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

move against him.
    It was very hard not to, especially when she could feel his heart beating against her. But she didn’t know what else to do and she knew that she was keeping him from resting.
    Finally, a long time later, she fell asleep. Once, Bran thought he heard a horse gallop by, but it kept going. When the sky began to lighten, Bran rose to build the fire back up again. He’d only fallen asleep once. And when he woke to find his hand beneath her shirt, holding her breast, he’d stilled his movement, but he’d found it difficult to let her go. For the rest of the night he simply held her, like a father might hold a child, comforting, nurturing.
    Damn it, he didn’t want to feel like that. He didn’t want to feel responsible for her safety. He’d never been able to protect the people he cared about. He hadn’t been able to stop the deaths of his own family, nor that of his Choctaw brother. Caring sealed their death warrant. He had no intention of caring about this woman.
    In the state of half-sleep he allowed himself, he argued that keeping the girl warm was only a matter of survival. But by morning he couldn’t ignore that he was as hard as a stallion in the middle of a herd of fillies. He hurt and he knew if she awoke and found him throbbing against her, she’d be frightened.
    He pulled away, covered her with his coat, and left the camp.
    Macky had been having a wonderful dream. Everything about her had been alive and warm. She’d felt strange new feelings, feelings that made her want to tighten her muscles and release them. She pressed herself against the pleasurable warmth that was touching her.
    That hot feeling took over her. Her body felt as if itneeded relief, but this time it was different. Her very skin seemed to burn and twitch and her private parts were trembling with fire.
    Then, suddenly the pressure disappeared and she knew that she was alone. “No,” she whispered, wishing the dream would return. She didn’t want it to go. She didn’t want to wake. She moaned, then burrowed beneath the duster, seeking the return of warmth. Moments later she came suddenly awake.
    “Bran?”
    But there was no answer.
    Macky heard the sound of fire crackling dry brush. Her skirt was lying across her feet, dry and still warm from the fire. And she was alone.
    Quickly she climbed out from beneath Bran’s coat and shimmied into her drawers. Before he returned she reclaimed the money she’d hidden and packed it beneath her shirt. She lay back down and pulled the coat back over her.
    Sometime later, Macky heard the spit of water dripping into the flames. She opened her eyes to see the tin bucket back in the midst of glowing coals.
    Bran was squatting beside the fire, adding fresh water to their coffee beans from the night before.
    The night before
. Her heart skipped a beat as she remembered how they’d slept, how he’d put his arms around her. She’d shamelessly pressed herself against him, seeking his warmth. And he’d held her, keeping her safe, while making no demands. Whoever this man was, she trusted him.
    “Good morning, Bran,” she said, brushing sand from the back of her arms and Fanning her fingers through her tousled hair.
    “Maybe. Need to get to the station. Without trouble.”
    She glanced around, grateful to see that he was focused on the fire, then stepped into her skirt and stood up, fastening the button at the waist. “Is something wrong?”
    “Out here without a horse? Guess not.”
    The beard on his face was even heavier, making hisalready dangerous-looking face even more forbidding. “I never knew a preacher to talk so little. Are you always so pessimistic?”
    He cut a sharp glance at her. “Yes.”
    “No joyful noise from you, huh?”
    “ ‘A fool’s mouth is his destruction.’ ”
    “Or, ‘Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.’ ”
    “Proverbs?” he questioned, with reluctant admiration in his mind, if not his voice.
    “Nope, Alexander Pope. Which translates