The Redhead and the Preacher: A Loveswept Historical Romance

by Sandra Chastain

  “But that was fifteen years ago, and the man was going to hurt a woman. He was beating the Indian boy, who was only trying to protect his mother. You have to believe Bran.”

  “I do, but if there is still an outstanding warrant for him, he’ll never be able to live without looking over his shoulder. He wouldn’t even let me tell you he was here.”

  “Why not? Did he think I would try to break him out of jail?”

  Now that she thought about it, that wasn’t a bad idea. With the trial delayed, she’d have time to get to the bottom of that murder, if she could just get her strength back. Somewhere there had to be records to Bran’s claim of brutality by the officer, maybe a witness. She’d send Hank Clay to the fort to ask some questions. She’d send back East for a fancy lawyer.

  Catfish and toad frogs! The sheriff had all her money. How on earth could she pay anybody to do anything? Solomon! If he was back she could sell him. But who’d want a mule that thought he was an angel? Then it came to her. The cameo. She still had that. Macky groaned. She was right back where she started, trying to raise money to get out of town.

  She had a strange feeling that Sheriff Dover hadn’t believed a word she’d said the day of the revival. But if he thought she’d let Bran take all the blame for what had happened, he had another thought coming.

  Suddenly, Macky felt a sense of confidence fill her. Bran might not want her help, but he was going to get it. And once he was free, she had the perfect means of repayment. Ah, yes. Revenge would be sweet.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Bran lay on the bare bunk in the cell and dozed. He felt a sense of peace settle over him, something he’d missed for most of his life. Always seeking, finding, enacting punishment on those who deserved it, then moving on. Never stopping, never giving himself the time to reflect on what he’d done or where he was going. For the first time he had time to reflect on what he’d accomplished.

  He hadn’t been the one to kill Larkin, but the man was dead. Bran had watched in shock as Macky’s gun had fired first, followed a fraction of a second later by four others. The sheriff and the judge had been at a loss to decide who to charge with the shooting. In the end they’d simply said it was death by gunshot misadventure.

  There was a time when Bran thought that his life would be complete if he found his family’s killer. But it wasn’t. There was a hole in it a mile wide and a heart-smile deep. He couldn’t hide behind the truth any longer. He’d fallen in love and the woman he loved could never be his.

  The lesson had been clear from the start. He’d not forget it again. The people he loved died and Macky would be the last person he’d endanger. When he’d seen her crumple in his arms, he’d died a little with her.

  Then he’d been given one last chance to redeem himself. He could save Macky’s life, then protect her future by assuming the guilt for her crime and turning himself in. He’d done so. She wasn’t the same girl who’d stepped on that stage in Promise. She was confident and secure and the people in Heaven loved her. Now she would be free.

  But he couldn’t erase the shock on her face when she’d taken the bullet meant for him and collapsed in his arms. Nor could he forget her words. “I love you, Bran.”

  Later, on the mountain, when he’d seen her in his vision, he’d told her that he loved her, too. That was the only time he’d ever allow himself to say the words. He’d taken them straight from his heart and left it forever damaged. But he’d learn to live with that.

  Macky was safe and that was all John Brandon Lee wanted now.

  “What will happen to Bran?” Macky asked the sheriff as they rode into town.

  “He’ll have to stand trial for the officer’s murder. Bran admits he killed the soldier. That doesn’t give you people much room to maneuver.”

  “You people?”

  They reached Hell Street and rode slowly toward the saloon. As they passed the businesses, the owners stepped outside and fell in behind the horses as if Macky and the sheriff were the Pied Piper and they were mice following behind.

  “It seems everybody in town thinks both of you ought to be set free.”

  Macky looked around in amazement. Back in Promise, the townsfolk were happy to see anybody in her family leave. Now the people of Heaven were closing in around the sheriff so that they couldn’t move.

  “All right, women!” the familiar voice of Clara Gooden called out. “Let’s go.”

