by Renee Ryan
Had those words been a confession? Had Marc killed Kincaid to protect Megan?
It was possible. More than possible. But only a theory at this juncture. None of the evidence pointed to Marc. In fact, none of the evidence pointed to anyone. It was as if the killer had vanished into thin air.
Megan sighed in her sleep, the sound cutting through Logan’s troubling thoughts. He curled his fingers into a fist and forced himself to remain where he was, to keep his hands to himself.
She sighed again, then wiggled into a more comfortable position.
He gave in to temptation and moved a step closer. He ordered himself to behave like a gentleman. In hopes of distracting himself, he slowly pried the sketchbook out of her grip and flipped through the first few pages.
She’d attempted a handful of drafts of the snow-peaked mountains. None were complete, each drawing nothing more than a series of disconnected lines that hinted at a picture.
Studying the sketches a moment longer, Logan noted a shadowy figure in the lower right corner of all the drawings.
Kincaid’s killer?
Hard to tell. The general build and masculine set of the shoulders could belong to a number of men. Even Logan himself.
Patience, he told himself. All will be revealed in time.
Shutting the book, he placed it on the ground at his feet. He would ask Megan about the man in the drawings when the time was right. Not now.
Now he just wanted to hold her and assure himself she was as well as she appeared to be in sleep. Forcing his heartbeat to settle, he sat on the edge of the ottoman, slipped his hands around her shoulders and gently pulled her into his arms.
She murmured his name, her breath warm against his neck. Then she curled into him, hugging him tightly.
Offering up a silent prayer for control, he buried his face in her hair. “I missed you, sweetheart.”
“Logan.” She rubbed her nose along his neck, her voice husky from sleep. “You smell good.”
He loosened his hold and tried to pull back.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and tugged him tighter against her. “I love your scent. I’ve missed it all these years.”
She punctuated her words with a kiss to his bare throat.
Had the woman no mercy? She was quite literally killing him. Unable to stop himself, he pressed his lips to her shoulder.
An answering shiver passed through her.
Logan forced himself to relax. Nothing special going on here, nothing out of the ordinary.
Who was he kidding? Love for his wife burned in his gut.
He closed his eyes and again prayed for strength.
It was a hopeless request. His control was all but gone. He had to put distance between them. At once. Rising quickly, he nearly stepped on the sketchbook in his haste to get away.
Breathing hard, he stared down at his wife. The dark smudges beneath her eyes were less noticeable and her face had taken on a bit more color than earlier in the day. “You look rested.”
“I feel rested.” She stretched her arms over her head and arched her back. The gesture pulled the bodice of her dress tight against her womanly curves.
Logan shifted his gaze. He noticed the sketchbook and retrieved it. “Here, you were clutching this in your sleep.”
“I was?” She paused, then took the book and set it on her lap.
Logan stepped closer, not sure what he saw in her eyes. She appeared to be debating with herself, perhaps deciding whether to tell him about her half-finished drawings.
“I attempted to sketch the view from the window over there.” She ran her fingertip along the top of the book in a slow, circular motion. “But every time I made it to a certain point in the drawing my head started spinning, aching really, and I’d have to stop to rest my eyes. I must have fallen asleep.”
The anguish in her voice tore at him. Logan wanted nothing more than to drag her into his arms and offer her comfort. But he wasn’t sure he could stop at just holding her. “Megan, I’m sorry. I—”
“Oh, Logan.” Her gaze whipped to his. “What if I’m never able to draw again?”
“Megan, darling, don’t despair.” He returned to the ottoman and wrapped her hand securely in his. “Shane warned you to expect a certain level of exhaustion in these first few days. Don’t try to rush your healing.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I am.”
She stared at their joined hands for a long moment. Then she shook her head and pulled her fingers free of his.
“Logan, I should tell you. Your mother thought that we…that you and I had already…” Her cheeks turned a becoming pink. “She thought that we had already been…intimate.”
The embarrassment in her voice was impossible to miss. His first instinct was to protect her. Not as much from his mother and her inappropriate assumptions, as from himself. Because in the privacy of this room, with the idea of intimacy now hanging in the air between them, Logan found it hard to ignore his natural instincts to make this woman his wife.
He must be strong. He must.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” He forced himself to speak slowly. Clearly. For himself as well as for her. “I won’t touch you until you’re completely healed.”
Chapter Sixteen
I won’t touch you until you’re completely healed. Megan stared up at her husband, unsure how to respond to his bold declaration.
She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, but had the presence of mind to break eye contact.
From a certain perspective, his vow to wait was terribly sweet. Yet so…very…wrong.
It was as if he thought she would crumble under his touch. She wasn’t nearly so weak. Couldn’t he see that despite her injury she was perfectly capable of certain…activities? She was a newly married woman, after all. One who dearly loved her husband.
If Logan loved her as much as he claimed, wasn’t he supposed to want her as a man wants a woman?
Maybe love made things different for a man. Megan admitted that her knowledge of such matters might be a bit slanted, colored as it were by her mother’s disgraceful example. Even before Jane Goodwin had resorted to selling her affections for money, men had been a staple in her life. The ones that stuck around for any length of time did so for a myriad of reasons, none of them wholesome.
