The Redhead and the Preacher: A Loveswept Historical Romance Read Free

made up her mind. Providence had provided.
    “I’d like to buy a dress and a bonnet and cape. Quickly, please. I—I have a pressing engagement.”
    The seamstress studied her as if she thought Macky’s pressing engagement might be with a ragman, then turned to her rack. “I do keep a few skirts made up but they might be a little small for you and the only blouses I have are probably too big. I could alter a dress by tomorrow.”
    “No, get the skirt and shirtwaist. I’ll wear them.”
    The woman pulled the clothing from the rack and handed it to Macky. “You can try them on behind the changing screen.”
    Keeping an eye on the door, Macky quickly shed her brother’s clothes and pulled on the unfamiliar women’s garments, wondering how on earth anybody could wear such things. By the time the commotion outside died down, Macky was wearing a pale blue shirtwaist and darker skirt over her brother’s drawers and had covered it all with a dark blue serge cape.
    She reached inside the sack and withdrew enough money to pay for her goods and buy her ticket on the stage. Then she looked around for a means to conceal the rest. Getting on the stage holding a flour sack would only call attention to herself.
    Hurrying now, she selected a tan-colored portmanteau in which she placed her old clothes and the flour sack. She added a second shirtwaist, a flannel nightgown, and a petticoat.
    “Might I suggest this?” the seamstress said, holding out a blue velvet drawstring purse. “For your traveling money.”
    Macky took the purse, paid for her purchases, and placed the remaining money inside. When the coins clanked together she looked around and picked up a lacy handkerchief to cushion the sound.
    At the last minute she selected a blue bonnet with a pink rose on its crown and poked her red hair beneath it.
    After registering the seamstress’s haughty disapproval,Macky glanced at herself in the mirror and bit back a very unladylike oath. The dressmaker was right. The blouse needed altering, but with the cape to cover it, nobody but Macky would know that it gaped open between the buttons. There was nothing she could do to hide a skirt that fell two inches short of covering her heavy work boots.
    So be it. The people in Promise didn’t matter anymore and the citizens of Denver wouldn’t care what she looked like. She’d just keep traveling until she found a place where she could belong.
    When the driver, Jenks Malone, crawled up on the stage, he cast a dubious eye on the odd-looking young woman who ran from the dress shop to the stage office, then boarded the coach at the last minute.
    “Females,” he muttered, “always late.”
    She was looking around as if she were searching for someone. Another minute and he’d leave her behind.
    The only other traveler was polite and well mannered enough. According to the stationmaster, he was a preacher, “Brother Brandon Adams, headed for Heaven.”
    But most preachers didn’t wear fancy clothes or a black patch over one eye.
    And most preachers didn’t carry a Bible in one hand and a gun in the other.
    Still, everybody along the line knew that the folks in Heaven were expecting their new minister. And if this man looked like the devil instead of a messenger of the Lord they wouldn’t care. But he made Jenks uneasy.
    Jenks wasn’t sure that even a man of God could do much about the trouble in Heaven. If the federal marshal couldn’t find out who was running the miners off their claims, Jenks doubted the Lord would care.
    Trouble was no stranger in the West. Lately the stage line had suffered a mess of it on the weekly run from Leavenworth to Denver to Salt Lake. Five days ago, Jenks had losthis own coach to an Indian attack. He’d managed to make his way to the next way station to wait for a new assignment. When the driver on the incoming stage came in roaring drunk, the stationmaster sent for Jenks to finish the western run.
    Giving the horses a flick of his whip, Jenks moved