The Redhead and the Preacher: A Loveswept Historical Romance

by Sandra Chastain

“Macky, we’re here, in this room alone. I’m a lot bigger and stronger. Suppose I don’t choose to pretend?”

  She simply shook her head. “We’ve already committed a sin by lying, Bran, surely even you wouldn’t make it worse by expecting me to—to …”

  “Would that be so bad?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’ve never been with a man before.”

  He believed her. God help him, he did. And that thought made their situation even more precarious. “If you don’t leave you could be asking for a different kind of trouble. I’m a man, not a monk, Trouble.”

  Her voice turned into a whisper. “Please, Bran. I can’t leave here just yet. I’m sorry I intruded in whatever it is you’re doing. But you can’t—I mean we can’t … Besides, if I leave, he—the town will only become suspicious.”

  “I want you to go, Macky. You aren’t safe here.”

  “You mean because of the marshal?”

  “What do you know about the marshal?”

  “I heard him talking to Lorraine. He seemed curious about you. He was asking Lorraine if she knew you.”

  “Damn! All the more reason to send you to Denver on the next stage.”

  “No. I won’t go.” She sat up folding her arms across her chest. “Why is he asking about you?”

  “Just his job, I guess. According to Mayor Cribbs there has been a lot of trouble in Heaven. I guess he has to be suspicious of everybody.”

  “Exactly. I think we both need someone to look after us. And Bran, I don’t believe for one minute that you’ll force yourself on me. I don’t know what you are, but I trust you.”

  Bran groaned and turned away. She was impossible. She was stubborn. She was the most appealing woman he’d ever crossed paths with. And she was right; she was too trusting. “Don’t believe that, Trouble. I’m a wicked man. And you’d do well to keep going wherever it is you were heading when you climbed on that stagecoach.”

  “I will, as soon as it’s safe. But for now, unless you tell the world otherwise, I’m Kate Adams, the new preacher’s wife. And since I am”—her voice gathered authority—“I insist that in public, you act like a proper husband.”

  “Oh? And where is this proper husband supposed to sleep tonight?”

  “We’re not in public. You can sleep on the floor by the fire. There’s an extra blanket on the chest.”

  “I’m thirty-three years old, Macky, and I’ve spent a lot of nights on the ground, but I’ve never slept in the same room with a woman unless I slept in her bed.”

  He couldn’t resist teasing her and he wasn’t sure why. She was the last woman he ought to want to bed. As her face flamed in the lamplight, he knew that the teasing was torture and it was himself being tormented.

  “Fine. You want the bed? Climb in.” She came to her feet, her lips curled into an impish smile, pulled back the covers and held out her arms, inviting his entry.

  Bran wasn’t sure what she was saying. Trust was one thing, but this was pure foolishness on her part. She needed to know that. He’d show her what could happen if she didn’t take him seriously. He began to remove his clothing.

  She stood, stoically waiting, the firelight behind her silhouetting her shape beneath the gown, all soft and curvy. When he’d shed his trousers and shirt, he hesitated, waiting for her to make a move. His threat turned empty as he climbed into the bed, still wearing his underdrawers.

  Macky leaned forward, planted a light kiss on his cheek as she pulled up the covers and turned back to the fire, where she unfurled the blanket and curled up on the floor.

  “Nighty-night, Reverend, dear. I have to get to sleep. Lorraine and I have a big day planned for tomorrow.”

  “I heard.” His statement was more of a growl and he knew that he was the one who’d been put in his place.

  “Is there something wrong with that? I doubt your congregation will accept a preacher’s wife in men’s trousers. But if you’d rather—”

  “Frankly, I don’t care what you wear, but I doubt a preacher’s wife would befriend the local saloonkeeper. You may damage your reputation.”

  “If I’m going to be a Christian woman who sets an example in the community, I’m going to do the Christian thing. If that bothers you, go suck a lemon.”

  “It doesn’t bother me one bit, darling. I rather like the idea of showing those old biddies a thing or two. I’m just afraid that any dress Lorraine picks out might do just that—amply.”

