The Redhead and the Preacher: A Loveswept Historical Romance (28 page)

Sylvia rose.

Bran followed her toward the door. She stopped before opening it. “You know, you’re a very attractive man, Preacher. If I didn’t like that young wife of yours so much, I’d offer you a permanent job, something you might not want to turn down. What would you say, I wonder?” She gave a laugh and opened the door. “Relax, Preacher. You’re safe.”

Bran let out a silent sigh of relief. There might have been a time when he’d consider her offer. But not any more. He was already anxious to get back to the parsonage, to McKenzie Kathryn Calhoun. It was time for her to confess her sins.

Bran took Sylvia’s hand and tipped his hat. “I thank you for the offer, ma’am, but I already have a woman and I’d better get back to her.”

• • •

As Bran rode up to the cabin he could hear Macky singing one of the popular miners’ songs about a woman named Clementine. She had a full voice that made a man feel good just listening. She’d make a good wife and mother.

And she’d been a virgin.

Bran hadn’t let himself face that yet. Obviously she’d been honest about not being with child. But who was the man following her and why? He hadn’t pressed her last night. But now, he needed to know.

He put the horse inside the makeshift fence and went toward the cabin, pausing to watch Macky through the window as she fried bacon and cut slices from a loaf of bread left by the women the night before. She was wearing her man’s shirt again, hanging loose over her drawers.

Every now and then Macky stopped and stared off into space. When she woke this morning and found Bran gone she’d been disappointed, then grateful. It gave her a chance to make plans. She didn’t know how Bran felt about her now, but she hoped that Lorraine was right when she said that he cared.

For Macky knew the truth. She was in love with her gunfighter husband. Being wanted for murder didn’t change her feelings. She’d have killed anyone trying to hurt Todd, if she’d had the chance.

He didn’t want the folks in Heaven to know he was the gunfighter. She wasn’t sure what that meant, but until she returned the money, she wanted to keep her identity secret as well.

As she worked, she’d gotten an idea. She didn’t hold any stock in Bran’s belief that she had any influence over the town, but if she could find a way to use her ill-gotten fortune to do good, the church members might understand and forgive her.

Bran could retire and give up his life as a hired killer and they would use her money to build a church. If anybody lost
their savings in the robbery back in Promise, they could be repaid from the banker’s portion of the money.

Surely Sylvia had enough gold that she’d be willing to go along with the plan until they could pay her back. Maybe she’d just consider it a donation to the Lord.

Macky and Bran could leave their wicked pasts behind and no one would ever have to know. She was creating one of those lovely fantasies, the kind she’d never indulged in before.

But suppose Bran didn’t want to marry her? And what about the marshal and the judge?

She’d have to wait, to be sure before she confessed her crime.

Macky heard the horse greeting Solomon. Bran had returned. A moment later, she turned around slowly to face him, forgetting that she was only half dressed. She’d wait until he let her know where they stood before she put forth her plan.

He caught sight of her hair spilling across her shoulders, falling into the space between her breasts, and he smiled.

Macky knew he hadn’t intended to smile; none of his smiles came easy. That made them all the more special. Then a grin slashed across his mouth like the sun cutting through a cloud.

She grinned at him, took a running leap and landed with her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. With all the pent-up anxiety and residual desire fed by the memories of what she’d felt the night before, Macky kissed Bran. And before he could ask the questions he’d intended to, he was lying on the bed with her on top of him, returning her kisses and her caresses.

“Macky. Macky,” he said, trying to pull back and regain control. “Don’t do this.”

But his protest was swallowed up by her mouth and he soon discovered that containing Macky was like trying to stop a prairie fire. It was blazing too hot and moving too fast
to escape. And then he was caught up in its heat and giving as much as he got.

Their coupling was over almost before it began and then Macky was urging Bran to hurry and dress.

“We don’t have long. Eat your food. We’d better get moving.”

“Get moving where?” Bran asked incredulously as he watched her washing herself and pulling on her clothes.

“It’s Sunday, Preacher. You have a service to lead, remember?”

“The devil I do,” he swore.

“No, you’re God’s messenger,” she said. “Your sermon will be on the Temptation of Man.”

