The Redhead and the Preacher: A Loveswept Historical Romance (30 page)

Hank didn’t stay the night. Instead, he listened to Lorraine talk. She’d never had anyone do that before, and by the time the moon slid behind the trees, she was asleep in his arms.

P
ratt wasn’t a man who liked to keep his own company. From the time he’d joined the group of riverboat pirates and lured his first riverboat onto a sandbar, he’d surrounded himself with men who followed blindly.

Through the years, his self-importance had been inflated by his success. He’d made a reputation as a thief and become supremely arrogant. Playing second fiddle now was wearing on his nerves. He’d had no choice if he wanted to avoid prison, but now he was ready to collect his money and move on. San Francisco was the kind of place that offered a man real opportunity.

The bank job in Promise had been a bad idea from the first. It was only now becoming clear that maybe he’d been set up. One of his men had been killed and the other captured. And he didn’t even have the money to show for it.

To make matters worse, it left Pratt temporarily broke. That’s why he’d gone after the stage, for pocket money. The
job should have been easy. It would have, except for that sharp-shooting gunfighter who’d done away with the two newest members of his gang.

Then came the mine disaster. He didn’t care that the fool who helped him set off the dynamite had died. But almost being caught himself hadn’t been part of the plan. He hadn’t picked the two men who helped hold up Sylvia’s gold shipment. One of them was killed. The other took most of the gold into Denver and Pratt knew he wouldn’t return. Once again Pratt had been lucky.

Or had he?

Nah! Staying up here in the mountains was getting to him. Even getting one of the saddlebags of gold for himself without the other men’s knowledge didn’t take away the growing sense of foreboding. Pratt was ready to move on. He was becoming a little too well known in the Kansas Territory.

He was all out of whiskey and he needed a drink and a woman. He thought about Lorraine Lake but she’d turned him down once. She had her eye on the marshal. That was one man Pratt didn’t want to cross and he’d been told to stay away from town. Until he got his money he’d follow orders.

As far as he could see, he had few choices. There was that bitch Sylvia Mainwearing, but she was surrounded by men. Pratt could always seek out one of the women who serviced the miners, but they were used up and often diseased. That took him back where he started.

He needed to go to town.

Wait a minute. What about that preacher’s wife? She was stuck out in the middle of nowhere, just like him. From the look of her, she was a woman with a lot to offer to the right man. Nobody would know if she had a private visitor on the side.

The fact that she belonged to that gunfighter made possessing her all the more appealing. Pratt would have to take the man eventually. Why not have a little fun and begin the eviction proceedings a little early? Besides, he had a score to
settle with the man of God. Taking his woman would be a start.

He’d just take a little ride down to the cabin and make a nice Sunday-afternoon call on his nearest neighbor.

Pratt saddled his horse and thought about the possibilities that lay ahead. He slipped his hand inside the saddlebags and pulled out one of Sylvia’s gold coins. If Miz Adams were good enough, he’d just make a little contribution to the church.

The Sunday morning services hadn’t turned out as Macky had expected. She drove the wagon behind the cabin and unharnessed Solomon. The mule was as docile as he could be, almost as if he realized the trouble he’d caused when he dumped Macky in the road.

Macky led the mule inside the empty, temporary corral, slapped him on the rear and fastened the gate. Bran hadn’t returned from Sylvia Mainwearing’s mine. Mrs. Mainwearing would likely be upset. Bran would probably have to drive her into town to check personally on her drivers. Maybe Macky should have waited in town for Bran to return, but once the drivers were treated, she’d wandered downstairs to watch for Bran, growing more and more uncomfortable as the miners and drifters began to wander in.

Though it had been Sunday, once Lorraine opened the door to the injured drivers, the rest of the miners made good use of the saloon. One of Lorraine’s customers invited Macky to dance. Another had invited her to join their card game.

Finally, she’d picked up a Denver newspaper lying on the bar and walked down to the general store where she took a seat on the bench out front. Opening the paper, she’d read the headline and felt her heart slide down her stomach and draw itself into a knot.

The banker was dead. The man she’d threatened to kill for cheating her father had been shot in the holdup of the
bank in Promise. She hadn’t known that. Now he’d died. In addition to being a bank robber, she was an accomplice to murder.

