The Redhead and the Preacher: A Loveswept Historical Romance (22 page)

“Set up housekeeping? Never thought I’d hear that phrase in connection with me,” Bran admitted wryly. “Never expected to be married, pretend or otherwise.”

“But we aren’t really married, Reverend Adams. It’s more a matter of mutual need, I’d say. You need me and I need you.”

He took in her perky umbrella and red hair. “A truer statement was never made, but I don’t have to like it.”

“Well—well—neither do I. I didn’t ask to get gussied up last night and go to dinner with those men and I didn’t ask to move out of the saloon.”

“Moving out of the saloon into a cabin in the hills may test both our resolves, Mrs. Adams, but I don’t see any way out of it.”

“I suppose you’d rather stay at Lorraine’s.”

“Wouldn’t folks talk?”

Macky gave Bran a grin of mock exasperation. “Somehow, I didn’t suppose that you would worry about gossip.”

Bran lifted his eyebrow at that charge. It wasn’t the first time his wife-in-name had shown her sense of humor. He liked her willingness to accept hardship, but he wasn’t certain how far her sense of propriety would go.

“Gossip doesn’t bother me,” Bran admitted, “but impropriety, now, that could be a problem.” Bran gave a tsking sound and covered it nicely with a flick of the reins. “Impropriety could be considered a sin, or at least an undesirable trait in a minister’s wife.”

“I don’t know how to be proper and I’m not your wife,” she protested.

“You are for now.” He grinned. “And I’m looking forward to some good homecooked meals.”

Macky didn’t swallow her tongue, but she came close. She could ride a horse, brand a cow, plant and harvest a garden. But cook? Not her.

Still, what choice did she have, short of confessing her crime? None. So long as Bran continued to go along with their ruse, so would she.

The wagon was unloaded and the supplies brought inside. Macky stood in the middle of the one-room cabin and looked around in dismay. Even the farmhouse where she’d lived with her father and brother hadn’t been this bad.
Granted, there was a wood floor, a good fireplace, a table and a loft. But it was the rope bed in the corner that held her attention.

One bed.

Apparently unaware of her confusion, Bran directed the members of the congregation as to where the items should be placed.

“Take Mrs. Adams’s carrying case up to the loft,” he said. “For the time being I believe that she’d like to store her belongings up there. Wouldn’t you, dear?”

Macky could only nod. Anything to remove the remainder of the gold coins from possible discovery.

Eventually the salt, flour, meal, and canned goods were arranged on the shelf over the worktable. The bacon and dried beef had been hung from the ceiling in the pantry outside the kitchen door. And she had enough pans to cook and enough bedclothes to cover the cornshuck mattress.

Macky allowed their helpers to think that she was simply overcome by the generosity of the congregation. In truth she was scared to death. So she had flour and meal and meat, what did she know about preparing it?

Papa had been the cook at home. Even after he became so ill that he could do little more than sit in a chair by the stove and stir a pot, he managed to feed himself and Macky. In the end all he could eat was broth, and Macky had learned to boil meat and stir in a bit of mush.

“We’ll be getting back to town now,” Preston Cribbs said as he looked around the cabin and smiled.

“Yep,” Hank agreed. “All you’ll have to do tomorrow night is make the coffee and have a cook fire.”

“Thank you,” Bran responded, standing beside Macky and sliding his arm around her waist. “We’ll be ready.”

“Good evening, then,” the two men said, and turned to leave.

“Oh, by the way,” Bran called out. “Mrs. Mainwearing will be coming.”

Hank gave a disbelieving laugh. “She’s going to mingle with the common folk?”

“Don’t joke, Hank,” Preston ventured. “You never know, she might. Long as Lorraine won’t be here. She’s never forgiven her for knowing Moose first.”

“Knowing Moose first?” Macky’s heart plunged to her shoes.
Please, God, don’t do this to me
.

“I think you’ll be pleased to know,” Bran said as they watched the wagon pull away from the cabin, “that Sylvia agreed that she ought to mix with the townspeople more. It isn’t much, but it’s a first step.”

“Yeah,” Macky agreed, “to a war. I invited Lorraine.”

Bran narrowed his eyes and stared at the wagon disappearing in the distance. “Macky, sometimes things have to get worse to get better. Lorraine and Sylvia might like each other if they gave it a chance.”

