The Redhead and the Preacher: A Loveswept Historical Romance (13 page)

“Hold it, you little thief!” Pratt said, drawing his gun. “I’ll kill anybody who steals from me.”

Bran let her run by, then left his hiding place and stepped between the fleeing Macky and her pursuer. His voice was intentionally low. No point in calling attention to what was happening. “Careful, pilgrim. The Scriptures say that ‘He who is without sin may cast the first stone.’ Are you free from sin?”

The startled fugitive hesitated, then pointed his gun at Bran. “Get out of my way, preacher. The thief is getting away.”

“What did he steal?”

That stopped the clean-shaven man for a moment. “Nothing,” he finally answered, replaced his gun in his holster, turned back to his horse and climbed on. Patting his saddlebags and eliciting a jingle of coins, he seemed satisfied. “Sorry, preacher, I thought I’d seen him somewhere before. Guess I was wrong.”

Bran wasn’t so sure about that. He didn’t understand what he’d just witnessed, but he knew there was more to it than a case of mistaken identity. An ordinary drifter wouldn’t leave anything valuable unguarded in his saddlebags. Maybe the patrons of Heaven’s Bell knew the man better than they wanted to admit. All the more reason for him to have a little talk with Lorraine.

Bran stood on the sidewalk and watched as the man rode away, then turned and went around the building in search of his errant bride.

Macky didn’t know what had stopped Pratt from coming after her. But she seemed to have escaped. With her heart thudding in her throat, Macky pushed open the back door and peered into what seemed to be a dining room. It was empty.

She slipped inside. There were two doors, one leading into a pantry, the other into a hall where she found a set of narrow servant’s steps leading to the second floor.

Letting out a deep sigh of relief she crept up, feeling her way in the darkness. The stairs led to the end of the hall across from the room she and Bran had been assigned. As she crouched in the shadows, she heard the soft laughter of Miss Lake, the proprietor of the Heaven’s Bell.

“How long will you be staying this time, Marshal?” she asked.

The answering voice was deep but too muffled to be understood.

“No,” Lorraine said. “Perhaps Reverend Adams isn’t exactly
what the town expected, but what makes you think that I would know him?”

There was a silence.

Macky was curious about that herself. Why would the marshal question Lorraine? Obviously, he was suspicious of Bran. If Marshal Larkin was asking questions about Bran, it only followed that he’d question Macky.

“Are you saying you don’t like him, Lorraine? Don’t lie to me. I saw the way you looked at him.”

There was a low, amused laugh. “Them,” she corrected. “He has a wife, remember? And if you think I looked at him with desire, you weren’t looking at his wife.”

“Wife? I still don’t know what I think about her.”

“Neither do the women of the congregation. I hope she’s as tough as I think she is. Otherwise, those sanctimonious souls will have her tarred and feathered before she even knows why.”

“I think she can take care of herself,” the marshal observed. “With a little help she could be … appealing in a primitive sort of way.”

“Leave her alone, Larkin. You’re already flirting with Sylvia. She’s more your cup of tea—respectable and wealthy.”

Primitive? Why, that toad-sucking jackass!

“Kate is an innocent. I won’t have you corrupting her!”

Crawfish and tadpoles! Lorraine was sticking up for her. Macky didn’t know what to think about that for she too had seen the way Lorraine looked at Bran. And Lorraine had been honest in admitting that if things were different she’d be interested in him.

As innocent as she might be, Macky couldn’t forget the feel of the soft mat of hair on his chest, the strength of the muscles in his legs when she’d examined him for wounds. How could she blame Lorraine?

But by damn, Bran was hers. Well, not really, but he belonged to her as far as the world was concerned. Besides, for now, she told herself, she needed him and she had no intention of sharing him with another woman. As for the
marshal’s suspicions, Macky had to let Bran know so that he could …

What? What did she expect him to do?

The sound of footsteps interrupted her thoughts. Someone was coming up from the kitchen. Macky scurried into her room and closed the door. Suppose it was Pratt, looking for her? Quickly she tucked the purloined jewelry behind the bed, shed her clothing, donned the sleeping garment, and dived under the cover.

Just in time. The door opened and closed softly.

Macky didn’t dare open her eyes to see who was standing there. She was certain that it was someone she didn’t want to have a conversation with.

Then she knew, without words or sight.

Eyes That See in Darkness was watching her. She could feel him. Not the preacher, nor Bran, but the dangerous man to whom she’d formed an unnatural spiritual connection. That same fluttery feeling filled her stomach and threatened to stop her lungs from drawing in air. Willing her breath to rise and fall evenly, she feigned sleep.

