by Renee Ryan
“You know, Logan,” Bella said, jamming her fists on either side of her waist. “I don’t mind saying, we’ve been anticipating your arrival for some time now. Years, to be precise.”
“As have I, Mrs. Bartlett.” Logan eyed Bella carefully. “In fact, I’ve been counting down the days for five years, one month, six days and eighteen hours.”
His answer did not impress Bella. “And how many minutes, since we’re counting?”
“Twelve.”
Bella’s lips twitched, but her eyes gave away nothing of what she was thinking. “Well, now that you’ve finally arrived, I find it necessary to speak plainly.”
He tilted his head at her. “Of course.”
“You stayed away too long.”
Something like pain traveled across his features. “I agree.”
“You…” It was Bella’s turn to blink in shock. “Agree?”
“Yes.” He didn’t expand, or explain himself further.
“Well, hmm.” Bella tapped a finger against her chin and studied him silently.
He simply held her gaze.
Letting out a feminine sniff, she tossed him a dismissive wave. “You may go now. I wish to speak with Megan. Alone.”
“I understand.” He set the bundle of dresses on the cot with exaggerated care. But instead of leaving right away, he pulled Megan’s hands into his and said, “But I’ll go only if that’s what you wish of me.”
How sweet to ask her. How…wonderful.
He drew one of her hands to his lips. “Do you wish for me to leave?”
No. Yes. Maybe? She wasn’t sure what she wanted so she hedged. “I’ll be perfectly fine with Bella.”
“Then I’ll begin making plans for our future.” He dropped a chaste kiss on her forehead. “When we meet again, it’ll be at our wedding.”
“Our wedding.” As she repeated his words, the bottom dropped out of Megan’s stomach. For the first time since Logan had returned home she felt secure. “Yes, I’ll see you at our wedding.”
“Once all is made ready, I’ll return.” Smiling broadly, he turned back to Bella and regarded her with a sense of amused tolerance. “I leave my future bride in your care, Mrs. Bartlett. Watch over her for me.”
Before Bella could respond, he was gone.
“Well,” Bella said, still watching the door after he’d clicked it firmly shut behind him. “Perhaps I underestimated his attachment to you.”
Megan felt her mouth curve up at the corners. “It takes a confident woman to admit when she is wrong.”
“I said, perhaps.” Bella flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Time will tell.”
Megan did laugh then, the sound coming out rusty and a little off-key. “You are my most loyal friend, Mrs. Bartlett.”
“So I am.” Bella let out her own pitch-perfect laugh. “Now, come.” She steered Megan toward the cot, moved the dresses aside and forced her to sit with gentle pressure on her shoulders. “Tell me everything you remember about last night.”
The request brought a sudden ache flooding hot and fast through Megan, making her head spin. How many times must she answer the same endless round of questions before people quit asking her?
“Didn’t your husband explain the situation? I can’t tell you what happened,” Megan said, her words coming out harsh. “Because I don’t remember.”
“So, it’s true.” Bella touched Megan’s hand. “You’ve lost your memory of last night’s events.”
Megan nodded.
“Oh, my dear girl.” Bella joined Megan on the cot and immediately turned into the trained nurse she’d become in the past year. She brushed Megan’s hair off her forehead, then lifted her wrist and placed two fingers at the tender spot below her hand.
While Bella counted heartbeats, Megan closed her eyes and tried to slow her breathing. She wanted to clear her mind, to relax, but she was getting married in a few hours. Her life was about to change forever.
In her heart she knew it was time for her to leave Charity House at last. Although she loved them dearly, the babies she cared for weren’t her own. The murals she’d painted on the bedrooms walls weren’t her creations, not really, but rather an expression of all that the orphanage stood for.
Even her charity work at Mattie’s brothel had been done by Bella first. Nothing Megan had ever done in her life was a reflection of who she was as a person, or as a woman.
Who was she then, really?
