"Why? I'm not the one going to jail,” he said with derision.

  "No, but I know you, Lucas. I don't think it sets well that you have to turn the woman you love in to the law."

  "I told you before,” he said, fixing Brandt with a glare. “I'm not in love with her."

  "When I asked if you were in love with her, you said I knew you better than that,” he pointed out. “And you're right on that count; sometimes I think I know you better than you know yourself. At least I'm smart enough to admit something when it's plainer than the nose on my face. You love her. No matter how far you run with the excuse that you're after Silas Scott, that's not going to change. And don't tell me you can't love Megan Adams because you feel it's your duty to remain faithful to Annie's memory."

  Brandt softened his tone. “That's it, isn't it? Your twisted sense of loyalty is the only thing keeping you from telling Megan you love her. Lucas,” he said, touching his friend's arm, “you weren't this loyal to Annie when she was alive. You told me yourself that she'd tricked you into the marriage in the first place. When she told you she was pregnant, you did the right thing by marrying her. I think you're to be commended for not tossing her out in the street when you found out she'd lied. And then, when she did get pregnant, you stayed married to her. You didn't love her, yet you stayed in the marriage because it was your duty."

  "It was my baby,” he said.

  "I know, but a lot of men wouldn't have stuck around long enough to find that out."

  When Lucas didn't respond, Brandt continued. “When are you going to stop blaming yourself for their deaths? You didn't even know Scott had escaped from prison, so how could you have known he'd come after you? And how could you know he'd kill them instead?"

  Something inside Lucas snapped. He paid no mind to the stinging behind his eyes as he slammed a fist down on the countertop. “I should have been there. God damn it! She begged me not to go. She begged me not to leave her alone again. But I just couldn't let the chance at a thousand dollars pass me by. It was that much more to invest in the ranch."

  He turned away from his friend, trying to get his raging emotions in check. Finally, he forced himself to face Brandt again.

  "Do you know what the worst part of it is?” he asked. “Do you?"

  "I know how much it hurt to lose Chad."

  "Besides that.” He shook his head, running a hand over his face in agitation. “It's that it didn't hurt enough to lose Annie,” he said bitterly. “Seeing the pain she'd suffered on my behalf—that hurt. Seeing little Chad—” He broke off. “But being without Annie didn't hurt nearly as much as it should have."

  Brandt remained silent.

  "I thought I'd convinced myself that I hated her for tricking me into marriage. But I didn't. The truth is, I understood why she did it. It was the only way she could get away from that bastard of a father of hers. He beat her, and he'd started touching her, and she was scared to death he would come into her room one night and rape her. How in God's name can you blame a young girl for doing the only thing she could think of to escape that?

  "I'd known her for years. We grew up together. When she came to me and said she was in trouble, I did what I thought was best. I knew it wasn't my baby. Hell, I'd never even touched her."

  Lucas paused, trying to collect his scattered thoughts, giving Brandt a chance to digest everything he'd just said. Brandt was his best friend, but even he hadn't known the whole story.

  "She died thinking I hated her, Brandt. We had a huge fight when she told me she'd lied to get me to marry her, and I told her I hated her. I never told her differently after that."

  "Don't you think she knew you'd forgiven her? I saw you with her, and with Chad when he was a baby. I didn't see a man who hated his wife. I saw a man who cared for her. Maybe you didn't love her as a woman, but you loved her as the mother of your child. You were good to her.” He put a hand on Lucas's back, adding softly, “I think she knew."

  Lucas cleared his throat and straightened.

  "Why don't you let Silas Scott go?” Brandt ventured. “His deeds will catch up with him eventually. Why don't you concentrate on Megan and the rest of your life?"

  The muscle in Lucas's jaw twitched. “I may not have been able to tell Annie I loved her, but I can damn well get the bastard who killed her."

  "Isn't there another way to make amends?"

  "I think you're forgetting he killed my son, too. I'm going to make him pay."

