The Lawman Claims His Bride

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?