He’d managed to escape before Macky waked and now all he wanted to do was stay away.
“You don’t look too bad,” Larkin observed as Preston Cribbs and Bran entered the jail.
“Just singed a bit here and there,” Bran said. “You?”
“About the same. We’re both lucky, I guess.”
“What about the explosion?” Preston asked.
“Accident, or deliberate, we’ll never know,” the marshal said as the men gathered in the vacant jail built by the citizens of Heaven.
“You don’t believe the explosion was an accident, do you?” Bran asked. The other men, Otis Gooden, Preston Cribbs, and Hank Clay, each gave a reluctant shake of the head.
“Without witnesses, there’s no way to prove anything,” Marshal Larkin said, his wariness of Bran clear in his eyes.
“You didn’t recognize him, Marshal?” Bran met the marshal’s gaze, not hiding his doubt.
“Nope, and once I’ve seen a man’s face, I don’t usually forget him. It’s a talent I have.”
“Too bad he got away,” Hank Clay observed in an unusual voicing of his opinion.
Otis Gooden agreed. “These things happen all the time around here. A man decides to do a little prospecting on his own and he blows himself and everything around him to blazes.”
“Maybe,” Bran allowed. What no one had said was that the man Bran had rescued had a stab wound in his chest. The marshal seemed ready to pass the wound off as being caused by the explosion, but Bran wasn’t so certain.
“And maybe,” Hank went on, “no reflection on you, Larkin, we ought to find us a local man to keep an eye on things. It’s time we started making use of the talent we have right here in Heaven.”
Preston cast a critical eye on the blacksmith. “What do you mean, Hank?”
“We need a full-time sheriff and I think that we ought to start a school.”
Bran studied the blacksmith. He’d heard the man kept to himself, but he seemed more observant and wise than he was being given credit for. “I understand you’ve had several law officers,” Bran commented.
“Yes,” Cribbs confessed. “But as I told you, they don’t last long in Heaven.”
“Don’t know why Moose ever called this place Heaven. He should have gone with its original name,” Otis Gooden said in disgust.
Bran flexed his knee, still sore from the rescue. “Original name?”
“Early prospectors called the trail leading into the area Hell,” Otis Gooden was saying.
Hank Clay tucked a pinch of tobacco between his lip and his gum with two soot-covered fingers. “It might have been cut out of the wilderness with good intentions, but folks used to say that once you got here, you either went to Heaven, or the other direction.”
“Yep,” Otis agreed. “Now they just say if you want to go to Heaven, you’ve got to go through Hell first.”
Bran studied the men, trying to decide how best to phrase his questions. Being a preacher was a new experience for him. He was finding that people weren’t always as open with a preacher as they were with a man carrying a gun.
“Mrs. Mainwearing seems to be the one hardest hit. But she seems determined to hold on,” Bran said, abruptly changed the subject.
“If anyone can, she will,” Preston Cribbs answered. “It’s still hard to believe old Moose is gone. We miss him a lot.”
“You miss him now,” Otis corrected. “But there were times when us merchants could have done without his rowdy binges. And I know Lorraine could have. Sorry, Preacher, but Moose did get a little out of hand before he married Miss Sylvia.”
“Out of hand?” Bran inquired.
“Moose was good to us, all right. He brought all us to town and carried us till we could get set up,” Otis explained.
Then Hank added wryly, “But there was times that we had to send up to Denver to restock after Moose tore the town apart.”
“But about the accidents.” Bran drew the conversation back to the issue. “Was Moose the only victim?”
This time it was the marshal who responded. “No, all of the prospectors have had a hard time of it. Of course, Heaven is no different from a hundred other mining settlements. Once Moose struck it rich, the hills were crawling with miners. There were tents every ten feet along Coyote Creek. They’d get enough dust to get drunk, then they’d gamble their claims away, or worse.”
“Sometimes they started killing each other,” Otis added.
“Anybody in Heaven seem to get more prosperous?” Bran asked.
“No, truth is, once the miners drifted off, things seemed to die down,” Preston said thoughtfully.
“Yeah,” Otis agreed, “even the bank closed. Moved all the money over to Promise.”
That caught Bran’s attention. “You mean the banker in Promise owned both banks?”
“Not any more. According to my Express rider, the banker got shot in the holdup.”
The blacksmith spat a stream of tobacco out the open door. “Too many people connected to Heaven are dead, starting with Moose. Prospectors go missing or get murdered. Folks thought it was for their claims, but now I ain’t sure. Kelley never found much color and he lost his wife.”
“That’s the man who built the shack—I mean cabin—you’ve refinished for us?”