“The devil’s pitchfork!” She knew then that she was really in trouble. She felt as if she were whirling around in a fast-moving stream, ready to be sucked down with no way to get out.

She couldn’t think. Earlier in the day she’d decided to confess her crime, make amends and stay in Heaven. Now she couldn’t do that without giving Bran’s secret away. Nobody would believe that she was innocent when she’d ended up with the money. She had to do something. But what?

She couldn’t stay in town. Too many people were watching her. She studied the situation all the way home, looking for another answer that would get her out of the mess she’d dug herself into. Back at the parsonage she paced back and forth outside the cabin door, searching diligently for solutions that remained illusive.

Papa had told her that one day she’d know what love was. He was right. She’d found it and she was about to lose it. And she couldn’t see a way in hell to stop it.

“Lordy, what am I going to do?”

But it wasn’t the Lord who answered, it was Pratt. “First off, you and me are going to get acquainted, Miz Adams, is it?”

He was standing right beside her, leaning against the corner of the cabin, flipping a gold coin and catching it in his palm. He’d figured it out and now he’d come for the money. “What are you doing here?” she asked, her heart pounding. Why hadn’t she stayed in town as Bran had told her to?

“I’ve come to call on the new minister,” he said.

“I’m sorry but he isn’t—I mean, we’re busy. If you’ll come back later.”

She was trying to move past him, get through the door and throw the wooden bolt from the inside.

Pratt smiled. He had to hand it to her. She’d gussied
herself up real good. He liked her red hair and her cool green eyes.

Something about them seemed familiar, a bit troublesome.

“That’s all right, ma’am,” he said. “We sure don’t need the preacher for what I have in mind. Guess I can give you my … donation.”

He flipped the coin at her. Instinctively, Macky caught it and glanced down at the familiar
S
on its face.

“You ever see anything like that before, ma’am? It’s pure gold. All you have to do is be nice to me and you can keep it. You can be nice, can’t you?”

Macky gasped. Her mama had a favorite story she used to tell about going to a fancy ball, and how the lady always had to leave when she was having the most fun. If she stayed too long, the fun would be over and she’d pay the price of misbehaving.

Macky had stayed too long. Now she would have to pay the price.

“No, I don’t think so. I’ve never seen a coin like this before,” she lied, her voice trembling. “But our church will certainly make good use of it. You’re a very generous man, Mr.—I don’t know your name.”

She needed him to think she was impressed. Maybe she’d bargain a bit, anything to buy time. If she was right about him, Pratt was the kind of man who liked to see women grovel.

“My name?” He adjusted his gunbelt and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Reckon you know my moniker, even if you don’t know me. Folks call me Pratt.”

“The bank robber?” Macky said and gasped as if she were afraid. At the same time she took a step closer to the door.

“One and the same,” he bragged. “Everybody’s afraid of me. But don’t worry, darlin’, I won’t hurt you. Women like me, you know.”

He was leering at her now.

“I wouldn’t brag about my identity, Mr. Pratt. Not after that newspaper headline I read back in town.”

It was Pratt’s turn to be confused. “What headline?”

“Guess you didn’t hear,” Macky said and walked boldly toward the cabin. “That banker died. Pratt is wanted for murder. Not only that, but Mrs. Mainwearing hired a gunfighter named Night Eyes to protect her gold. The marshal and the sheriff are out looking for you right now.”

She almost made it inside when he grabbed her, twisting her arm painfully behind and jerking her close. She could feel the heated, putrid smell of his breath.

“That’s a lie,” he growled. “I don’t know what you’re doing here, sweet thing, but you ain’t no preacher’s wife.”

It was time for Macky to confess her sins. The worst was about to happen. “You’re the one who’s lying, Mr. Pratt. We both know that you’re in trouble, don’t we?”

She’d had enough of this evil little man. He might not leave, but if he laid a hand on her, he’d regret it. “I think you’d better go now, before my husband returns.”

Pratt’s desire melted under the intensity of her gaze. Her eyes looked like hoarfrost on winter grass, encasing its green in pure ice. He’d never seen eyes like that except once.

Once. Where?

And then he knew. “You’re—you’re that kid—McKenzie.”

“Kid?” she questioned. “Yes I am, Pratt, and I can prove you’re the one who held up the bank and probably the one who shot that banker.”

