The Redhead and the Preacher: A Loveswept Historical Romance (34 page)

“I think I’ll be there,” Hank said. “Though I don’t know how smart any of us are to come.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t like crowds. They can turn mean and get braver with numbers,” he answered.

Lorraine couldn’t see him in the darkness and she held herself back from moving closer. “Is that why you never came to the Sunday services in the saloon before?”

“Partially.”

“What makes this different?” she asked, trying to keep her voice casual.

“Well, the sheriff is coming in from Promise. The judge is on his way back from Denver and I haven’t seen the marshal in two days. The preacher has been all over town, calling on his future parishioners and sending off letters by the Pony Express riders. I haven’t seen Mrs. Adams and there’s enough tension in the air to start a riot. Now, we’re holding a revival to bring everybody in Heaven together?”

Lorraine knew about tension all right. Surprisingly, she was looking forward to the Wednesday-night service. The more often she came in contact with the city fathers and their wives, the more respectable she became.

Only when Macky had come to Heaven did Lorraine’s station begin to change. Macky’s generous spirit had touched everyone. She’d become a kind of conscience, forcing Mrs. Cribbs and Mrs. Gooden and the others to live their Christian principles rather than just preach them.

Macky had changed everything for the better. Macky could wear men’s clothing. Macky could ride a mule. Macky found that Pendley child and suddenly the child became poor little Rebekah and Mrs. Pendley was invited to church. Macky became Lorraine’s friend and now Lorraine was more than just that woman. There was even talk of a school.

Lorraine had told herself that it didn’t matter. But now Hank was taking her thoughts of a future in a different direction, which made it all the more important that she be accepted as an equal.

But a revival?

Even Lorraine was having problems with that idea.

“Do you think anybody has seen us together?” she asked.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Would it matter to you?” she asked. “I mean it might cause gossip.”

Hank lifted her over him so that she was gazing straight into his eyes. “Let’s get this straight, once and for all. I do what I want and I don’t care what anybody thinks. Not now. Not ever. But you and me are different. We’re too new to face that kind of hurt.”

“Does that mean you don’t want anybody to know about us? Are you ashamed of me?”

There was a long silence before Hank answered. “I think you might be more ashamed of me, once you know who I am.” And he told her about his father who kept a mistress and had sired him. About the man who already had a proper wife who produced proper children. He told her of the taunts and the fights he’d survived to protect his mother. About how his father had sent him off to school and how, while he was away, his mother died—alone.

“Why send you away, if he didn’t care about you?” Lorraine said, tracing his eyebrows with her fingertips as she tried to still the wild urgings of her body’s response to his touch.

“Because he couldn’t bear to look at me. Because I looked more like him than his own children. Because I was strong and they were weak.”

“What happened to your father?”

“He’d always gambled and finally he went too far. He killed himself.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry, Hank. That must have hurt you badly.”

“No, what hurt was that my mother died before I could take her away from him.”

Something in his voice revealed a twinge of uncertainty. “Would she have come with you?”

“I have to think so. But I don’t know.”

“So, what brought you to Heaven?”

He gave a wry laugh. “I heard that you had to travel through Hell to get to Heaven and I figured that whichever place I landed would be where I’d stay. The people in Hell wouldn’t care who I was and the ones in Heaven wouldn’t turn me away.”

“How awful for you, Hank. But surely you don’t keep to yourself because you think the people of Heaven would turn their backs on you now—unless—oh, I see. They might, if they learned about us. You’ve made yourself a reputation as a city father. Now the shoe’s on the other foot and it’s pinching you.”

“No,” Hank protested.

“Yes. You’re afraid that you might end up like your father. You don’t want to make me your mistress and you’re not ready to marry me. You won’t let yourself love me because you don’t want to give me a child. How noble of you.”

Lorraine pulled herself to her feet and looked down at the man lying so still. “Well, never fear, Hank Clay. I’ll never embarrass you before the good citizens of Heaven. I make no apologies for what I do. I’m just sorry that I was stupid enough to believe you were different. After all the men who’ve wanted me, I fall in love with one who is ashamed of who I am.”

