The Redhead and the Preacher: A Loveswept Historical Romance

by Sandra Chastain

  And where was Pratt? He had to be present to make it work. Macky fingered the wanted posters folded securely in her pocket. She hadn’t seen him, but she was sure he wouldn’t leave Heaven without attempting to get the money from the holdup.

  The soft fabric of her new blue dress made a whispering sound as she walked. She looked down at it and sighed. If her plan failed, this could be the worst day of her life. Macky might lose the man she loved who now stood before his congregation with his Bible open. His expression was blank, but Macky could see the pain he tried to hide.

  “Dear friends,” he began, “we come here this day to confess our wrongdoings and ask for forgiveness.”

  A commotion broke out as another wagon came in and the passengers disembarked. Rachel Pendley, Lars, and the two children came into the saloon and found places at the back. After the din of whispers died down, Bran began once more.

  “All of you have welcomed me—us, making us a part of your lives, sharing your food and your goods to welcome us. I never expected that. I never thought to find friendship here, certainly not love. But a revival is supposed to be a renewing of the spirit, a new beginning.”

  A few “Amens” were voiced from the audience.

  “But a new beginning cannot be built on a lie and that is where I stand. I wish to confess my sins of omission to Judge Hardcastle.”

  Macky realized in horror that Bran was about to use her event to his own end. He was about to confess her sin and make it his.

  “No,” Macky called out and stepped to the front of the room. “You don’t have to do this for me, Bran. Friends, this isn’t his sin he’s about to confess, but mine.”

  “No, Macky—”

  “He’s protecting me. I’m not his wife. The preacher never saw me before I got on the stage in Promise. I was running away to keep from being arrested for robbing the bank and stealing Sylvia’s gold.”

  “Be quiet, Macky!” Bran shouted, crushing her arm in his grip.

  “No, Bran. They have to know. I can prove it. I’ve brought the money and the gold coins that I haven’t spent.” She pulled back the cloth and revealed its contents.

  “You’re the bank robber?” Sylvia Mainwearing shrieked. “There’s no way you could be guilty of holding up my gold shipments and killing my Moose. You weren’t even here then.”

  Sylvia marched up to the bar and stopped in front of Macky. “Don’t you go trying to flimflam us by taking the blame for someone else. I think it’s time everybody learns our messenger of God is really the gunfighter, Night Eyes. He doesn’t rob banks and neither do you!”

  This time the entire congregation erupted.

  “Night Eyes?”

  “But he’s that gunfighter, isn’t he?”

  “I don’t believe it. If you’re not Reverend Adams and his wife, where are they?”

  “I always did think that redhead was odd-looking. Remember how she looked that first day, with that short skirt and that man’s shirt?”

  “You hush! That’s Macky you’re talking about and we don’t care what she did before she got here.”

  “I’m telling the truth,” Macky insisted quietly, bringing all the conversation to a stop. “Bran may be a gunfighter, but he had nothing to do with the bank robbery. It was me. I’m the one who came away with the money. I was with Pratt, at the bank.”

  “You were with Pratt?” Lorraine said in disbelief.

  In desperation Macky reached into her pocket and pulled the wanted posters from her pocket. “See, this man is Pratt, the head of the gang who held up the bank. The banker from Promise is dead. Pratt or one of his men killed him.”

  Bran dropped her arm and closed his Bible. “What in hell are you doing, Macky? It’s Larkin who is behind all the trouble in Heaven and I can prove it.”

  He glared at Macky, willing her to be silent. She was going to get herself arrested and it would be to no avail. He’d resigned himself to going to jail, to having his past exposed. But Macky was to be spared.

  In the midst of the overwhelming silence, another familiar voice spoke. “I don’t think so, Adams.” Marshal Larkin stepped into the saloon. “This man is a gunfighter, not a preacher. He’s lied to all of you. He thought he’d take over Heaven and you were about to let him.”

  Bran looked up at the man standing in the doorway, the light behind him shadowing his face beneath his hat. The sun was setting over the mountains in a flame of red-orange color. It was almost as if the sky were on fire, silhouetting Larkin’s outline. Bran’s mind began to race. The light—the fire—the shadows. Suddenly it all came rushing back. The last time he’d seen this man he’d thought he was big and tall. He wasn’t. He hadn’t been old; he’d just been mean.

