by Renee Ryan
They made the trek back to the main house in a happy glow of companionable silence. But the mood shifted the moment he pulled the wagon to a stop and his mother rushed off the front porch to meet them halfway.
“Look at you two,” she said. “You’re soaked to the bone.”
“We got caught in the rain,” Logan said unnecessarily as he hopped out of the wagon and strode around to Megan’s side. Smiling up at her, he wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her to the ground.
She kept her hands on his shoulders a bit longer than required.
A moment of solidarity passed between them, a silent message of understanding that went far beyond words. Then Megan shivered.
“Ma, can you help Megan get out of her wet clothes and into a hot bath while I take care of the horse and wagon?”
“Well, of course. Oh.” She clicked her tongue in a motherly show of concern when she got a good look at Megan’s face. “You look ready to drop, my dear.”
“I’m really quite fine, Mrs. Mitchell.” She stifled a yawn behind her hand. “But a hot bath does sound lovely.”
“Then come with me.”
Before his mother spun her away from him, Logan kissed his wife on the lips one last time. “I’ll be up after I take care of things here.”
She blushed prettily. “I like that idea.”
“I’ll hurry.”
As he watched his mother lead Megan up the porch steps, his heart tumbled in his chest. She was his wife now, in every sense of the word. They’d had a perfect afternoon together. Sweet, romantic, exactly as he’d always envisioned. Smiling—he couldn’t stop smiling— Logan unhitched the horse from the wagon and led the old girl into her stall.
He picked up a brush and began grooming the wet fur. His hands worked from habit, while his mind drifted back to the afternoon with his wife. He and Megan were bonded in body, soul and mind now. Best of all, he hadn’t hurt her during their time together.
But had he helped?
Only time would tell.
For now he would focus on his next step. Finding Kincaid’s killer, so he and Megan could move on with their life together. Even if it meant discovering someone he admired had murdered the outlaw, Logan wouldn’t rest until he found his answers.
Scowling now, he hung the brush back on its hook and went about the chore of filling the mare’s bin with oats. Again, his hands worked from memory while his mind filled with other thoughts.
Tonight would be his last opportunity to be with his wife before he left. They’d only had three days together. He wanted more time with her, especially now, after the closeness they’d shared this afternoon.
The sound of his mother’s purposeful footsteps cut through his musings. This time, Logan smiled for a very different reason. Annie Mitchell walked like a person who knew her own mind.
“Your wife is exhausted,” she said in a neutral tone from behind him. “But blissfully happy.”
Glad he had his back to her, Logan tried not to let out a whoop of joy. “That makes two of us.”
“Indeed.”
Not liking what he heard in his mother’s tone, Logan turned around to face her.
Her left eyebrow lifted the barest fraction, but enough to tell him she knew what had occurred in the cabin.
In a purely defensive gesture Logan threw his hands in the air, then dropped them just as quickly and did what any man would do in the same awkward situation. He changed the subject. “I’m heading back to Denver in the morning.”
Digesting his words in silence, his mother followed him out of the stable and helped him secure the latch. “Will you be taking Megan with you?”
“No.” He pressed his fingertip to his temple and rubbed. “She’s safest here with the family.”
Nodding, his mother set a comforting hand on his arm. “Your father and I will take good care of her while you’re gone.”
Although the promise should make him feel better, Logan’s discomfort increased. “I hate leaving her so soon.”
“That’s perfectly understandable.”
He drummed his fingers on his thigh. Was this what the rest of his life would be like? Would he be destined to love Megan one day, only to leave her the next?
Without realizing what he was doing, he increased his pace. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”
Used to fast-walking men, his mother matched him step for step. “Isn’t that part of a marshal’s job? Leaving for extended periods of time?”
“It is.” He sounded as gloomy as he felt. “I’ve condemned Megan to a life of wondering whether I’ll return alive or with an outlaw’s bullet buried in my chest.”
“She knew what she was getting into when she married you.”
But had he known? Had he been prepared for the pain he would inevitably inflict on the woman he loved?
Logan stopped at the top of the porch steps and turned to look out over the land. The valley, riddled with wildflowers, led to a line of aspens that swayed gently. The breeze whispered through their leaves in an almost musical swish. Logan’s heart filled. This was his home. This was where he belonged.
He’d been homesick for years, and hadn’t realized it. Now that he was married to Megan, the thought of leaving her for weeks at a time, of being away from the Flying M, his home, depressed him more than it should.
“Maybe it’s me who doesn’t want to leave Megan,” he admitted.
“Logan.” His mother directed him to sit on one of the chairs while she did the same. “Tell me why you became a lawman.”
The question took him by surprise, especially coming from his own mother. “You know why.”
She rocked back and forth. The annoying sound of the creaking chair set him on edge. “Maybe I want to hear it in your own words,” she said.
“I became a lawman because I wanted to help people, to see justice served, to…prove I wasn’t like Hunter.”
