The Redhead and the Preacher: A Loveswept Historical Romance

by Sandra Chastain

“Thank you, and please call me”—Macky hesitated, almost forgetting her name change—“call me Kate,” she finished. “All my friends call me Kate.”

  “Fine, Kate.” Mrs. Cribbs opened the door and preceded Macky back inside. “We’ll just slip up the stairs.”

  “The preacher’s wife is spending the night in a—saloon?” Macky couldn’t keep the disbelief from her voice. Even in a mining town that seemed a bit absurd.

  “Only temporarily,” said Mr. Cribbs, who was waiting by the door. “We are preparing a small house, just outside of town. It needs a bit of fixing up, but it will be fine.”

  Bran, lounging at the base of the stairs, lifted an eyebrow. “Are you all right, my dear?”

  “She’s fine,” Mrs. Cribbs assured him. “A perfectly understandable occurrence. You all just go on with the party and I’ll get Kate settled for a nice rest. Did you take her things up, Mr. Cribbs?”

  “Things?” Macky straightened, felt her stomach complain, and swallowed hard again. “I’ll be fine. Just tell me where the room is.”

  The last thing she wanted was someone opening her case. Judgment day would arrive before either she or the reverend was ready.

  “I’ll show you,” Lorraine Lake said. “Follow me.” She started up the steps and looked back over her shoulder. “Would you care to join us, Reverend?”

  “Ah, no,” Macky spoke quickly, feeling her face flame. “Do go on with the party. The congregation has been so generous. I’ll go with Miss Lake.”

  “Lorraine,” the blond-haired Viking corrected. “I’m real interested in learning about the Scriptures. Maybe you could help me?”

  Bran frowned. “Maybe it would be better coming from me.”

  “ ’Tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers.’ ” Macky snapped. “That’s from Shakespeare, not the Bible.”

  Bran smiled. “On the other hand, ‘Blessed is the man that endureth temptation; for when he is tried, he shall receive the crown of life.’ ” He turned to the silent onlookers. “That’s from the New Testament, and that will be the topic of my first sermon, The Temptation of Man.’ ”

  “And women, too, dear.” The sound of Macky’s voice came floating angelically down the stairs.

  Lorraine opened the door at the end of the hall and entered, indicating to Macky that she should follow. Once she was inside, the saloonkeeper closed the door and leaned against it.

  “Now, what’s going on here? Your husband is dressed like some fancy gambler and you look like a sheepherder’s wife.”

  “And you look like a fancy lady, not a saloonkeeper.”

  Lorraine smiled. “Thank you, Kate. But that only proves that you aren’t acquainted with either one. Are you really his wife?”

  The devil’s pitchfork. Macky didn’t want the preacher, but damned if she was going to let this woman steal him, if that was what she had in mind. Macky didn’t want Lorraine to cause trouble for him, either. He’d been good to her, protecting her, making sure she didn’t catch cold or go hungry. She owed him a certain amount of loyalty, even if she didn’t know who he was.

  Macky stood straighter. “I don’t know what you expected Bran’s wife to be, Miss Lake, so I won’t try to answer.”

  Lorraine let out a genuine laugh. “Good for you. You’re going to need spunk to stave off those pious women downstairs. You may not look like the kind of woman the preacher would choose, but I like you.”

  Lorraine’s smile was genuine. It was as if she’d relaxed and decided to befriend the preacher’s wife for some reason that was beyond Macky.

  “You mean you aren’t going after him?”

  “No. I saw the way he was watching you. But, just for the record, if he showed any interest in me I might trade my saloon for a tambourine. How’d you do it?”

  Her question left Macky with her mouth open. “I really don’t know—I mean I didn’t—I’m a mess.”

  “Nothing wrong that the right dress and a little fixing up wouldn’t cure.” Lorraine cocked her head toward the portmanteau. “What do you have in that bag? Not more of the same, I hope.”

  Macky glanced down at her skirt. “Pretty bad, I know. These are—borrowed. The rest of my clothes got spilled out along the trail when the stage turned over.”

