The Lawman Claims His Bride (Love Inspired Historical) (13 page)

“
That
would be Shaky Jake,” Logan pointed out.

Megan gave him a wry smile. “I figured as much.”

“And this fine looking female is Sally Mae.” He scratched the dog’s neck. “She’s the most loyal of the two.”

Sally Mae proved his point by leaning heavily against Logan’s leg.

Now that they weren’t running in crazed circles Megan was able to get a better look at the dogs. Both had long, shiny hair, big brown eyes and were mostly black all over with large white patches in between. Jake was considerably larger than Sally Mae, while Sally Mae was the calmer of the two.

“Let them sniff your hand.”

Megan reached out slowly. Very,
very
slowly.

Taking turns, the dog’s politely touched their noses to her fingertips. Shaky Jake went so far as to shove his head under her palm and proceeded to whine like a baby.

Charmed, Megan rubbed the dog’s head.

Sally Mae wasn’t to be ignored. Within seconds both dogs were alternately bumping into Megan’s legs and pressing their heads into her hands.

A grin split Logan’s face. “They like you.”

“They’re delightful.”

“Here I was thinking the same thing about you.” He shoved the dogs out of his way and then tugged her into his arms. “Welcome to your new home, Mrs. Mitchell.”

A rush of pleasure shot through her. “I’m glad to be here.”

He lowered his head, but just as his lips touched hers a loud whoop rent the air.

“Logan.” Another bellow was followed by Jake and Sally Mae’s frantic barking. “Is it really you?”

Muttering something under his breath, Logan lifted his head and frowned. “Prepare yourself, my dear.”

“Prepare myself?” A shiver of fear traveled up Megan’s spine. She tried to peer around her husband, but he stood in her way. “For what?”

“You’ll see.” He touched her cheek softly, gave her an apologetic grimace and then stepped farther back. Jake and Sally Mae spun in frantic circles by his side.

Arms outstretched, palms facing forward, he looked as if he were...surrendering?

“Logan?” Suddenly afraid for her husband, Megan’s voice skipped over her words. “I...I don’t understand.”

A corner of his mouth kicked up in a sardonic grin. “Let’s just say, some of the Mitchell offspring can be a bit unruly.”

With that dubious remark, he took two more very large steps back. And was immediately tackled to the ground by a band of blond-haired ruffians.

Chapter Thirteen

A
s a longtime resident of a large orphanage, Megan had witnessed her share of impromptu wrestling matches. No matter how many sermons Pastor Beau preached on proper Christian behavior, many of the boys couldn’t help being, well...boys.

But what she’d always considered “play fighting” couldn’t begin to describe the Mitchell brood’s enthusiastic take on the subject.

She was seriously concerned for her husband.

Except, Logan was...

Laughing?

Megan drew in a steadying breath and squinted past the flying dust. She counted three others besides her husband. And if she wasn’t mistaken, Logan appeared to be enjoying himself. Never mind the fact that he was buried under a pile of tangled legs, swinging arms, and balled fists. Fists, that seemed to make contact with his midsection far too often.

In all her years around rowdy boys, Megan had never been able to understand what drove them to wrestle with such ferocity. Didn’t they realize one of them could end up hurt?

More to the point, how could Logan possibly find this fun? Apparently, she didn’t know her husband as well as she’d thought.

Shaky Jake, proving he was as much
boy
as the rest of them, joined in the antics. He ran in frantic circles, leaped over the pile of snarled bodies, barked happily and occasionally nipped at flying fists.

The scene was one big unruly mess.

At least there was no blood. Always a welcome sign.

Sally Mae, decidedly the wiser of the two animals, trotted over to Megan and sat down. She looked up at Megan with a rueful expression, as if to say, “What are we going to do with our boys?”

Megan chuckled despite herself. Their “boys” didn’t show any signs of tiring. This could go on for a while. “Well, my furry little friend.” She scratched the dog’s ear and sighed. “I’ve found it best to let displays such as these play out to the bitter end.”

“My sentiments exactly.”

Megan gasped and swung around, searching anxiously for the owner of the amused, feminine voice. Her gaze connected with steel-blue eyes the exact color of Logan’s. This had to be his mother. Although there were few lines on the pretty, round face, a considerable amount of gray laced the woman’s wheat-colored strands.

Megan smoothed a hand over her own hair, desperate to make a good impression. “You must be Logan’s mother. I’m—”

“Megan.”

She blinked. “You know who I am?”

“Well, of course.” The woman’s gaze softened. “Logan has talked about you for years.”

What could he have possibly said to put that affectionate, welcoming look in his mother’s eyes? Surely nothing Megan could live up to. “He’s told you about me?”

“You’ve been the main topic of his letters since he first met you.” Not even attempting to stop her tears, Mrs. Mitchell dabbed at her eyes with a corner of her apron. “We’ve been praying for the day we could finally meet you. And praise God, here it is at last.”