  Brandt gave a defeated sigh. “I guess I'm not going to change your mind any more than the woman upstairs did. I just hope you know what you're giving up."

  "I'm not giving up anything,” he said, bristling. “I'll tell you how to get to the outlaws’ hideout, but I'm not going with you,” he announced suddenly. “I'm getting the hell out of here before someone else tries to convince me I'm in love with a woman who's been nothing but trouble since the minute I took a shot at her."

  A soft knock at her bedroom door startled Megan. She sat up on the bed, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her dress. “Come in,” she said, steeling herself to face Lucas once again.

  Brandt Donovan stepped into the room.

  "What are you doing here?” she asked bluntly, too surprised and upset to be polite.

  "I came to see if you were all right.” His gaze moved around the dark room, taking in every feminine detail from the flowered curtains to the lacy bedspread.

  "I'm fine,” she said, sniffing once to make sure her tears weren't overly obvious.

  "In that case,” he said, shifting uncomfortably, “we really ought to be going."

  "Where?” she asked, as though she didn't already know.

  Brandt met her gaze for the first time since entering the room. “You know where."

  "You mean Lucas isn't even going to come up for me?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I expected at least that from the man determined to see me behind bars."

  Brandt shifted, looking away. “He isn't here."

  Her heart stopped, and it took a moment to get it started again. “What do you mean?"

  "He isn't here. He left about an hour ago."

  She was hearing things, she thought. Lucas wouldn't leave without saying good-bye. Would he?

  Crossing to the dresser, she tried to remain calm. “We can wait for him to get back.” She twisted the silver-backed hairbrush in her hands. “You're not in that much of a hurry to turn me in, are you?"

  "I'm sorry, Megan,” Brandt said quietly. “He isn't coming back."

  Her fingers turned white as they tightened around the brush handle. She closed her eyes and told herself not to panic. “Where did he go?"

  "After Scott, I suppose."

  She turned to Brandt. “You don't think he's ever coming back, do you?"

  He shrugged. “It's hard to say with a man like Lucas. He could be gone for ten years and then all of a sudden show up on your doorstep."

  "But you don't think he's ever coming back, do you?” she asked again, determined to get an answer.

  Silence filled the room. Then Brandt sighed and shook his head. “No, I don't think he's coming back."

  She felt like crying, and she cursed Lucas for making her feel so lonely and bereft. In the past day she had cried more than she had in her entire life. She straightened her spine. If she ever did see Lucas McCain again, she'd make damn sure he paid for that.

  "I guess that's it, then” she said. “If you'll just give me a minute to change clothes, I'll be happy to accompany you into town."

  Nodding, he turned the knob and stepped into the hall. “Miss Adams,” he said before closing the door behind him, “I'm sorry."

  She turned away, unable to answer, unable to handle the pitying look on his face. When she heard the door click closed, she set down the hairbrush and began unbuttoning her dress.

  Not wanting to wear a dress or her old dungarees and man's shirt when she walked into the jail, she changed into one of the skirts Lucas had bought for her. She refused to allow herself to think she might be wearing it as a remembrance of her time with him.

  Brandt awaited her at the foot of the stairs. He gave her a smile, but she couldn't find the will to reciprocate.

  "Ready?” he asked.

  "As ready as I'll ever be,” she answered, knowing it to be the truth.

  Offering his arm, Brandt led her out the door onto the porch. In the yard stood her father's black-and-gold carriage, her mare hitched to the front, Brandt's sorrel tied at the back.

  "I hope you don't mind that I hooked up the buggy. I didn't think you'd want to ride into town on horseback. And to tell you the truth,” he said as they descended the porch steps, “I'm not too eager to climb into the saddle again myself."

  Ignoring his attempt at conversation, she allowed him to help her into the carriage. She slid as far as possible across the seat, staring out at the horizon, seeing nothing.

  For a long time, they both remained silent. Then Brandt cleared his throat. “I want you to know I'm not enjoying this,” he said. “The idea of sending a woman to prison doesn't sit well with me."

  She didn't answer.

