Bran tried to see the house from a female’s point of view. He’d lived in much worse, but he thought that a woman would probably be disappointed in its crudeness. Then he remembered Macky’s wardrobe and changed his mind.
The cabin contained a single room. The cooking was limited to the fireplace. There was a cupboard and two new shelves built over a freshly cut plank counter, which covered the woodpile. A double bed and a chest occupied the front corner of the room, a crude table and two benches stood in the other.
As far as he could tell there wasn’t even an extra blanket if his new bride wanted to sleep on the floor. He looked at the fireplace and grinned. If she was inclined to continue whatever she was supposed to be doing with the sock on her head, she’d have an ample supply of soot to do so.
“I’m sorry it isn’t more,” Mr. Cribbs said. “But we’ll improve it as we can.”
Bran took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. “Don’t worry, Mayor, this will do just fine.” The sooner they moved into the house, the sooner he could escape prying eyes and start his search.
Beginning with supper that night with his real employer, Mrs. Sylvia Mainwearing, and ending with a talk with Macky. If he was going to be a father he wanted to know what to expect.
When the bedroom door closed behind Bran earlier that morning, Macky was left with the feeling that she’d been bested in their conversation. She’d even told him her real name. What was she doing giving away her secrets to a man who wasn’t revealing any of his own?
What had she proved by sleeping on a cold, hard floor?
Not only had she been uncomfortable, she’d left the bed so that Bran could search and find the money she’d hidden.
Money!
She hurried to the bed, sliding her hands beneath the mattress. The money was still there, along with the cameo she’d taken from Pratt’s saddlebags, and something else she hadn’t had time to examine last night—the silver feather from Bran’s hat.
Macky had spent a good portion of the night trying to find some reason why Pratt might suspect that she was McKenzie. But Bran’s presence so close by had kept her mind going in circles. If Pratt had spoken to the dressmaker and found out that a woman dressed like a boy had bought clothing and gotten on the stage, why hadn’t he approached her?
And if the sheriff had arrested Pratt, how had he gotten to the dressmaker? It made no sense. And she wasn’t going to find any answers hiding in her room. What she ought to do was follow Bran’s advice; buy a horse and ride away.
Macky groaned. After representing herself as the preacher’s wife, she couldn’t even leave. Half the town and the marshal would start an immediate search for her. She’d have a bank robber, a sheriff, a marshal, and God only knew how many others on her trail.
No. Best that she stay put until she knew what was happening. Somehow, though she didn’t want to admit it, as long as she was with Bran, she felt safe.
After searching the room for a new hiding place for her money, Macky decided that the only other spot was beneath the kindling in the woodbox. She’d only just finished replacing the wood when there was a knock on the door.
“Come in.”
A serving girl entered carrying a tray containing a pewter pot, a cup, and a roll. “Miss Lorraine sent you some chocolate and a sweet roil, ma’am. May I prepare your bath?”
Macky didn’t know how to answer. She’d never been waited on before. “My bath?”
“In the hip tub. I’ll bring hot water.”
“Oh, no! I’ll just bathe in the basin, thank you.”
The girl nodded and backed out the door, returning moments later with a fresh pitcher of warm water and a bathing cloth.
“Miss Lake will be waiting for you downstairs whenever you’re ready,” she said and left the room.
Macky quickly washed the soot from her hands and face, then gulped down the chocolate and ate the roll. Her stomach had never been so empty. Food had never tasted so good. She still cringed at the spectacle she’d made of herself by throwing up her food in the alley.
Pickled pig’s feet. She couldn’t even think about it without feeling her stomach lurch in protest. What must the women of the church have thought about her?
Not that it mattered. Macky Calhoun had quit worrying about what other women thought about her long ago and nothing she could do would make her into something she wasn’t, even a preacher’s wife.
With a sense of dread she donned the worn skirt and badly wrinkled shirtwaist. Her hair was another problem. Without Papa’s hat to cover it, she was faced with a mass of curls that refused to be restrained.