“I found you! I followed you here and didn’t even know it. First there was the velvet purse on the trail, the purse with the gold coins. I should have known then, but I didn’t put it together. Where’s the money?”

Macky couldn’t answer. All she could think about was keeping Bran out of it. “You can’t prove it,” she finally said.

“Oh, yes I can. But wait a minute. Somebody took the cameo and the feather. And the preacher stopped me from going after the thief.”

Pratt let go of her arms and stepped back, glancing around as if he’d heard something. “The two of you been working together from the first. And the boss don’t have a clue, or does he?”

“Boss?” Macky questioned.

Pratt studied her. “Maybe the boss knows. Maybe he plans on cutting me out.”

“What makes you think that?” Bran said as he stepped out of the trees near the stream, leading his horse with one hand. He held his drawn pistol in the other.

The bank robber’s eyes grew wide. “What are you going to do with that gun?”

Macky was suddenly afraid. Bran was gone. In his place was the man who’d seen his sister die, who’d killed men and lived to kill again. All the light was gone from his eyes, leaving only cold, dead cold.

“Go inside the cabin, Macky, and bolt the door. And you”—Bran continued to stare at Pratt—“you get on your horse. We’re going for a little ride.”

“You don’t have to worry, Brother Adams, I ain’t going to tell nobody. I was just playing a little joke on the kid—I mean your wife.”

“I don’t like jokes.”

“Just give me part of the money from the robbery and I’ll leave you and her alone. I ain’t got no reason to tell anybody that you ain’t a real man of God.”

“Oh, but I am, Mr. Pratt. I’m His avenging angel and we’re going to have a little talk about your soul.”

If he’d moved, Bran would have killed him. For the first time he was ready to shoot a man in cold blood, without mercy. He knew it and Pratt knew it as well.

As Bran mounted his horse, Pratt put his hands over his head and made a dash for his own mount. “I’ll come. Honest to God, I’ll come. Just don’t kill me.”

“Don’t kill him, Bran,” Macky echoed. “He isn’t worth it.”

“Maybe not,” Bran agreed, “but you are.”

• • •

Bran let Pratt make his own way up the trail until he was satisfied that Macky wasn’t following. “Turn off here.”

“But there’s no trail. There’s nothing but rock and snow.”

“Don’t let it worry you, Pratt. We aren’t going far.”

Pratt followed orders, riding his horse as far up as he could go. It was growing colder. The sky was turning a leaden gray and the wind was picking up. Pratt began to shiver, his teeth chattering in spite of his best efforts to look tough.

“Far enough,” Bran finally said. “Now get off that horse and remove your gunbelt.”

Pratt complied, his fingers shaking so badly that he could barely obey. “Forget the money. Just let me go and I’ll leave the territory.”

“Not yet. I think I’ll wait until I get some answers to a few of my questions.” Bran rested his revolver on his thigh, his finger resting loosely on the trigger. “I want to know what’s happening here in Heaven.”

“I—I don’t know what you mean.”

Before Pratt was even aware that he had moved, Bran fired one shot at Pratt’s feet. “You know what I mean. Did you kill Moose?”

“No! It’s God’s truth, Preacher. I was in prison then. Old Moose was killed before I got here.”

“But you know who was behind it, don’t you?”

Pratt heard the sound of the hammer being cocked once more.

“You don’t know? You ain’t in cohoots with ’em?”

“I work alone, Pratt, and I want an answer.”

“I’m a dead man if I say.”

“You’re a dead man if you don’t.”

“Can’t we make a little deal here, Preacher? I don’t want to take the fall here. Just let me go and I’ll ride west and you’ll never see me again.”

The last thing Bran wanted was to have Pratt leave. He was the only one who could prove Macky’s innocence. But the spineless thief was so scared that he was likely to do something dumb. Maybe there was another way. If Bran could convince Pratt that he was gaining a new partner, one he feared, that might make him stay around. But Pratt had to be convinced that he would be signing his own death warrant if he didn’t go along.

“Suppose we make a deal,” Bran suggested. “Taking over the Sylvia looks like a pretty good setup. Let’s just say I’m considering cutting myself in. I could use a partner, someone who already knows the lay of the land. What about joining up with me, Pratt? I’m not greedy. We’ll split the take fifty-fifty.”