The ground seemed to shift beneath Megan’s feet at the woman’s heartfelt words. If she’d ever doubted Logan’s devotion during his five-year absence, if she’d ever feared he had only fulfilled his promise to marry her out of duty, this was her proof otherwise. His family had been waiting to meet her, all because he’d talked about her and mentioned her in his letters.

But if he’d been proud enough to mention her so often, why hadn’t he told Megan about his family in return? What was she missing?

“Hey, Ma.” Logan called out from the beneath the pile of brothers.

“Yes, Logan.” His mother continued smiling at Megan. “What is it, dear?”

“Megan and I...” He jumped up and tried to make his way toward them. His feet were pulled out from under him and he landed flat on his back with a grunt.

“Megan and I,”
he repeated between gulps of air, all the while dodging fists, “were married yesterday.”

His mother shifted her gaze to her son, her mouth hanging open. Her expression cycled from shock to understanding to pure delight.

“Well, my goodness.” She turned and lifted Megan’s left hand. She eyed the wedding ring with tears in her eyes, then pulled Megan into her arms. “Praise the Lord, you’re together at last.”

Megan stood stiff in her new mother-in-law’s embrace. Despite only knowing her through Logan’s comments, the woman was welcoming Megan into the family. No reservations. No questions.

Megan closed her eyes and accepted the embrace. She breathed in the smell of her new mother, a comforting mixture of flour, spices and lemon polish. As the woman stroked her hair, a quiet, indescribable feeling of wholeness settled over Megan.

Oh, she knew she was clinging entirely too long, but there was something about the woman’s open affection that brought a comfort she hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe never. Certainly not in the presence of her own mother, a woman who’d demanded Megan call her by her given name to avoid appearing old enough to have a daughter.

Jane Goodwin had done her best, but Megan had never felt truly loved. Not completely.

She’d always known she could count on her Heavenly Father’s love, and she believed she was a treasured member of the Charity House family, but Megan had craved a family of her own, a
real
family with siblings and parents and maybe even a few yapping dogs.

Had her prayers finally been answered?

Logan’s mother slowly pulled back. She didn’t release Megan entirely, but rather kept her hands resting lightly on her shoulders. “Let me take a good look at my new daughter-in-law.”

Megan tried to hold still under the inspection, but with each passing second Mrs. Mitchell’s expression become more and more concerned. “You poor dear,” she said. “You’ve been through an ordeal, haven’t you?”

Megan flushed. “You can tell that by just looking at me?” This was not the first impression she’d hoped to make.

“I’m a mother.” She placed a fingertip near the wound on Megan’s throat, not quite touching the tender skin. “Even without such a clear sign I can recognize when a child has been hurt.”

At the sympathetic tone, a sob choked in Megan’s throat. Something in her threatened to break at the warmth and caring in the woman’s voice. What was she supposed to do with all this unexpected outpouring of affection?
She
was the one who offered comfort to people in need, not the other way around.

She hated this newfound weakness, this desire to allow someone else to take care of her, this yearning to be protected. First Logan, and now his mother. Megan felt so unlike herself she couldn’t stop the tears from flooding into her eyes.

“Now look what I’ve done.” Mrs. Mitchell dropped her hands to her sides. “I’ve gone and upset you.”

“No.” Megan swallowed. “You haven’t.” Her gaze cut to Logan, half hoping he would rush to her rescue, half dreading that he would. However, he’d gone back wrestling with his brothers. “It’s just that, you’re right. It’s been a difficult two days.”

But admitting to an “ordeal” and explaining the details of what had happened to her—especially her memory loss—were two entirely different matters.

As though sensing her discomfort, Logan’s mother linked arms with her. “No need to explain now. Plenty of time for that later.”

“I...” Megan quickly looked away. “Thank you.”

Still needing a moment to gather herself, she returned her attention to the pile of wrestling boys.

The antics seemed to be winding down. Even Jake’s yapping had become less boisterous. And Logan looked firmly in control now. Perhaps he’d always been in control. As if proving her suspicion, he climbed to his feet. Then peeled away the arms and legs wrapped around him.

“All right, you bunch of renegades.” He pulled Jake away from the heap and ordered the dog to sit. “That’s enough horsing around.”

Logan scowled at each of the boys. He almost pulled off the menacing look, the one that surely cowed the hardest outlaws, but then his lips twitched and a chuckle slipped out.
The fierce U.S. Marshal, indeed.

“Pull yourselves together,” he said, barely holding back his own smile. “And come meet my wife.”

The tallest of the three boys scrambled to his feet. “You got married?” He sputtered the question through tight lips. “Without telling us?”

Logan chucked the kid under the chin. “Yeah, well, I’m telling you now.”

Without explaining himself further, he lined up his brothers in a neat row, largest to smallest. Jake joined the group, settling in at the end of the line as though he were one of the boys.

Arm still linked with Megan’s, Mrs. Mitchell surveyed the rowdy bunch with an indulgent smile.