At least Logan’s feelings for Megan were pure. She tried not to worry that his lukewarm reaction meant anything but complete devotion.
“I see I’ve taken you by surprise.” He reached to her. But instead of pulling her into his arms as she’d hoped, he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I realize this is a difficult conversation, but we must speak of this now.”
She nodded in agreement.
“You are the most important thing in my life,” he said, twirling another strand of hair around his finger. “I’d never do anything to hurt you.”
“Oh, Logan.” She leaned into his touch. “I know that.”
“Then we’re in agreement.” His words had a final ring to them. “We’ll wait to consummate our marriage until you’re feeling stronger.”
I’m strong enough now, she almost said, but caught herself. “If that’s what you want.” Disappointment made her voice skip over the words.
He didn’t seem to notice her shift in mood. “Now that that’s settled, come along.” He helped her stand. “Supper is on the table.”
“Is it that time already?” Megan launched herself toward the door, but she moved too fast and swayed.
Logan steadied her with a hand to her arm. “Easy now.”
“I should have helped prepare the meal.” She looked frantically around her, her gaze landing on nothing in particular which only made her dizzier. “What must your mother think of me?”
“She thinks you need your rest.” With his hand still on her arm, he guided her toward the door.
“No, wait.” Megan jerked to a halt then looked down at her dress. “Am I presentable?”
Rather
than answering right away, Logan ran his gaze down to her toes and back up again. By the time his eyes met hers again there was nothing careful or tender in them. Glory. He was looking at her the way a man looks at his woman.
A thread of pleasure flipped in her stomach.
Perhaps Logan did want her. Perhaps he was merely trying to act the part of a gentleman, which was really sweet.
And completely unnecessary.
Maybe she should test them both. Before she lost her nerve.
Flattening her palms against his chest, she lifted up on her toes. Just before her lips made contact with his, he pulled his head back. “Megan, no.”
“Why not?” She angled her head and stared up at him. What was it she saw in his gaze? Alarm? Apprehension? “We’re married,” she reminded him. “Kissing is allowed.”
He lifted his hands in a defensive gesture, a silent plea for her to keep her distance.
Ignoring the request, she moved closer. Close enough to feel his breath tickle her cheek.
She lowered her eyelashes and bit back a smile. He might be standing in that loose, casual way of his, but there was nothing relaxed about him. He was as tense as she’d ever seen him.
She moved closer still.
He groaned.
“Logan, I—”
Gripping her shoulders, he crushed his lips to hers.
Wanting their kiss to last forever, she clung to him in return. One heartbeat passed. Two. By the third he flung himself away from her.
With a strained look in his eyes, he pulled in several tight breaths. Then several more. “The family is waiting.” His words came out strangled.
Feeling gracious, Megan decided to let him win this round. She hid her newfound joy inside a demure smile. “By all means—” she offered him her hand “—lead the way.”
He blinked at her another moment longer. His eyes grew dark again, filling with bold intent, then he looked quickly away. Still breathing hard, he took her hand and led her from the room.
The ensuing silence as they made their way down the stairs didn’t bother Megan. She knew the truth. And no matter what Logan said to the contrary, no matter how many lofty promises he made, he wanted her the way a husband wanted his wife as God intended.
Megan touched her lips and sighed. Her marriage had just taken on a whole new dimension and she couldn’t be more pleased.
Supper at the Mitchell house turned out to be a chaotic, undisciplined affair, everyone grabbing for whatever they wished. With her hands neatly folded in her lap, Megan stared at the pandemonium in stunned silence.
The only moment of calm had come a few minutes earlier, when Logan’s father had blessed the food. Since then, disorder had reigned supreme. Sentences tumbled over one another, making it impossible to decipher a single word.
Blinking rapidly, Megan darted her gaze around the table. She had no idea how to proceed. Meals at Charity House were orderly affairs. Table manners were enforced. Food was passed counterclockwise, one dish at a time. Please and thank you were the most commonly uttered words. Polite conversation prevailed.
A biscuit flew in the air, nearly clipping her on the nose. She leaned back as a second one soon followed the first. Both were caught in midair in rapid succession, one by Paul and the other by Peter. Neither had looked up from their plate.
Glory.
As Mrs. Mitchell smiled indulgently at her brood Megan remembered Logan’s description of his family. We work hard, play harder, laugh well and often. Well, she couldn’t deny the accuracy of those words.
“Megan, darling.” Logan leaned close to her ear. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“I…well, yes. Yes, I am.” The food smelled delicious. The large roast looked especially appealing.
Logan pointed to her empty plate. “You can’t eat air.”
“I—”
“Here, let me help you.” With a slight of hand that displayed his quick reflexes, he reached across her, picked up a bowl and then plopped a mound of potatoes on her plate. He soon had gravy poured and a biscuit situated on the rim. A pile of meat followed. “Dig in.”
She stared at him wildly; convinced her eyes were as round as an owl’s.
