched her shoulder. “Megan, you need to wake up now.”
She moaned in protest, even as her mind placed the familiar voice. It did indeed belong to Shane Bartlett, the doctor from the clinic connected to Charity House. She knew the man well. Trusted him implicitly. Not only because he was married to her good friend Bella, but because he was an exceptional doctor. Compassionate and thorough.
“Megan.” The hand shook her again, a little more firmly this time.
“Sleep,” she mumbled.
“No. No more sleep.”
She tried to protest again, but her mind drifted over a dark void of shifting images, images she couldn’t quite capture.
Best to forget…
If only her head didn’t hurt so badly.
Eyes still firmly shut, she lifted a hand to touch the tender spot above her temple. The movement sent unspeakable pain spearing behind her eyes.
Another moan slipped through her lips.
“Megan. You need to open your eyes.” Dr. Shane’s voice came at her stronger this time. More insistent. Closer.
Too close.
She snapped awake and sat up with a jerk.
A burst of light flashed before her, momentarily blinding her. She breathed in a quick gasp, blinked past the grit in her eyes, but the room remained hazy. The sickly odor of mold and something else filled her nose. What was that other smell?
She didn’t want to know.
“Sleep,” she muttered again, then squeezed her eyelids shut and started to lie back down.
“No.” The doctor’s hands caught her by the shoulders before her head connected with the pillow. “Stay with us.” He urged her back to a sitting position.
She managed a squint. The sun spread golden fingers of light across the floor, chasing shadows to the outer edges of the room. She opened her eyes fully and connected her gaze with a long row of iron bars. She’d spent an entire night in jail.
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Megan, darling, don’t cry.” The words washed over her like a soft plea.
She turned her gaze in the direction of the voice. “Logan,” she breathed.
He moved toward her slowly, his steps relaxed, careful, as though he didn’t want to scare her with any sudden movement.
The dear, dear man.
“Logan, wait just a moment.” Dr. Shane stopped his progress with an outstretched hand.
Ignoring the command, Logan continued toward her. No hesitation. No hitch in his step. Just bold purpose.
Dr. Shane muttered something about “arrogant, single-minded lawmen.” Megan didn’t listen to the rest of the words. She was too busy watching Logan’s approach.
He crouched down in front of her and placed his palms on her knees.
His movements were still slow, but the fierce angles of his face and the severe expression in his eyes said he was anything but calm.
At the sight of all the intensity directed at her, a quick jolt of fear slithered down her spine.
Megan instinctively leaned back. Away from Logan.
There was a flicker of hurt in his eyes but then he gave her a wide, nonthreatening smile.
Remorse instantly filled her. This was Logan. Her Logan. There was nothing to fear from him. Just being near him was all she’d ever wanted, all she’d ever craved. “You’re still here,” she whispered.
He swung around then sat beside her on the cot. As before, the ancient springs creaked in protest under the additional weight.
Reaching down, Logan took her hand and laced her fingers through his. “I’ll never leave you again.”
The magnetic force of his sincerity took her breath away. For one fleeting moment, every dream she’d ever had about this man and their future together seemed possible.
In the next moment, an onslaught of images beckoned for release and a feeling of dread balled in her stomach.
Her vision blurred.
Logan slung his arm across her shoulder to steady her. “Doc. Do something. She’s losing color.”
Dr. Shane was at her feet in an instant. But he was too close.
She suddenly felt trapped.
“No. Please. Step back.” She waved her hand in his direction. “I need…” She let her voice trail off, not sure what she needed. “Just…give me a moment.”
Breathing slowly—very slowly—she pressed her thumb and forefinger to the bridge of her nose and ordered her mind to slow down. But her thoughts continued running in countless directions. There were too many images fighting for release.
Sights, sounds, smells all came at her at once, attacking her in rapid succession.
“Breathe, Megan,” Logan urged softly in her ear. “Just breathe.”
She tried to do as he suggested. In. Out. In. Out.
Her efforts only made matters worse.
Blood roared in her ears.
Logan’s grip on her shoulder tightened, reminding her she wasn’t alone in this terrible, terrible mess.
Why was there no comfort in the thought?
Was she fooling herself? Was she grasping at a dream she’d built in her head over the last five years?
Confusion and panic tangled together in her mind. Rather than giving in to either, she called on one of her favorite verses. Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavey laden, and I will give you rest.
One heartbeat passed.
