The Redhead and the Preacher: A Loveswept Historical Romance (38 page)

“Me—” one citizen volunteered.

“No, us—”

“But I thought of the idea—”

Macky couldn’t believe what she was hearing. At that moment, her gaze slid across the tops of the heads that were bobbing in agitation. Through the barred window in the jail she saw him.

“Bran,” she whispered, and slid from her horse, pushing through the throng to reach the wooden sidewalk.

Her smile lit up as bright as a lover’s moon flooding the water with light. Wordlessly, the crowd opened a path through which Macky dashed.

“Bran! Bran, you’re here.”

It didn’t matter that he was in a cell. It didn’t matter that the entire town crowded into the jail behind her. They were together again.

“Macky, you’re really all right?”

“Of course I am, you silly thing. You told me to take your strength and I did. Why did you go away and leave me?”

“I was never there,” he said. “Only my spirit came to you.”

“But you were so real. You touched me. You kissed me. You—” Her face tilted downward. “You said that you loved me. Don’t deny it. I heard you.”

“I was miles away, up in the mountains, on a ridge overlooking the canyon below, Macky. I was seeking guidance. I found a way through the night, a vision.”

“And it brought you to me. Don’t you see, Bran? This was meant to be. Your night eyes don’t see in the dark, they see through the blackness of man’s pain. They see inside a person’s soul and find love.”

She clasped the bars and pressed her forehead against them, trying to get as close as possible to the man beyond.

“Don’t do this, Macky. I’ll probably be hanged for killing a man. I don’t want you to think about me. Think about your farm and the life you want to live.”

“Tadpoles and catfish! I’m going to have my farm and grow things. What I want is a husband and friends. I have so much love to give. I want to learn to sew and cook and have babies. I want a husband. It’s either going to be you, or somebody else. You choose.”

Bran’s face had crinkled into a frown.

“Well, there’s Hank.”

“Too late. Hank and Lorraine are getting married.”

“Well, then, there’s— What about the judge?”

“The judge is old enough to be my papa and besides, he’s already spoken for. Mrs. Mainwearing is setting her cap for him.”

“What about Sheriff Dover?” Bran asked.

Macky shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m not saying that I don’t need a lawman to keep me in line, but you know that I’m pure trouble. He would never have time to go after the bad guys.”

Bran could only stare at her, at the flush in her cheeks, at the teasing twinkle in her moss-green eyes. Even now, in the middle of all this, he was having a hard time keeping himself from moving his arms between those bars and pulling her close.

“But you and me?” His voice was tight and strained. “What kind of example would we set?”

“The kind of example we need in Heaven,” Sylvia Mainwearing said, pushing through the crowd. “It’s been decided, Bran, we’ve got to get you out of jail to keep half the town from living in sin.”

“What do you mean?”

“At last count, there are four weddings waiting to be blessed.”

With Macky’s searching plea pinning him where he stood, Bran couldn’t fight them any longer. “But you know I’m not a real preacher, Sylvia. Even if I do get out of this, I’m not legally empowered to perform a marriage ceremony.”

“Legal doesn’t bother us, but if it’s a problem for you, the judge is empowered. And he’s on his way to marry you and Macky. And not a moment too soon. After all, she’s carrying your child.”

“But she isn’t,” he protested. “That was just a misunderstanding. I wish it were true, but it wouldn’t be fair to her.”

“Don’t I have a say in all this?” Macky asked.

Bran turned to face her. “Since when has anyone ever been able to keep you from having your say? Speak.”

“You’d really marry someone like me?” she asked.

“You’d really want me to?” was his response.

“He does. We do! And she will,” the crowd echoed. “Don’t you want to marry Macky and stay with us?”

Bran felt a lump in his throat. “There is nothing I want
more in my life than to be Macky’s husband, and I would like to stay but I don’t think the Lord would approve of my spreading His word.”

Macky couldn’t speak, her heart was so full. She wanted Bran to be her husband because he wanted to be, not because he felt obligated to stay.

Hank Clay spoke up. “The first thing you need to learn is that you’ve convinced us. The Bible says, ‘Ask and ye shall receive.’ ”

Ethel Cribbs’s chins wiggled in agreement. “We asked, Brandon Adams, and He sent you to us. Until another man of God comes along, you’ll do just fine.”