  “I’ll lend you something to sleep in,” Lorraine said and left the room, returning moments later with a soft pink nightgown with lace along the collar and sleeves, a garment entirely different from what Macky had expected.

  “Thank you,” Macky said, ashamed at her wrong first impression of the woman who seemed ready to be a friend. “The accident left me ill-suited for Heaven. I wonder, Miss Lake …”

  “Call me Lorraine.”

  “Lorraine. Would you help me choose some more suitable clothes?”

  “Me? I hardly think the members of your husband’s congregation would approve of that, Mrs. Adams. I’m the town’s scarlet woman.”

  “Please call me Kate. I may not have any choice in who joins the—my husband’s church, but I’ll pick my own friends. I know what it means to be left out.”

  “Thank you, Kate,” Lorraine said. “And don’t worry. You just get a good night’s sleep, and in the morning, I’ll see that you’re suitably dressed as the wife of the new minister. I only hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Macky hoped she did, too. Right now all she wanted to do was find a way to avoid the citizens of Heaven for the evening. “And, will you tell all of them that I regret spoiling their party.”

  “Spoiling their party? Don’t worry about that. They haven’t had so much fun since I brought my girls to town. I’m going to be interested to see what happens when they find out that they haven’t found a crusader to help them fight all this sin in Heaven.”

  “Crusader?” Macky’s last question was lost in Lorraine’s closing of the door.

  Of course. She guessed that’s what preacher’s wives were supposed to do. Be good examples. That was a joke, having a bank robber setting the standards in Heaven. She’d gotten herself into big trouble this time. Sooner or later she was going to have to face Bran with an explanation. What on earth was she going to tell him?

  That odd feeling in the pit of her stomach came back again. This time she couldn’t blame it on the pig’s feet.

  Macky was tired, and a bit scared, for in spite of her bragging that she was as strong as most men, all this bravado filled her with doubt. Suppose she was discovered? She was no crusader. All she wanted to do was hide.

  Moments later she’d burned the flour sack in the fire, hidden the money beneath the mattress, washed her face and hands with rose-smelling water from the pitcher, and swapped her dusty clothes for the pink nightdress. She’d never been so exhausted.

  Forcing herself to forget about her situation, she stretched out on the soft, sweet-smelling bed. As she slid her arms beneath the crisp muslin sheets, she decided that, just for that night, she’d take her chances with fate. The die was already cast. Either she’d be branded as an angel or a sinner. She couldn’t change what was to come.

  There was, she decided as she breathed in the scent of roses, definitely something to be said for sin in Heaven.

  Bran waited for Lorraine Lake to return. He knew she’d have questions for Kate. How would his newly acquired wife answer them? From the way she’d bristled at Lorraine’s familiarity, he suspected that they’d collide head-on.

  If the circumstances were different he’d have taken the woman aside and found a way to use her knowledge and position. But playing out his charade before half the town of churchgoers prohibited that.

  For all he knew, she was involved with the man he’d come to confront. What was bothering him the most was her being alone with Trouble. She was much too innocent for Lorraine Lake.

  He glanced at the painting on the floor and held back a smile of admiration. He’d seen such artwork before. Some down-on-his-luck drifter with a talent for drawing would cover his drinking bill by painting a portrait on the barroom floor. This art
ist was better than usual and Lorraine Lake was a woman worthy of having her likeness captured.

  For another half hour, Bran socialized with the members of the church, discreetly asking questions about the town residents under the guise of learning about his community.

  Then he decided to meet the enemy head-on. “Marshal Larkin, isn’t it a bit unusual for a mining settlement to have a federal lawman stationed there?”

  “I don’t have an office here. I actually answer to Judge Hardcastle in Denver, but Heaven is in my territory. I’m just in town at the request of Mrs. Sylvia Mainwearing. Since her husband, Moose, was murdered, she and many of the other prospectors have been besieged by outlaws.”

  “Her husband?” Bran had been hired by Mrs. Sylvia Mainwearing’s solicitor in St. Louis. This information made him reconsider his position.

  “Moose was a pretty rough character. They say Sylvia didn’t much care for him when he was alive, but he was murdered and she’s been distraught ever since. I’ve been trying without much success to find his killers. Maybe having a minister in Heaven will calm things down a bit.”

