The Lawman Claims His Bride (Love Inspired Historical) (2 page)

Chapter Two

A
fter two endless seconds Megan finally jumped up and hurried across the cell toward Logan.

Hungry for this closer view, he clutched at the bars and strained forward. Just like it had five years ago, her beauty made his throat ache. Her hair still tumbled down her shoulders in golden waves, and her skin was as luminous as he remembered.

But there were differences, too. Her features had become more mature, less rounded by youth. But her eyes—her glorious, sparkling eyes—were haunted now. Deep purple smudges shadowed the skin beneath. It was clear she needed food, sleep and tender care.

A possessive urgency to see to those needs had him curling his fingers in a white-knuckle grip around the bars. Inhaling slowly, he forced his hands to relax and then reached for her.

She smiled at him, shyly at first. Then, with growing confidence, she took a step closer and placed her fingers in his. Gripping his wrist with her other hand, she brought his open palm to her face.

He cupped her cheek as gently as the barrier between them would allow. The contact eased the furious knot of tension in his stomach. But only for a moment. Old guilt warred with a new sense of regret, and Logan couldn’t say which hurt more to suppress. He clenched his teeth so hard a muscle jumped at his jaw.

Suddenly, she staggered back a step. “Oh, Logan, I have to tell you—”

The outer door burst open, cutting off her words.

Heavy, purposeful footsteps approached from behind. Logan’s shoulders stiffened at the familiar sound. He’d know that clipped, efficient cadence anywhere.

Frustrated at the interruption, he turned on his heel and came face-to-face with his former mentor. Trey Scott. The man who had trained Logan to think before shooting. The man who had recommended him for the U.S. Marshal position.

The man who had locked Megan in a cold, dark cage.

“Give me the key...
Sheriff
.”

“Ah.” Trey hitched his hip against the desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “I see we’re dispensing with the pleasantries. Nevertheless, welcome home, Logan.”

Logan swallowed back an angry response and forced out his words with precision. “As the newly appointed U.S. Marshal I have a duty to—”

“I know your job description.” He gave Logan a meaningful look, reminding them both who’d held the position first. “But this is my jail now. And you’ll play by my rules.”

Out of respect for all this man had done for him, Logan relented. For now.

Changing tactics, he appealed to their history as partners and friends. “I saved your life when Ike Hayes was bent on destroying you. You owe me this one request.”

“Logan,” Trey began, unfolding his arms and pushing to a standing position. “You need to understand the situation. You won’t be so ready to release her once you know the truth.”

The truth? There was only one truth. Megan didn’t belong in a cold, impersonal jail cell.

Logan had failed her once, by leaving town when he should have married her. He wouldn’t walk away again. Nor would he allow her to rot in a cage another hour, much less another day.

“One thing in particular you should know.” Trey cast a look over Logan’s shoulder, sighed. “She—”

“Explanations can wait. I want to speak with her first. Alone.”

Trey’s lips compressed into a thin line. Logan knew the look well. Trey Scott was in an unrelenting mood.

Well, so was Logan. He needed to be near Megan, needed to know she was truly safe. “You can lock me in with her.”

Clearing his features of all expression, Trey glanced over Logan’s shoulder again. For a moment, he simply stared at Megan. A silent message seemed to pass between them before he focused on Logan once more.

“All right.” He retrieved an iron key from his vest pocket. “You can have a few minutes with her. But then you’ll listen to what I have to say.” The last was not a request but an order.

Unwilling to battle his longtime friend—yet—Logan nodded his agreement.

“Now that we understand one another...” Trey lifted his hand.

Logan snatched the key then turned toward the cell door. Before releasing the lock he glared at the other man. “Don’t you have something to do? Outside?”

Unmoving, Trey lifted a single eyebrow. The gesture made him look like a protective father.

Logan remembered the other men with that same look in their eyes. He remembered their resolve as they told him to stay away from Megan. She was too young, they’d claimed a hundred times over. He was too old. She was grieving her mother’s death. He needed to make a secure future for her before whisking her off in marriage. On and on they’d argued against him.

If he had ignored them, if he’d taken Megan as his wife when he’d had the chance, she wouldn’t be in jail now.

Logan had to make this right.

Some of his torment must have shown in his eyes because Trey patted him on the back in a fatherly gesture. “I’ll be just outside, my friend. You have five minutes, no more.”

Logan nodded.

Trey left the jailhouse without another word.

Pivoting, Logan kept his gaze on Megan as he unlocked the door. The grind of metal hinges filled the silence between them. Taking a step into the cell, a sudden wave of helplessness enveloped him. What if he couldn’t save her?

No. Whatever had warranted Megan’s imprisonment Logan would find a way to fix the problem, but for now...

He opened his arms wide.

She hesitated only a second, then a swift smile flashed across her face and she rushed into his embrace.

“Logan,” she whispered, wrapping her fingers around the lapels of his jacket with a fierce grip.

He folded her tightly against him, breathing the scent he remembered well. Clean and fresh, like soap mixed with spring flowers. A pleasant calm descended over him, smoothing the jagged edges of his embittered soul.

So many mistakes to regret.

Exhaling, he dropped his chin on the top of her head. So many choices he should have made differently.

But he was home now. They were together. Everything would be all right. Except...

Everything wasn’t all right.

Megan held her shoulders stiff, as though she intentionally kept a part of herself back from him. In all the times he’d dreamed of this moment, in all the ways he’d expected their reunion to go, none of them included her unyielding in his arms.

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.