“And if that don’t take up all your time, along with Macky and all those babies she has planned,” the sheriff suggested casually, “you could take on the job as an officer of the law in Heaven. I expect the governor would look favorably on that.”

“Indeed he would,” the judge’s voice agreed as he came to stand beside Macky. “Seriously, Bran. I think the governor will be amenable to pardoning you on that old murder charge. He’s trying hard to restore the appearance of justice to the Indians and this will make him look good.”

“Besides,” Sylvia said with a confident smile, “the governor is an old friend of mine, from way back. I think he can be persuaded to go along.”

Macky could only hope that the wheels of justice would not move too slowly. “Thank you, Sylvia. Judge. But I’m not at all sure I can handle being the wife of a truly good man. I much prefer the black-sheep variety.”

“But what about the trial?” Bran asked, unconvinced.

Judge Hardcastle pursed his lips and studied the floor for a long moment. “I have the solution. I’ll have you held in custody until we get back from Denver with an answer.”

“Whose custody?” Sheriff Dover asked. “I have to get back to Promise and pick up the prisoner.”

The judge glanced around the room. “What about his
wife’s? She could see that he stays right here in Heaven and I’d deputize all the rest of you to help her.”

Macky’s face first brightened, then fell. “You mean he has to stay locked up until then?”

Bran finally took a step forward, pushing against the door, which swung open with a creak. “It isn’t locked, Trouble. It never was. I was just afraid to open the door.”

Macky flew inside the cell, slammed the door and locked it. “It is now. And just you try to get away from me.”

“I promise. I won’t move outside this cell until I’m free.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing I haven’t started my newspaper yet,” Hank observed.

“Why?” Lorraine asked, standing arm in arm with the big blacksmith.

“How would it sound if the first official ceremony conducted in the city of Heaven was the marriage of two outlaws in the city jail?”

“It would sound as if it were divine intervention,” the judge proclaimed.

“Either that, or the work of the devil,” Bran agreed just before he kissed Macky.

The morning Bran was officially released from the city jail, he rode a borrowed horse out to the parsonage on Pigeon Creek. He liked the idea of coming home to Macky, like any husband who had been away. As he rode into the clearing he could hear her calling out.

Quickly, he rode through the trees along the creek and beyond until he reached the meadow. Macky, with Solomon strapped to a plow, was cutting a path through the earth. He watched her for a while, content to enjoy the picture of this woman who seemed so right with the world.

After a time, he made out the words she was singing. “ ‘Bringing in the sheaves’—Gee! ‘Bringing in the sheaves.’ Haw! ‘We shall come rejoicing’—Gee! ‘Bringing in the sheaves.’ Haw!”

The mule lifted his feet in cadence while Macky and the plow followed along. Bran, his heart filled to bursting, slid from his horse and started toward them, his step scaring up a bird hidden in the brush. The bird flew across Solomon’s face.

Solomon brayed, took a right turn and picked up speed, dragging Macky along.

“Let go,” Bran called out in horror. “He’s heading for that bank.”

But it was too late. Solomon turned and skimmed the bank, throwing the plow straight into the earth, pulling Macky with him until she finally let go. Then, as if he realized Macky had fallen, Solomon slowed his gait, his reins dragging behind.

“Macky! Macky, are you hurt?” Bran dropped to the ground beside her, his heart pounding.

She looked up at him, dazed for a moment, then her face broke into a wide smile. “You’re home. Isn’t it perfect?” she said.

“What?”

She flung herself against him, pushing him back against the freshly turned dirt. “The day. The field. I’m planting beans and corn, and wheat. I’ll be a farmer and work God’s good earth while you look after the folks in Heaven.”

Macky leaned over him, drawing a line from his mouth to his heart, and kissed him soundly. “Oh, Bran,” she whispered, moving away for a moment, “we are so lucky.”

“Darlin’, Macky. What did I do to deserve you?” His hand slid up around her neck, holding her so that he could deepen the kiss.

Even in her joy she knew that the aching, the deep longing that he held so fiercely was still there. When he made love to her, he still held back, as if he were afraid that by opening up he would lose what they shared. She’d never known a man so strong, with such capacity to love with such fear deep inside. She hurt for him, for what he’d missed and what she’d missed.