  "If I could find another way to handle the situation, I would."

  Megan almost reminded him that it was his idea to turn her in in the first place. Hadn't Lucas told her more than once that it was Brandt who thought her guilty, Brandt who wanted her brought in, Brandt who expected her to pay for her crimes? But when it came right down to it, and he was the one having to turn her in, he changed his tune. Now it seemed that Brandt's conscience was getting the better of him.

  Good. She hoped he choked on it.

  "If you need anything,” he added, “anything at all, don't be afraid to contact me."

  She couldn't contain a snort of disgust at the offer. “I'd rather eat cow droppings."

  He cleared his throat again. “I just mean that you don't have to feel cut off from the world. If you need anything, if you just want someone to talk to, you can get in touch with me."

  "I have a family, Mr. Donovan. People who love me and believe me when I tell them the truth. Whyever would I need to contact you?” She used a sharp, scathing tone, hoping to dissuade him from any other attempts at easing his guilty conscience.

  It worked. They arrived in town just before sundown without another syllable spoken between them. Brandt held her hand as she alighted from the carriage, but she quickly shook off his touch, choosing to walk into Marshal Thompson's office of her own volition.

  "Miss Adams!” the marshal said, leaping up from his chair.

  She supposed it was rather shocking to see her in anything other than men's clothing.

  "It's good to see you back and safe. What can I do for you, Miss Adams?"

  "Not for me, Marshal,” she answered. She stood in front of his desk, waiting for Brandt to explain. She might be cooperating, but she sure as all-fired hell wasn't going to turn herself in for something she hadn't done.

  "Marshal,” Brandt said, holding out his hand to the older gentleman. “My name is Brandt Donovan. Head of security for the Union Pacific Railroad."

  "Glad to meet you,” Thompson said. “Have a seat. What can I do for you?"

  Megan sat in silence, her lips pursed as Brandt recounted all the events leading up to this moment. She didn't interrupt with the truth or even try to defend herself. But it pleased her no end that Marshal Thompson obviously didn't believe a word Brandt Donovan said. The longer Brandt talked, the more the marshal's mouth fell open.

  "Megan?” he asked, dumbfounded. “You think Megan Adams is responsible for your troubles?"

  "I'm afraid so, sir,” Brandt answered. “We've investigated several avenues, and each leads back to her."

  "Megan Adams?” the marshal asked again, his eyes wide with disbelief. Then he turned to her. “Is any of what he says true?"

  "Parts of it,” she said. “Like the fact that the payrolls have been stolen, and that I was driving the stage the day I disappeared. But if you're asking me if I had anything to do with the robberies, my answer is a resounding no. No, I did not plan the robberies. No, I did not give any information to the thieves."

  "Then why are you here?” he asked. “I'd never take you to be the kind of person to sit still and let your reputation be slandered."

  She smiled at his perception. “It's a very long story, Marshal. Suffice it to say that I decided I would be found innocent sooner rather than later if I allowed myself to be brought in. If I put up a fight or tried to run, things would only be harder. I'm innocent. It's up to Mr. Donovan and Union Pacific to prove otherwise."

  "But you know that if I put you in a cell, everyone will think you're guilty."

  "There's no helping that, I guess. But I am innocent, and I believe that will be proven in time."

  The marshal drummed his fingers on the desk. “Your brother will have my hide if I lock you up."

  "Her brother has nothing to do with this,” Brandt said, a hard edge entering his voice. “She's a criminal. It's your job to put her behind bars."

  "I don't guess you've met Caleb Adams,” the marshal muttered.

  "No, but—"

  "It's all right,” Megan said. “I've already talked to Caleb. He knows everything and is, at this very moment, finding an attorney to represent me."

  "I see.” The wrinkles in Marshal Thompson's forehead deepened in thought.

  "Are you going to arrest her or not, Marshal?” Brandt asked.

  Thompson looked at Megan, then at Brandt, then back at Megan.

  "It's all right, Marshal Thompson,” she said. “I don't mind."

