The Redhead and the Preacher

by Sandra Chastain

Genres: Romance; Historical Romance; Western Romance

Synopsis

Sandra Chastain’s bestselling western romances shine with her special blend of love and laughter. Now the award-winning author leads us once again into the heart’s untamed territory as a mismatched couple rides a blazing trail to passion.
 
McKenzie Kathryn Calhoun doesn’t mean to rob the bank in Promise, Kansas. But when she accidentally does, she doesn’t think—she runs. Suddenly the raggedy tomboy has the money to make a life for herself . . . if she doesn’t get caught. But it’s just her luck to find herself sitting across the stagecoach from a dangerously handsome, gun-toting preacher who seems to see through her bravado to the desperate woman beneath.
 
John Lee Brandon figures that the feisty redhead is running from something. A hired gun, he’s masquerading as a reverend on his way to a mining town called Heaven—and it will take a shrewder lady than Macky to pull the wool over his eyes. But when the town welcomes them as “Preacher Adams” and his wife, he’s caught in a charade of respectable wedded bliss. And the two of them are headed for a showdown between lies and love.
 
Includes an excerpt from another Loveswept title.

Release date: March 12, 2012

Publisher: Loveswept

Print pages: 336

Sample

Chapter One
 
LATE APRIL—1860
 
Mckenzie Kathryn Calhoun consoled herself afterward by saying that she hadn’t intended to commit a crime the day she took part in robbing the Bank of Promise in Promise, Kansas.
 
But the morning it happened, it wouldn’t have done her any good to claim innocence. It was far too late. The people in Promise had long ago given up on the rangy, red-haired girl who wore men’s clothes, quoted from the classics, and called herself Macky. She was considered as peculiar as her father and as wild and out of control as her shiftless brother had been.
 
Had Macky been anybody else, the town might have shown some consideration over her having buried her peace-loving father one day and learning the next that her brother, Todd, hadn’t shown up for the funeral because he’d dealt himself four aces in a crooked poker game. There was nothing unusual about that, except this time he’d been shot to death by another gambler who caught him cheating.
 
Macky could have told them that she had to sell her father’s horse to pay for his funeral and her own horse to pay for her brother’s, but nobody asked. All she had left the day of the holdup was a mule named Solomon, her mother’s cameo, and a worthless farm with the mortgage due. All she wanted to do was buy a stone for Papa’s grave and find a place where she could belong. Her plan to get even with the banker who’d cheated her father might fail, but that morning it was the only hope she had.
 
It was late April, the time of year when spring crops should be planted, but not on Calhoun land in Promise, Kansas. It was fitting, Macky thought, that a light snow had fallen the night before, scalloping the prairie with white ruffles like the fading memory of frothy waves back home in Boston’s harbor. Like everything else in her life, even the earth seemed to be moving away from her.
 
She closed her eyes for a moment to stop the spinning in her mind while she considered what to take with her. Deciding that it would be warmer to wear her clothes than carry them, she donned two of her brother Todd’s shirts, his trousers and his work boots, stuffed with rags so that she could keep them on.
 
Instead of the braid she normally wore to restrain her unruly mass of red hair, she tucked it beneath her papa’s felt hat. Finally, she rolled her only dress in her bedroll, along with the last of the cheese and bread.
 
Macky never had cared much about looking like a woman, but today even Papa wouldn’t have recognized the washed-out shell of a person she’d become. With her mother’s brooch tucked into the pocket of Papa’s coat, she mounted the mule and started into town.
 
As she rode away, she looked back. There was nothing else of value left; there were no more livestock, no food supplies, only a rundown house ready to collapse in the wake of the next windstorm. If her father hadn’t died of heart problems, he’d have died of starvation for there was no money left for seed that wouldn’t grow.
 
The only thing that gave her pause was leaving her father’s books. Carrying them would have been only a sentimental gesture for she’d memorized them long ago. Of all the things she’d lost, her conversations with her father would be the things she’d miss most.
 
Pulling her gaze away from the dismal scene, she gave the mule a slap on the rear. Today was Friday and payday for the banker’s cowhands. She had better hurry if she was going to catch the man before he left for his ranch. As she rode, she rehearsed her plea to the smart-talking money-man who’d sold her gentle, scholarly father a worthless piece of land where nothing would grow but rattlesnakes and sagebrush.
 
If the banker-turned-land-dealer refused to buy back the land, Macky would sell her mother’s cameo for enough money to buy a ticket on the noon stage heading for Denver. The brooch was the last thing she owned of any value, that and Solomon, a mule so ornery no one would buy him.
 
Macky gave little thought about where she would go now. Her family had been outcasts every place they’d ever been; Papa with his fine education and inability to earn a living and Mama and Todd who always refused to try.
 
She didn’t expect to find a place where she fit in. God only knew where she’d ever find something she was good at. No man would want her as a wife; she was too outspoken, too plain, and she couldn’t cook. She might have been a schoolmarm, if she’d had the temperament and had been submissive enough to satisfy those who paid her salary. She might have been a governess if she’d paid more attention to her mother’s lessons of deportment.
 