She’d make it up to him. Tears gathered behind her eyelids and a surge of great tenderness swelled up, colliding with the ever-present knot in her throat.

She felt him tighten his grip on her, lifting her over him, shuddering as his body announced its profound need. In the night, alone in their tiny cabin, she’d cried silently for the boy who’d watched his family die. For the young man who’d tried to protect his Indian brother and failed. For the adult who’d plotted a course of revenge and reparation through his life.

Always alone, conditioned to that course, determined never to be helpless again. Except this once. He’d let himself care and now she knew that he was afraid to lose her.

Somehow, lying in the open field, holding each other in the sun, was different from before. There was no restraint on their loving. There was no darkness, no black nothingness to get through. Together in the sunshine was a kind of timeless commitment, even if Bran didn’t realize.

Macky knew and she draped herself over him, settling herself against that part of him she’d come to know so intimately during the night hours. She pulled back and opened her shirt to reveal her breasts.

“You’re not wearing anything underneath,” he said.

“I may never wear any of those torture racks again, except, of course in church. Will you mind?”

His hands moved across her body in a fierce kind of tenderness, catching one nipple and lifting it up so that he could take it in his mouth. Slowly and deeply he tugged, then pulled his mouth from one to reach for the other. When he turned loose, for a moment she felt a terrible pain of loss.

“Besides,” she said, “Rachel Pendley says that my nipples have to get tough, so it won’t hurt when our baby nurses.”

“Our baby? You aren’t making up more stories, are you, Macky Lee? The preacher’s wife can’t go round telling tales. We have to set an example.”

“Well,” she said shyly, “He did tell us to go forth and
multiply. Give me a baby, Bran.” She put her arms around his neck and rolled over, taking him with her.

He didn’t have to hold back any more. He didn’t have to fight his desire, and with a cry of joy he gave in, taking her lips with wild abandon. This time when he closed his eyes, it wasn’t to hide the passion raging there, but to submerse himself in their mutual need.

And Macky opened herself up to him as if to convince him they belonged together. She tilted her head back, giving him full access to her mouth as her tongue joined his, exploring, demanding, giving.

He knew now what love was, passion, need, freely given. This was Macky, what she’d been from the first, what he’d almost lost. This woman was his wife and he loved her with all the yearning he’d closed off for all the years he’d been alone.

Finally, as if the claiming spent his fierce need, his kisses grew gentler, more promising, until finally he lifted his head. His movement sent a shower of dirt across her, sprinkling her breasts with flecks of silver.

“I love you so much, my gunfighter,” she whispered. “My cup runneth over.”

He looked down at her and smiled. “Look, Macky.” He touched her nipples, brushing away the shiny grains. “You’ve been crowned with jewels from the earth.”

“Diamonds and silver,” she said, “do I give to you.”

“Diamonds—” Bran raised up, studying the flecks of color. Then he turned his head, finding the place where he’d been lying, the slash of earth Macky had cut into.

“God in heaven!” he said, and rolled away. “Do you realize what you’ve done, Macky?”

“I’ve behaved improperly for a minister’s wife?”

“No, you’ve found silver! This is silver. Look at the ore. Your plow cut straight through the vein.”

Macky sat up and studied the odd-looking black soil with the grainy silver rock showing through. “That’s silver? It looks like plain old gray rock to me.”

“It isn’t. At least I don’t think so. Heaven is rich, Macky, we’re rich. The congregation of the First Methodist Church in Heaven is rich!”

Macky already knew that and it had nothing to do with her plow. But this belonged to everyone. She joined Bran in his excitement, shouting and throwing a handful of dirt into the air. “Silver! We’ve struck silver in God’s good earth.” She stood up and began dancing across the meadow. After a whirl around the clearing, she caught Bran by the hand and made him dance with her.

When they both tired of dancing, they fell to the ground and there, in the sight of God and one old mule named Solomon, Macky spoke her own vows.

“I, McKenzie Kathryn Calhoun, take thee, John—Eyes That See in Darkness—Brandon—Lee—Adams, to be my husband, my love for now and always. It’s your turn.”

“But the judge has already said the words, Macky.”