The Lawman Claims His Bride. Renee Ryan
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A row of impenetrable iron bars stood between Logan and the woman he loved.
He balled his shooting hand into a tight fist. The urge to hit something, or someone, came fast, but he reminded himself he’d taken a different path than his brother. Still, a low growl of frustration rumbled deep in his throat.
At the sound, Megan looked up and slowly turned her head.
Their gazes met.
Logan’s heart pummeled his rib cage. The brutal assault made each intake of air a struggle.
Lost in her eyes, a compelling tapestry of silver over blue, he experienced a deep sensation of completion. The emotion was so simple, so pure, he wondered how he’d been able to walk away before.
Well, he was home now.
“Logan?” A little sigh slipped from her lips. “Is it really you?”
“Yes, Megan.” He forced his words around the breath clogging in his throat. “I’ve come for you, just like I promised.”
RENEE RYAN
grew up in a small Florida beach town. To entertain herself during countless hours of “lying out” she read all the classics. It wasn’t until the summer between her sophomore and junior years at Florida State University that she read her first romance novel. Hooked from page one, she spent hours consuming one book after another while working on the best (and last!) tan of her life.
Two years later, armed with a degree in economics and religion, she explored various career opportunities, including stints at a Florida theme park, a modeling agency and a cosmetics conglomerate. She moved on to teach high school economics, American government and Latin while coaching award-winning cheerleading teams. Several years later, with an eclectic cast of characters swimming around in her head, she began seriously pursuing a writing career.
She lives an action-packed life in Georgia, with her supportive husband, lovely teenage daughter and two ornery cats who hate each other.
The Lawman Claims His Bride
Renee Ryan
Many are the plans in a man’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.
—Proverbs 19:21
To Donnell Ann Bell, my favorite pair of fresh eyes.
Thank you, my friend, for all the times you answered the call for a “quick” favor.
I owe you more than words can express.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
Letter to Reader
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
Chapter One
Denver, Colorado, 1888.
Megan Goodwin had not intended to die today. But as she stared at the knife inches from her throat, she feared her plans were about to change.
Yet to face her end in a brothel, the same one where her mother had died five years before, was simply unacceptable.
Frozen in terror, she watched the knife’s deadly point creep closer.
Megan prayed for courage to face the next few minutes. Oh, Lord. Oh, God, please help me.
She lifted the silent appeal to the God she’d counted on her whole life.
Where was Mattie? The madam had promised to return shortly. She’d left Megan here in the safety of her private boudoir, out of sight and hidden from Cole Kincaid.
He’d found her anyway.
Gritting her teeth, Megan forced her gaze to stay on his face, if only to prove to herself she still had some control of the situation.
He was big, just over six feet. His face was hideous, all flat planes, sallow skin and dark, dirty beard. He had small, black eyes. Mean eyes. The eyes of a killer. The—
He yanked her head back with a hard tug, cutting off the rest of her thoughts. Small white dots of light burst in front of her eyes.
She’d done nothing to warrant this savage attack. Nothing, except put herself in the wrong place at the wrong time for what she thought was the right reason. The act of kindness might be her last.
Cole eased his grip from her hair and lowered the knife, shoving her back against the divan. “Let’s have us some fun, shall we?” His voice had a soft note to it, as though he were suggesting they share a cup of tea.
The man was a monster.
Megan pulled her gaze from him and focused instead on the room that had been intentionally decorated for sin. Beneath the expensive silk and garish furnishings hung a decadence that spoke of the ugly work performed here.
So this was it, then? This chamber of wickedness was where she would die? No matter that she’d lived a pure life, no matter that she’d been raised in a Christian orphanage across town, she’d failed to escape her mother’s vile world after all.
“Look at me,” Cole snarled.
When she kept her gaze averted, he muttered a curse and clutched her jaw, forcing her head around. “Mattie shouldn’t keep a pretty thing like you hidden from her paying customers.”
The smell of whiskey and week-old sweat trailed in the wake of his words. He swayed, just a little, but enough to tell Megan he’d consumed quite a bit.
“I…I’m not one of her girls.”
He laughed at her, an easy sound full of heartless pleasure. “All the better. I like ’em innocent.”
Panic clawed for release, but Megan refused to give in to the emotion. She pressed her eyes tightly shut.
She would think of Logan. Only Logan, the good, solid man she’d promised to love the rest of her life. He would be home soon, any day now. Then they would be married.
The thought brought sorrow, not peace. Megan should have never set foot in Mattie’s brothel today. She’d only come to read to Suzanne, a young prostitute dying of the same disease that had claimed Megan’s mother.
What had she been thinking? That she’d be safe simply because her motives were pure?
Well, it was too late for regrets, too late to scold herself for coming here at all. She’d thought her midafternoon arrival would get her in and out before customers started arriving.