The Redhead and the Preacher: A Loveswept Historical Romance

by Sandra Chastain

  “I do.”

  “Good, I was beginning to think you couldn’t talk. Do you have a name?”

  He nodded at the sign on the side of the barn: H. Clay, Proprietor.

  “Mr. Clay—”

  “Good, you can read. I was beginning to think you couldn’t.” Hank picked up the bellows and blew on the fire, forcing the coals to flame.

  Macky blushed. “I’m sorry, I’m just a bit out of sorts. I mean, I’m not used to being inactive. Could I do that for’ you? Seems to me it would be a lot easier.”

  Hank laid the bellows back on the table and took a good look at Macky. “Thank you no, Mrs. Adams. I’d be glad to sell you a horse. If you’ll tell the preacher to stop by, I’ll show him what I have.”

  “You’ll do no such thing. It’s my money—I mean I know horses. I’d like to inquire about prices, if you have the time.”

  Hank nodded, laid the piece of iron down in the coals at the edge of the fire, and turned into the stable. “Follow me.” He led her to the corner of a small room he’d made into an office. “Have a seat.”

  “Why?”

  “I have to look at my records. The only horses I keep at the stable are those I rent. My others come from a rancher south of Heaven.” He reached for a ledger on the shelf. As he slid it out, a second book tumbled into Macky’s lap.

  Macky started to hand it back when she saw the cover. “Poetry? You read poetry?”

  “Does that shock you?”

  “Crawfish and tadpoles! I can’t talk to you without riling you, can I? Seems like everybody in this town knows how to read and write except the children. I don’t understand why you all wouldn’t let Lorraine open a school to teach them.”

  “Lorraine?”

  “Miss Lake. She offered to help teach the children and she was turned down. What’s the matter, are you afraid she’d contaminate them?”

  Hank gave a long, serious look out the window toward the saloon. Macky wondered if she’d made a mistake in mentioning Lorraine’s offer. Certainly everything else she’d done since arriving in Heaven had been improper.

  “No, I don’t judge people,” he said.

  “But you don’t do much about making them welcome either, do you? Look, I’m sorry. I’ll just wait until Bran—Reverend Adams gets back to see about a horse. I may even decide to buy a mule instead. At least a mule can pull a wagon and a plow.”

  This time the burly blacksmith didn’t try to conceal his shock. “You intend to farm?”

  “I intend to—I don’t know what I intend to do. Good day, Mr. Clay.”

  Back in her room, Macky threw herself across her bed as she continued to fume. What kind of place was Heaven where Lorraine’s knowledge was rejected because she was socially unacceptable? Where the blacksmith read poetry and kept to himself? Where the preacher was expected to hold services in a saloon and the preacher’s wife was a criminal? But all the time she was railing out at injustice she knew that the real fly in her ointment was that the man she’d taken on as her pretend husband had disappeared.

  Across the street, Hank Clay caressed the spine of the book and studied the upper window of Heaven’s Bell. Miss Lake’s room. The preacher’s wife was right. There ought to be a school. And Mrs. Adams might be the one to pull it off.

  Macky didn’t realize that she’d fallen asleep until a knock on the door awakened her.

  “Yes?”

  The same serving girl entered the room timidly, carrying a basket and the gingham dress draped carefully across her arm. She stepped aside for Tobe to bring in the tin tub. “Miss Lorraine sent me up with your new clothes and the tub. I’m supposed to remind you that you and the preacher are having supper tonight with Mrs. Mainwearing.”

  Macky watched Tobe place the tub by the fire and add more wood. Then he left the room and returned with two iron kettles of hot water. The girl draped the gown across the end of the bed and waited for the boy to bring two more kettles of water.

  “There’s soap on the washstand. I’ll return shortly and help you dress, ma’am,” she said, dropping a curtsy as she backed out of the room.

  Macky stared at the tub. Surely they didn’t expect her to strip off her clothes and sit in that little tin tub. It wasn’t as if she’d never taken a tub bath. She had. But it had been a washtub with full sides and she’d been in her own kitchen. Suppose somebody came in?