At last, in utter desperation she resorted to braiding it and fastening it with a bow made from a strip of fabric ripped from her petticoat. Finally she tucked a supply of gold coins and paper money into her pocket, opened the door, and stepped into the hall.
With her heart thudding in her chest, she offered a silent prayer that she wouldn’t see anybody until after she’d gotten a decent wardrobe.
In the saloon, a boy was sweeping.
Macky paused and looked around. “Hello. I’m—I’m Mrs. Adams.”
“Miss Lake be here in a minute.” The boy studied Macky curiously.
Macky strode through the swinging doors onto the walkway. The sidewalk was filled with women carrying baskets doing their morning shopping. Laughing children darted around their mother’s skirts and ran across the street. Heaven looked so normal.
“Morning, Miz Adams,” one of the shoppers called out.
Macky managed to nod at the woman she recognized from the church social last night.
“Good, you’re ready,” Lorraine Lake said as she moved out the door and lifted her skirt. “Let’s cross the street. Thank goodness we haven’t had any bad weather in the last few days. The street is a mudhole when it rains.”
Macky didn’t miss the frowns of censure as she followed the beautifully groomed woman, dodging a carriage and two men on horseback who leered at her. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“There is a dressmaker just down the way. Her gowns aren’t as stylish as those from back East, but she’s good. Gooden’s General Store carries shoes and hats made by the pious Mrs. Gooden. She won’t carry merchandise she considers frivolous, but the dear soul actually has some nice things.”
Remembering her experience with the dressmaker in Promise, Macky voiced her reservations. “The seamstress probably won’t have anything that will fit me.”
“Don’t worry. If Letty doesn’t have anything made up, I’ll lend you something of mine.”
Macky laughed. “Miss Lake, I don’t think I have quite the shape to wear your clothes. Besides …”
“Please, call me Lorraine. And don’t worry. I wouldn’t dress you in anything that wasn’t suitable for the members of your congregation. How long have you and Bran been married anyway?”
“Ah—not long. I’m surprised that there are so many women in town,” Macky said quickly, changing the subject. “Why aren’t the children in school?”
“There’s no teacher. The mothers who know how to read and write try to school them at home. I offered to help out, but they couldn’t trust their little darlings to a fallen woman.”
“I can’t imagine not knowing how to read. I’ve been reading all my life. How did you—I mean—”
“How’d a saloon girl learn? I knew a woman who was kind to me. She had a bad life too and helping me made it easier.”
Macky could hear the pain in Lorraine’s voice and was sorry she asked. “Have you been here long?” she asked.
“I came here two years ago, right after Moose Mainwearing struck it rich. Heaven wasn’t much back then, mostly miners and drifters. Now with the army buying cattle, the stagecoach line, and the Pony Express, new people come in all the time.”
“I think I may have seen one of them last night, from my window. He was riding a small black stallion with a silver-trimmed saddle horn.”
“In here,” Lorraine said, and st
opped before a door with a real glass window displaying the dressmaker’s wares. “I’m afraid I don’t know. I could ask around if …”
“Oh, no. I just thought I recognized him. But I’m probably mistaken.”
The proprietor came forward. “Lorraine, I’m so glad you dropped in. What can I show you today?”
She glanced past Lorraine, caught sight of Macky and stopped short, her gaze one of utter disbelief.
“Kate, this is Letty Marsh. Letty, meet the new minister’s wife, Kate Adams. She lost her clothing in the stagecoach mishap. She needs something to wear.”
“Well, I do have several dresses complete, except for the hem, but they were to go to Sylvia Mainwearing. I suppose I could let you have one of them.”
“Oh, no! I wouldn’t want to take someone else’s dress.”
“Don’t worry,” Lorraine said, “Sylvia has so many she won’t miss one. Show us what you have, Letty.”
Macky had been uncomfortable before, but never so much as she was while sitting on the love seat beside Lorraine Lake. Letty brought out three dresses, two of which were much too low-cut and elegant. Only the third dress, a checked gingham of green and white, with green ribbons at the sleeves and along the bottom seemed suitable.