  “Then I’m sure you’ll preach a proper sermon on lecherous and sinful thoughts, won’t you, Reverend Adams?”

  Long after Trouble pretended to be asleep, Bran lay in the darkness listening to her breathe. “Are you awake?” he finally asked.

  She didn’t answer.

  “The one thing you do know about me is my name,” he said. “I’d like to know yours.”

  Just when he had decided that she really was asleep, she whispered softly, “I’m McKenzie Kathryn Calhoun. But everybody calls me—used to call me Macky.”

  “Used to?”

  “Macky got on the stage in Promise. But it was Kate who got off.”

  “I hope not,” Bran said in a voice so low that she barely heard it. “I think Macky is still very much here. Kate’s a stubborn woman who insists on sleeping on the floor. Macky is much more sensible. She’d get up here under the covers where she’d be warm.”

  “Maybe, but Macky slept with Eyes That See in Darkness. The man in the bed is Reverend Brandon Adams and he’d never soil an innocent girl.”

  Bran let out a deep breath.

  “I think,” he said, “that I liked Eyes That See in Darkness and Macky better.”

  Macky didn’t reply, but in her heart she knew that she did, too.

  “It took you long enough to get back here,” the man on the horse said, throwing his right leg carelessly across the saddle. “What happened?”

  The reply was sullen. “We ran into a little trouble. The sheriff was waiting for us.”

  “I heard. Where’s the holdup money, Pratt?”

  “I—I don’t have it.”

  “What do you mean you don’t have it? The word I got is that you and a kid escaped with the gold. Where’s the kid?”

  “I don’t know. He got away in the shootout and I haven’t seen him since.”

  “I trust you had a meeting place arranged.”

  There was a hesitation that Pratt hurried to cover. He intended to find that kid. He couldn’t just disappear with the money. Sooner or later, he’d start to spend it and Pratt would know. “Sure, he just ain’t showed up yet.”

  “So, you lost the money and now the sheriff is on your tail. Understand me, Pratt, I didn’t break you out of that prison to have you mess up what I have going here.”

  “Robbing that bank was your idea.” Pratt fingered the healing scar across his forehead. “If the sheriff comes here, I’ll take care of him.”

  “What about the stagecoach? Was the kid involved in that, too?”

  “No. The others were men I picked up. Don’t worry, they’re dead. That one-eyed preacher picked both of ’em off.”

  “About that preacher, I don’t think I like having a stranger riding into town right now. Too much of a coincidence. Besides, I’ve seen him before. I just can’t remember where.”

  “There’s a lot of men wearing eye patches, but it don’t look like it would be too hard to place a man like him.”

  “That’s what bothers me. I can’t.”

  The horse flicked his tail and moved about nervously. When Pratt took hold of his bridle he danced away.

  “If he worries you, say the word and I’ll take him out. I got a score to settle with him anyway.”

  “No, not yet. You’ll get plenty of time for that. Just keep an eye on him for now.”

  “I don’t know why we’re hiding out up here. You’ve already claimed all the other land along the creek except the piece them church people are turning into a parsonage. I don’t see why you don’t just let me run th
em off like the others.”

  The big man swore. “It’s too late for that. They’ve already filed the claim. I didn’t expect that fool miner to sign everything over to the church. Then you get caught holding up that nothing little bank in Promise.”

  “How was I to know the sheriff would be waiting?”

  “You use a lookout.”

  “That’s why I picked up that kid.”

  “That kid who ended up with the money. Just don’t make any more decisions on your own. I’ll get rid of the preacher when the time comes.”

  He’d gotten rid of Moose. And, in spite of what Sylvia had said, nobody could prove that his accident was anything but. Even the law hadn’t been able to stop the trouble at her mine. Now all he had to do was put the next part of his plan into action.

  The mine would soon be his.

  Bran left Macky reluctantly the next morning. He wasn’t certain what she would do next.

  As he stood, watching her curled into a knot beneath the blanket, he wished, just for a moment, that all this was behind him and that they were meeting for the first time. But that was a foolish wish and he knew that wishes were for children.

