by Renee Ryan
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 abo
ut 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.
“Oh, honestly.” She maneuvered between the two, her gaze filled with equal parts fondness and exasperation. “Cyrus, you’re going to beat all the air out of our son. Now let him be and come meet his wife.”
“His wife?” Cyrus’s voice boomed through the air. “You finally married your little gal in Denver?”
“I did.” Still smiling, Logan motioned Megan forward.
She went to him at once, but her steps were slow and careful. Not only had her ankle begun to ache, but her father-in-law was a little intimating. A lot intimidating.
“Megan, darling.” Logan kissed her knuckles in a gesture that was becoming pleasantly familiar. “Meet Cyrus Mitchell, owner, operator and resident curmudgeon of the Flying M ranch.”
Trying not to smile at the lofty description, Megan looked into the tanned, lined face that was so much like her husband’s. Her heart thumped hard against her ribs. She was getting a good look into the future, and she liked what she saw. Even the deep, weathered grooves around Cyrus Mitchell’s eyes were appealing. Logan was going to be a very handsome older man.
“I’m so very pleased to meet you, Mr. Mitchell.” She reached out her hand to her new father-in-law.
Cyrus glared at her extended fingers as if they were connected to a poisonous snake. “We’ll have none of that in this family.”
Megan’s throat tightened. Had she done something wrong? Never having had a father of her own, she didn’t know how to proceed. Nevertheless, she lifted her chin and continued holding out her hand, sensing Cyrus Mitchell would appreciate grit over any other character trait.
Making a grumbling sound in his throat, he pulled her into a bone-crunching hug. Trapped in the strong, fatherly embrace, Megan had never felt so cherished. So accepted.
“Welcome to the family, little lady.” Cyrus patted her shoulders awkwardly, then stepped back and stared at her with…was that…water in his eyes?
Megan had just made a grown man cry, all because she’d married his son. An odd sense of joy spread through her. Between Mrs. Mitchell’s warm reception, the boys’ eager enthusiasm and Cyrus’s watery eyes, Megan knew—she just knew—she was going to be very happy on the Flying M.
Oh, yes. She was home. Home at last.
Chapter Fourteen
Logan had made a serious error in judgment. He’d failed to prepare Megan for his family.
What must she think? In a matter of minutes she’d been subjected to a pair of barking cow dogs, an infamous Mitchell wrestling match and now one of his father’s bone-rattling hugs.
She had to be reeling. After all, Megan was used to life at Charity House, where order and polite decorum reigned supreme. The complete opposite held true on the Flying M. A day didn’t go by without some small disaster or another coming to fruition. That was just the Mitchell way.
When his father finally gave Megan room to breathe, Logan pushed between them. Fighting the urge to whisk her away, he ran his gaze down to her bandaged ankle and back up again, stopping at the angry-looking wound on her throat. His gut clenched at the reminder of the attack. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m perfectly well, Logan.”
She didn’t look well. She looked ready to drop from exhaustion.
He opened his mouth to argue the point. She let out an exasperated sigh. “Truly, I’m fine.”
He still didn’t believe her. Her eyes had taken on a glassy, unfocused sheen. And her face was leached of color. Shane had warned Logan not to push his bride too hard. He feared he’d done just that.
“All this excitement is too much for you.” He kept his voice even. “I’m sorry, Megan. My family can be a bit overwhelming.”
“You’re family is lovely. Every one of them.” She smiled at his parents then turned her gaze to his brothers.
Logan tossed all three of them a warning glare. The boys were acting relatively polite. For now. It was only a matter of time before they grew bored and mayhem erupted all over again.
“Still,” he said, moving into her line of vision and subsequently cutting off a direct route between her and the boys. “You’ve had a long journey and not nearly enough sleep in the last two days.”
“I dozed most of the night.” Her eyebrows scrunched together as though she’d just come to an unpleasant realization. “But you haven’t slept at all.”
“I’m used to sporadic sleep.” It was part of his job description. “You, however, are not.” He took her elbow and turned her in the direction of the house. “Let’s get you inside so you can rest.”