“I don’t know,” Macky began, “they look much too sophisticated for me.”
“Perhaps the green one,” Lorraine said, “with a nice bonnet and a pair of leather shoes and a shawl, of course. Try it on, Kate. The color matches your eyes.”
“Oh, I couldn’t.” She hadn’t thought that far ahead. She didn’t have proper underclothing, and her petticoat had been ripped. She looked like a plowhand.
“Why not?” Lorraine asked, selecting a soft pair of ladies’ drawers, a crinoline petticoat, lace-trimmed chemise, and some stockings. “Slip behind the changing screen, Kate.”
“I’ll help you,” Letty added. “If you aren’t used to wearing crinolines, they’re sometimes hard to get into. And,”—she studied Kate carefully—“you’ll need a corset.”
Wearing crinolines made from steel wire? And a corset? Macky couldn’t imagine why anyone in their right mind would even want to. But the last thing she wanted to do was show her ignorance by admitting that she’d never even seen such garments. She owed it to Bran not to embarrass him.
Several mortifying moments later she was trussed up like a prisoner, dressed in the undergarments and the gingham gown. Stepping out from behind the curtain, she waited for Lorraine to burst out laughing.
Lorraine didn’t.
Instead she nodded her head, circling Macky as if she were a prime steer about to be auctioned off. “This will do fine, Letty. If you’ll add another strip of ribbon to the bottom, it’ll be just the right length. Can you stitch up a couple more? Maybe one nice silk and another day dress?”
“Of course. I can have this one hemmed by suppertime and the rest ready next week. Will that do, Mrs. Adams?”
She couldn’t speak and it wasn’t entirely from the lack of oxygen in her lungs. She’d caught sight of herself in the mirror. Hallelujah! She was saved. Nobody, not even Pratt, would ever believe that woman was McKenzie Calhoun.
After arranging to have the dress delivered to the saloon, Lorraine led Macky across the street to the general store. She headed for the corner where the women’s goods were displayed. Moments later, Mrs. Gooden came from the back, spotted Macky and greeted her warmly.
“Good morning, Mrs. Adams. I trust you’re feeling better this morning.”
“Yes, thank you.” Macky recalled the incident in the alley and felt her face turn a miserable shade of red.
Then Clara caught sight of Lorraine and her lips drew into a wrinkled knot of disapproval. “What can I show you?” she said to Macky, deliberately ignoring Lorraine.
Macky couldn’t offend Clara Gooden but she couldn’t allow her to be unkind to Lorraine.
“Miss Lake told me that you carry a nice selection of women’s shoes and hats. She says that you have excellent taste in hats. Can you help me choose?”
Lorraine ducked behind a counter of yard goods and waited for Clara’s explosion.
“Why I—I—yes, I suppose I do.”
“What do you think, Lorraine?” Macky held up a pair of serviceable brown lace-up boots.
Lorraine straightened up. “No. If you’re going to buy those, you might as well keep what you’re wearing.” She came around the counter and reached for a pair of soft white kid slippers. “This is what you need.”
Clara Gooden stiffened and let out a sniff. “Really, Miss Lake, I think those would be much more suitable for someone like you than the minister’s wife. Perhaps a nice black, Mrs. Adams.”
Macky couldn’t help but show Mrs. Gooden what she thought about her attitude. “You’re both right. I’ll take the white ones for special occasions and a plain pair for every day.”
Along with the impractical white shoes and simple black boots, Macky purchased a silly-looking straw bonnet adorned with ruffles and changeable ribbons made by Mrs. Gooden. Lorraine added a soft cream-colored wool shawl to the stack, and Macky selected a drawstring purse made of green velvet and a white flannel nightgown with a high neckline. When they left the store the supply of coins in Macky’s pocket had been a bit depleted and a beaming Clara had promised to create a new hat for Lorraine to wear to church.
Macky passed up Lorraine’s invitation to have a midday meal at Willa’s Boardinghouse, and elected to have her meals sent to her room instead.