  “That’s what we’re counting on,” the woman with the three chins said. “I’m Clara Gooden and I hope you know, Reverend Adams, I don’t approve of you and Mrs. Adams staying in this place. I’m sure the Lord would be shocked.”

  Bran cast a wounded look at the woman whose intrusion was hampering his fact-finding. “Why, Mrs. Gooden, don’t you believe that the Lord provides?”

  “Why—why, yes, of course. But not a saloon like this. A man of the cloth ought to stay in a more appropriate place.”

  Bran gave her what he thought was a clerical look of disapproval. “Mrs. Adams and I are very grateful to be provided with a place like this.”

  “Well!” Mrs. Gooden whirled around and began to claim her bowls. “Come, Mrs. Cribbs, Ethel. I think we’ve occupied Miss Lake’s … establishment long enough.”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Cribbs agreed. “We’re so glad to have you here, Reverend. Oh, and Mrs. Mainwearing has asked us to tell you that you’re invited to supper tomorrow night, if your wife’s well enough. Sylvia sets a fine table, and when you’re eating for two, good food is very important.”

  The eating for two didn’t make much sense but Bran nodded. It was the perfect way to see his employer without arousing undue interest. He was glad to see that the uncomfortable gathering was coming to an end.

  Dinner with Mrs. Mainwearing would give him the chance he needed to size her up without her knowing he was the gunfighter she’d hired. Bran had always made it a point to keep a low profile to protect his identity. Now he was being studied by a United States Marshal, a table of gamblers who probably knew most of the criminals this side of the Mississippi, and a town full of good citizens, any one of whom might give him away.

  He shook hands with the men and followed the mayor outside the saloon. “Thank you for the meal. I’m sorry my … wife became ill. Must have been something she ate.”

  The men grinned at each other and slapped him on the back. “We understand. We’ve all been through it a time or two ourselves.”

  “About Mrs. Mainwearing,” Bran persisted, “is she a member of the congregation?”

  “No,” said the round-faced man who had been identified as Mr. Gooden, the local general store owner. “But if she likes you, maybe she’ll contribute some of her gold to build a church. Then we wouldn’t have to hold services in the saloon and we’d be able to provide a better parsonage for you than Kelley’s shack.”

  “Parsonage?” Bran hadn’t considered that far ahead.

  “It’s too small and pretty rough for a young wife,” Mayor Cribbs explained, “but it’s the best we can do for now. I hope that Mrs. Adams will be tolerant until we can do better.”

  Bran’s opinion was that Mrs. Adams would do better in the wilderness than in any kind of cabin. He was beginning to wish he’d never gone along with her ready acceptance of the misunderstanding. No matter how he looked at it, her pretense made no sense. And now he’d committed himself to being responsible for her safety. The whole thing had gotten out of hand.

  Not only that, but she was already beginning to interfere with his reason for being in Heaven. Even now he was torn between pursuing his investigation and checking on her sudden illness. When he realized that the men were waiting for some response from him he asked, “Who is Kelley?”

  “Kelley was a prospector,” Mr. Gooden explained. “Never found any gold that we know of, but when his wife was killed, he signed over his claim to the church and moved on. And it was the best of the vacant houses around Heaven.”

  “So,” Preston Cribbs went on, “we accepted his generous contribution and fixed it up for our parsonage. It’ll be ready in another two or three days, if the weather holds.”

  “And where is this claim—shack?” Bran asked.

  Lorraine stepped out onto the sidewalk. “Out by Pigeon Creek,” she answered. “I hope you have a horse or you’re going to have a hard time ministering to your flock from out there.”

  “No, I don’t, not yet,” Bran admitted. “But I’ll look into that.”

  “We’ll be leaving you then, Reverend,” Mr. Cribbs said. “If it suits you, we’ll take you out to the parsonage in the morning. Maybe you’d like to give us a hand.”

  Bran grimaced. Doing repair work on a miner’s shack wasn’t his first choice of duties. In fact, what he’d planned to do was use the time in the saloon to do some quiet asking around.

