The Lawman Claims His Bride (Love Inspired Historical) (21 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

L
ater 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 man 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.

There was something he was missing, some vital piece to the puzzle that was just out of reach.

“If you think of anything that might help me uncover the killer’s identity,” he said, “send word.”

“We will.” Marc walked out from behind his desk and placed a comforting hand on Logan’s back. “Where can we find you?”

The only logical place.
“Mattie’s brothel.”

* * *

Mattie made Logan wait over an hour in the main salon before deigning to see him in her private boudoir. By the time he followed her bodyguard through the kitchen, Logan’s patience had vanished.

He reviewed the last conversation he’d had with Mattie. One sentence kept coming back to him.
Dig too deep into this murder, Marshal, and you may not like what you find.

At the time, Logan had assumed Mattie was simply being her usual difficult self. But now he wasn’t so sure.

Whatever her reasons, Mattie hadn’t wanted Logan to discover the identity of the murderer. Which could mean a number of things, none of them good.

Jack stopped outside the door to Mattie’s private suite of rooms. “Go right in. She’s expecting you.”

Right. The ornery woman had been
expecting
him for almost an hour.

Logan took a deep breath and reminded himself why he’d come here today—to find Kincaid’s killer. One way or another, he was not leaving this house until he knew everything Mattie had hidden in that devious brain of hers.

Arranging his features into a blank stare, he strode into the boudoir. The outrageously clad madam reclined on her brocade divan. Regardless of what she thought, pink was not a good color for her.

“Ah, Marshal. What a pleasant surprise to see you again. And so soon after our last meeting. To what do I owe this honor?” She stretched out her hand to him, which he patently ignored.

“You know why I’m here.”

“Of course.” She sat up and patted the spot next to her. “Do tell me how my Megan is fairing.”

He had to give the woman credit. She’d asked about Megan right off the mark. “My wife is doing quite well, thank you.”

“How is she taking to ranch life?”

Before answering, Logan thought back over the past few days. “She’s...thriving.” It was the simple truth, a truth he hadn’t taken the time to explore until now.

“Ah, yes.” Mattie gave him a satisfied nod. “I suspected she would find happiness there.”

“You did?” He asked the question before he realized the words were out of his mouth.

“You obviously don’t know your wife very well if you find that surprising. Megan is a good girl with simple tastes. She was never meant to live in a city like Denver.”

Logan resented the implication that she, a notorious madam, knew Megan better than he did. “I won’t speak of my wife with you any further. I’m here to discuss Kincaid’s murder.”

“I was wondering how long it would take you to bring up that unfortunate business.”

Unfortunate business? “Mattie, a man was murdered right where I’m standing.
After
he attacked an innocent woman.”

“Ah, yes, a very regrettable series of events, wouldn’t you say?”

Her patronizing tone set Logan’s teeth on edge. “I think the reason my wife lost her memory is that she knew Kincaid’s killer.”

Mattie twirled a lock of her hair around a finger. “I didn’t see the murder, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“But you know who did it.” He made sure to phrase his words as a statement.

Laughing again, she unfolded her legs, stood slowly then went to her desk and unlocked the top drawer.

“I came for answers, Mattie,” he said to her back. “I won’t leave until I have them.”

She pretended not to hear him. “It might interest you to know I’ve gathered the list of clients that were here that night, just like you requested.” She handed him a sheet of paper. “One name in particular might surprise you.”

Eyeing her with suspicion, Logan took the list. He held her gaze a moment longer before lowering his head. Four names down, he stopped.

“Judge Kavanaugh?” The man who was single-handedly attempting to rid Denver of prostitution?

She chuckled. “A woman likes to keep her enemies close.”

“So it would seem.”

“The judge might be a hypocrite but he’s no killer. Keep reading, Marshal.”

Halfway down the list Logan’s gut rolled inside itself. His mouth went dry.
Lord, no, it can’t be. Not him, dear God, not him.

The paper slipped from his fingers.

Mattie picked up the list off the ground and began fanning herself with it. “I took the liberty of listing our mutual friend’s real name. We’ll call it a wedding gift.”

Fury, shock, a multitude of other emotions rushed through Logan. The identity of Kincaid’s killer had been right in front of him all along. Megan’s memory loss, her inexplicable fear of him, her shrinking from his touch when he’d first arrived.