She didn’t know where Bran was and she didn’t want to take a chance on encountering Pratt before she had her new wardrobe. The way she looked now, it wouldn’t be hard for him to recognize his youthful accomplice from the bank.
She was sorry she hadn’t gone on to Denver. But facing the sheriff in Promise was different from facing Pratt. She didn’t think he’d go along with her plan to return the money. Now she’d let her vanity influence her into spending too much of it on frivolities when she should have been saving it for the future.
Yep, the devil was definitely dogging her footsteps. Her tangled web of deceit was slowly but surely imprisoning her. Macky Calhoun, bank robber, runaway, wife.
Oh, Papa, what in heaven’s name am I going to do to get through this?
Chapter Ten
Back in her room, Macky felt as if she were in jail. She’d never been closed in before, and she couldn’t imagine what a prisoner felt like. Though, if she weren’t careful, she stood a good chance of finding out.
With half the territory looking for the bank robbers, Macky couldn’t understand why she was the only one who recognized Pratt. Of course he’d shaved the bushy gray beard he’d worn when he and his gang rode into Promise, and now he had a wound on his forehead which gave a curious tuck to his left eyebrow. But surely Marshal Larkin was accustomed to seeing criminals try to change their appearance. She smiled. If Pratt’s appearance had changed as much as the kid who’d escaped with the money, she could understand.
Macky was out of sorts and fidgety. Where was Bran? He had no right to desert her like this. She didn’t like not knowing what was going on. Bran—Pratt—Marshal Larkin. They were all threats.
She took the cameo and the silver feather from their hiding place. Pratt had found both, but had he tied them together? All she could think was that he hadn’t, or else he was biding his time to expose them both. Macky tucked them into her new purse and took out the gold coins.
They were crude circles bearing an S on one side. From the light of the window she studied one more carefully. The coins had to be special. As a bank robber, Pratt would know about such things. She wasn’t sure how, but once he found her purse along the trail, he’d recognized the markings of those coins inside as being identical to the ones he’d stolen from the bank. Then he’d stumbled on the hat with the feather.
Still, unless he’d talked with the dressmaker and the ticket agent, he couldn’t know for certain that the purse belonged to her, or that the hat belonged to Bran.
With more questions than answers, Macky put the money away. There was a knock on her door. She hurried to open it, hoping Bran had returned. It was the boy from downstairs.
“I’m Tobe. Miss Lake had me fetch you some food from Willa’s,” he said, holding a tray covered with a white cotton cloth.
“Put it on the table, Tobe.” She fetched him a coin from the change Clara Gooden had given her.
“Tobe, can you read and write?”
“Yes, ma’am. Miss Lake taught me. She taught me real good.”
He took the coin and scurried out the door as if he thought she was about to test him. Macky thought about the, saloonkeeper who taught a boy to read as she ate dumplings of beef and potatoes, dried apple pie with cream, and coffee. Too bad the town didn’t appreciate Lorraine’s big heart. Macky finished the food, covered the tray, and flung herself across the freshly made bed, considering the possibility of a real school. That was something the preacher’s wife could do.
Minutes later she came to her feet and began to pace again. Where in west side of hell was the Reverend Adams? How dare he put her in this position and then just disappear. The truth was, there was nothing to hold her here. She didn’t owe Bran anything.
Suppose he’d left Heaven without telling her? What made him think that she’d stick around while he waltzed about, the countryside? He knew she had money. She’d just buy herself a horse. She ought to be prepared.
Moments later, Pratt and the marshal be damned, Macky marched across the street to the livery stable. “Hello?”
“Out back!”
She followed the sound of the man’s voice to the rear of the stable where a blacksmith’s fire was glowing hot. A large man, dressed in a leather apron, was pounding a piece of iron into a plow shank.
“How do you do,” Macky began. “I’m Macky—Mrs. Adams and I’d like to speak to you.”
The man went on pounding. Was everybody in this town rude? “I said, I’d like to speak to you. I want to buy a horse. Do you operate the stable?”
The Redhead and the Preacher: A Loveswept Historical Romance Page 12