  Before Macky could dismount, Ethel Cribbs, Clara Gooden, Lorraine Lake, Rachel Pendley, and Letty Marsh followed Sylvia Mainwearing through the swinging doors of the saloon carrying crudely drawn posters and signs. Free Our Macky and Our Preacher, one sign said. Don’t Mess with the Folks in Heaven or You’ll Find Your Way to Hell, another read. Macky was stunned.

  In the jail, Bran stood and looked out the window to see what was causing the commotion. Then he caught sight of a red-haired woman surrounded by people. Macky. What are you up to now?

  As he watched, Preston Cribbs and a line of men marched out of the livery stable singing at the top of their lungs. “ ‘Onward Christian soldiers, marching as to war …’ ”

  Judge Hardcastle could be seen looking out a window on the second floor of Lorraine’s saloon.

  “Now just a minute,” Sheriff Dover protested. “What’s this all about?”

  Sylvia drew even with the sheriff and motioned for the protesters to be silent. “It’s like this, Sheriff. We’ve decided not to let you take your prisoners to Denver, not unless you want to arrest every man and woman in Heaven. The judge is here. The jury is here, and if you must conduct a trial, do it here. We’ve impounded a panel of twelve honest men and appointed someone to speak for the prisoners.”

  Sheriff Dover bit back a smile. He didn’t intend to tell them that this was exactly what he’d had in mind. Let them think they’d pulled it off. That would make the future of his prisoners even more secure.

  “Fine,” he agreed. “Only problem is that Mr. Lee’s trial will be a military trial and we don’t have that kind of authority here.”

  “Not Mr. Lee,” someone called out.

  “No, it’s Brother Adams,” Clara Gooden corrected.

  “Quiet down!” Sylvia instructed. “Let me get on with our plans. Sheriff Dover, Preston Cribbs has already drawn up a petition to drop the charges that Bran murdered that army officer. We’re going to have Hank Clay and Judge Hardcastle take it straight to the governor. We don’t believe that anybody will convict a man of God who was only ministering to one of His children. What do you think about that?”

  “Fine move. What about Macky here?”

  It was Mr. Cribbs who answered. “Kate—Macky,” he quickly amended, “will, of course, have to face the charges, but since your own prisoner knows that she was an innocent bystander, we think that an exception could be made. All we have to do is have the Bank of Promise drop the charges and”—he took a deep breath—“since there is some question about whether or not the banker in Promise was in cahoots with Marshal Larkin, we’ve decided to reopen the bank in Heaven. We’ll honor all the Promise depositors. If the money, less the value of Macky’s farm of course, is deposited in our bank, we think everyone will be happy. Macky could be released into the custody of—”

  “Me—” one citizen volunteered.

  “No, us—”

  “But I thought of the idea—”

  Macky couldn’t believe what she was hearing. At that moment, her gaze slid across the tops of the heads that were bobbing in agitation. Through the barred window in the jail she saw him.

  “Bran,” she whispered, and slid from her horse, pushing through the throng to reach the wooden sidewalk.

  Her smile lit up as bright as a lover’s moon flooding the water with light. Wordlessly, the crowd opened a path through which Macky dashed.

  “Bran! Bran, you’re here.”

  It didn’t matter that he was in a cell. It didn’t matter that the entire town crowded into the jail behind her. They were together again.
<
br />   “Macky, you’re really all right?”

  “Of course I am, you silly thing. You told me to take your strength and I did. Why did you go away and leave me?”

  “I was never there,” he said. “Only my spirit came to you.”

  “But you were so real. You touched me. You kissed me. You—” Her face tilted downward. “You said that you loved me. Don’t deny it. I heard you.”

  “I was miles away, up in the mountains, on a ridge overlooking the canyon below, Macky. I was seeking guidance. I found a way through the night, a vision.”

  “And it brought you to me. Don’t you see, Bran? This was meant to be. Your night eyes don’t see in the dark, they see through the blackness of man’s pain. They see inside a person’s soul and find love.”

  She clasped the bars and pressed her forehead against them, trying to get as close as possible to the man beyond.

  “Don’t do this, Macky. I’ll probably be hanged for killing a man. I don’t want you to think about me. Think about your farm and the life you want to live.”