  As he started toward the door he picked up his pistol and slid it beneath his jacket. Preachers didn’t carry weapons, but he didn’t intend to take a chance.

  “Who do you plan to shoot this morning?”

  Macky’s voice was soft with sleep, and appealing.

  Macky. Odd how easy it was to think of her that way. Kate might fit the minister’s wife, but it was Macky who was rubbing her eyes and pushing herself up on one elbow.

  “The first man who makes up to the preacher’s wife,” he said with an easy smile.

  She gave a disbelieving laugh. “Then you might as well leave the pistol behind.”

  “I still wish you’d reconsider taking Lorraine with you.”

  Macky smiled. “You’re really worried about my reputation? That’s nice.”

  “Didn’t I tell you I see into the future as well as the dark?”

  She sat up, worry etching a frown on her forehead. “You do?”

  “No, I don’t, not really. I wish I could. It would make things much easier, for both of us.” Suddenly the light-hearted exchange was over. Bran took the doorknob in his hand, unlatching the hook above it “You’d better get in the bed, in case someone comes. I wouldn’t want them to think I made you sleep on the floor.”

  “You didn’t,” she said, pulling the blanket around her as she stood. “It was my choice.”

  “If you were imposing some kind of feminine revenge, Macky, it worked. I could have taken the floor and slept better.”

  “Good, that’s my revenge. A philosopher once said that ‘no one rejoices more in revenge than a woman.’ ”

  “It has also been said that the woman who seeks revenge often finds it when she least expects it.”

  “The Bible?”

  “No, the man who gave me my Indian name. By the way,” he added as he opened the door, “the first place a thief would look is under the mattress. You’d better find another place to hide your money.”

  Chapter Nine

  Preston Cribbs was waiting for Bran when he finished his breakfast at Willa’s Boardinghouse. The mayor had traded his top hat for something more serviceable to drive a farm wagon loaded with roofing shingles.

  “Morning, Preacher. Are you ready to see the parsonage?”

  “Of course.” Bran climbed into the wagon. “I thought as we ride, you could tell me about the citizens of Heaven.”

  “Sure thing. You met my wife, Ethel, at the social. The general store here belongs to Otis Gooden and his wife, Clara. Across the street is our blacksmith, Hank Clay. He also runs the livery stable. Hank’s not married, pretty close-mouthed about his past.”

  One by one, the mayor identified the people who owned businesses along the street that made up the town. As they left the businesses behind, the street became a rutted trail leading toward the mountains.

  “What about the marshal? I noticed that you have a jail back there. Does Larkin always spend this much time in Heaven?”

  “No, he’s been assigned to our territory for a while. Seems like a nice fellow, but he’s not making much progress on finding out who’s behind the trouble.”

  “Seems like you’d have your own law officer,” Bran commented.

  “Had several. Either got killed or wouldn’t work for what we can pay.”

  They’d left the town behind when the mayor began his apology. “Sorry about moving you out here, Brother Adams, but it was the only vacant house already finished. It may still be a mite bare, but the ladies of the church intend to have a housewarming and donate the items Mrs. Adams will need. And of course the Goodens will open an account for you.”

  “I’m sure Mrs. Adams will be pleased to have their help,” Bran said, hoping that she at least knew enough about housekeeping to appreciate their efforts.

  “Then later, as she gets closer to her time, they’ll be here to help her out. We don’t have no doctor, but Ethel’s a pretty good midwife.”

  “Her time?”

  “Her time to deliver. Mrs. Cribbs confided to me that your missus was expecting. They talked about it last night when Mrs. Adams got a bit sick.”

  Bran almost swallowed his tongue. Expecting? Why in God’s heaven had Macky told them such a thing? He’d believed her when she said that she’d never been with a man. Then it came to him in a flash that left him stunned. She’d told him herself that her stomach was out of sorts. That explained why she was running away. Some man had done her wrong and she’d had to leave Promise to keep her sordid secret.