  Still she couldn’t resist picking up the dress. She’d never had anything so lovely in her life. It even smelled new. She held it against herself and imagined, just for a minute, draping her market basket over her arm and going out to shop. Or better still, having Bran slip his arm through hers and fold her elbow across his.

  With her eyes closed she took three steps across the room, nodding to invisible acquaintances and smiling up at her pretend husband. Pretend husband?

  A bank robber having supper with Mrs. Mainwearing? Staring at herself once more in the mirror, she made up her mind. She might never do it again but this one time she wanted to dress up in her new gown and show that skeptical one-eyed man that she could look like a woman.

  She took off her clothes and pinned up her hair, making use of the women’s beauty articles that had mysteriously appeared on the washstand. With the soap in her hand she slid into the hot water and leaned back as far as she could to cover herself. For a few minutes she merely lay there enjoying the sheer luxury of having someone wait on her for the first time she could remember.

  Finally, as the water began to cool she soaped herself, scrubbing her skin vigorously, then slid back down in the water to rinse.

  Macky didn’t hear the door open. But she was instantly aware of Bran’s presence. In a futile attempt to cover herself she drew up her knees and clasped them to her chest with her arms, then turned to face Bran, bravely covering her panic with a frown of stern disapproval.

  “Thank you for knocking, Reverend.”

  Bran, at a momentary loss for words, could only stare at the naked woman in the tub. He’d already come to the conclusion that she was prettier than she acknowledged. After seeing her in a nightgown, he’d spent the day convincing himself that his physical reaction was because he’d been without a woman for too long.

  “Stop staring at me!” she snapped.

  A tightening in his gut told him his body wasn’t listening this time, either. He groaned. “ ‘Lust not after her beauty in your heart; Neither let her take you with her eyelids,’ ” he said. “Proverbs.”

  “ ‘Lying lips are an abomination to the Lord.’ That’s from Proverbs, too.” Macky’s voice turned into a whisper.

  Bran rubbed his chin, feeling the bristles of a three-day growth of hair rasp against his fingertips. “I don’t lie, Macky.”

  “Oh? What do you call letting the people of Heaven think you’re Reverend Adams?”

  “As I recall, that was your doing, not mine. I was about to tell them otherwise when you came forward. Suddenly, I had a wife.”

  “But you didn’t correct their impression. You aren’t a preacher, are you, Bran?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “And your name isn’t Adams, is it?”

  “No.”

  “I’m not Mrs. Brandon Adams,” she said defiantly. “That makes you a liar, Bran.”

  “No, that makes me a fool. But I thought you needed to be protected. Now I know why.”

  She came to her feet without thinking. “You know?”

  She looked like a pagan deity painted in the great museums, all lithe and rosy in the firelight. The sight of her stole his breath away, making him dizzy.

  “I know.”

  His voice was rough, angry as he considered that another man had touched her, perhaps abandoned her. “And though I don’t understand how you let it happen, I’ll keep your secret for now.”

  “It wasn’t something I planned,” she said. “And I’m going to make amends as soon as I figure out how. I just got caught up in it before I could stop. What’s your excuse for your lie?”

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nbsp; “I can’t tell you, Macky. Not yet. It wouldn’t be safe for you to know. Just believe me when I tell you it’s important.”

  “I see. It’s all right that you know about my sordid past, but you can’t trust me to know the truth about yours?”

  “It’s the best way to keep you out of it. I’ve done some things I’m not proud of, but I’ll protect you.”

  “Why?”

  “Hell if I know. My Indian father said that all things happen for a reason. Why’d you agree to be my wife?”

  “I always hankered to have a man who could see in the dark. Besides,” she added, “I like your face. It makes my heart sing.”

  He couldn’t stop his next question. “Does it sing often?”

  “Never has before. All this is new to me, Bran. Other women have mothers to prepare them for these feelings. I’ve had to learn for myself. I’m just now beginning to understand what I missed.”

  At least she was honest. He wanted to give in to the need to pull her into his arms and tell her that everything would be all right. Instead, he picked up the towel and wrapped it around her. “I’m sorry I walked in on you.”