  “Are you sure we don’t know each other?” Marshal Larkin asked once more as they turned back into the saloon.

  “Don’t think so,” Bran answered casually. “Where’d you come from originally?”

  “The Carolinas. Been up north of here mostly, trying to settle the disturbance with the Mormons and trying to keep the Indians on the reservation.”

  “I’m from the South myself,” Bran admitted. “Maybe we crossed paths somewhere along the line.”

  “Maybe,” the marshal agreed, rubbing his chin in thought as they walked back inside the saloon.

  Lorraine met them. “How about something stronger than punch, boys?”

  “Sounds good to me,” the marshal said.

  Bran would have accepted a whiskey if they’d been alone, but carrying out his charade made him refuse. “Thanks, ma’am, but I guess I’d better go check on—Kate. Was she all right when you left her?”

  “Your wife seemed fine. She was worrying about her wardrobe. She asked me to help her shop for something a little more stylish tomorrow.”

  Bran knew his face reflected his surprise.

  “Don’t worry, Reverend, I promise to make sure your wife looks as dowdy as the rest of the pious women around here. Unless you think our association will damage your cause.”

  “Of course not, Miss Lake. I’ll be most appreciative,” Bran responded warily. He wasn’t at all sure that his new wife’s reputation would survive the gossip. But knowing Trouble, he’d be willing to bet that she wouldn’t care.

  “What about you, Marshal?” Lorraine said with a smile and a fluttering of her lashes. “Are you going to let your job interfere with sharing an evening with me?”

  “Of course not. I’m not on duty all the time and my superior isn’t looking over my shoulder, like yours, Reverend Adams.”

  “A man doesn’t always know who’s judging him,” Bran said. It wasn’t his superior who was worrying him. The citizens of Heaven might be a trifle too judgmental and Bran had already learned that the woman upstairs waiting for him was no angel.

  He just hoped that she wasn’t the devil in disguise.

  Chapter Eight

  Macky slept soundly. When she finally opened her eyes purple shadows cloaked the room. Like a cat, she stretched and closed her eyes once more, breathing in the sweet-smelling bed, experiencing the feel of cotton sheets against her skin, the slinky satin of the spread caressing her cheek. She felt deliciously wanton.

  Then she remembered where
she was and the precariousness of her position. She should have remained on the stage and kept going to Denver. Now Bran was at risk. Bran! In alarm she raised up and peered at the empty space in the bed beside her. She was alone. She hadn’t known what to expect, but she was relieved.

  Or was she? For three days they’d traveled together, spending one night in each other’s arms. Granted, it was for survival, but she couldn’t deny that he made her feel safe. Time and circumstance, she reasoned, forced men and women to do what they must.

  Even if her stomach felt like a field of clover drawing clouds of dancing butterflies, she’d managed to conceal her reaction from her protector. And he’d kept her warm, no, warm was much too mild for what she’d felt. There was a roiling heat, a kind of yearning with the promise of more.

  But that was then, she admitted with an unwelcome sense of loss, and this was now.

  From below she heard the tinny sound of a piano and the low murmur of conversation. She wondered how people slept in a place like this, then mentally chided herself as she realized that probably wasn’t a concern.

  She wondered where Bran was. She wondered what a preacher might do in a saloon and how he explained his absence from his wife’s side. Obviously he wasn’t holding a prayer meeting, and from the sound of the laughter downstairs, the customers were enjoying themselves.

  It was ironic, even to her, that the last person she wondered about was Pratt. Was he still in town? Was he traveling alone?

  Pratt and the marshal, not Bran, should be her chief concern. He held her immediate future in his grasp and the marshal would, sooner or later, begin searching for the bank robbers.

  Macky slipped from the bed, walked to the window, and unfastened the shutters. The moon overhead was full and bright. It was still early, maybe not even midnight, and there were horses tied to the rail in front of Heaven’s Bell. One of them, a small black horse, looked familiar.

  Too familiar.

  A closer look was what she needed. If she could see the saddle, she’d know if it belonged to Pratt. There’d be no mistaking the silver trim on the horn.