The Lawman Claims His Bride

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.