“Yep, and speaking of that, we ought to get back to the hotel and collect your missus,” Preston Cribbs said, getting to his feet. “We need to get you settled in the cabin before tomorrow.”
Bran cast a cautious eye on the mayor. “Why?”
“Because we’ll be having a little housewarming for you on Saturday night, before your first service on Sunday. You remember, I told you that the ladies would be bringing a few things to make you more comfortable.”
First sermon. Housewarming? Christ! Bran suspected that Macky would be as happy to hear about that as he was.
The others fell in behind the mayor, marching up the sidewalk toward the hotel.
Bran moved more slowly than the rest, using his burns as an excuse to fall back to the marshal’s side. “How long will you be here, Larkin?” he asked.
“Depends. I was about to head out when that explosion happened. Now, I don’t know. Not that I’m convinced that it was deliberate,” he added, “but Sylvia Mainwearing is an important woman in the territory. If this keeps happening, it might be safer for her to move into Denver.”
“Is she likely to?” Bran asked curiously.
“Sylvia has had her pick of any man in the territory and she hasn’t accepted any of them yet. She’s determined to keep her money under her control. But she isn’t safe any more. I tried to get her to let me recommend a good man to protect her, but she refused.”
Bran knew that Mrs. Mainwearing had only refused the marshal’s help, not the idea.
“You wouldn’t be a candidate for her hand, would you?” Bran asked and was rewarded with a flinch which Larkin tried to cover by cutting his eyes to the hills and back at the street.
“Me? What makes you think I’d throw my hat in that ring?”
“I don’t know. Even a marshal might like the idea of marrying a wealthy woman.”
“Hell, no! A marshal makes a poor husband. And even if I was interested in a woman, it would likely be somebody like Lorraine who still recognizes that the man is in charge. With a woman like Sylvia I’d be afraid she’d hog-tie me and put her brand on my bottom.”
Bran had heard enough lies in his time to recognize one when he heard it. The marshal was interested in Mrs. Mainwearing all right. But was it the woman, or the gold, that drew him? And did Lorraine know?
What was more to the point, did Macky know that the wagon piled high with goods parked outside the saloon was meant for her? He wondered if she’d really recognized the mule he’d bought, the one she’d called Solomon. He was already feeling a bit foolish for having made the arrangements with Hank, but they needed a mule, he told himself, if they intended to give the impression that they were settling in.
One look at Macky, as she came through the swinging doors dragging her portmanteau, told him that he was right about the mule. “Solomon,” she said and broke into a smile.
For Bran, one look at Macky took him right back to the night before and he knew exactly how David and Samson felt.
Preston Cribbs and Hank Clay rode ahead, leaving Bran and Macky to follow along in the wagon. At the rear of the wagon they’d tied a roan-colored mare which Hank had offered to let Bran use until Bran could pick out one of his own.
The sun was high in the sky and not a cloud could be seen. In the distance the mountain peaks were still frosted white and Pigeon Creek was lapping at its banks from the melting snow.
Bran didn’t mention the night before and neither did Macky. She hadn’t expected to enjoy the morning. She didn’t even know why she was still in Heaven. Until the explosion had occurred, she’d planned to be past Denver by now.
She hadn’t seen Pratt that morning, but she knew he had to be around, waiting and watching. She had to be very careful. One false step could result in a prison term for her and put Bran in danger. She still didn’t know why he was in Heaven, but her instincts told her that it had something to do with his family.
Knowing all that, she’d still packed her new clothes and the money in her traveling case and followed Lorraine down the steps to the wagon that was carrying her straight into a life of seduction and secrets.
Lorraine gave Macky a parting gift of a red feather quill and an absurdly small umbrella. “Are you sure you want me at the housewarming?”
“Of course I do, and bring Letty, too.”
“Oh, Mrs. Adams, you’re going to set this town on its ear. And I want to be there to see it. Thank you.”
Macky had been a bit worried about leaving until she saw Solomon. Somehow when she saw her contrary old mule, it made her think everything would be fine.
Now, instead of taking flight as she’d planned, Macky was decked out in her gingham day dress, holding an umbrella and riding across the plains like a real preacher’s wife out for a Sunday drive.
She ought to thank Bran for his kindness, but she didn’t know what to say.
“Is he ours?” Macky finally whispered. “The mule?”
“You seemed to like him,” he said.
“But that means … Surely you don’t really expect us to move out here and set up housekeeping?” Macky asked under her breath as they rode along.
“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.”
Chapter Fourteen
And 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.”
The Redhead and the Preacher: A Loveswept Historical Romance Page 17