  “You should be. You shouldn’t have left me here by myself all day. Where were you?” She stepped out of the tub, deliberately sloshing water on his boots.

  “My, my! Is the preacher’s wife turning into a nagging shrew?”

  “I don’t nag,” she said, her voice painfully tight, “and I’m not anybody’s wife.”

  She’d already told him that there was no husband. Now she’d said it again. Bran took a step toward her, “What about this man who may be coming after you?”

  “Oh, Bran.” She leaned her head against the fireplace and closed her eyes. “I just wish I could go back, that I’d never come into town that day, that—”

  “You were the young innocent girl you once were?” he finished for her, fighting the urge to comfort her.

  She sighed and began to dry her face and neck, shrinking down inside the cloth as if she were trying to hide. “Yes. I guess I do wish that. But we can’t go back, can we? We have to live the life we’ve created for ourselves.”

  “Would this life be so bad?” Bran asked, knowing that such an idea was not only unwise, but impossible. “Would you hate being a preacher’s wife?”

  “Would you hate being a preacher?”

  “Never thought about it. I suppose there are many ways to cure the ills of man. This may be the most ill-paid one. Hardly seems fair to ask any woman to share a life that depends on the charity of others.”

  Macky chose her response carefully. “I—I think that it is rare for a woman to have a choice about the kind of life her husband makes for them. If any man ever asked to marry me, it would be the man, not his profession that would matter. Not that such a situation is ever likely to happen.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “My mother said that my papa filled my head with nonsense, that no man would ever want me. She was right.”

  That made him angry. It was one thing for her to disguise her beauty if she were hiding. But for her own mother to convince her that she was incapable of attracting a man … He lifted her chin with his fingertips and forced her to look at him.

  “Macky, don’t you have any idea how appealing you are? How much you stir a man’s needs?”

  “Me?” She shook her head and looked away.

  “Damn it, woman, look at me. You do know what happens to a man when he wants to make love to a woman?”

  He could tell that she didn’t or couldn’t believe him.

  Bran didn’t know who he wanted to strangle first, her mother, who’d made her feel so inferior, the men in her family who’d apparently reinforced that kind of thinking, or the man who’d used her and left her with a child.

  He watched as she allowed a faint hope to shine in her eyes. His hands left her shoulders and slid down her back, drawing her close.

  “Macky,” he whispered, his breath catching in her hair. “Macky.” He liked saying her name. “If you never believe anyone else in your life, believe me when I tell you that you are very special. I don’t know who hurt you, but being with a man can be very good. Being with the right man can be a beautiful, loving experience.”

  “I don’t—I mean …” She tried to step backward and found herself being held even tighter.

  Bran felt her confusion. He ought to let her go. But he couldn’t. He felt her unspoken pain that reached out and joined his own. “Under other circumstances, Macky, I’d show you. But it wouldn’t be right. Just relax. Let me hold you.”

  Macky resisted at first, then gave in to the need to be held and hid her face against Bran’s shoulder. The touch of his whiskers against her forehead felt like sand rubbing against her skin. Her heart was pounding. Their thighs touched, breasts and chest pressed together. Heat flared, leaving her trembling and weak. “You would?”

  “I would,” he murmured as he nuzzled her hair, feathering her cheek with soft kisses, claiming her lips at last.

  Bran’s mouth was soft, like velvet. She hadn’t expected that. New sensations bombarded her, heating her skin to fire.

  Bran groaned, and deepened the kiss. She’d never allowed herself to think about being kissed by a man, not consciously, but suddenly she was leaning against him, inviting him to show her the way.

  He closed his eyes so that he wouldn’t reveal the incredible yearning that sent his heart slamming against his rib cage. He tightened his muscles, growing rigid against her. Finally, he broke the kiss and stepped back.

  “That shouldn’t have happened,” he said, his voice hoarse as he backed toward the door. Damn her eyes, why had she been so cooperative? What was it about this woman that made him want to take care of her? He didn’t want to think how close he’d been to stripping away that sheet of cotton and taking her, then wondered why he’d stopped when she was willing. She seemed incredibly innocent and that pretense angered him unreasonably.