She wanted to know the answer. Craved it. But until her memory returned she feared she would be at a disadvantage. How could one know oneself when parts were missing?
Bella released her hand and then swept her fingertips across Megan’s forehead again. “You’re a little warm.”
Megan snapped her eyes open. Everything in her hurt, her head, her body, maybe even her soul, an ache borne from her helplessness. “It’s…it’s stuffy in here.”
“Is it?” Bella looked around the tiny jail cell. “I was thinking it was a bit drafty.”
For some reason, the offhand remark loosened the tears Megan had barely gotten under control once before. But she couldn’t cry. Not now. She swiped at her damp cheeks with the back of her wrist.
Wordlessly, Bella pulled Megan into her arms. “Go ahead, my friend. Cry. It’s a perfectly acceptable reaction to all that’s happened to you.”
“No.” Megan shook her head sternly. “No. It’s my wedding day. I will not cry on my wedding day.”
“Megan, don’t do this to yourself.” Bella shifted to her left and sighed. “You’ve been through a waking nightmare, with a portion of your memory locked deep inside your mind as a result. There’s no shame in a few tears.”
“No,” Megan said again. “I’m getting married today, to the man I love. I’m supposed to be happy. I…I…” Megan let her words trail off as a memory shoved for release.
She closed her eyes and grasped for it, but the elusive thought was just out of reach. Like always. There had to be a way to unlock her mind. She thought briefly of praying, but no words formed in her head.
Bella patted her arm. “Look at me, Megan.”
She slowly opened her eyes again, stricken and uneasy but determined to hide her suffering from her friend.
“Here’s what I know for sure.” Bella smiled kindly, tugging a handkerchief from her sleeve and handing it over to Megan. “God never gives us more than we can bear, at least not with Him by our side. You’re a strong woman, Megan, but sometimes even strong women need to call on the Lord for help. With His assistance, you will get through this.”
Megan wasn’t so sure.
“I also know that crying, when done properly, is never a sign of weakness but a show of strength.”
Megan blinked at the sheer cloth in her hand. “Perhaps that’s true, for you,” she said, holding on to her emotions by a thread. “You are, after all, a famous opera singer known for her dramatic range.”
“Then I’d say that makes me something of an expert, wouldn’t you?”
Megan managed a wavering smile. Obviously, she wasn’t going to win this battle of words with her friend. But she wasn’t going to cry either. No more tears on her wedding day. No. More. Tears.
“Well.” Bella rose and stretched out her hand. “If you aren’t going to indulge in a good cry, like any self-respecting female would, let’s get you dressed for your wedding.”
Instinct told Megan to focus on one thing at a time, and not get ahead of herself. Forcing a smile onto her lips, she took Bella’s outstretched hand and stood. “All right. What have you brought me?”
“Let’s see.” Bella sorted through the pile of dresses. “What about—” she picked up one, quickly discarded it, went for another but eventually settled on yet a third “—this one.”
Smiling in triumph, she raised the light blue silk dress. “It’s one of my favorites.”
Megan let her gaze linger on the gown. The thin line of navy lace running along the collar and cuffs looked far too delicate to touch, much less wea
r. “It’s too elegant.”
“It’s perfect. Here. Let’s see how it looks against your skin.”
With shaking hands, Megan took the dress and held it up under her chin. “What do you think?”
“I think—” Bella clapped her hands together with glee “—you’re going to make a beautiful bride.”
Chapter Eight
For the next two hours, Logan finalized his wedding plans with one objective in mind: get Megan out of town as quickly as possible.
After purchasing a marriage license from the county clerk, his next stop was Charity House, where he discreetly informed Marc Dupree of the situation. The owner of the orphanage was understandably worried about Megan’s safety, but didn’t fight Logan over his decision to take her away from Denver. Even when Logan explained a killer was still on the loose, possibly gunning for Megan, Marc didn’t appear overly concerned.
