The Lawman Claims His Bride

by Renee Ryan

  “Yes.”

  “Even if killing Cole saved my life?”

  Logan swallowed. Seconds ticked by before he could answer her question. If Marc had saved Megan’s life, no matter what that entailed, Logan would want to give the man a medal. But matters were never that simple. Murder was always complicated.

  “I’m a lawman, Megan. Sworn to uphold and protect. I have to do what the law dictates, even if it goes against what I want to do or what I feel is right.”

  “You would arrest the man who raised me, the man who was a father to me most of my life?”

  “I would ensure he was given a fair trial.”

  She regarded him with an appalled stare, giving him the impression she considered him unreasonable.

  Logan couldn’t blame her for that. This was a hard conversation for them both. But he was not one to shirk his duty. If Marc was guilty, Logan would arrest him.

  Heavyhearted, he rose and strode to the door but stopped with his hand on the knob. “I’ll let you rest your head for now. I’ll—” he swallowed hard “—see you in the morning. I’ll have my mother bring up a tray of food for you.”

  He waited for her response, half hoping she would call him back to her and they would talk this through, maybe come to some understanding that would relieve the tension between them.

  “Yes, Logan.” She let out a choked sob. “I think that’s best.”

  He shut the door behind him with a final click.

  The next morning Megan awoke to a muddy, gray dawn and a pounding headache. She hadn’t slept well. Nor had Logan returned in the night, though she’d prayed he would come back to apologize, to tell her he’d been dreadfully wrong to accuse Marc of murder.

  They’d both gone to bed angry. As a result, she couldn’t escape a vague sense of rejection.

  Let not the sun go down upon your wrath.

  Megan had done the opposite. But so had Logan.

  Maybe it wasn’t too late to fix this mess between them. Surely her husband hadn’t left for Denver yet, not without telling her goodbye. She climbed out of bed and quickly dressed.

  She found Logan in the kitchen, alone, staring into a mug of strong-smelling coffee.

  “Good morning,” she said softly, her voice skipping over the words.

  He looked up and held her gaze. Exhaustion was etched in his features while his red-rimmed eyes told of his own sleepless night.

  She wanted to erase the sorrow she saw in his eyes. Their argument suddenly seemed smaller in the gray light of dawn. She loved this man. They just needed to talk matters through, come to an understanding that would satisfy them both. Give and take, wasn’t that the basis of a strong, godly marriage?

  “Oh, Logan,” she reached to him, “I’m sorry I let you leave our room angry.”

  He was out of his chair and pulling her into his arms halfway through her short speech. “No, Megan, I’m the one who’s sorry.”

  They held each other fiercely.

  “I don’t want to fight with you,” she said, clinging to him harder still. “I don’t ever want to go to bed angry with you.”

  “Never again.” He kissed her then, with the turbulent emotion of someone who’d nearly drowned but had just been rescued at the very last moment.

  “Let’s go upstairs,” he whispered in her ear. “And I can show you how sorry I am.”

  She felt her eyes narrow in feminine triumph. “I like that idea.”

  He chuckled then set her away from him. “Afterward, we can talk about the situation with Marc while I pack.”

  “You’re still determined to go to Denver this morning? Can’t you wait—” She broke off, realigned her thoughts. “Until my memory returns?”

  “No, Megan. I can’t.” He gave her one long, frustrated stare. And they were right back where they’d started. “I’ve been hired as the U.S. Marshal of this territory. I have to fulfill my duty.”

  “You mean arrest Marc.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. I won’t know until I review all the facts once again.”

  Megan swallowed three times. Each time a hot ball of dread expanded in her throat. Maybe if she was with Logan when he confronted her guardian she could prevent an unspeakable tragedy. “Take me with you.”

  “You’ll be safer here.”

  She turned cold with foreboding. Something deep within her told her that if she let Logan out of her sight, if she let him leave now, nothing would ever be the same between them. “Please, Logan. I should be with you when you question Marc. It might help me remember what happened.”

  “It might hurt. I can’t take that risk.” His eyes darkened. “You’re my wife, Megan. It’s my job to protect you.”

  She gasped. “How can you say that? When you’re heading back to arrest Marc for protecting me?”

  “I didn’t say I was going back to arrest Marc. I’m going back to get answers.”

  So cold, Megan thought. Who was this cold man? “Do you really think your notion of protection is any different than Marc’s?”

  “You’re intentionally misunderstanding me.”

  “Am I?” She rose onto her tiptoes so she could look him eye to eye. “If you had been the one to come across Kincaid when he was attacking me…” She ignored his flinch and continued. “What would you have done?”

  “That’s not a fair question.”

  “It’s a valid one. Logan, I’m not as fragile as you think. I can handle whatever happened that night, even if it means discovering that I know the killer personally.”

  “If that were so then you wouldn’t have lost your memory in the first place.”

  She reared back as though he’d slapped her. “You think that little of me? That I’m so weak-minded I can’t face the truth?”

  He rubbed a hand down his face and let out a weary burst of air. “Megan, I don’t think you’re weak-minded, however—”

  “However?”