“Lorraine, no. It isn’t like that at all.” Hank came slowly to his feet. He didn’t know how everything had gotten out of hand. He cared about Lorraine. What she was hadn’t mattered to him. She was a lady as far as he was concerned. Keeping what they had a secret was his way of making sure it wasn’t destroyed.

“I think it is, Hank. And I think it’s over.” With that she was gone and Hank was standing there with a hole as big as a mountain in his heart and regret that showered him like the rain that had started to fall.

• • •

Macky didn’t see Bran for the rest of Monday, or Tuesday. Of course he could have come to the cabin while she plowed her field with Solomon.

She had no seed, nor could she be certain that she’d even be there long enough to harvest what she planted, but there was something about the smell of damp, fresh-plowed earth that made her senses respond.

The Monday-night rains were gone by Tuesday. She rode into town, picked up the other two dresses from Lettie, and bought a plow. Along the way, she decided to face the marshal directly.

He was in his office, pouring coffee from a tin pot on the stove.

“Morning, Marshal Larkin,” she said. “Got a minute?”

“Sure. Come in, Mrs. Adams. Something I can do for you?”

“Just wanted to be sure you were coming to the revival tomorrow night. I’m worried.”

“Oh? About what?”

“Well, people seem to be a little nervous about the gunfighter coming to town. They think he might be after that bank robber, Pratt.”

“Haven’t heard anything about it. What makes you think that Pratt is even here?”

“I figure that’s why you’re still here. Look, Marshal, let’s talk straight. I think you know who Night Eyes really is. Suppose he turns Pratt over to you. Do you think the trouble in Heaven would stop?”

Larkin studied her. What in hell was she up to? She was as much as confessing that her husband was the gunfighter. But what connection did they have to Pratt? He’d been a law officer long enough to smell a trap and this had all the markings of one. He’d just play along.

“I don’t know. Night Eyes has a reputation as a fair man. ’Course, if he’s tied in with Pratt that would change things.”

“But Night Eyes has never been wanted for a crime, right?”

“He isn’t wanted. Why?”

“You just never know what will come out in a revival. Sometimes criminals are taken by the Holy Spirit and confess to their crimes, even a man like Pratt. Then again, sometimes even honest people are guilty of deception.”

Larkin leaned back on his stool. It sounded for all the world like the woman was threatening him. Had he missed something?

One thing was clear, he’d better be at that revival. “I’ll be there, Mrs. Adams. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Macky was almost ready to admit that she’d been wrong to be suspicious of Marshal Larkin. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to open up completely. She was almost out the door when she looked back, and caught sight of a saddle with silver trim under the desk. The marshal had Pratt’s saddle. Why?

Maybe Pratt had already been found. Or maybe she’d been right all along. The marshal and Pratt were working together. To do what?

Wednesday was warmer with occasional patches of sunshine. For the most part, the sky, still sullen and heavy, draped over Kansas like Mother Earth’s gray apron.

Macky prepared the last of the biscuits and meat left by the church women. She didn’t know where Bran was eating. She didn’t know where he was sleeping either, but from time to time she heard his horse in the corral.

By noon, she went to the creek and bathed, being careful not to go where she couldn’t touch bottom. Even as she rinsed the soap from her hair and sat drying it in the disappearing sunlight, she couldn’t hold back the memories of the first time Bran had brought her there and the nights that followed.

Macky felt a shiver of concern ripple down her back.
Gathering her clothing, she sprinted to the house to dress for the revival. She might have to go alone, but she’d hoped that her avenging angel would be there. She planned to use the town meeting to confess her own crime in such a way that Bran would never be involved. She hoped he’d understand what she had to do.

Back in town, Larkin reached inside the drawer to retrieve the wanted poster on John Brandon Lee. He didn’t know what the revival would bring, but he was prepared to make his move if the opportunity presented itself. He didn’t think that Night Eyes would allow himself to be arrested. But if Larkin could force him to draw, he’d be rid of the problem. Aaron Larkin would have Heaven in his pocket. He’d take Heaven’s queen, the lovely Sylvia Mainwearing, down a peg. Once she saw Moose’s IOU’s she’d have to do whatever he wanted.