Did the man trust Logan to keep Megan safe? Not likely. Something else must warrant his lack of worry.
At least he’d agreed the wedding needed to be kept a secret. Not even his wife would know about the blessed event until Logan had Megan safely away from Denver.
Satisfied Marc understood the gravity of the situation, Logan turned to leave. But before he could exit Charity House, Marc stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Logan, wait. I want to show you something first.”
Logan studied the man who had prevented him from marrying Megan once before. Dressed in a brocade vest and matching tie, with his hair immaculately cut and styled, Marc looked more like a banker than the proprietor of an orphanage that catered to prostitutes’ mistakes.
There were things Logan wanted to say, but so far he’d held his tongue, determined to show this man his due respect. Marc was, for all intents and purposes, Megan’s father.
That didn’t mean Logan didn’t harbor a large dose of resentment toward him. If Marc had relented five years ago and allowed Logan to take Megan as his wife she wouldn’t be in danger now.
“I don’t have much time,” Logan said through clenched teeth, surprised to hear a trace of resentment coating his voice.
Eyeing him thoughtfully, Marc released a slow breath. “I realize you’re in a hurry, but it’s important you know what Megan’s been up to in your absence. She’s been…well, you should see for yourself.”
It was the earnest look on Marc’s face, rather than his odd choice of words, that had Logan nodding in agreement. “All right. Show me.”
“This way.”
Marc ushered Logan upstairs, directing him around one corner and then another, stopping at the end of a long hallway with a row of closed doors on either side.
Since the children were at school the orphanage was all but deserted at this hour. Marc threw open one of the doors and Logan stepped inside. His mouth dropped open. Shock stole his ability to speak. It was as if he’d been transported to another world, a world of whimsy and dreams and eternal hope.
For a long moment, he simply gaped at the beautiful, intricate designs on the walls. Each one depicted a different scene from the Bible. The accompanying verses scrolled in a bold, swirling script were a testimony to God’s love for His children. Verses such as, Let the children come to me, and I am the Way, the Truth and the Life, along with several more.
“Who painted this?” he asked.
“Megan.”
Of course. No wonder Marc had wanted Logan to see this room. The insight the paintings gave into Megan’s character was extraordinary. No, it was mind-boggling. Logan had always known she had a tender heart, but he hadn’t realized she had such a vivid, whimsical imagination inside her beautiful head.
The discovery left Logan unsettled. How would he ever make such a woman happy? He was too pragmatic, too single-minded, jaded even. He knew nothing of fancy ideals and castles in the sky.
A moment of despair nearly brought him to his knees, but then an idea formed, one that just might help release the memories trapped inside Megan’s mind.
He made a mental note to stop by the nearest mercantile before returning to the jail. He would worry about the rest later.
Marc cleared his throat. “There’s more.”
Logan swallowed. “More?”
“She’s painted every room upstairs,” Marc said. “Each one is more special and unique than the last.”
“I want to see them.”
“Of course.” Marc led Logan from one room to the next.
Leaning against the doorjamb of the last one, Marc crossed his arms over his chest. “I hope this helps you understand your future wife a little better.”
Logan swallowed again. “I… Yes, it helps immensely.” As disconcerting as it was to discover how little he knew about Megan, Marc had just given Logan a gift and a peace offering of sorts.
Marc pushed away from the door, an unreadable expression on his face. “Understand, Logan. I showed you her artwork because Megan is precious to me. I consider her my daughter. I would do anything, anything to protect her.” His gaze turned hard, ruthless. “As far as I’m concerned, the man who attacked her deserved to die.”
Logan didn’t argue, not since he secretly agreed.
“But she’s no longer mine to watch over. She’s yours. I beg you to take care of her as I was unable to do.”
They both knew he was speaking of last night’s attack.
Choked with emotion, Logan wasn’t sure what to say. Megan had been hurt while in Marc’s care. It was something he would have to come to grips with on his own.
