The Redhead and the Preacher: A Loveswept Historical Romance (11 page)

“I—I …” Bran was at a loss for words. If Macky hadn’t been sure that he was masquerading as a preacher before, she was now.

The saloonkeeper went on. “I might even contribute something spirituous to the occasion—to welcome you.”

I’ll bet you will
, Macky wanted to say. In spite of their story, Lorraine had taken one look at Bran and set her sights on him. To stay out of jail Macky needed Bran. She’d just have to find a way to keep him from Lorraine’s clutches until
she could get away. The method hadn’t come clear yet, but Macky would find it.

“Yes,” Marshal Larkin agreed, “a word of prayer might be in order.”

It was the marshal’s agreement, or his challenge, that forced Bran to gather his wits and bow his head.

The crowd grew quiet.

There was a cough and someone shushed someone else.

The silence continued.

Macky nudged Bran with her elbow and risked cracking one eye to study his face.

“Father of all,” he finally began, “He who was there first, before any man or woman, or rain or wind or beast, hear our lament. We ask you this day to make our steps firm and our hearts good.”

He stopped.

Macky took a chance and added, “Amen!”

The members of the congregation looked at Bran and back at each other, unable to hide their bewilderment before Mr. Cribbs let out an echoing “Amen!” The others followed and surged forward to shake Bran’s hand and introduce themselves.

Reluctantly, Macky allowed herself to be separated from Bran by the ladies. They insisted that she taste every dish laid out on the bar, each giving her a description of its ingredients, each tactfully ignoring the nearly nude figure painted on the floor.

She followed their lead, dutifully eating meat pies, cakes, apple dumplings, and a few dishes she couldn’t name. One very heavy woman with several chins held out a dish of what looked for all the world like animal feet.

“We don’t have many hogs to kill, Mrs. Adams. But I always put the feet back to brine. You’re going to love my pickled pig’s feet.”

It could have been the rich food after she had eaten nothing more than a bit of meat for days. It could have been overindulgence in Harriet’s special tea or it could have been
the sight of the pig’s feet. In any case, Macky took a deep desperate breath and held her stomach as she began to heave.

“Oh, dear, I think I’m going to—”

“Don’t you worry, child,” Mrs. Cribbs said, nodding her head in understanding. “Come with me.”

Before Macky knew what was happening she was out the door, throwing up beside the building.

“I know how it is when you’re that way,” Mrs. Cribbs said. “When is your time?”

Macky gagged again. “Any minute now, I’m afraid.”

“But you don’t look a bit like you’re hiding something.”

“Hiding something?” Macky remembered the money hidden inside her shirt.

“Boys always carry low,” Mrs. Cribbs went on. “I guess the preacher is pleased.”

Macky leaned her arm against the building and wiped her mouth with the scrap of cloth from her hair. “Boys?”

“Take deep breaths,” her helpful companion advised. “I’ll just wet my handkerchief in the water barrel.”

Macky nodded. Seconds later there was a rippling sound in the water, followed by a damp cloth being pressed to her forehead.

“Let’s get you up to your room, Mrs. Adams, so you can rest for a while. I’m sure the folks will understand once they learn about your condition.”

“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 artist 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.”