She’d never been fragile or brittle or disturbed by the trauma of witnessing a murder. Deep down, locked in her memory, was the fear that Logan had killed Kincaid. Megan’s mind had been protecting him.

But Logan wasn’t the killer. It was someone who looked like him, someone with his same features, his same eyes. His brother, Hunter.

Logan knew what he had to do now. For the sake of justice, for Megan’s safety as well, he had to hunt down and arrest his own brother.

Chapter Twenty-Two

H
eavyhearted and full of regret, Megan sat on the front porch with her sketchbook in her lap. Sally Mae lay at her feet, enjoying the commotion in the front yard from a respectable distance. The twins were playing a raucous game of tag. Shaky Jake, as usual, thought it was a game that included him. Cyrus and Garrett threw well-aimed rocks at various targets from measured distances.

Mrs. Mitchell rocked in the adjacent chair, watching over her brood in much the same way Sally Mae did. With patient indulgence. Although Megan was happy to be a part of this family, her heart wasn’t in the moment. Her heart was in Denver, with Logan.

She shouldn’t have allowed him to leave without trying to settle matters between them.

She sighed heavily over all she would have done differently, given the chance.

Her mother-in-law looked over at her. “Want to talk about it?”

“Logan and I fought. And now I feel as if there’s a big gaping hole inside of me.”

She nodded. “The first fight is the worst.”

“I don’t want to argue with Logan.” She thought about the violence he faced as a lawman. She could lose him on any given day. She must remember that, and never,
never
ever,
allow him to leave angry, or sad.

“A certain amount of discord is inevitable in any marriage,” Mrs. Mitchell added. “Especially in the first year.”

Megan swallowed. “Do you know what we argued about?”

Her mother-in-law shook her head.

“I told Logan I wanted him love me for
me
, not some unrealistic image he has of me in his mind.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

“His idea of protection is...well, it’s just smothering.”

Instead of being offended, Mrs. Mitchell patted her hand. “Logan is protective by nature. He needs time to get used to the woman you’ve become. After all, you two have been separated for five years. There’s going to be a settling-in period, a time where you’ll both have to get to know the older versions of yourselves. Once you do, I predict your love will be stronger.”

If only Megan could believe that. “How can you be so sure?”

“By the way you look at one another. Have faith, Megan.” Mrs. Mitchell smiled at her, as a mother would smile at her daughter. “The Lord will direct your way, if you let Him. You just have to believe. In God. In love. In each other.”

Wise advice. Hard to do.

Nevertheless, she closed her eyes and silently prayed one of her favorite Bible verses.
Lord, I believe. Help me with my unbelief.

Feeling marginally better, she opened her eyes, only just realizing her fingers had been working of their own accord. She’d finished another picture of Logan. Except...

The eyes were all wrong. They were too hard, too unforgiving and entirely too ruthless. Logan never looked at her with that much anger. Not even at his fiercest.

As she traced the lines around the man’s eyes her thoughts grew thick and uneasy.

The sketchbook slid to the ground.

Shimmering images flooded her thoughts. A knife coming at her, pressing against her throat. The smell of stale whiskey. A threat. Anger, her own, so strong she thought it might consume her. A hard shove. A loud crack. A door swinging open.

“Megan?
Megan.
What’s wrong?”

Her mother-in-law’s words seemed to come from very far away.

“I...” She flattened her hand against her temple. “My head hurts.”

“Did you remember something?”

“My sketchbook.” She looked frantically around her. “Where is it?”

Mrs. Mitchell lifted the book off the floor and glanced down at the drawing. Her brow furrowed. “When did you meet Hunter?”

“Who?”

“Hunter. My eldest.”

“I’ve never met him.”

“This picture,” Mrs. Mitchell pointed to the opened page of the sketchbook. “You’ve captured Hunter perfectly.”

Megan blinked down at the drawing. No wonder she hadn’t been able to draw Logan’s eyes correctly. The man in the picture wasn’t her husband.

With an odd sense of distraction, she studied the image again. Where had she seen the man in the drawing? When?

Like a bolt of lightning coming out of the sky everything fell into place in her mind. Logan’s brother had been the one who’d entered Mattie’s boudoir. He’d argued with Cole. There’d been a tussle.