  “However—” he gritted his teeth “—you were attacked by a very bad man.” He glared at the wound on her throat. “That sort of trauma would make even a strong-minded person buckle.”

  His words told her what he really thought of her. She was only a woman to be protected, not loved. “Why did you marry me, Logan?”

  Her question obviously took him off guard. “What?”

  “Tell me why.”

  “Because I love you. I’ve always loved you. From the first moment I saw you.” He started to lift his hand to her, but dropped it when he caught her expression. “I waited five years to claim you as my bride.”

  Five. Long. Years. By the end of that time, Megan had feared he would never come back. That he would find someone else. Or maybe quit loving her altogether. The reality was so much worse. “Why didn’t you come home sooner? Why did you wait so long?”

  “I needed to make my own way in the world. I needed to be able to provide for you and our family.”

  She lowered her head and blinked back the tears welling in her eyes. “Your mother told me about their wedding gift.”

  “What does that have to do with this?”

  “Everything.” She lifted her chin until her gaze met his again. “You could have brought me here years ago.”

  “Your life is in Denver.”

  “My life is with you. It’s always been with you, even when you were a thousand miles away.” She stopped, drew in a careful breath and began again. “You don’t love me, Logan, not really. You only love the image of me you’ve created in your mind.”

  “How can you say that after yesterday, after what we shared in the cabin together?”

  “I forced your hand.”

  “No, Megan.” He knuckled a lock of her hair off her cheek. “You didn’t force me to do anything I haven’t wanted to do for years.”

  She desperately wanted to believe him. “Then stay here just a few more days, and help me regain my missing memory.”

  “I have been helping you. That’s why I bought the sketchbook for you.”

  “What?” It was
her turn to be thrown off guard.

  “I figured that if you started to draw at your leisure you might eventually come across an image from that night, one that would unlock the rest of your lost memories.”

  A hysterical laugh bubbled in her throat, but she shoved it down with a ruthless swallow. She’d thought the sketchbook had been a simple gesture of love, a confirmation of his admiration for her talent.

  How could she have been so foolish?

  Her tears begged for release. She let them come, let them fall unchecked down her cheeks.

  “Megan, please.” Logan’s voice filled with genuine horror. “Don’t cry.”

  Unashamed of her tears, she stared at him through her watery vision.

  “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “How am I looking at you?” She swiped at her cheek with the back of her hand.

  “Like I’ve just broken your heart.”

  “You have.”

  He lifted his hand.

  She shifted to her left.

  He frowned, but didn’t reach for her again. “I was only trying to help you,” he said. “I had nothing but good intentions.”

  “You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t believe you.” She didn’t bother hiding the hurt in her tone.

  “Don’t be cynical,” he said. “That’s not you.”

  “How would you know what is or isn’t me?”

  “I know.”

  He was wrong, so very wrong. He only knew her as he wanted to see her. A woman who needed his protection, a weaker individual than himself. She might as well have been made of china and placed on a shelf. “You’d best start packing if you want to make it to Denver by noon.”

  He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the sound of his mother’s voice coming from the other side of the door. “I’m telling you, Cyrus, I heard something.”

  “You’re mistaken, Annie,” came the gruff reply. “It’s too early for anyone to be up.”

  “I know what I heard.”

  Before either Logan or Megan could school their features into blank expressions the older two Mitchells swept into the kitchen.

  “Oh.” Logan’s mother came to a swift halt. “I knew I heard voices, I…” She let her words trail off and angled her head. In the next moment, her brows pulled together in a frown. “Well, then, we’ll just leave you two alone to finish your conversation. Take all the time you need.”

  Her manner was light and breezy, but she gave her son a warning glare before turning Cyrus around and marching him out of the kitchen.

  Megan rushed forward to stop her in-laws’ retreat. “No. Stay, please.” She focused on a speck just over their heads. “Logan and I are through.”

  Letting out a sharp hiss, Logan moved forward. “No, we’re not.” His boot heels clicked on the parquet floor right before his hand rested on her shoulder. “Megan and I still have a few matters to discuss before I leave for Denver this morning.”

  Before I leave.

  Megan struggled to control her temper as she turned to face her husband. A battle seemed to wage behind his eyes, as though he didn’t know what to say next. His confusion almost melted her anger. Almost.

  “Will you take me with you?” She held her breath. It wasn’t fair to put Logan on the spot in front of his parents, but she might not have another chance.

  “It’s too dangerous.” His eyes took on the hard, determined look she’d seen too often since he’d found her in jail. In the past four days that look had been enough to send a shiver of fear running through her. This time, a surge of anger reared. Anger so strong her entire body shook.

  Nevertheless, she found the inner strength to speak calmly. “Can we discuss this further?”

  “I’ve made my decision. You will stay here, under my family’s care.”

  Megan sighed at his imperious tone. He hadn’t heard a word she’d said this morning.

  Bella used to tell her a woman could stand anything if she prayed hard enough, hoped long enough and loved well enough. But looking at Logan’s unrelenting expression now, Megan feared he would forever see her as nothing more than an object to protect. Not his wife. Not his partner in life, just a weak woman in need of a strong man to take care of her.