She was pretending to sleep when Bran entered the room to which Lorraine had directed him earlier. Deep shadows fell across the bed where she was lying, shrouding her face in darkness. She was covered by a satin spread that had slipped down to reveal a soft pink sleeping garment.

His plan to confront her about her past got lost in the sudden tightness he felt in his loins. Damn it all to hell, it was self-defense, he told himself, concern over her nefarious activities. What connection could she possibly have with the man from the saloon? Whatever it was, she was inviting trouble and it was up to him to protect her—in self-defense.

Bran massaged a dull ache gathering at his temples. Trouble. She’d warned him. But Bran wasn’t prepared for this unexpected need to keep her safe. He was no gladiator, but he had the growing feeling that this woman was not as
independent as she wanted him to think. And he already knew she was much too impulsive.

He’d had demons chasing him a time or two and he recognized that something powerful was driving her. Whatever had sent her running was important enough to force her to pretend to be his wife.

Bran was still having trouble with that word. He’d never had a wife and never expected to. But he’d had a mother and a sister once. He hadn’t been able to take care of them. Now this girl had been thrust into his life and instead of walking away he was making himself a part of her.

Bran knew he’d committed too many cruelties, accepted too many assignments that ended in bloodshed, to let himself see this relationship as anything more than a means to conceal his identity while he searched for the man who was behind the mining thefts in Heaven.

Why, then, was he still standing there, staring at her?

Because without the ill-fitting clothing she looked totally different. Soft in sleep, there was a vulnerability about her that she wouldn’t have appreciated him seeing. And it caught at whatever small bit of tenderness still lay hidden inside his heart.

That worried him. He’d always prided himself on his ability to remain focused on his objective. Using a woman to achieve his goal was one thing, but breaking his concentration was dangerous.

She moved, drawing her knees up and snuggling her chin beneath the covers like a child. Desire swept over him and he took an involuntary step toward her.

Suddenly her eyes opened and he heard her take a soft breath.

Then silence.

She knew he was there and she was waiting.

From the bed, Macky could see only the outline of the man, the fire beside him forming an orange backdrop for the black silhouette beside her bed.

She could hear his breathing and her own. What would
she do if he touched her? What had she done by letting the world think she was his wife? Why had he allowed it?

She moistened her lips and waited.

She heard a match strike and groaned. Any hope of escaping a confrontation died as the light flared on the table beside her.

“I think we need to talk. Christ! What in hell do you have on your head?”

“Oh!” The sock. She’d forgotten to take it off. Glancing back at the pillow, she saw the sooty evidence of the outline of her head on the linen case. “It’s—it’s a beauty treatment.”

“I see. And what is it supposed to accomplish?” He struggled to hold back a smile as he moved closer.

“To make my hair more tame.” She began to edge away from him. “I mean, a preacher’s wife should look … proper.”

“Somehow I doubt that the congregation would see it quite that way. How long does that stay on your head?”

“Ah, it’s only temporary. I’ll take it off now.” She jerked the sock from her head and poked it under the soiled pillow. Anything to get it out of sight and stop his questions.

“I think it’s time you told me why you let them believe that you were my wife.”

She’d known the question was coming but she had no answer. “Why are you pretending to be a minister?”

“What makes you think I’m not?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “You know the Scriptures, but there is something about you that frightens me.”

“You should be frightened. I’m a man and you’re still a girl.”

“I’m almost twenty.”

“Why are you running away, Trouble?”

Dare she tell him? No. Telling him would only put him in danger. From what she’d seen of Pratt he wouldn’t think twice about threatening Bran, or worse. And there was the marshal. Even if Bran truly wanted to keep her shameful
secret, what would keep him from protecting himself by turning her in to the marshal?

No, for now, she’d keep her past to herself.

Until she could be certain that Pratt had gone and that the law wasn’t looking for her.

“I was running away from—from a town that had turned its back on me, from a life that was over.”

“Running away? Yes, I believe that. Is someone likely to come after you?”

She took too long to answer. “Yes, but he won’t be looking for a minister’s wife.”

“Knowing you, I can believe that.”

“As you pointed out,” she went on, “a mining town isn’t safe for a woman like me, alone. It was either become a preacher’s wife or one of Miss Lake’s girls and I’m not experienced enough for that.”

“But you’re experienced enough to be my wife?” He couldn’t hold back a laugh. “I don’t think you have any idea what that would mean.”

She hadn’t seen him laugh before. His entire face changed and suddenly it was hard for Macky to talk. After a long moment she put on her bravest front and answered. “I don’t know what you’re really up to, but it seems that pretending to be Reverend and Mrs. Adams will serve us both well—for now.”

Bran stopped smiling at her statement. Obviously he was having more trouble carrying out their charade than he wanted to admit. She could tell from the set of his shoulders that he was going to say something to frighten her.

“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.