Shuddering, Megan looked up at Logan’s mother. There was pain in the woman’s eyes, the kind of pain that said she suspected where Megan had seen her son and what he’d done.

Megan opened her mouth to explain, or maybe to apologize, but she couldn’t make the words form in her mind in the proper order. She had to sort through her thoughts, had to force her mind to remember every detail of that night in Mattie’s brothel.

She leaped to her feet. “I need to...” She turned toward the house. “I’ll be in my room.”

“Megan, wait,” Mrs. Mitchell said. “Sit back down. Please. We’ll talk about this calmly.”

“Not yet.” Her eyes begged for her mother-in-law to understand. “I just need a little bit of time. Alone.”

Without waiting for a response, Megan rushed inside the house. But the air was too stifling in there, too confining. She swerved toward the kitchen and left quickly out the back door.

Once outside she picked up her pace. She didn’t know where she was going, but found her feet heading toward the cabin where Logan had taken her yesterday.

Had it been only a day since they’d shared their mutual love for one another?

Practically running now, she stayed parallel to the tree line, using the mountains as a natural compass to help her maintain her bearings.

She swerved around a fallen branch and then collided into a hard wall of unforgiving muscle. “Oh.”

She looked up. And up farther still. Until her gaze connected with...

Hunter.

Glory. The man who had killed Cole Kincaid was standing right in front of her. He’d come for her after all, just like Logan had warned.

She opened her mouth to scream, but his hand covered the sound.

“Can’t have you alerting the folks I’m here,” he said in a harsh whisper.

Megan’s head swirled with images of the night she’d last seen this man. Hunter hadn’t killed Cole in cold blood, she remembered that now. He’d made the outlaw stand, had even given him a knife to defend himself. It still hadn’t been a fair fight. Not with Cole drunk from alcohol and wobbly on his feet from a head injury.

“We can do this the hard way or the easy way,” Hunter said, breaking through the images running through her mind. “Promise not to scream.”

Megan nodded.

He removed his hand from her mouth.

She broke eye contact and tried to decide her best route of escape. She might have said she wouldn’t scream, but she’d never said she wouldn’t run.

In the next heartbeat, she took off in the direction of the main house. Before she’d gotten far Hunter scooped her off the ground and then tossed her over his shoulder. “The hard way it is.”

She squirmed, trying to break free but he tightened his hold on her, gripping her so hard the breath whooshed out of her lungs.

“Don’t worry,
Mrs.
Mitchell. My brother is a smart man. I predict he’ll be coming to rescue you very shortly.”

Everything in her froze. “You aren’t going to hurt Logan, are you?”

“That, my dear girl, will be entirely up to him.”

* * *

“What do you mean Megan is gone?” Logan growled out the words through clenched teeth.

His parents shared a look before his mother stepped forward and touched him on the sleeve. “She was upset. She asked for a moment alone. I’m sorry, Logan. She must have slipped out the back without us knowing.”

Maybe she’d just gone for a walk. Maybe Hunter hadn’t come for her. The despair curling in Logan’s throat and clogging the air in his lungs told a different story.

“Before you go searching for her, you should know what upset her.” His mother handed him Megan’s sketchbook.

“Turn to the last page,” his father urged.

Fearing what he’d find, Logan flipped quickly through the book, barely taking note of the various drawings. Until he noticed a pattern. There was a shadowy figure in all the scenes, a man that looked a lot like Logan, but not completely.

His hand stopped turning pages as his gaze connected to a picture of him just outside the cabin. His eyes were full of love and adoration. It was as though Megan had looked straight into his heart and captured his feelings for her.

His mother leaned over him and sighed wistfully. “Everything’s going to be all right between you two.”

Logan nodded. Yes, everything would work out between them. He would see to it, even if it meant begging her forgiveness every day for the rest of their lives.

“There’s one last drawing.” She flipped the page for him. “
This
is what upset Megan.”

Just as it had when he’d seen Hunter’s name on Mattie’s list, Logan’s heart picked up speed and his mouth went dry. The look of anger and hatred in his brother’s eyes was unmistakable. Megan had seen Hunter clearly. Too clearly.

This cabin feels lived in,
she’d said yesterday.

Logan had foolishly told her not to worry. He’d believed they were completely alone. They had been at the time. But the cabin had definitely been lived in.