“Bran, let’s not get carried away with this Messenger of God business. You’re not Adams and this isn’t the Garden of Eden.”

“I don’t know,” Bran observed, looking at the splotches of new growth dabbled across the plains like colors in a paintbox. “I wasn’t there of course, but this could be a kind of Garden of Eden.”

“I know that story,” Macky said in a resigned tone. “This may look like the Garden of Eden to you, but there’s one problem.”

“What would that be, Macky?”

“The Garden of Eden came with a snake.”

A
nd then they were alone.

The silence was deafening. It shimmered like heat rising from the floor of the desert in the middle of the day. The only sound in the cabin came from a cricket, hiding somewhere in the stack of wood beside the fireplace.

“I’d better check on the animals,” Bran said, moving toward the door as if he too was being affected by the feeling in the air.

“What should I do?” Macky asked, trying to shake her discomfort.

“It’s late. Fix us something to eat and we’ll forget about food later,” he called over his shoulder.

“But—wait, just a minute!” Macky went after Bran. He was acting cold and distant like he had in the beginning. She might as well get this straight right away. “What do you mean, fix something to eat?”

“Cook, as in make biscuits. Make coffee. Fry some bacon. Surely you can do that.”

She bit back a sharp retort. He did have a right to expect something from her. And God knew there was little enough that she had to offer. Preparing a meal shouldn’t be too difficult, even without her father’s directions.

“Fine, I’ll see what I can do.”

“You do know,” he said seriously, “that we have to make this work, for a while anyway.”

“When are you going to tell me what you’re really doing here, Bran?”

“Like you, I can’t tell you without putting you in danger. Just be careful, Macky.”

She glanced behind him at Solomon. “Should I be afraid of you?”

“Maybe you should.”

Macky had felt many things for this dangerous man who’d brought such new emotions into her life, but curiously, fear wasn’t one of them.

“Well, I’m not. But you do give me cause for concern. I go around feeling like I’m holding my breath, knowing I’m about to be lambasted by the wind and not being able to do a dad-blamed thing to stop it. And none of it makes a lick of sense.”

“I know,” he answered, his voice hoarse and grainy. “You should catch the next stage and find another way to hide from whoever is chasing you. I ought to make you go.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not a good man, Macky. I can’t promise that I’ll be able to keep my hands off you if you stay. And, you’re interfering with my job here.”

She took a half step toward him. “What job?” she asked again. “Why can’t you tell me? I don’t care if you’re not a minister. In fact, I’d be in a pickle if you were. And I trust you, John Brandon, no matter what you are.”

He looked at her a long time before he answered.

“Don’t trust me, Macky. There are dark things about me that you can’t even imagine. I’ll only hurt you.”

“No you won’t. And I may not know the truth about you, but I know that you’re a good person. You’re kind and caring. What’s happened between us can’t be bad, can it?”

Bran wanted to laugh. Oh, it was bad. How in hell was he going to be able to stay away from her when all he could think about was taking up where they’d stopped the night before?

“You’re trouble, McKenzie Kathryn Calhoun.”

“Because I know how to be honest about what I want?”

“And because you go after it.”

“I do,” she said. “I’d like you to kiss me, Bran. Just one kiss,” she murmured, closing the space between them, justifying her need to be near him by telling herself that she’d probably end up in jail and never know what happened between a man and a woman. This was her only chance.

“Damn it to hell, Macky. You’ve got no business asking me to kiss you.” Then every reservation disappeared as she lifted her face to meet his.

“Please, Bran.”

Their lips touched, lightly at first, then more firmly. “Am I doing it right?” she asked as he nuzzled her neck.

“If you were doing it any better, I’d have you leaned against a tree with your legs around my waist—”

She opened her green eyes, wide with wonder. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“I wouldn’t,” he growled and thrust her away. “And I’m not. Macky, go back inside before I lose every ounce of control I have.”

“Don’t you like kissing me? I know that I’m inexperienced, but I thought I was learning. If there’s something I’m doing wrong, just tell me. I’ll fix it. We’re going to have to spend a lot of time together. It seems to be a very pleasant way to spend some time, since we’re married.”