But Macky was taught to think, to express herself and to do it openly as an equal. Macky sighed. The only thing she had to offer was something nobody would want—a quick mind.
 
About a mile outside of town, a hawk swooped down, clasped a frightened jackrabbit in his talons, and flew away. The sound of his wings spooked the mule, who stepped into a gopher hole and bolted. He deposited Macky in the middle of the trail and, braying at the top of his lungs, took off with her bedroll.
 
Macky let out an oath as she watched him race away. She was still fuming when four hard-riding men crested the hill and came to a stop where she’d fallen. One man was leading a horse with an empty saddle.
 
“Looks like you got trouble, boy!” The stranger who seemed to be the leader glanced at the disappearing mule, then moved closer. He had a scruffy gray beard and a bloody bandana tied around his forehead. He was riding a black horse with a fancy silver-trimmed saddle.
 
Boy? One look at the cold expression in his eyes made Macky decide that being a boy at this point was much safer than being a girl. She nodded and came to her feet.
 
“What’s your name, son?”
 
“McKenzie,” she answered in the deepest voice she could manage.
 
“Heading to Promise?” another asked.
 
“Yep.”
 
“Folks there know you?” the leader asked.
 
Again, she nodded. They knew her, but that wasn’t likely to do these men any good if they were looking for someone to put in a word for them.
 
“How’d you like a ride the rest of the way to town, pick up a dollar or two? We got an extra horse.” The leader nodded at the black horse trailing behind them. “One of my men had a little accident a ways back and—stayed behind.”
 
Macky would have said no, but if she walked, she’d miss the noon stage. Once she made her decision to leave, catching that stage had become the most important thing she’d ever do.
 
She studied the man making the offer. She had nothing for them to steal and, as long as he didn’t know she was a girl, accepting his offer was less likely to give her away than refusing. Besides, Promise was only a short way down the trail, and once she reached town, she’d separate herself from these rough-looking men.
 
“Much obliged.”
 
Macky grabbed the saddle horn and vaulted onto the horse, kicking him into a steady gallop to keep up with her new companions. She wondered where they’d come from and what had happened to the man who stayed behind. All the horses had been ridden hard; their coats were icy with frozen perspiration. Why were they heading for a town that had little claim to fame other than the attempts by a few homesteaders to raise crops in an area where the only year-round water belonged to one man?
 
The leader slowed his horse, allowing Macky to come abreast of him. “What kind of place is Promise, kid?”
 
“Small,” she answered.
 
“We’re heading there to do a little banking. You can watch our horses while we’re inside.”
 
That hadn’t been part of Macky’s plan. At the moment, however, she couldn’t see a way out. Maybe it wouldn’t matter. The bank, standing between the blacksmith’s forge and the dressmaker’s shop, was the first thing they’d come to.
 
The men reined in their horses in front of the rustic building and slid to the street mushy with melting snow. Macky, anxious to separate herself from the strangers, stopped her horse in front of the smithy’s shop. She was already in enough trouble with the town; riding in with a group of strangers would only make matters worse. She’d just tie the horse to the hitching rail and disappear.
 
She soon found that wasn’t going to work. “Watch the horses, boy,” the man with the beard said as he climbed down and dropped the reins to his horse.
 
Two of the riders stationed themselves beside the front door of the bank while the leader and the other man went inside. Before Macky could figure out how to get away, gunshots rang out. Seconds later the two men ran out of the bank.
 
“That’s far enough, Pratt,” the sheriff’s deputy called out from the roof of the general store across the street.
 
“Drop the money and throw down your guns,” Sheriff Dover ordered. Macky couldn’t see him where he was standing in the alley between the bank and the blacksmith’s shop. “We got word from the federal prison that you were heading this way. Just let me have the money.”
 
Pratt? The sheriff had called the man Pratt. Everybody in the West knew about the infamous Pratt gang. One outlaw suddenly dropped to the ground, rolled away from the door and got off a shot. The deputy fell, but not before he’d wounded one of the robbers.
 
The man by the door found cover and opened fire. The sheriff responded with a barrage of bullets, grazing the horse’s haunches as Pratt mounted. The frightened animal reared up. In his attempt to stay on his horse, Pratt lost control of the flour sack he was carrying, flinging it behind him toward the startled Macky who caught it instinctively.
 
Macky, who’d been paralyzed by what was happening, suddenly realized that Pratt and his men had robbed the bank. At any moment the sheriff would step out from the alley and see her. With the money in her hand, he’d believe that she was a part of the gang. She’d come to town to ask the banker for money and she’d been caught in a holdup.
 
Desperately, Macky kicked her horse into action and rode into the blacksmith’s barn. She slid to the ground and slapped her horse on the rear and watched him gallop out the back.
 
Macky followed the horse. When she’d hoped to find something she was good at, she hadn’t expected it to be a crime. She could only pray that all the attention had been on the shooters and that nobody had recognized her in Papa’s coat and hat. No matter, her chance of selling her brooch had been ruined and it was almost time for the stage. The stone for Papa’s grave would have to wait.