  “You’re right, Bran. Tomorrow morning, I intend to buy a pistol. To protect myself from men like you.”

  Macky knew that was a feeble threat. There was no other man like Reverend Brandon Adams. He was a man who knew how to make a woman forget her own mind. “I hope you don’t plan to touch me again.”

  “I don’t. In fact, maybe I’d better leave. I’ll speak to Lorraine. I expect she’ll find another room for me.”

  “No!” Macky shouted. “I mean, you can’t. Someone would know and—well, it wouldn’t look right.”

  Bran couldn’t ignore the stricken look on her face. She was afraid, not of him, but of being left alone.

  He let out a deep breath. He’d done a lot of bad things in his life, but this time he had to draw the line. Macky was right; he couldn’t walk out on her now. He had sworn by whatever good was left in him to protect her. But protecting her didn’t mean sleeping with her. Whatever the truth was, he wouldn’t take a chance on bringing harm to a woman who was carrying a child. He’d have to continue the charade. “You’re right,” he said. “We have to go on as planned, no matter how difficult it is.”

  She gave him a skeptical look. “What does that mean?”

  “Put on your new dress, Mrs. Adams. I’ll be back for you in an hour. The preacher and the redhead are going to supper with the queen of Heaven.”

  As Macky pulled on the pristine white undergarments, she alternated between fuming over Bran’s actions and fury at herself for giving in to him. She didn’t know any more about handling a man than she knew about the women’s drawers Lorraine had selected for her.

  She managed to get the chemise and the drawers tied properly, but there were stockings, a petticoat, and her corset. Letty had strapped her into the harness at her shop, but now with its laces and cords it seemed to lie there and mock her.

  A knock on the door brought her to a state of panic. Surely Bran hadn’t returned so quickly. “Yes?”

  “It’s Polly, ma’am. The preacher said you was ready to get dressed.”

>   “Come in, Polly, and—” Macky jerked the door open. “Show me how in tarnation you wear this—this thing.”

  Polly couldn’t hide her smile. “Let me just put this curling iron on the fire to stay warm and I’ll lace up.”

  Moments later Macky felt like a chicken, gutted and tied up to be roasted. All she needed was a larger fireplace and a spit on which to be skewered. “How’s a person supposed to breathe?”

  Polly giggled. “You take quick little breaths.”

  “Like when I’ve been running?”

  “Or like you feel when a man …” Her voice trailed off and she turned to fetch the stockings and ties to hold them up. “Sit down, ma’am, and I’ll put ’em on.”

  “That’s all right, I think I can do that myself.”

  Macky sank down on the stool. She knew what Polly meant when she said a woman couldn’t breathe around a man. She still felt like her lungs were suddenly too small. And that was before Polly had laced the corset.

  Polly untied the ribbons at the bottom of the drawers and threaded the stockings up each leg and tied them above her knees with the matching ribbons.

  Next, Polly placed the impractical leather boots with the tiny spool heels on her feet and began to fasten the laces. “We’ll move the stool over here to the table and I’ll do your hair before you put on your dress. I thought we could use the green ribbon in your hair.”

  “I don’t know …” Macky said uneasily.

  Polly began to brush out Macky’s braid. Parting her hair in the middle, Polly pulled a heavy swatch of hair up on top of her head and anchored it there. Then she reached for the curling iron and fashioned a cascade of sausage curls that rippled down her neck.

  Macky began to fidget. She was fooling herself with her expectations. Nothing Polly could do would tame the mass of hair she normally stuffed under a hat.

  “Now, let me add the ribbons.”

  Moments later Polly gave Macky a hand mirror.

  “It’s—I look—I mean I never expected,” Macky said in amazement.

  “Now, stand up.”

  Then came the white ruffled petticoat, followed by the crinoline with the steel frame.

  “You mean I wear all this under my skirt? No wonder you have to draw a body up to fit into it.”