  No wonder she was closemouthed and so protective of her money. She’d probably stolen it to safeguard the child’s future, particularly if someone was coming after her. Bran had offered her a perfect hiding place. A pregnant minister’s wife wasn’t likely to draw attention like a lone woman with a child.

  Bran didn’t know why he was so disappointed. He should be relieved to learn the truth. Instead the answer only brought more questions. Macky might be impulsive and too independent, still, she hadn’t seemed the foolish sort. If a man did her wrong, she’d get a shotgun and make him do the right thing.

  Unless he was already married. Unless the man who’d wronged her had done so against her will. Unless she was afraid of him.

  Like the man who’d pulled the gun, threatening her in the street.

  “There was a man in the saloon last night, Mr. Cribbs, not one of your congregation. He was clean-shaven, with some kind of scar across his forehead. Rode a black horse with a silver-trimmed saddle. Do you know who he is?”

  Cribbs turned a puzzled gaze on Bran. “I’m afraid I can’t say. Of course, since word of the mine spread, there are a lot of strangers who ride in and out of town.”

  “Tell me more about the mine.”

  “Old Moose Mainwearing hit a mother lode on the other side of Pigeon Mountain. After that, prospectors covered these hills like ants at a Sunday school picnic. A few found some good color, but nobody ever hit it big. And one by one, their luck all went bad. Accidents, fires, landslides. Most of them just gave up.”

  “What happened to Moose?”

  “Moose liked to drink. He’s the one who brought Miss Lake here, built the saloon for her. Talked the Goodens into opening the store. He financed most of the businesses in town. Then he married a woman from San Francisco. She tried to put a stop to his wild living, Miss Sylvia did, but one night soon after his wedding he had too much to drink, tumbled down a ravine, and broke his neck.”

  “Miss Sylvia?” Bran questioned innocently. “Why wasn’t she at the social last night?”

  “She’s not a member of our congregation—yet. She don’t hold much with churchgoing, but she’s a powerful woman. Since Moose died every single man in the territory has courted her. But she turned ’em all down and took over the operation of the mine herself. These shingles came from her sawmill. She’s managed
better than anybody expected, but she’s had her hands full lately with all the new trouble.”

  Bran’s ears perked up. “New trouble?”

  “Accidents inside her mine. Gold shipments being stolen between here and Denver. That’s why the marshal moved in.”

  “Has he made any arrests?”

  “No, but he thinks whoever killed Moose could be the same one who scared off Kelley so fast. When his wife died, he signed his claim over to the church and pulled out.”

  “So who do you think is behind the trouble?”

  “I ain’t got any idea. My guess is that it’s somebody from Denver. If Moose’s vein runs through Pigeon Mountain and comes out on this side, a man could make a claim if he already had staked out the land.”

  “Is that likely?”

  “Hard to say. The last case I heard about, old Judge Hardcastle ruled that whoever opened the vein had the rights to the gold, even if it ran across somebody else’s land. But the law in a mining town is pretty much made by the miners themselves.”

  “Judge Hardcastle lives here, too?”

  “No, he lives in Denver, but this is his territory and lately I hear that he’s bought some claims up the valley. Even made an offer on Kelley’s place.”

  As they approached the mountain, the trail became steeper. In places there was no trail and the wagon bounced about like a rock in a landslide. To the left a wide creek ran merrily along, cutting a path through a chasm of rock.

  “We take the right fork,” Cribbs said as they came to a split in the road. “The left one takes you straight to Mrs. Mainwearing’s house.”

  “Where’s her mine?”

  “In the hills beyond. That’s Pigeon Creek,” Mr. Cribbs explained. “It crosses the road and runs behind your house. You’ll have good water. Except when they muddy it upstream.”

  “Who muddies it?”

  “There are still a few prospectors left up in the mountains. None of them have much in the way of equipment so they dig out the stream banks and pan in the water.”

  Bran could hear the sound of hammering. As they rounded an outcropping of rock, he could see the small shack nestled in the side of the mountain. It was built of logs but its roof had been covered with sod. Now the workers were pulling off the squares of earth and replacing them with shingles.