Continuing to rock, she lowered her gaze to her hands. But not before Logan saw the sadness in her eyes. “You didn’t have to become a U.S. Marshal to do that last part. You’ve always been a good man, Logan.” She looked back up. “It’s inherent in you to do the right thing. It’s perhaps your greatest strength and your one true character flaw.”
As harsh as her words were, they held no sting in them. Nevertheless, he winced. “How can following a righteous path be a character flaw?”
“When you rely only on yourself and your own abilities, you refuse to admit you’re human, with human frailties.” She fiddled with the edges of her apron. “You aren’t in control, Logan. God is.”
“I know that.”
“Yet you’ve spent your entire life trying to be your own Savior.”
“That’s not true.” Was it? He thought back over his life, over the choices he’d made, to the control he’d demanded of himself and others. How many times had he turned to God for help in the last ten years? How many times had he admitted he couldn’t do something—anything—on his own?
Never.
He’d never asked his sovereign Lord for help.
In that moment, he was painfully aware that he’d always believed in God but had never relied on Him. Why should he have done so when he’d been successful relying on himself? Successful, he reminded himself, until the events of the last three days.
Logan jumped to his feet and started to pace. Trey had told him to surrender to God. His father had told him the same thing. Now his mother was chiming in with a similar message.
He needed to think this through. But not here, not with his mother watching him with those wise eyes of hers. Not when he knew he had to walk inside this house and tell Megan he was leaving her again.
Flattening his lips, Logan paced toward the edge of the porch. A walk around the corral wouldn’t be a bad idea.
Unfortunately, his mother wasn’t finished with him. “Here’s something else to consider while you go off by yourself and brood over what I said.”
Logan braced himself.
“Your father and I want to give you and Megan a wedding present.”
“You…” He spun around so fast he had to take an extra step to catch his balance. “You what?”
“We want to give you a gift.”
Logan gaped at his mother with disbelief. In the span of a heartbeat, she’d gone from giving him a spiritual lecture to offering him a wedding gift. Where was the logic in that switch? He stared at her for several more seconds then shook his head. “Opening your home to us is more than enough.”
“That’s just family being family.” She flicked her wrist in a dismissive gesture. “What your father and I want to do is deed a thousand acres of land on the north range to you and Megan.”
Logan’s breath stuck in a spot between his heart and his throat. “That’s some of your best land. It’s too generous.”
Smiling at him tenderly, she rose and cupped his cheek with her hand. “It’s a gift, Logan. You don’t get to decide if it’s too much or not. Just say thank you.”
“Thank you,” he repeated.
“Your father will be home soon to discuss the particulars.”
Logan blinked down at his mother. He couldn’t deny he wanted the land. He wanted it badly enough to say yes right there on the spot.
But how could he take Megan away from Charity House, from her friends, from all she knew? He’d just accepted a promotion so he could provide for her in Denver. “There’s a lot to consider,” he said. “I don’t know if I can acc—”
“Don’t answer yet.” She dropped her hand and stuffed it in the pocket of her apron. “Talk it over with your wife before you say anything.”
“I…I…” He was too dumbfounded to do much more than stutter. “Yes…I will.”
“The land is yours no matter what you decide to do with it.” She kissed him on the chin, then walked into the house ahead of him.
Logan rocked back on his heels. He felt amazed. Bewildered.
But most of all, blessed.
Megan wondered what was keeping Logan. Her bath had grown cold a long time ago. So cold, in fact, that she’d been forced to dress or suffer a worse chill than before. Apparently her husband had decided to give her privacy, perhaps allowing her to ease slowly into the new aspects of their marriage.
She didn’t need time to get used to the change. Megan loved what had happened between them. She’d never dreamed marriage could be so lovely or that she could be so happy. She was at long last Logan’s wife, completely, irrevocably. No turning back.
Hugging her arms around her middle, she stared out the bedroom window and smiled. Thank You, Lord.
Thank You for guiding Logan and me into a closer relationship.
A dozen images of Logan ran through her mind. Megan picked up her sketchbook and turned to a blank page. She needed to capture the tender way he’d looked at her this afternoon, when it had only been the two of them alone, sharing nothing more than the glow of the fire and each other’s company.
Logan’s eyes had held countless emotions in them, and an undeniable affection that spoke of his deep love for her. Her heart pounded like the wild wind just thinking about what they’d done in that cabin together.
They’d crossed an invisible line, not just a physical barrier but something…more. It was the two of them against the world now, and no matter what life threw their way they were a single unit. A team.
Afraid she would lose the image of Logan’s love for her, she worked quickly. When she focused her attention on his eyes, her movements slowed. But there was no headache snaking through her brain this time. Only urgency. And an all-consuming need to get the image of her husband correct this time.
She was nearly finished, the eyes almost there, when the door opened with a soft creak. She looked up from her work just as Logan sauntered into the room, his gait smooth and relaxed, reminding her of the man she’d known all those years ago.
He looked happy and her heart swelled with joy. She’d put that smile on his face. Their stares connected with a force that nearly flattened her.
Suddenly shy, she set aside her sketchbook and rose to greet him. “Hello, husband.”