  “You’re him,” Bran said. “Why didn’t I see it before? After fifteen years, I’ve finally found you.”

  “What do you mean?” Macky asked.

  “I was just a frightened boy. All I could see that night was your beard. The rest of your face was in the shadows. But I heard you laugh. Laugh, Larkin. Let me hear you laugh now,” Bran said, his voice deadly cold, “before I kill you.”

  Just a kid? Larkin felt the blood rush from his face. He’d known Night Eyes was deadly, but this was more than he’d imagined.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Adams, but you’re under arrest. I’m taking you in for the murder of an army officer on a reservation in Oklahoma.”

  “You aren’t taking me anywhere. I’m going to kill you, Larkin, right here. Just like you killed my mother, my father, and my sister. But I want you to remember them, Larkin. I want you to know why you’re dying.”

  “You’re crazy!” Larkin protested and began to sweat. A picture was forming in his mind of a mean little shack along the Mississippi and a boy who’d stood up to him without fear. Now he knew where he’d seen Adams before. Now he knew what happened to the gunfighter’s eye. He started to back up, then stopped and steadied his voice.

  “I don’t think you want to do this, Adams. Pratt is dead. But before he died, he implicated Mrs. Adams in the bank holdup. You may kill me, but by her own confession, she’ll still go to jail.”

  “Macky’s innocent,” Bran said quietly.

  “Cribbs,” Larkin directed, biting back a laugh, “take the holdup money. Gooden, make sure she doesn’t try to run.”

  “Horsefeathers!” Sylvia snapped. “Nobody’s running anywhere and nobody’s laying a hand on Macky or they’ll answer to me.”

  “You don’t understand,” Larkin argued confidently. “There is a reward for the arrest of John Brandon Lee. As a U.S. Marshal I’m commanding you to help.”

  “Can’t do it,” Preston said. “We’re civilians.”

  “But your Night Eyes intends to take over your mine, Sylvia. Pratt was his man. That’s the way he works; he stirs up trouble, then lets himself be hired to settle it.”

  Now it was Bran’s turn to laugh. “You should know about that, Larkin. You’ve used that method often enough. But this time you had to kill your man before you were ready. I found Pratt’s body. And I found out a few other things as well. You scared off all the little miners and took over their claims. But you were too quick to transfer them into your name.”

  Larkin looked as if he were cornered. He’d expected the town to back him, expected Bran to cower in fear from being publicly identified as a killer. He’d underestimated him.

  Bran slowly laid the Bible on a chair and pushed his jacket back, tying the straps of his holster around his upper leg. With a cold smile he started toward Larkin, who was standing in the doorway.

  Larkin began to back up, but Bran walked past the members of his congregation and into the street.

  “No, Bran, stop this,” Macky said, catching his arm.

  “Larkin isn’t worth it, not now. I won’t let you.” She reached inside her pocket and found the derringer. She didn’t know what she would do, but Larkin couldn’t be allowed to hurt Bran.

  “I have to do this, Macky. ‘Vengeance
is mine saith the Lord’ and tonight, after all these years, I’m administering God’s justice.”

  “But Bran, what about us? Larkin is right. If you go to jail, what happens to me?”

  “There is no us. We’ve known that all along. As for you, Trouble, this time you aren’t responsible. You’ll do fine.”

  They might have been alone, in a world of silence. The townspeople had hushed their chatter and were following them outside, hanging back in confusion.

  “Do you remember yet, Larkin? A little shack on the Mississippi. A mother and father you killed and a girl you raped.”

  “Won’t work, gunfighter. I don’t have the poster any more, but the warrant for your arrest still exists. Your name is John Lee and you’re wanted for murder. I can’t see any point in forcing the army to try you when we both know you’re guilty.” He laughed.

  Bran stopped his slow advance and cocked his head slightly. “You find this funny, Larkin?”