He kissed her lightly on the lips then lowered one of his eyelids in a lazy wink. “You can’t be shy at this table.”
“I…of course not. I think I understand.”
She picked up her fork, then looked over at Logan’s father and nearly dropped the utensil in her lap. Cyrus Mitchell was spreading a thick layer of butter on his biscuit. Then he put another on top of the first. And still another.
He caught her eyeing him and grinned. “Makes ’em slide down easier.” He lifted the biscuit in her direction.
Megan smiled back at her new father-in-law. We work hard, play hard, laugh well and often.
She closed her eyes and lifted up a silent prayer. Oh, Lord, I want to work hard and play harder, too. I want to be free to laugh well, just like my new family.
So what was stopping her? Why was she holding herself back, even as she desperately wanted to join the Mitchell mayhem?
Because life with her mother had always been out of control. Uncertainty had been her only staple as a child. One moment her mother would be her best friend, while the next she’d become an enraged stranger best avoided. Megan never knew which mother to expect at any given moment.
As a result of all the chaos and insecurity, she’d learned to control her own world. With order. And distance. By giving to others and never, never, expecting anything in return. Life was easier that way.
But here, with this loving, spontaneous family Megan felt safe. Safe to be herself. Safe to laugh well and often.
Determined to live in the moment, Megan picked up her fork and did exactly what Logan suggested. She dug in to her meal.
And ate twice as much as she’d planned.
After dinner, the boys ran off to wrestle with the dogs. Logan helped his father shut down the stable for the night, while Megan cleared the table.
Her mother-in-law had grown surprisingly quiet once they were alone and maintained her silence during the washing.
Handing Megan the next plate to dry, she spoke at last. “Would you and Logan like to stay in one of our guest cabins for a while?”
Megan’s hand stilled on the plate and she gave up any pretense of drying. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand what you’re asking.”
“I was remembering my first days as a new bride.” She placed another plate in the soapy water, her eyes a bit dreamy. “I realized there isn’t much privacy in this house.”
Megan felt her cheeks warm as random thoughts collided in her mind. She squared her shoulders and addressed the most obvious concern. “Are you afraid one of the boys might walk in on us?”
“That has occurred to me.” She looked amused, rather than shocked. “But that’s not what I meant.”
“You don’t have to worry about any impropriety. Logan has promised to keep his hands to himself until I’m healed.” The frustration in her voice surprised her.
Her mother-in-law’s response surprised her even more. “Well, now, that’s unfortunate.”
Megan gaped at the woman.
“I see I’ve shocked you.”
“No. Well, yes, I suppose you have.” Megan picked up the discarded plate. “Logan and I should set an example for the younger children. A godly example.”
“Megan, darling, you and Logan are married.”
Megan’s head spun with confusion. “Nevertheless.” She had to work on getting her voice steady. “Our behavior should be above reproach under your roof.”
“I see I’m going to have to be blunt.”
And here Megan thought that’s what she’d been doing.
Ignoring the rest of the dirty dishes, her mother-in-law faced her. “I want grandchildren. The sooner the better.”
Megan felt an ice-edged chill claw through her. If she wasn’t mistaken, Logan’s mother was telling her to consummate their marriage. Sh
e could barely draw a breath past her embarrassment. “I…don’t know what to say.”
After wiping her hands on her apron, Mrs. Mitchell took Megan’s hands and steered her to an empty chair against the opposite wall. “What did your mother tell you about relations between a man and a woman?”
Megan picked up a portion of her skirt, smoothed it at the pleat then let it fall again. “She told me men are ruled by their urges.” She squeezed her eyes shut before some of the uglier memories of her childhood could interfere. “She said men care only about their own fulfillment.”
“That’s just about the most foolish thing I’ve ever heard.”
Megan’s eyes flew open.
Mrs. Mitchell was staring down at her with pursed lips. “Not to speak ill of the dead, but your mother’s chosen profession obviously gave her a biased perspective.”
Hope speared through Megan. She knew what she felt toward her husband, knew what she wanted to happen between them, knew her feelings were based in love.
Surely Logan felt the same way. Surely he would be gentle with her, far more so than the men at the brothel had been toward her mother.
But what if she was wrong? What if her mother had been right? “I should think my mother knew more than most about the subject of relations between a man and a woman.”
“Perhaps on one level,” Mrs. Mitchell conceded. “But not within the sanctity of marriage.”
There was a drumming in Megan’s heart, an anticipation that Logan’s mother was about to tell her something life-changing. Unable to contain all the emotions running through her, Megan started to rise.
“Sit down, dear.” Mrs. Mitchell pressed Megan back into the chair. Her eyes took on a thoughtful look, as if she was gathering her words with great care. “Love between a husband and his wife is never ugly or dirty or one-sided, but rather beautiful and natural for both partners.”
Megan stiffened her spine, slowed her breathing, and eyed her mother-in-law warily. The other woman’s revelation brought with it a large dose of hope as well as a strong sense of bewilderment. “Are you saying the physical part of marriage can be special and…enjoyable?”