“That’s a subject I’m well acquainted with,” he said.

“I cleaned your clothes. I’ll hitch up the wagon while you dress.”

Macky left Bran inside, knowing that if she didn’t, they’d never get to church. She flew out the door, as if she had angel wings. She pushed her hair beneath a straw bonnet, not noticing the long tag of curls hanging down her back.

“Get away from me, Satan!” Bran growled and began to dress. Macky was no angel. He’d do well to listen to his own words, else he was going to end up on a spit, being roasted by the fires of hell.

Even now he felt breathless, as if he were flying, and nothing he could do would wipe away his joy. This couldn’t be happening. He’d never done something so irresponsible. Without a thought about the consequences, he’d burned all his restraint.

Bran swore. He left the meat and bread on the table and followed Macky outside. She’d climbed into the wagon and was humming the song the citizens of Heaven had sung on their arrival.

Bran didn’t feel much like he was bringing in the sheaves. He was afraid that he was the fatted calf.

“M
acky, we have to talk about what happened,” Bran finally said, after they had ridden for awhile.

She didn’t want to talk. She just wanted them to be like any other man and his wife going to church on Sunday. “Why? Can’t we go on just as we are now? The people in Heaven don’t have to know the truth, do they?”

She was serious. For a moment he allowed himself to consider her suggestion. Not telling the truth meant that he’d go on being a preacher and Macky would be his wife. Could he? No. Neither option was reasonable.

“Who are you hiding from? Why did you let the people of Heaven believe that you are my wife?”

“I want to tell you, Bran, but I can’t. Especially now. It could put you in danger.”

“Telling me what’s wrong will put me in danger but keeping me in the dark won’t? I don’t believe that, Macky. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Bran didn’t make any better sense to Macky. They weren’t married, but they’d been as close as two people could be. He’d been ready enough to go along with the pretense in the beginning. And he’d had all kinds of opportunity to correct the mistake. But he hadn’t. Why?

Sylvia Mainwearing. The mine. The accidents and thefts. Was he somehow involved in the trouble in Heaven? Even the idea overwhelmed Macky. That would mean that he hadn’t cared about her at all. That he was using her.

No. She would never believe that; he’d been too careful to see that she felt what he had. Macky didn’t think other men would be so concerned.

When he’d made love to her, it had seemed like he cared about her, wanted her. A lump filled her throat and she felt tears well up behind her eyelids. She couldn’t have misunderstood that.

Swallowing hard, she finally forced herself to speak. “I’m sorry, Bran. I have no right to expect anything of you. I’ll tell the people at church this morning that I’m going back East to visit my folks. You don’t have to worry about protecting me any more.”

The wagon hit a rut and bounced Macky against Bran. He moved quickly away. He knew that she was waiting, giving him the chance to say that he cared about her, that they had a future. But he didn’t say the words. He had to tell her that no woman could be a part of the kind of life a gunfighter led and survive. Not even Macky.

“I care about you, Macky. You’re obviously in trouble of some kind and I have a job to do. We’re stuck with each other, whether we like it or not. I don’t want you hurt, and to protect you, I need to know the truth.”

“The truth?” she said softly. How could she expect honesty from him if she withheld it? She owed him that much. “All right, the truth is that I’m a wanted woman.”

Bran scoffed. “I don’t believe a word of that. What on earth are you wanted for?”

“Bank robbery. The man I am hiding from is Pratt, the
man with the silver-trimmed saddle. He—we held up the Bank of Promise the day your stage stopped in town.”

“I don’t believe you. Why would you hold up a bank? You couldn’t possibly be a part of Pratt’s gang.”

Then she told him how it happened. “Now Pratt is here, in town, looking for his money.”

“It was his horse you were searching that night outside the saloon? I thought he was the father of your child.”

“Oh, my goodness. You thought that I’d have something to do with a man who murders people?”

Bran looked down at the gun sheathed in the holster he was wearing. “You did, didn’t you?”

“You’re different, Bran,” she said softly. “I know you’ve killed men, but you’re not a murderer.”

“And I don’t believe that you’re an outlaw, Macky.”

