The Redhead and the Preacher: A Loveswept Historical Romance by Sandra Chastain Page B

what was happening she was out the door, throwing up beside the building.
    “I know how it is when you’re that way,” Mrs. Cribbs said. “When is your time?”
    Macky gagged again. “Any minute now, I’m afraid.”
    “But you don’t look a bit like you’re hiding something.”
    “Hiding something?” Macky remembered the money hidden inside her shirt.
    “Boys always carry low,” Mrs. Cribbs went on. “I guess the preacher is pleased.”
    Macky leaned her arm against the building and wiped her mouth with the scrap of cloth from her hair. “Boys?”
    “Take deep breaths,” her helpful companion advised. “I’ll just wet my handkerchief in the water barrel.”
    Macky nodded. Seconds later there was a rippling sound in the water, followed by a damp cloth being pressed to her forehead.
    “Let’s get you up to your room, Mrs. Adams, so you can rest for a while. I’m sure the folks will understand once they learn about your condition.”
    “Thank you, and please call me”—Macky hesitated, almost forgetting her name change—“call me Kate,” she finished. “All my friends call me Kate.”
    “Fine, Kate.” Mrs. Cribbs opened the door and preceded Macky back inside. “We’ll just slip up the stairs.”
    “The preacher’s wife is spending the night in a—saloon?” Macky couldn’t keep the disbelief from her voice. Even in a mining town that seemed a bit absurd.
    “Only temporarily,” said Mr. Cribbs, who was waiting by the door. “We are preparing a small house, just outside of town. It needs a bit of fixing up, but it will be fine.”
    Bran, lounging at the base of the stairs, lifted an eyebrow. “Are you all right, my dear?”
    “She’s fine,” Mrs. Cribbs assured him. “A perfectly understandable occurrence. You all just go on with the party and I’ll get Kate settled for a nice rest. Did you take her things up, Mr. Cribbs?”
    “Things?” Macky straightened, felt her stomach complain, and swallowed hard again. “I’ll be fine. Just tell me where the room is.”
    The last thing she wanted was someone opening her case. Judgment day would arrive before either she or the reverend was ready.
    “I’ll show you,” Lorraine Lake said. “Follow me.” She started up the steps and looked back over her shoulder. “Would you care to join us, Reverend?”
    “Ah, no,” Macky spoke quickly, feeling her face flame. “Do go on with the party. The congregation has been so generous. I’ll go with Miss Lake.”
    “Lorraine,” the blond-haired Viking corrected. “I’m real interested in learning about the Scriptures. Maybe you could help me?”
    Bran frowned. “Maybe it would be better coming from me.”
    “ ’Tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers.’ ” Macky snapped. “That’s from Shakespeare, not the Bible.”
    Bran smiled. “On the other hand, ‘Blessed is the man that endureth temptation; for when he is tried, he shall receive the crown of life.’ ” He turned to the silent onlookers. “That’s from the New Testament, and that will be the topic of my first sermon, The Temptation of Man.’ ”
    “And women, too, dear.” The sound of Macky’s voice came floating angelically down the stairs.
    Lorraine opened the door at the end of the hall and entered, indicating to Macky that she should follow. Once she wasinside, the saloonkeeper closed the door and leaned against it.
    “Now, what’s going on here? Your husband is dressed like some fancy gambler and you look like a sheepherder’s wife.”
    “And you look like a fancy lady, not a saloonkeeper.”
    Lorraine smiled. “Thank you, Kate. But that only proves that you aren’t acquainted with either one. Are you really his wife?”
    The devil’s pitchfork
. Macky didn’t want the preacher, but damned if she was going to let this woman steal him, if that was what she had in mind. Macky didn’t want Lorraine to cause trouble for him, either. He’d been good to her, protecting her, making sure she didn’t