Hunter had been the squatter.

How could Logan have missed something so simple, so basic? By bringing her to the Flying M, he thought he’d brought his wife to a safe place. Instead, he’d put her straight into the heart of danger.

Fighting against his own panic, he took off at a dead run, jumped back on his horse and headed north.

“Logan, wait,” his father called after him.

“I’m going to get my wife back.”

He just prayed Hunter hadn’t gotten to her first.

Twenty minutes later Logan caught sight of the smoke coming from the cabin’s chimney, calling to him like a beacon. He pushed his horse harder.

For the first time in his life, Logan feared he couldn’t protect Megan.
Lord, help me. Help me protect Megan from Hunter.

Mere feet from the front door, he jumped off his horse and burst inside the cabin. The room was cast in shadows, with only a small portion illuminated by a fire in the hearth. Despite his inability to see well, Logan was aware of everything in the room with sharp-edged clarity—the snap of the fire, the smell of pine, the sound of heavy breathing. His own?

“Megan.” He shot his gaze in every direction. “
Megan,
where are you?”

“Over here.” The sound of her voice nearly flattened him, but he managed to turn in her direction.

All his fears vanished the moment he saw her face. Although shadows fell over most of her body, Logan could still make out her expression. There was no fear in her eyes.

“Megan.” He started toward her, but stopped cold at the sound of a shotgun’s hammer clicking into place.

“Stay right where you are, little brother.”

Logan swung in the direction of the voice. Alert, watchful,
angry,
he focused on the barrel pointed at his heart. He’d been so concerned about Megan’s safety he’d made an amateur lawman’s mistake. He hadn’t checked to make sure the cabin was clear.

Desperation had made him stupid. And now Megan was in danger.

“We aren’t brothers.” He all but spat the words, then lowered his gaze over Hunter. He noted the look of strain in the lines around his eyes and mouth. “No brother of mine would hurt the woman I love.”

Hunter’s eyes went dark and turbulent. “I haven’t hurt your wife. Go on. See for yourself. But first, remove your weapons.”

Logan calculated his next move. If he jumped Hunter he’d have the element of surprise on his side. But even if Logan managed to avoid catching a bullet in his chest, Megan could be hurt. Logan unstrapped his gun belt and lowered it to the ground.

“Kick it over to me.”

Growling, Logan did as requested.

Hunter grinned at him. “
Now
you may check on your wife.”

Still holding Hunter’s gaze, Logan inched toward Megan. At the last minute, he broke eye contact and dropped in front of her. He rested his hands on her knees and took a good look at her. She was tied to the chair in a manner that secured her arms against her waist.

“You tied her up,” he said, struggling to control his temper.

“Couldn’t have her running back to the folks.” He chuckled. “Your wife certainly has...spirit.”

Before Logan could tell Hunter to leave his wife out of this, Megan’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Listen to what your brother has to say,” she urged. “His story will surprise you.”

Logan’s hands clenched into fists at his side as he rose to confront his brother. “Did you kill Kincaid?”

“The man had it coming.” Hunter’s gaze turned hard and unrelenting, his gun still pointed straight at Logan’s heart. But when he stared into his brother’s eyes, Logan did not see an outlaw. Rather, he saw a man stricken with grief.

“Did you kill him to protect Megan?”

“She had the blackguard subdued before I arrived.” He looked over at her with a hint of admiration.

“Then why’d you do it?” Logan took a miniscule step forward.

“Don’t come any closer,” Hunter warned.

Logan complied midstep. “Why did you kill Kincaid?” he repeated.

“He murdered my wife.” Hunter’s gaze turned haunted.

“You got married?”

“Five years ago.”

“Cole attacked your brother’s wife, in the same way he attacked me,” Megan said when neither man spoke again. “But she wasn’t able to fight back because she’d just had a child who’d died in her arms. She was too weak to defend herself.”

Logan’s heart tumbled in his chest. “Is that true?”

Hunter nodded. His eyes were so wounded Logan knew there was no doubting the story. “I’ve spent the last two years hunting the bast—” he looked over at Megan “—er, outlaw.”

Sadly, Hunter’s tale was not a new one. Logan had spent much of his career tracking men like Kincaid. He’d brought most to justice. “You should have let the law handle it.”

“Would you have?”