  “Tadpoles and catfish! I’m going to have my farm and grow things. What I want is a husband and friends. I have so much love to give. I want to learn to sew and cook and have babies. I want a husband. It’s either going to be you, or somebody else. You choose.”

  Bran’s face had crinkled into a frown.

  “Well, there’s Hank.”

  “Too late. Hank and Lorraine are getting married.”

  “Well, then, there’s— What about the judge?”

  “The judge is old enough to be my papa and besides, he’s already spoken for. Mrs. Mainwearing is setting her cap for him.”

  “What about Sheriff Dover?” Bran asked.

  Macky shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m not saying that I don’t need a lawman to keep me in line, but you know that I’m pure trouble. He would never have time to go after the bad guys.”

  Bran could only stare at her, at the flush in her cheeks, at the teasing twinkle in her moss-green eyes. Even now, in the middle of all this, he was having a hard time keeping himself from moving his arms between those bars and pulling her close.

  “But you and me?” His voice was tight and strained. “What kind of example would we set?”

  “The kind of example we need in Heaven,” Sylvia Mainwearing said, pushing through the crowd. “It’s been decided, Bran, we’ve got to get you out of jail to keep half the town from living in sin.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “At last count, there are four weddings waiting to be blessed.”

  With Macky’s searching plea pinning him where he stood, Bran couldn’t fight them any longer. “But you know I’m not a real preacher, Sylvia. Even if I do get out of this, I’m not legally empowered to perform a marriage ceremony.”

  “Legal doesn’t bother us, but if it’s a problem for you, the judge is empowered. And he’s on his way to marry you and Macky. And not a moment too soon. After all, she’s carrying your child.”

  “But she isn’t,” he protested. “That was just a misunderstanding. I wish it were true, but it wouldn’t be fair to her.”

  “Don’t I have a say in all this?” Macky asked.

  Bran turned to face her. “Since when has anyone ever been able to keep you from having your say? Speak.”

  “You’d really marry someone like me?” she asked.

  “You’d really want me to?” was his response.

  “He does. We do! And she will,” the crowd echoed. “Don’t you want to marry Macky and stay with us?”

  Bran felt a lump in his throat. “There is nothing I want more in my life than to be Macky’s husband, and I would like to stay but I don’t think the Lord would approve of my spreading His word.”

  Macky couldn’t speak, her heart was so full. She wanted Bran to be her husband because he wanted to be, not because he felt obligated to stay.

  Hank Clay spoke up. “The first thing you need to learn is that you’ve convinced us. The Bible says, ‘Ask and ye shall receive.’ ”

  Ethel Cribbs’s chins wiggled in agreement. “We asked, Brandon Adams, and He sent you to us. Until another man of God comes along, you’ll do just fine.”

  “And if that don’t take up all your time, along with Macky and all those babies she has planned,” the sheriff suggested casually, “you could take on the job as an officer of the law in Heaven. I expect the governor would look favorably on that.”

  “Indeed he would,” the judge’s voice agreed as he came to stand beside Macky. “Seriously, Bran. I think the governor will be amenable to pardoning you on that old murder charge. He’s trying hard to restore the appearance of justice to the Indians and this will make him look good.”

  “Besides,” Sylvia said with a confident smile, “the governor is an old friend of mine, from way back. I think he can be persuaded to go along.”

  Macky could only hope that the wheels of justice would not move too slowly. “Thank you, Sylvia. Judge. But I’m not at all sure I can handle being the wife of a truly good man. I much prefer the black-sheep variety.”

  “But what about the trial?” Bran asked, unconvinced.

  Judge Hardcastle pursed his lips and studied the floor for a long moment. “I have the solution. I’ll have you held in custody until we get back from Denver with an answer.”

  “Whose custody?” Sheriff Dover asked. “I have to get back to Promise and pick up the prisoner.”

  The judge glanced around the room. “What about his wife’s? She could see that he stays right here in Heaven and I’d deputize all the rest of you to help her.”