And another.
By the third she shrugged away from Logan’s support and tried to stand.
“Megan,” he began.
“No.” She thrust a palm in his direction. “Don’t help me. I need to do this on my own.”
Brave words. Necessary words. She had to call on her strength, like always, or risk losing more control than ever.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t quite get her feet underneath her. Logan grasped her elbow gently. Once she caught her balance, she stepped away from him.
Pain shot through her right foot. And she lowered back down on the cot.
“What is it?” he asked. “What—”
“Just wait a minute, Logan.” Dr. Shane cut him off. “Give her a moment to find her bearings.”
Logan gave an unhappy grunt in reply, but surprisingly didn’t argue this time. Keeping his eyes on her, he moved to the opposite end of the cell in three ground-eating strides, then leaned a shoulder against the brick wall.
The hard look he shot Dr. Shane reminded her of…of…
She pressed a shaky hand to her quivering stomach and felt the knots tighten beneath her touch. What was wrong with her? How could she possibly be afraid?
This was Logan. Her Logan.
Confused, she turned her attention back to Dr. Shane. There was certainly nothing threatening about him. His clear blue eyes held compassion while a hint of concern showed on his handsome face. His dark hair shot out in every direction, as though he’d run his hands through it too many times.
He slowly crouched in front of her, placed his fingertips on the inside of her wrist and began counting her heartbeats. After a moment, he nodded in approval. “Do you hurt anywhere other than your head?”
“My back aches a little. But that could be from sleeping on this cot.”
He cracked a smile. “I wouldn’t rule out the possibility.” His smile disappeared. “Where else does it hurt?”
“Sometimes…it hurts to breathe.” She drew in a sharp breath and winced. “In my ribs.”
Nodding, Dr. Shane probed the area gently. She pulled back and hissed when his fingers landed on an especially tender spot.
At the sound of her gasp, Logan pushed away from the wall and rushed forward. “Megan.”
Dr. Shane glared him back a step. Then another. Impatience flared out of both men, but Logan finally relented.
Muttering under his breath, the doctor turned back to Megan. “Do you hurt anywhere else?”
“My ankle.”
He lifted her foot and Megan stifled a gasp. The swelling told its own story. Sometime during the evening she’d acquired a minor sprain.
Still holding her foot, Dr. Shane reached for his bag. Digging inside with his free hand, he pulled out a roll of linen bandages and began wrapping her ankle with deft fingers.
“Do you remember falling?” he asked, eyes focused on his work.
Megan forced her mind to concentrate. To focus. Surely a fall that had resulted in a sprained ankle would be somewhere in her memory. “I remember…” She searched her mind. And searched. And searched. “Nothing.”
The doctor must have heard the panic in her voice, because his eyes softened. “Don’t worry.” He tied off the bandage with a firm knot. “Your memory will return with time.”
If only she could believe him. If only she could remember what had happened in Mattie’s boudoir. If only she could say that she knew, without a doubt, she hadn’t killed Cole and that she knew who did. The man who killed him was…
He was…
She glanced at Logan. Then just as quickly folded her hands in her lap and looked away. Her gaze caught sight of the blood on her dress and she choked back a sob. “I have to change my clothes.” She couldn’t hide the desperation in her voice.
“Of course.” Dr. Shane touched her clasped hands and squeezed. “Bella is gathering everything you’ll need. She’ll soon be here to help you.”
“Bella?” Logan hissed. “Who’s Bella?”
“Pastor Beau’s sister and my lovely wife.” Dr. Shane rose and turned to face Logan.
“Your wife?” Logan stared at him for a long, tense moment. “You got married?”
“Two years ago.”
Blinking hard, Logan ran a hand down his face. “You’re married,” he repeated, his voice filled with disbelief. “And I never knew.”
“Our first child is due any day now.”
“A child, too.” Something flashed in Logan’s eyes, something sad and regretful, but he didn’t comment again.
He paced.
Even in the confines of the small jail cell he moved with unmistakable authority. There was no hesitation in him, no pause. Every step he took said Logan Mitchell knew who he was and what he wanted out of life. Handsome, kind, capable, he could have his pick of women.
And he’d chosen Megan.
But five long years have passed. The thought settled over her like a heavy weight. In that time she’d changed. She’d gone from a child who helped around the orphanage to a woman in sole charge of the nursery. She’d grown in her love for the Lord, as well. Best of all, she’d discovered her artistic talent and had used it to turn the bedroom walls of Charity House into joyful expressions of God’s unconditional love for His children.