  “Well, then, I suppose I’ll see you when you return.”

  She walked out of the kitchen without another word.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Later that morning Logan guided his horse through the streets of Denver. He barely took note of the bustling activity around him. His mind was back on the ranch. With Megan. Before he’d mounted up, he’d tried to reason with her. But no matter in what direction he maneuvered the conversation she’d refused to speak about anything other than the weather.

  Prior to their argument, he’d thought nothing could be as heart-wrenching as Megan’s tears. He’d been wrong. Her anger—anger at him—was far worse.

  Why couldn’t she see he loved her, as a man was supposed to love his wife?

  Hadn’t Jesus himself said, “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends”?

  There was no way Logan could love his wife and not want to protect her. Trust, faith, laying down one’s life, weren’t they all rooted in the nature of love?

  Frustrated with his own thoughts, he took a ragged breath and turned his horse down Larimer Street. No good would come from brooding so he cleared his mind and focused on what had brought him back to Denver—finding Cole Kincaid’s killer.

  Taking the final corner, Logan entered one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in Denver. Modern gas lamps sat atop ornate poles on every street corner. Each house he passed was more elegant than the one before. He reined in his horse outside Charity House and dismounted in a single swoop.

  For a moment he studied the orphanage from his vantagepoint on the street. Despite the grubby clouds that swallowed the pristine sky above, the structure was awe-inspiring with its clinging vines, stylish brick and soft angles. A safe haven in a fallen world.

  Had one of the people living in this house killed to protect Megan?

  There was one way to find out.

  Logan bounded up the steps, taking them two at a time. He knocked, but no one answered. He pushed open the door. “Anyone home?”

  “Back here,” a familiar voice answered in return, “in my study.”

  Logan wound his way through the labyrinth of corridors on the main floor. He had to fight the urge to rush his steps. Even the homey scent of baking bread couldn’t pacify his impatience. He didn’t want Marc to be guilty of murder. Then again, if he had killed Kincaid, Logan would no longer have to worry about Megan’s safety.

  Lord, Logan prayed, let truth be revealed here today. Give me the wisdom and clarity to know what questions to ask.

  Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door to the study. Marc sat behind a sturdy mahogany desk, reviewing what looked like a ledger. The man looked like a respectable businessman, not a killer.

  Marc set down his pen and leaned back in his chair. “Logan. This is a surprise. I wasn’t expecting you today. Is Megan with you?”

  Logan’s heart pinched tight in his chest. He wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries, but a certain amount of finesse was required before he jumped right in and accused his wife’s guardian of murder. “She’s back on the ranch and growing stronger every day.”

  “Praise God,” Marc said. He steepled his fingers under his chin and studied Logan with the kind of penetrating stare that belonged to a man used to controlling tense situations.

  Marc Dupree was no pushover.

  But was he a killer?

  “What brings you back to town so soon after your wedding?” Marc asked.

  “I’m here on official business,” Logan said. “I have a new theory about Megan’s memory loss.”

  Marc lifted a single eyebrow. “Indeed.”

  Considering Marc was as much a father to Megan as any man, Logan decided not to mince words. “I believe she knew the ma
n who killed her attacker and that’s why her mind has shut off the memory. To protect him.”

  “Ah.” Placing his hands flat on his desk, Marc leaned forward. “I take it you have a theory as to who that person might be?”

  Logan gave him one swift nod. “Did you kill Cole Kincaid to protect Megan?”

  “No, I did not.” Marc’s mouth flattened. “But given the opportunity, I wouldn’t have hesitated slamming a knife through that blackguard’s chest.”

  “Where were you the night Kincaid was murdered?”

  “He was with me all evening,” a soft feminine voice said from the doorway. “Here, at the orphanage.”

  Logan shifted in his chair and faced Laney Dupree, Marc’s wife of ten years. She was dressed more casually than her husband, wearing a simple green dress with a white lace collar. Her dark, mahogany hair was pulled into a fashionable bun. As she walked deeper into the room she moved with an inherent grace that reminded Logan of his own wife.

  “Did anyone see you two together that night?”

  “About forty children of different ages,” she said, her eyes filled with a mixture of chagrin and amusement. “Logan, please, you can’t possibly think my husband killed a man.”

  “I believe he would stop at nothing to protect the children in this house.”

  Laney whisked around the desk and placed her hand on her husband’s shoulder. “I can’t disagree with you on that. Nevertheless, Marc was with me the night of the murder.” She held Logan’s gaze without flinching. “Would you like to interview some of the children to check out our story?”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Logan rose.

  Marc did the same.

  The realization that the man was undoubtedly innocent should have pleased Logan. He should feel relieved that Marc Dupree, a man he admired, hadn’t committed murder. But deep down, in the dark place where Logan feared most for Megan’s safety, he’d hoped Marc had done the deed. At least then she would be out of danger.

  Panic tried to gnaw at his control. He replaced the useless emotion with ruthless grit and forced his mind to consider the facts rationally, logically.