He guided her carefully, making sure he took the bulk of her weight so she didn’t put unnecessary pressure on her ankle.
“Shouldn’t you rest as well?” she asked, leaning heavily on him.
“I will. Later.”
“But you haven’t—”
“Hey, Garrett,” he shot over his shoulder, effectively cutting off whatever additional argument she’d been about to make. “You and the boys unload the wagon while I get Megan settled inside.”
She tugged on his arm. “I can walk on my own.”
Bold words, spoken in a strong tone. He almost believed her, but then she stepped on a small rock and lost her balance. She would have crumpled to the ground if he hadn’t been holding on to her. Evidently, he needed to be her better judgment.
“Megan, darling, you’re going to have to defer to me on this.”
She lifted her chin at the stubborn angle he was growing to dread. This was a new side of his wife he didn’t completely understand. Just how much had she changed in the past five years?
As if in answer, she pulled him to a stop and began to argue with him again. “Can I at least take a moment to—”
“No.”
“Not even if I—”
“No.”
Giving him an irritated sniff, she drew her elbow free and headed toward the house without his assistance. With her nose in the air and that unbending look in her eyes, she almost looked regal. But then she stumbled, enough to break stride.
He rushed to scoop her in his arms, but caught sight of his mother shaking her head at him.
He knew that look. But why was she warning him off? Megan was brittle, fragile, injured. She needed him. She…
Seemed to be making satisfactory progress on her own.
Should he let her continue or not?
Unsure how best to proceed, Logan looked to his father for help. The older man shot him a sympathetic grimace, but didn’t offer any advice. Instead, he planted a loud kiss on his wife’s lips, jammed his hat on his head and then moved back to his horse.
“Once you boys get that wagon unloaded meet me in the stable. We have a long day ahead of us in the saddle,” he said, then clicked his tongue and the dogs obediently fell in line behind his horse.
At this time of year Logan knew his father could use an extra pair of hands. “Hey, Pa,” he called after him. “Once I get Megan situated I’ll join you on the range.”
Cyrus waved a hand over his head. “We’ll be in the south pastures today, gotta round up the latest batch of newborns.”
Logan knew the difficult task that lay ahead of them. Most new mothers tried to conceal their calves from the rest of herd by moving them to remote spots not easy to get
to on horseback. Thankfully, Jake and Sally Mae were experts at rooting out even the most stubborn from their hiding places.
“I’ll find you,” Logan said.
After he made sure Megan rested. Once she was off her feet he planned to join his father and tell him everything, including the events surrounding her recent memory loss. Later tonight, he’d do the same with his mother. Logan didn’t think he’d brought the danger with them, nevertheless he owed it to his parents to warn them of the hazards that might lie ahead.
In a few days Logan would have to leave Megan in his family’s care so he could hunt Kincaid’s killer. Although he trusted his family implicitly, Logan knew Megan wouldn’t be safe until he found the real killer and put him behind bars. Then—and only then—would they be able to begin their life together as husband and wife.
Megan entered the house with Logan by her side and his mother trailing closely behind. She was tired of all this careful “handling” and longed to get back to her old self, yearned to be strong again, in control, giving to others rather than receiving.
Stepping deeper into the house, the pleasant aroma of cinnamon, apples and baking bread instantly soothed her. So much so that when Logan took her arm, Megan allowed him to direct her into a large sitting room without argument.
She glanced around her surroundings with pleasure. This was the kind of large, comfortable space she’d always thought would belong to a family, a real family.
The entire area was happily cluttered. Blankets were tossed haphazardly on the bulky, well-worn furniture. A pile of wooden toys and a bag of marbles sat in the center of the floor, while papers, magazines and books littered every available tabletop. This room looked lived-in, a place to cast aside the cares of the day and simply relax.
“Sit here, sweetheart.” Logan indicated a spot on one of the sofas.
Although the large, comfortable-looking piece of furniture beckoned, Megan didn’t want to sit. She was too restless, too excited. She wanted to investigate her new home. “I’ve been riding in a wagon all night,” she said. “My legs are stiff.”