“Hello, sweet wife.” His eyes shone with love, but his tone sounded a bit…odd.
Megan moved closer, her steps tentative as she took a slow breath. Before she drew in a second, he was kissing her with an intensity that surprised her. When he pulled away his eyes were guarded. What could have put that change in him?
“Logan?” Her chin trembled. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
He moved to his left. Shadows fell across his face, curtaining his expression. “I want us to start our life together without anything standing between us.”
“That’s my hope as well,” she said carefully.
“Then you understand why I have to leave for Denver in the morning.” He sounded as sorrowful and unhappy as she felt at the news.
Nevertheless, her heart sank. After this afternoon, Megan had hoped he would find it difficult to walk away from her. “So soon?”
His shoulders tensed as he strode to the window and rested his hand flat against the glass. “I have to find Kincaid’s killer. I want this over,” he ground out. “For us both.”
She stood frozen in place, staring at his back, trying to pinpoint what she heard in his voice. “I want that, too.”
“Then you understand why I have to go back now.”
Not really. There was something he wasn’t telling her. “Maybe you could explain it to me.”
He pushed away from the window and started pacing through the room. Back and forth. Back and forth. Every few steps he shot her an odd look, one filled with ambivalence, as if he was trying to sort through several conflicting thoughts.
“My father has a theory about your memory loss.” He changed direction and headed straight toward her. “The more I consider his suggestion the more I agree he’s probably right.”
Her knees suddenly felt wobbly and she lowered to the edge of the bed. “What is this theory?”
Logan sat next to her. There was genuine agony in his eyes. “He thinks you might know Kincaid’s killer and that’s why you can’t remember what happened in Mattie’s boudoir.”
His words staggered her. “That can’t be.” She blinked up at him, her hand clutched around her throat. “Do you truly subscribe to that…theory?”
“You must admit, from a certain perspective, the idea holds considerable merit.”
She folded her hands tightly together in her lap in the hopes they would stop trembling. “It makes no sense at all, not from any angle.”
She could not believe, would not believe that anyone she knew could kill.
“We know Kincaid tried to attack you.” Logan touched the wound at her throat, swallowed several times, then lowered his hand. “Perhaps whoever else entered that room did so to rescue you from the outlaw. Does that sound…” He looked intently in her eyes. “Possible?”
Megan shook head.
“Think, Megan.” Without warning, he pulled her against him and stroked her hair in a slow, mesmerizing rhythm. “Think back to that night and try to remember what you saw.”
Lulled by his touch, she closed her eyes and tried to recall the events of that evening. Only misty images floated through her mind, images too muddled to make out clearly.
“I don’t remember a thing. Oh, Logan.” She gripped his shirt in her fist. “My mind is too fuzzy. The memories simply aren’t there. And now my head hurts.”
“I’m sorry, Megan.” Logan kissed her hair. “We won’t talk about this anymore. Why don’t you close your eyes and rest a while. We can talk later.”
“No.” She scrambled off the bed. She wasn’t going to cower from whatever was hidden in her mind. Not anymore. Not. Anymore. “I want to remember what happened to me.”
He stared at her for a long moment without speaking. “But your headache.”
“Please, Logan. Let me try again.”
He nodded slowly. “All right.”
/>
“You said you think I might know the killer. Do you have someone in mind?”
He nodded again, but didn’t respond right away.
When several seconds ticked by and he still didn’t answer, Megan lost her patience. “Well? Who do you think it is?”
“Your guardian, Marc. Marc Dupree.”
Chapter Twenty
“No.” Megan staggered away from Logan. “Not Marc.” Horror filled her eyes. “He could never kill a man. Never.”
Logan thought about Marc’s odd behavior the day he’d shown off Megan’s paintings. The man had been unusually nervous. Logan had chalked it up to guilt, guilt over failing to protect Megan. But what if it had been more, what if Marc had killed Kincaid? “It’s possible.”
“No. No. Marc is a godly man. He taught me that all the ways of the Lord are loving and faithful and that we’re supposed to love our enemies. He wouldn’t murder an innocent man.”
“Kincaid wasn’t innocent.” Logan knew he had to be careful with his words, but Megan wasn’t hearing him. No, she was refusing to hear him. “I’ve seen men do far worse when it comes to protecting their family. And for all intents and purposes, Megan, you are Marc’s family.”
She shook her head vehemently. “Even if Marc had come upon us, even if he had killed Cole in an attempt to protect me, he would have never left me alone in Mattie’s boudoir. He would have taken me with him.”
Logan had thought of that, had found hope in the possibility, but there was enough suspicion to implicate Marc. And Logan couldn’t ignore any possible scenario just because he wanted a man that he admired to be innocent of murder.
“And besides.” Her eyebrows slammed together. “Marc wouldn’t have allowed me to go to jail for something he did.”
“You make a valid point, Megan, but I still have to question Marc directly.”
She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “What if he did kill Cole? Then what?”
Logan looked away from the hurt in her eyes, the accusations. “Then I have to arrest him.”
She gasped. “Even if he did it to protect me?”
