The Lawman Claims His Bride. Renee Ryan
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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.
If she hadn’t tangled with Cole Kincaid, she might have become this man’s wife in a matter of days. One unfortunate incident and she stood to lose everything important to her. She stood to lose Logan.
Her life was collapsing around her, her dreams crumbling like a house with no foundation. All because she’d set out to show mercy to a woman who had reminded her of her dead mother.
Regret congealed in her throat.
Is this what comes of kindness, Lord? Is the inevitable loss of the only man I’ve ever loved to be my reward?
The question was a betrayal to everything she’d been raised to believe about Christian charity.
Logan returned to her, thankfully cutting off the rest of her troubled thoughts. His expression softening, he took her hand into his, then twined their fingers together in the same way he had years ago. She looked down at their palms pressed tightly against one another. Her hand was so small in his.
“Megan, my sweet, look at me.”
The genuine affection in his voice compelled her to do as he requested.
He smiled, but he didn’t try to pull her into his arms again. She was thankful for that, at least. She barely had power over her emotions as it was. She would probably collapse into uncontrollable sobs if he offered her any more kindness. Tears would do neither of them any good.
“Start at the beginning,” he said. “Tell me everything that happened.”
She saw the many questions in his eyes, the frustration underneath, but he held to his silence as he waited for her to begin.
He was so patient, so willing to think the best of her. How could she not love such a man?
“Logan, I…I…” Her throat cinched around a breath. “I can’t tell you what happened because I—” She broke off, unable to push the words past her lips.
“Because?” he urged, using the same patient tone as before.
“Because…” She broke eye contact and focused on a spot just over his left shoulder. “I don’t remember.”
Chapter Three
Megan waited for Logan to respond to her stunning declaration. But he didn’t move, didn’t blink. In fact, he didn’t react at all.
Perhaps he hadn’t heard her.
Just as she opened her mouth to repeat herself, the outer door swung open with a rattle. She jumped away from Logan like a guilty child.
Sheriff Scott had returned. And he was looking directly at her as he entered the cell. The fierce angles of his face coupled with the hard slash of his frown sent a lick of fear through her. But then his gaze softened and she relaxed. A little.
He turned his attention to Logan. “I see she told you about her memory loss.”
Ignoring the comment, Logan closed the distance Megan had created between them when she’d jumped away from him. “You don’t remember anything about the murder?”
She lowered her gaze to the floor. “Nothing.”
“That must be…” He pulled in a hissing breath. “Terrifying.”
Megan’s heart kicked hard against her rib cage. Logan understood her predicament. Perhaps better than she did herself.
She wished she could shake the horror of forgetting. She wanted to escape the terrible reality that a portion of her life was gone, perhaps forever.
She fought for her next gasp of air. What if she never remembered? What if Logan had to bring her to trial? What if she was convicted of murder? What if… What if…
What if…
As though sensing her growing panic, he pulled her into his arms again. Muttering soft words of comfort, he kept the embrace light, holding her with the care he might show a wounded animal.
A part of her relished the tender treatment. Another part—the part used to taking care of herself and others—wanted to shrink from the very real desire to rest in Logan’s strength, if only for a while.
Even as he whispered soft promises to her, her inner battle continued with the independent side of her nature losing ground quickly. Logan was so strong, so good, so determined to make everything right. She could practically hear his brain working through the problem, his mind sorting and sifting potential solutions in perfect cadence with his heartbeat.
“What does Mattie Silks have to do with this?” he asked.
It was not the first question Megan would have expected from him. The madam had been uncommonly kind to her, wonderful even. But would Logan understand?
When Megan didn’t answer the question right away, Sheriff Scott responded for her. “The murder occurred in Mattie’s brothel. In her private suite of rooms.”
Logan recoiled. Not enough for the sheriff to notice, but Megan felt his reaction even as he set her gently away from him. She thought she heard him mutter something about the difficult woman and her maddening games, but couldn’t be sure. He’d spoken just below a whisper.
Fearing what she might find, she ventured a glance into his eyes. He looked stunned. Indignant. Furious.
Megan had never seen him so angry. She was sure of it. But just as the thought materialized a distant memory triggered a peculiar stinging in her throat. She instinctively backed away from him. One step. Two. The third brought her legs up against the cot.
She sat. Quickly, before she collapsed.
Shivering, she rubbed her hands over her arms. Beneath the thin fabric of her sleeves her skin felt clammy, as though the ugliness of death had attached itself to her and wouldn’t let go.
At last, the shadows in Logan’s gaze shifted from anger to sorrow to resolve. He turned to glare at Sheriff Scott. “Tell me everything you know.”
With slow, precise words the sheriff recounted the events