  “Sure. Don’t you?” Larkin replied with inflated bravado, then laughed again. “I think it’s real funny. Here we are, you, a minister of God, ready to kill to protect your past, and me, an officer of the law trying to protect the future of Heaven.”

  Bran felt revulsion sweep over him. He couldn’t believe how blind he’d been. He was ready to kill Larkin on the spot, but he had to find a way to force him to confirm Macky’s innocence.

  “As for his redheaded wife,” Larkin went on. “That’s another interesting story. You folks have picked yourself a real fine pair to lead your flock.” He smiled.

  Bran’s resolve faltered for a moment. He’d spent the last three days trying to separate himself from Macky, determined that she should be free to find a new life for herself. He couldn’t let her go to jail. He’d failed everyone else in his life, but not this time.

  He might die, but Macky couldn’t be held responsible for something she had been innocently involved in. Not now that he knew how much he loved her. Even now he fought the need to hold her one last time. He’d let her fill the empty space inside him, dissolving the protective walls he’d built around his heart. But there could never be a wife and a home for John Brandon Lee. What they’d shared in Heaven was all he’d ever have.

  A man like him didn’t get that kind of lucky. He had to stop Larkin and clear Macky’s name. That was the last thing he could do for her. He’d already arranged to leave her all his money in the bank in San Francisco and he’d sent a note to Sheriff Dover. All he had to do was get rid of this man.

  “Larkin,” Bran said, his voice deadly calm. “You’re right. I once killed a man in cold blood. He was about to harm someone I loved. If I have to, I’ll do it again.”

  Bran’s legs were spread apart, rocking slowly back and forth, his eyes locked intently on the man whose death he’d made his life’s mission. Even knowing that this sad specimen of a man wasn’t worthy of the time Bran had spent on him couldn’t change what would happen.

  “Judge,” Macky said, pleading with the man. “This isn’t right. You have to stop this. Please!”

  The judge looked at Bran with caution. “Reverend Adams,” he said quietly, “why not let me handle this?”

  “I told you, he’s not a preacher,” Larkin said, “he’s a murderer and the girl isn’t his wife.”

  “And we don’t care,” Hank Clay’s steady voice answered. “If you shoot him, Larkin, you’re dead.”

  “You asking to die, too?” Larkin taunted. “The judge has enough room in his jail for all of you.”

  “Maybe,” Hank said, “but every man in town has a gun on you and the jail isn’t big enough for them all.”

  “Leave it be, Hank,” Bran said. “This is between Larkin and me. I’m going to kill him and there’s no point in any of you getting hurt.”

  “Please, Bran,” Macky whispered. “Don’t do this. I love you. I don’t want to lose you.”

  “No, Macky. It was never meant to be. It’s time these folks learn the truth. I am a killer. Now stand back.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Clara Gooden spoke up. “If you shot somebody, they needed shooting.”

  Bran positioned his jacket so that he could get to his gun. “Don’t defend me, Mrs. Gooden. Larkin is right.”

  “No!” Macky cried out, trying to get away from the judge to Bran’s side. “It’s me the law is looking for, not Bran.”

  Larkin felt a cold dread catch him at the back of his neck and freeze him in place. He looked around uneasily. When he’d stepped into the saloon it had seemed so simple. Call out the gunfighter and kill him. Blame the bank holdup on Night Eyes. The banker was dead. The preacher would be blamed for Pratt’s crimes and Larkin would get the reward. Then he’d get rid of Sylvia and take over the mine. But the boy he’d shot with the arrow had survived.

  The boy was Night Eyes and he was daring Larkin to make his move, with the entire town watching.

  “There’s more,” Larkin said, taking another step back.

  Bran waited. “Fine, tell us the rest. But let’s start with Pratt. Why’d you kill him?”

  “I didn’t and you can’t prove it.”

  “I can,” Macky said. “You have his saddle. I saw it under your desk. He’d never give up that saddle willingly.”

  Two riders came to the outer edge of the circle of onlookers. One of the riders was Harvil Smith from the way station, the other Bran didn’t recognize.

  The stranger spoke first. “Good question. Why’d you kill him, Larkin? Were you afraid that he’d tell how you broke him out of jail to do your killing, how he murdered an innocent boy in a crooked poker game in Promise, how he shot the banker in Promise so he wouldn’t reveal your dirty scheme?”