  Brandt threw up his hands, kicking back his chair. “I don't believe this! She's a criminal, for God's sake, and you wait for her permission to arrest her? What kind of lawman are you?"

  The marshal came to his feet slowly. “The kind that doesn't take kindly to you coming in here accusing a lady of stealing."

  "I don't give a good God damn if she's the queen of England. She broke the law, and it's your job to see that she pays for it."

  "Now, you listen here, sonny-boy,” the marshal said, pointing a finger at Brandt's chest. “Right now I'm more likely to lock you up for insulting an officer of the law and being an all-around pain in the ass.” His gaze darted to Megan. “Sorry, Miss Adams."

  "That's all right, Isaiah."

  He returned to upbraiding Brandt. “Nothing boils my blood faster than you city folk coming into my town and telling me the way things ought to run. So I'm giving you fair warning: Show some respect, or I'll send your mangy carcass back to your big city in a pine box. Got it?"

  Brandt didn't answer, but his face burned with indignation.

  "Miss Adams is a fine, upstanding citizen,” the marshal continued. “Her father started one of the first businesses in this town. Got the place up and running, he did. Megan ain't got no reason to take anyone else's money. You remember that.

  "Now,” he said, smoothing the front of his vest, “I'm going to put her under arrest, but only because she thinks it's for the best. If I had my way, I'd set her free and let you cool your heels for a couple of hours in that cell."

  He came around to the front of the desk, holding a hand out to her. “Miss Adams,” he said, “if you'll come with me.” He led her to an iron-barred cell in the corner. “Folks might not see you so easy back here,” he told her.

  "Thank you. And, Marshal,” she said as she entered the cell that would be her new home for a while. “If my brother and Rebecca should come—"

  "I'll send them right back to see you."

  She thanked him again, then, touching his sleeve, whispered, “Don't be too hard on Mr. Donovan. He's only doing his job."

  He grunted. “He needs to learn his place, if you ask me,” he said before returning to his desk and a very unhappy Brandt Donovan.

  She smiled when she realized he'd left the cell door open.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Lucas drew a deep breath, held it, then exhaled a long stream of tobacco smoke. He'd been standing outside the saloon for nearly an hour. The stamped-out remnants of a dozen cigarettes attested to that. He only smoked when he was anxious. And he figured waiting for Silas Scott counted.

  It had taken him nearly a week since leaving Leaven-worth to find the bastard. He'd crossed over into Missouri and traveled through Kansas City and Independence before finally tracking him to the outskirts of Chilhowee.

  And he had missed Megan every inch of the way.

  Damn it, why couldn't he get her out of his head? One minute he was sure he wanted nothing more than to strangle Silas Scott with his bare hands. The next he found himself imagining those same hands splayed over Megan's firm bottom and fall breasts. More than once he'd been tempted to turn Worthy around and go back for her.

  As if she would be happy to see him! He had all but locked the cell door on her himself. How could he possibly expect her to forgive him for that? Even if she could—by some miracle—get past the fact that he'd put her in jail, she would never be able to forget that he hadn't trusted her enough to believe her when she said she was innocent of the crime.

  A loud ruckus behind the bat-wing doors of the Tommy Two Fingers Saloon snapped him out of his thoughts of Megan. He pulled his hat down another fraction of an inch, not wanting to be recognized. Not that that was likely, but he'd been a bounty hunter long enough to know that outlaws sometimes showed up in the least likely places. At any moment one of them might point a finger, and every criminal in town would be on him like quills on a porcupine.

  He concentrated on rolling another smoke, trying to hear through the commotion of drunk cowboys and giddy prostitutes for any hint of Scott's departure. Striking a match on the side of the building, he held the flame to the tip of his cigarette. With a few short puffs, the tobacco caught. He shook out the match and tossed it into the street.

  He whirled around at the scrape of a shoe on the plank sidewalk behind him. A tall, leggy blonde had emerged from the shadowy alley next to the saloon.

  "You've been out here a long time, mister."