  Macky’s face first brightened, then fell. “You mean he has to stay locked up until then?”

  Bran finally took a step forward, pushing against the door, which swung open with a creak. “It isn’t locked, Trouble. It never was. I was just afraid to open the door.”

  Macky flew inside the cell, slammed the door and locked it. “It is now. And just you try to get away from me.”

  “I promise. I won’t move outside this cell until I’m free.”

  “Maybe it’s a good thing I haven’t started my newspaper yet,” Hank observed.

  “Why?” Lorraine asked, standing arm in arm with the big blacksmith.

  “How would it sound if the first official ceremony conducted in the city of Heaven was the marriage of two outlaws in the city jail?”

  “It would sound as if it were divine intervention,” the judge proclaimed.

  “Either that, or the work of the devil,” Bran agreed just before he kissed Macky.

  The morning Bran was officially released from the city jail, he rode a borrowed horse out to the parsonage on Pigeon Creek. He liked the idea of coming home to Macky, like any husband who had been away. As he rode into the clearing he could hear her calling out.

  Quickly, he rode through the trees along the creek and beyond until he reached the meadow. Macky, with Solomon strapped to a plow, was cutting a path through the earth. He watched her for a while, content to enjoy the picture of this woman who seemed so right with the world.

  After a time, he made out the words she was singing. “ ‘Bringing in the sheaves’—Gee! ‘Bringing in the sheaves.’ Haw! ‘We shall come rejoicing’—Gee! ‘Bringing in the sheaves.’ Haw!”

  The mule lifted his feet in cadence while Macky and the plow followed along. Bran, his heart filled to bursting, slid from his horse and started toward them, his step scaring up a bird hidden in the brush. The bird flew across Solomon’s face.

  Solomon brayed, took a right turn and picked up speed, dragging Macky along.

  “Let go,” Bran called out in horror. “He’s heading for that bank.”

  But it was too late. Solomon turned and skimmed the bank, throwing the plow straight into the earth, pulling Macky with him until she finally let go. Then, as if he realized Macky had fallen, Solomon slowed his gait, his reins dragging behind.

  “Macky! Macky, are you hurt?” Bran dropped to th
e ground beside her, his heart pounding.

  She looked up at him, dazed for a moment, then her face broke into a wide smile. “You’re home. Isn’t it perfect?” she said.

  “What?”

  She flung herself against him, pushing him back against the freshly turned dirt. “The day. The field. I’m planting beans and corn, and wheat. I’ll be a farmer and work God’s good earth while you look after the folks in Heaven.”

  Macky leaned over him, drawing a line from his mouth to his heart, and kissed him soundly. “Oh, Bran,” she whispered, moving away for a moment, “we are so lucky.”

  “Darlin’, Macky. What did I do to deserve you?” His hand slid up around her neck, holding her so that he could deepen the kiss.

  Even in her joy she knew that the aching, the deep longing that he held so fiercely was still there. When he made love to her, he still held back, as if he were afraid that by opening up he would lose what they shared. She’d never known a man so strong, with such capacity to love with such fear deep inside. She hurt for him, for what he’d missed and what she’d missed.

  She’d make it up to him. Tears gathered behind her eyelids and a surge of great tenderness swelled up, colliding with the ever-present knot in her throat.

  She felt him tighten his grip on her, lifting her over him, shuddering as his body announced its profound need. In the night, alone in their tiny cabin, she’d cried silently for the boy who’d watched his family die. For the young man who’d tried to protect his Indian brother and failed. For the adult who’d plotted a course of revenge and reparation through his life.

  Always alone, conditioned to that course, determined never to be helpless again. Except this once. He’d let himself care and now she knew that he was afraid to lose her.

  Somehow, lying in the open field, holding each other in the sun, was different from before. There was no restraint on their loving. There was no darkness, no black nothingness to get through. Together in the sunshine was a kind of timeless commitment, even if Bran didn’t realize.

  Macky knew and she draped herself over him, settling herself against that part of him she’d come to know so intimately during the night hours. She pulled back and opened her shirt to reveal her breasts.