“Believe it, Bran,” she said. “You saw the money hidden under the mattress and the gold coins in my handkerchief. They were from Sylvia’s mine.”

“How can you be sure?”

“You saw them. They were imprinted with an
S
.”

They’d reached Hell Street and Bran could see the wagons filled with churchgoers arriving. They’d run out of time.

“So what are we going to do, Bran?” Macky asked.

“First, unless I can figure a way out, it looks like I’m going to preach a sermon, Macky. Then I’m going to find the man behind Sylvia’s troubles. And if he happens to be Pratt, all the better.”

“And me?” she asked. “I’ll go to jail.”

“I won’t let that happen, though how I’ll stop it, I’m not sure.”

Heaven’s bell, atop the saloon, began to toll. Bran knew that he and Macky could be approaching the hour of their unmasking and, for the first time, he had no idea what he could do to prevent disaster.

As their wagon stopped in front of the saloon, Preston Cribbs came forward. “Welcome, Preacher Adams. We’re looking forward to having you share the word. Let me help
you down, Mrs. Adams. Can’t have you falling, now can we?”

Macky ducked her head. She wished she didn’t have to lie. Having a child was something she’d never thought about, but … She touched her stomach for a moment, then caught sight of Bran watching her. She lifted her head proudly and strode inside.

She might not have been with a man before, but she had now. And she knew what that could mean. For a moment she remembered Rachel Pendley, nursing her child, fearing the censure of her child’s illegitimate birth. Macky made up her mind that she and Rachel would be friends. After all, until Bran decreed otherwise, she was the preacher’s wife and charity began at home.

Moments later everyone was inside the saloon. The chairs that held gamblers and drinkers in the evening were arranged to face the bar.

Bran followed Preston Cribbs to the front as the congregation filled the chairs, leaving a scattering of men and older children to find seats on the stairs behind. Macky sat at the end of the row, watching the man in whose arms she’d spent the night and part of the morning. The man who knew her terrible secret.

From her position she could see the entire saloon, including the steps leading up to the room where she’d spent her first nights in Heaven. But Rachel Pendley and her children weren’t there.

At the last minute Hank Clay came in, climbed over several men and sat down on the top step. Apparently nobody except Macky seemed to notice when Lorraine slipped down the hall and sat down beside him.

As if by request, Preston Cribbs stood and motioned the worshipers to join him in song. His voice, thready and high, began a hymn which Macky had never heard. Had she been asked, she’d have to confess that she was unfamiliar with hymns in general. But this song, “On Jordon’s Stormy Banks
I Stand,” seemed very appropriate. Though Bran wasn’t looking at her, she couldn’t keep her eyes from him.

When they finished the song, the congregation bowed their heads. Bran looked out over the citizens. “We have come here today,” he said, “to share our praise and our gratitude for gifts we are given. To promise to hold each other in the wake of the wind, to keep each other warm when the winter is cold, to bring food to the hungry. This we can do. This is our duty to our Father who has given us life. We do so now. Please be seated.”

The congregation sat slowly, studying each other with questions in their eyes. They’d never had a minister who spoke in rhythm, in quiet, even tones. And they weren’t sure how they were expected to respond.

Bran opened the Bible he carried in his hand. He studied the pages, then asked, “ ‘Am I my brother’s keeper?’ The answer is yes. We are our brother’s keepers and the keepers of the land and the animals who live among us. But there are those of us who are overcome by weakness. This is the temptation of man, to covet that which does not belong to him and take it if he can. That which tempts man is, and always has been, greed.”

A few uneasy “Amens” rippled through the room.

“This morning we come to ask forgiveness, even me,” Bran said, “for I am a man like you. I too have coveted that which does not belong to me. I too have taken that which I wanted without regard to breaking the laws of God.”

A murmur went through the saloon and Macky felt the eyes of the women planted on her. She looked at Bran, waiting for him to tell the truth, to explain that she wasn’t his wife, that she wasn’t carrying a child.

But he remained silent.

For a long moment the world seemed to be silent. Then sudden rifle fire shattered the quiet, followed by the sound of horses riding hard. Quickly the men rushed outside as one of the wagons carrying Sylvia’s gold came to a ragged stop, the driver slumped over the horses.