“Onward Christian soldiers,” he said and let out a high, thready laugh. Larkin figured he could consider himself a soldier marching off to war. And he knew before he fired the first shot that he was going to win.

But the poster was gone. Someone had been in his office. Someone knew about the preacher, about John Brandon Lee. But who?

It had to be the redhead. He’d had the feeling when she came to his office that she was fishing. Now he was sure of it. She had the poster and she thought its absence would protect the gunfighter. He smiled. They’d underestimated him. He didn’t have to prove anything. The redhead and the preacher were about to be exposed as the biggest sin in Heaven.

T
he sullen darkening clouds raced across the late afternoon sky as Macky placed the money from the bank holdup in her market basket and covered it with a cloth. If asked, she’d say she was bringing a gift to Lorraine. Bran met her as she stepped out the cabin door. Solomon was already hitched to the wagon and complaining stubbornly.

“Good morning, I mean afternoon,” Macky said uncertainly. As Bran had once said, the good part remained to be seen. With a certain amount of delicious wickedness he’d said that he’d much prefer the bad. Today he’d get his wish.

Bran helped her into the wagon, noting without comment that she was wearing a new dress. He’d missed her. Her declaration of love had tormented him and he’d had to struggle to stay away from her.

For the last few days he’d used every favor he had coming to him to build his case against the marshal and the proof was on its way to Heaven with Sheriff Dover.

“Macky, about us—” he began.

“There is no us, is there, Bran? I know I said I love you, but I understand you’re not ready for that.”

The old Macky was back. She never expected love so she was swallowing her disappointment. He only hoped his plan would bring back the woman he loved. It was the only way he could show her how he felt.

The couple driving into Heaven had come a long way from the two awkward people who’d arrived in town only days before. Bran and Macky had been wild, passionate, full of pride. The Reverend and Mrs. Brandon Adams were polite and genteel. They reached the saloon and greeted their neighbors with stiff-lipped smiles and barely concealed tension.

Gathered outside the makeshift church were the same townspeople who’d met their stage that first day. Lorraine waited in the doorway to the saloon. Across the street, Hank Clay leaned against the post under the roof of the blacksmith shop and watched with a stern frown.

“For a revival, the sinners seem a bit sullen,” Judge Hardcastle said under his breath to Mrs. Mainwearing, who was still seated in the smart black buggy down the street. “Do you intend to go inside, or do we just wait out here to be saved?”

“Don’t be sacrilegious, Judge,” Sylvia snapped. “I told you that you didn’t have to come along.”

“Which is precisely why I did. You’re not going to put me off any more, my dear. I think you ought to know that I made a few inquiries about you and I was surprised to find that you were the rage of San Francisco.”

Sylvia gasped and turned her blue eyes on the judge. “You know what I was—before?”

“I do and I’m certainly intrigued by your remarkable success. It’s a damned sight more appealing than believing you were some kind of society girl who was down on her luck.”

Sylvia couldn’t miss the twinkle in his eye. Maybe she’d
misjudged him. Maybe she’d give him just a bit of encouragement, see how things progressed. If the services went as she remembered them from her childhood, there’d be plenty of time for confession and repentance. That was when she’d act.

“Let’s get going, Judge. I don’t want to miss a thing.”

“What do you expect to happen?” he asked, helping Sylvia from the buggy, and ignoring the surprised expressions of the faithful gathering at the doorway.

“I don’t know. There are a lot of secrets in Heaven and who knows what the night will bring?”

The churchgoers made their way inside, skirting the eerie pattern of darkness cast by the rays of the sun already setting behind the buildings along the street.

At the last moment a strange wagon rattled into town, carrying a lone woman. Macky looked up and recognized her immediately.

“Harriet!” She ran toward the wagon, clasping the woman in her arms as soon as she stepped down. “How did you manage to get away from the way station?”

“Heard there was going to be a revival. Always did like a little fire and brimstone, especially when it’s being served up in such interesting surroundings.” She bent her head close to Macky. “Reckon there’s any sherry behind that bar?”