“I wish you well in your marriage.” Marc patted him awkwardly on the back then dropped his hand and quickly looked away. But not before Logan saw the sorrow and grief welling in his eyes.
Marc had just given Logan his blessing. Until that moment, Logan hadn’t realized he’d been waiting for it. “You can trust that I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Megan safe,” he said. “Even lay down my life if necessary.”
“I know.” Marc ran a hand down his face and sighed. “May God be with you both.”
“Thank you.”
There was nothing more to say. Logan left the orphanage, his feet heavier than usual as he walked across the backyard in search of Reverend Beauregard O’Toole. After Logan explained the situation all over again, the pastor agreed to perform the marriage ceremony at the jailhouse. Without his wife accompanying him.
Wedding plans complete, Logan made his way back to the heart of Denver. He told himself all this secrecy was necessary for Megan’s protection. Nevertheless, regret pushed its way through his resolve.
Megan deserved to be surrounded by her friends and loved ones on her wedding day. She deserved to be married in a church, not a jail cell. Perhaps there was a way…
No. Logan couldn’t relent. Megan’s safety had to come first. All this secrecy was necessary. He would make it up to her later. Somehow, someway.
Charging across the grounds of the Arapahoe County Courthouse he eyed the white, puffy clouds drifting overhead. They created a carefree mood Logan found oddly annoying. He focused his gaze solely on the courthouse.
The building looked the same as it had five years ago. Made from a mixture of solid stone and marble, the three-story structure was a perfect representation of law and order.
Would justice be served in Kincaid’s murder? Or had it already been served? With a knife jammed through his black heart?
The thought went against everything Logan believed in as a lawman and a Christian. It was the type of rationale his brother had always used to justify years of walking on the opposite side of the law from Logan.
And yet…
Logan wasn’t sure he disagreed with his brother, at least not in this situation. Kincaid had attacked Megan, had tried to steal her innocence. Just like Marc had said, the man had deserved to die.
Logan balled his hand into a tight fist. The gesture did nothing to stop the rage sweeping through him. When he found Kincaid’s killer, would he arrest the man? Or congratulate him for a job well done?
A wave of unease spread through him.
Logan turned quickly, scanning the area behind him. He looked from left to right, right to left, taking note of each person, what they wore, the expressions on their faces. No one seemed to care that a lawman was watching them. Yet there had to be a reason for this powerful sense of foreboding, this sense that someone had Logan in his crosshairs.
What was he missing?
Guard what has been entrusted to your care. The Scripture from First Timothy came so fast, so powerful Logan’s shoulders bunched with tension.
He searched the sea of faces again.
Kincaid’s killer could be among them. He could be watching Logan now, which only added to his sense of urgency.
Logan wouldn’t rest easy until he had Megan tucked safely away on his family’s ranch.
Darting up the marble steps of the courthouse, he shoved inside and circled his gaze around the wood-paneled lobby. Men and women of all ages milled about. Seeing no threat, he wound through the labyrinth of activity and made his way to the back of the building. Every breath he took smelled of leather and wood varnish. The scent of important business.
Rounding the final corner, Logan entered a tiny office and slammed the door shut with a bang. The room contained a wooden chair, a functional desk and a thick layer of dust. The sparse surroundings spoke of the lack of respect the former U.S. Marshal had afforded his administrative duties.
Logan allowed a smile to play at the edges of his mouth. Like Trey, Logan preferred pursuing outlaws over the paperwork the federal government demanded of his position. Unfortunately, once an outlaw was apprehended a trial had to be scheduled, conducted and the proceedings painstakingly recorded.
Every expenditure had to be documented, checked and rechecked, until the accountants in Washington were satisfied.
Grimacing, Logan reviewed the court schedule for the coming months. He nodded in satisfaction. The next trial under his jurisdiction wasn’t scheduled for another three weeks, plenty of time to get Megan settled on the ranch.