  “Innocent boy?” Macky whispered, unaware she’d spoken. “In Promise?”

  “Pratt was your man, Marshal,” the sheriff charged. “You planned it all.”

  “You’re responsible for Todd’s death?” Macky’s voice rose in cold anger. “And now you want to kill Bran?”

  “Wait just a minute,” Larkin growled. “You aren’t pinning that on me.”

  “Todd’s death wasn’t enough for you,” Macky said, striding across the clearing toward Larkin. “Then you tried to blame the murder of the banker on Bran?” She got a good grip on her pistol and started toward Larkin.

  “Stay back, Macky!” Bran said, reaching out to pull her away.

  But Bran could tell she wasn’t listening. She was too close to Larkin. She’d put herself in danger. He might have backed down from Bran, but not a woman.

  He tried to draw attention away from Macky. “Larkin, someone asked me where the snake was in the Garden of Eden. We’ve found him, you liver-livered son of evil. I’m going to kill you.”

  Bran shoved Macky away just as Larkin drew his pistol. But he wasn’t fast enough. A single gunshot rang out before he could fire. Then four others followed and the pistol in Larkin’s hand dropped to the ground in a cloud of dust.

  A look of surprise opened Larkin’s eyes wide as he fell, mortally wounded.

  At that moment a ribbon of lightning scissored the sky and the wind swirled rain round the onlookers. The two horses in the street whinnied nervously and danced around. Bran turned toward the redhead who’d stormed into his life and grabbed him by the heart.

  A smear of red turned her chest into a bull’s-eye. She glanced down at the bright color in calm surprise. Her mouth was open, but no words came. Only the sound of rattled breath and tears that dribbled down her cheeks. As the sheriff pushed his way through the crowd, she held up the gun she’d bought from Otis Gooden.

  “You shot him,” Bran said.

  “Yes,” Macky said. “He was about to hurt you.”

  This time when she collapsed in Bran’s arms, it wasn’t pretend. This time when he carried her inside the saloon, it wasn’t part of a charade.

  “Oh, Macky,” Bran whispered. “ ‘A fugitive and a vagabond shalt thou be in the earth … My punishment is greater than I can bear.’ ”

  �
��It’s all right,” she whispered, “I didn’t belong in Heaven anyway.”

  Outside the saloon the sheriff from Promise was overseeing the removal of Larkin’s body from the street. The judge directed the parishioners to go home and pray for their souls and Macky’s recovery.

  Lorraine and Bran put Macky to bed and treated her wounds.

  “Looks like I need to open a hospital instead of a school,” she said as she finally pulled up the covers and stepped away from the bed.

  “Well, so far your patients are doing well,” Bran said, then felt his voice crack. “Lorraine, I love her. I don’t want her to die.”

  “I know,” she said, and laid her hand on his shoulder. “I know what it means to find the person you want to hold on to for all your life.”

  “What am I going to do?” he asked, turning away.

  “Pray,” was her only answer.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  For three days Bran prayed beside Macky’s bed but nothing helped. Macky was growing weaker. She was dying.

  Finally, desperate for answers, Bran loaded the necessary supplies across Solomon, mounted his horse, and rode into the mountains. The snow, gone in the valley below, was still thick between the rocks and on the ground beneath the trees.

  For two days he rode, stopping only to feed and water the animals, until he reached a precipice hanging over a deep valley below.

  First he dug a pit in the earth, filled it with dry wood and brush, then covered it with rocks. He lit the fire heating the rocks.

  Next to the pit he constructed a beehive-shaped sweat lodge out of willow sticks covered with the animal skins he’d bought from Otis Gooden. By the time the lodge was finished, the rocks were ready. Using forked limbs, he moved some of the rocks into the lodge. Then he removed his clothes, tied on a loincloth, and entered the lodge.

  As the fire heated the remainder of the rocks, the air inside grew warmer and warmer. Bran poured snow on the rocks to make the steam that would force him to sweat out the impurities of his body and eventually ready his mind for whatever message the Great Spirit world would send.