“We’re not married, Macky. Not in the eyes of God.”

“Oh, phoo! It seems to me that God wouldn’t have made
something like this feel good unless it was all right for a body to feel it.”

Bran let out an oath.

Macky was beginning to understand his frustration. She was feeling much the same thing herself. “So I make your body do crazy things. Good. I wouldn’t want to think it was just me.”

He would have taken her, right there, on the ground, except Solomon came meandering up and stopped next to them as if he were inspecting the proceedings.

“What the?”

Bran let go of her, blinking his eyes at the sight of the long-eared creature. “Thank God!”

“Solomon! You bad boy! I ought to turn you into fertilizer,” Macky cried out. “Go away!”

The mule stamped his foot and let out an awful sound of complaint.

“Don’t you argue with me. You ran off when I needed you and now … now …” She choked back her anger and frustration.

“He really is your mule?”

“Yes. I was riding him into Promise that day. He got spooked by a hawk and ran off. I would have had to walk. I should have walked, then I would have had plenty of time in town and none of this would have happened.”

“What do you expect to do with him?”

“Plow our field, of course. Can you put him behind the fence with your horse?”

“Why not?” Bran caught the mule by the halter. “They’re about as well suited as we are.” By the time he secured the makeshift gate on the fence around the shed, Macky had left.

The source of his trouble was gone, but Bran was still as hard as a rock and even more frustrated.

Bran was as overwhelmed by Macky’s innocence as her lack of guile. More and more he was convinced that whatever had happened to her was not of her choosing. Sooner
or later he’d get the truth from her. But for now it was all a confusing mess. And he couldn’t see it getting any easier.

Back in the cabin, Macky decided to change out of the dress and petticoat. Cooking biscuits would be enough of a challenge without having to worry about a skirt. Glancing out the window, she saw Bran filling the horse trough with water. She’d better hurry unless she wanted him to see how really inept she was.

She climbed the ladder to the loft, took a look around and felt her heart drop. Any idea she might have had of sleeping up there disappeared when she saw the dust on the floor and the spiderwebs strung to the low ceiling.

Quickly she removed her new clothes and donned her brother’s trousers and shirt. The old work boots followed. As she shimmied down the ladder, she felt normal for the first time in days.

First she’d make a fire. Then she’d tackle the sack of flour. Making biscuits couldn’t be that hard. She’d watched her father do it. All she needed was flour, grease, and milk. Well, maybe not milk. Water would have to do.

But first came the fire.

“That was a close call last night. The fire spread so fast, you almost got caught. Why’d you have to stab him?”

“Yeah, well, he figured it out and I had to move fast. I got the job done, didn’t I?” Pratt, standing on the ground, looked up at the rider.

“At least he’s dead. But I don’t like bodies left lying around. People ask questions.”

“Better than having somebody go looking for suspects.”

“Next time, be more careful. What about the preacher? Did he get a look at you?”

“No, but it was close. Are you going to the housewarming?”

“Certainly. I want to know exactly what’s happening.
Somebody in Heaven spent gold coins at the general store. I intend to know who.”

I intend
. Pratt bristled. That’s the way he always talked. He made everybody who answered to him feel as if they were being looked down on, even when he wasn’t on his horse. “Didn’t that woman know who spent the money?”

“The forgetful Mrs. Clara Gooden couldn’t recall. I think she was just afraid she’d have to give it back.”

Pratt was getting tired of staring straight into the sun. “Some of the coins were probably used here in town anyway, weren’t they?”

“Yes, Sylvia couldn’t resist showing off the new engraving, but if she’d been the one who spent the gold, Clara would have said so.”

“So, what happens now? I’m going stir-crazy with nothing to do out here. I’m ready to go back to town.”

“Absolutely not. You’re lucky somebody hasn’t spotted you. We’re too close to take any chances. Now this is what I want you to do.”

Pratt took a step closer and smiled as the man on the horse gave his instructions.

Macky opened the sack of flour and took two hands full, dropping them in the chipped pottery bowl she found on the shelf. She needed grease. There was none. But grease came from frying bacon.

Macky sliced several chunks from a slab of bacon that Bran had brought from town. After almost singeing her eyelashes, she managed to set the skillet in the fire and plopped the bacon inside.