His Heart's Revenge (The Marshall Brothers Series, Book 2) Read Free Page A

lashes the least degree necessary to view what was happening.
    Logan and Megan were standing toe to tiptoe. Logan's arms circled Megan's waist; her hands clung to his shoulders. Their bodies were flush, their months fused. It was a kiss such as Mary Catherine had never seen before and it made her feel odd: flushed, anxious, excited, and embarrassed—all at the same time. She looked down at the ground to see if her heart was really lying there. It felt as if it had been torn from her. Her chest felt achy and queer, burning and heavy. The swell of emotion was almost painful, and Mary Catherine trembled with it. She caught her lower lip between her teeth to keep from crying. She reminded herself that she was an actress, playing a role. So was Megan. Still, the next time, she thought, Megan is going to play the witch!
    "When you're quite finished mauling her, Marshall, perhaps you'd come inside on the business that brought you."
    Mary Catherine was almost glad for the sharp, caustic voice that broke the lovers apart. Almost. In her mind Colonel Allen's presence could never really be welcome. He was standing on the side porch, leaning heavily against the curved white railing with his arms braced stiffly in front of him. The starched points of his collar held his head immobile and furthered his stern, unforgiving demeanor.
    Colonel Allen was neither handsome nor ugly. Most of his features, in fact, were quite ordinary. His hair was an unremarkable shade of brown. He wore it parted on the left side and drew it across the crown of his head to cover the beginnings of a bald spot.
    His sideburns were long, blending into his neatly trimmed beard and mustache. He stood taller than some men, shorter than others. He was not particularly muscular, nor was he lean. Had it not been for the fact that his green eyes were flecked with gold so as to appear yellow in some light, Colonel Allen could have easily gone unnoticed in a gathering of officers. The men who served under him, in the field or in his office now that he was an aide, called him Cougar—but never to his face. It was generally believed the colonel knew about the name and was secretly proud of it, but no one dared confirm that suspicion. Richard Allen was a man who got things done, a man with powerful connections, and a man who did not suffer fools gladly. Men who crossed him were dispatched without remorse. He remembered friends and enemies. The former could count on his help, the latter, his revenge.
    Upon his marriage to Rose McCleary, the colonel left his field post for a more prestigious—and secure—placement in Washington. Friends believed the move was prompted by Allen's wish not to make Rose a widow a second time. Rose alone was privy to the colonel's political aspirations.
    Logan picked up his fallen hat and tapped it against his thigh a few times to get rid of bits of grass and dirt. He addressed the colonel and tried not to look guilty. He had hardly been mauling Megan. It was only a kiss. "Good afternoon, sir," he said, replacing his hat on his head. "Katy, be a good girl and hand me that packet, will you?"
    Mary Catherine found the packet and gave it to Logan. "He's very angry," she said in a whisper that would have been more appropriate on stage.
    Logan had no trouble discerning that for himself. The colonel's hard stare was nearly blinding. Logan gave Mary Catherine a smile that was supposed to reassure her. It was so lacking in confidence that the little girl's anxiety increased tenfold. "Ladies," he said, "perhaps another time." He took his leave of the garden and followed Allen into the house.
    "You shouldn't have kissed him like that!" Mary Catherine snapped when Logan and the colonel were out of earshot.
    Megan, who had sat down heavily on the stone bench and was staring off into space, didn't even hear her sister's comment. She touched the outline of her lips with her fingertips. They were slightly swollen and still sensitive. She could feel the imprint of