Sally Mae yawned and then lowered onto her belly. Resting her chin on her front paws, she shut her eyes and proceeded to ignore the lot of them.

Leaning over to pat the dog’s head, Megan considered the ragtag group. All of the boys looked like Logan. But the two smallest were identical replicas of one another, all the way down to the cowlicks on the right sides of their heads.

Logan moved behind the line. “Megan,” he said in an overly serious tone. “I’d like you to meet part of the Mitchell brood.”

Wide-eyed, she looked from her husband to his mother. “This is only
part
of your family?”

Mrs. Mitchell shrugged. “Counting Logan, there’s seven children in all.”

Megan gaped at her. She knew her husband came from a large family, but she’d never realized he was one of
seven
children. How marvelous. How...puzzling. “Where are the others?”

“My daughters, Callie and Fanny, are back East attending Miss Sinclair’s Prestigious School for Girls.”

Megan nodded, thinking it was nice that Logan’s sisters were getting a solid education back East. But then she did a quick calculation in her head. Counting Logan, the three boys standing in front of her and the two girls off at school... “That only makes six,” she said aloud.

“We have one other son.” Mrs. Mitchell shot Logan a look full of complicated emotions and then lowered her voice. “Our oldest boy, Hunter, hasn’t been home for some time. He’s—”

Logan cleared his throat, cutting off his mother in midsentence. “Let’s begin the introductions.”

A moment of friction passed between mother and son. The underlying tension hadn’t been there until the mention of Hunter. Megan wanted to ask more about him but Mrs. Mitchell straightened and said, “Yes, Logan, by all means. Proceed.”

He erased all emotion from his expression and moved to one end of the line. Ignoring Shaky Jake, he started with the smallest of the three boys. “This scrappy little fellow is Peter. Don’t let his size fool you. He has a mean right hook.” Logan laughed, even as he absently rubbed his jaw. “And this is Paul.” He tapped the middle boy on the head.

“We call them the twins,” their mother added out of the corner of her mouth.

“I can see why,” Megan said.

Logan moved to the final boy in the line. “And this is our resident tough guy, Garrett.” He ruffled the kid’s hair hard enough to create a few permanent tangles.

Scowling, Garrett shoved his hand away.

Megan bit back a smile. “I’m pleased to meet you.” She made eye contact with each boy, then added, “I’m Megan. Logan’s wife.”

She didn’t have the opportunity to expand before the boys broke formation and rushed straight for her.

Though her heart stuttered, Megan held her ground.

Mrs. Mitchell, however, moved out of the way, abandoning Megan to a series of rapid-fire questions tossed at her from every direction.

All three boys spoke at once, their voices tumbling over one another in a garble. Megan did her best to concentrate, but whenever she focused on one of them another shoved him back and took his place.

Finding their enthusiasm amusing, Megan took a deep breath and answered the boys’ questions as best she could, the ones she could decipher anyway. “No, I don’t shoot. Yes, I ride like a girl, and, no, I’ve never tried to rope a cow. Not yet, at any rate. But I’m certainly willing to try.”

That last response earned her an approving nod from the tallest of the three.

Although she’d only just met them, she found herself already falling for Logan’s brothers. They were bold, pushy and really quite charming.

When one of the brothers asked a rather inappropriate question about kissing, Logan intervened. He pushed through the crowd, looped his arm around Megan’s shoulders and quite literally shielded her from his brothers. “Take it easy, boys. Let’s not embarrass my poor bride.”

Megan opened her mouth to say she didn’t mind the attention, but was cut off by the sound of a horse galloping down the lane at full speed.

She turned in the direction of the noise, and found herself looking at an older version of her husband riding a ferocious-looking black horse. He drew the massive creature to a stop and dismounted in a single swoop.

Every head turned toward the deep, gravelly voice that said, “What’s the holdup? You boys were supposed to meet me in the stable ten minutes ago.”

Without waiting for an answer, Logan’s father—surely this was his father—whipped off his hat and slapped it against his thigh. He caught sight of Logan and let out a loud whoop. “Well, look who it is.”

Smiling broadly, Logan released Megan and met his father halfway across the expanse of grass dividing them. “Hello, Pa.”

“Son.”
The older man’s hands, large as bear paws, landed on Logan’s shoulders with a resounding whack. “It’s about time you made it back this way.”

The two grinned at each other, their genuine affection for one another evident in their eyes. They were similar in so many ways, especially in height, but Logan’s father had a good twenty pounds on him. Most of it in his stomach.

Mrs. Mitchell must be a remarkable cook.

“Logan, my boy, you’re looking a bit tired.” The gruff declaration was tempered with a hearty laugh. “But at least you’re alive.”

“Alive is always good,” Logan said, still smiling but his eyelids had dropped to half-mast.

The two stared at one another, a silent message passing between them that Megan didn’t quite understand. When the men began pounding each other’s backs, Mrs. Mitchell let out a frustrated huff.