The Redhead and the Preacher: A Loveswept Historical Romance Read Online Free PDF Page B

could see bullet holes in the door. She wished she’d never seen those bank robbers, never taken the money. She could have left it behind in the dress shop. Instead, she’d drawn a gang of outlaws who were trying to kill them.
    Instead of returning fire, the driver had to concentrate on keeping the stagecoach under control. The preacher was the only other man around. Macky had the absurd thought that the preacher might do better with a gun than a Bible.
    Bran swore and Macky watched in surprise as he drew a gun from beneath his greatcoat. Bouncing around in the foot of the carriage, she was uncomfortably close to her protector. Expensive dusty boots disappeared beneath the fine black trousers covering muscular legs that now straddled her body. He was all man and the most masculine part of him was within touching distance. And given the rutted trail and the horses’ speed there was little she could do to avoid touching.
    He’d lost his hat, exposing a mass of jet-black hair that curled across his shoulders. Frowning, he slowly raised his head to peer out the window. Quickly he got off one shot, ducked, then lifted himself to fire a second one.
    The sound of pounding horse hooves seemed temporarily diminished.
    “Got one,” he said, as if he were talking to himself. “Still two of them.”
    “If you’ll let me get up and give me a gun, I’ll help.”
    “I don’t have another gun, ma’am, and if I did, I wouldn’t let you waste the bullets.”
    “I’m as good a shot as the next man.”
    “Don’t doubt it.” And he didn’t. Bran took quick aim and squeezed the trigger. “Now there’s one left. Must be the leader—horse has a saddle trimmed with silver.”
    Macky felt her heart lurch. Silver-trimmed saddle? It was Pratt. She thought he’d been shot. As she listened, the sound of the third horse was growing fainter, as if the rider were turning back.
    The trouble would have ended there, if the wheel hadn’t hit a rut and cracked, careening the coach around and slamming it on its side. Already in a panic, the horses dragged their heavy burden for a short distance, then broke their traces and raced away, leaving the travelers stranded halfway between Promise and Denver.
    Inside the carriage the two passengers had no time to brace themselves. When the coach tipped over it flung Bran backward, slinging Macky against him, her chin slamming his forehead against the door with a star-gathering thud.
    When the commotion finally ended, Bran lay still, trying to sort out the situation. Pain shot through his head and he was having trouble focusing his thoughts. He blinked and tried to move only to discover that he was trapped beneath a heavy weight.
    Groggily, he opened his eyes. He was half covered by a very feminine body which, even in his addled state of mind, had a pulse-raising softness. The loss of her bonnet had freed a mass of wild red hair that tickled his face and clouded his vision. The steady ache of his head didn’t stop his awareness of a pair of firm breasts pressed against him. Her chin was resting on his forehead and his left arm was holding her bottom against the part of his body that responded faster than his muddled mind.
    Her cape had pulled apart at the neckline and now covered them both like a blanket. As he attempted to lift her he was treated to a view of her blouse, which had fought a gallant, but losing battle. The buttons, now ripped from the shirtwaist, were caught in the folds of his waistcoat, leaving her breasts fully exposed. She was wearing nothing beneath.
    Macky tried to scramble up, succeeding only in planting her knee into the body under her.
    “Good God, woman, are you trying to emasculate me, too?”
    He slid his hand between them and used what strength he had left to help her stand.
    “Get your hands off my— What in the name of all that’s holy are you doing?”
    He let his hand drop. “Trying to survive purgatory!”
    “For a preacher, you have a strange inability to