In Logan’s absence, she’d learned so much about herself. Surely he’d discovered things about himself, as well.
Was he still the man she remembered?
It was disloyal to think otherwise.
As if sensing her change in mood, Logan stopped pacing and turned to face her. “Megan, everything’s going to be all right. I promise.”
How could he be so confident? How could either of these men stand here and give her such promises? She’d lost a part of her life last night and everything hinged on her remembering those forgotten hours.
“What if I never remember?” she whispered to no one in particular.
“You will,” Logan said. “You just need time to heal.”
Time. There was that awful word again. Time had kept her and Logan apart. Time threatened them now.
She swallowed back a sob, chagrined at her inability to contain her emotions.
Logan moved closer and searched her face as though he could pull the missing memories forth by his will alone.
If only he could.
She knew she was letting him down. Yet some other instinct, something buried inside her lost memories, hinted that the blackness in her mind was about protecting Logan.
How could that be?
“Megan,” Dr. Shane interrupted her thoughts. “Focus on getting well. Once your body heals, your mind will follow.”
Logan took her hands in his. “And until then I’m going to make sure you’re safe.”
Those were the same words Sheriff Scott had uttered to her last night. Fighting a sense of defeat, Megan lowered her head and sighed. “You’re going to leave me in here until you find the real killer.”
It made the most sense, even if she couldn’t bear the thought of another night in this cold, drafty, depressing jail cell.
“No.” Logan shook his head fiercely. “I’m not going to leave you locked up like a common criminal. I went to Mattie’s this morning. I have proof of your innocence.”
“You…you do?”
“Yes.” But he didn’t expand, which made her wonder if he really had proof or if he was still basing his assumption on what he thought he knew about her.
Before she could press him for more information, for anything to give her a sense of the truth hidden deep within her mind, he steered the conversation in a different direction. “As soon as I make the arrangements I’m going to take you home.”
Home? No. No. They couldn’t take that risk. “I can’t go to Charity House,” she said in a panicked voice. “We can’t put the children in danger.”
“That’s not what I meant. I’m taking you to my home, where I grew up.”
His words took a moment to settle over her. “You want to take me to your family’s ranch?” Pure joy spread through her. Logan came from a large, happy family with a mother. And a father. And lots of siblings.
“It’s the best solution,” he said. “The only one.”
Glory.
“Will that be all right with you?” he asked.
She wanted to jump off the cot and fling herself into his arms. She wanted to tell him, yes, yes, yes.
But reality held her back. She was the daughter of a prostitute, raised in an orphanage with children from similar backgrounds as hers.
His family might never accept her.
Then again, surely the people who’d raised this wonderful, kind, godly man would have equally gracious hearts.
“I…” Not sure what to say, she lifted her arms in the air and he immediately tugged her into his embrace.
She rested her cheek against his hard, muscular chest and breathed in his scent.
For the first time since she’d walked into Mattie’s brothel yesterday Megan felt at peace. “Yes, Logan, I want to go home with you.”
“Good.” He blew out a long breath then set her away from him. “We’ll leave immediately. We’ll—”
“Logan, no.” Sheriff Scott slammed into the jail cell, his lips twisting at a furious angle. “You can’t take her away.”
At the sound of those five angry words, spoken with such conviction, Megan’s hope shattered.
Sheriff Scott wasn’t going to let her leave with Logan.
That meant she would have to spend another night in jail, alone, with no relief in sight.
How would she ever bear the torment?
Chapter Six
Logan had been shot once. In his leg. The bullet had seared through his flesh with a burning agony he’d never experienced before that moment. Yet compared to the pain sweeping through him now as he stared at the anguish on Megan’s face, the bullet wound seemed a mere pinprick.
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Renee Ryan
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: For five years, U.S. Marshal Logan Mitchell has dreamed of returning to his sweetheart in Denver.He never imagined he′d find Megan Goodwin locked in a prison cell. Megan has no memory of what happened the night the outlaw was murdered. And though Logan is sure of her innocence, proving it is only half the battle. Remembering the killer′s identity will clear Megan′s name but could lead danger right to her door. Logan will protect her life with his. But forging a true marriage takes trust, faith and the courage to open their hearts to God′s plan–wherever it leads….