Elizabeth Drayton Yancey was trailing right along behind, in the footsteps of her bridegroom. “Of course we’re happy to see you. Come give me a hug.” Before he could move, however, she swooped in to envelope him in her embrace, tight and hard, with a swift kiss on the cheek for good measure.
This warm welcome from his sister-in-law left Travis feeling slightly confused. Should he look sheepish? Or pleased? Or simply above it all?
“There. And a nice genuine howdy, Mr. Marshal, sir, you world-class nomad. Now, sit down and tell us all about your adventures, while I see about putting together a meal for you.”
Travis perked up. “Music t’ my ears. Kinda need t’ sit and talk over a proposition, boys. Is John still here? How about Matt?”
Husband and wife exchanged a glance. Three brothers: one U.S. Marshal, currently so employed; one former Texas Ranger, serving as deputy sheriff; one Pinkerton man, still affiliated with the law. Only James, the C.S.A. Lt. Colonel, was exempt.
“You want ’em rounded up, big brother?” Thomas asked quietly.
“If you don’t mind. Got some palaverin’ t’ do.”
“Feel free to palaver all you want, right here,” suggested Elizabeth, as she turned to leave for the kitchen. “Be back in a minute with some coffee.”
“Ahuh. Thanks. Where’s your paw, Liz?”
“Library. He and Baldy are back there soaking up one of the whiskey bottles.”
Travis felt it only proper that he join them, momentarily, anyway, to pay his respects.
“What’re you doin’ back already?” was the greeting he received.
Leaning one shoulder against the doorframe, the Marshal crossed both arms over his chest and surveyed the two old cowboys. “Y’ know, with that kinda reception, a feller could get a real complex around this place,” he drawled. “H’lo, gentleman. You been holed up in here the whole time I was gone, drinkin’ yourselves silly?”
“Land sake, no,” protested Gus Drayton, so vehemently that it seemed a nerve might have been struck. “Win and I have been renewin’ our acquaintance is all. Talkin’ over old times.”
“Y’ don’t say. Well, I reckon reminiscin’ is a good hobby when you got nothin’ else t’ do.”
Baldwin Carpenter’s hackles rose. “O’ course we got things t’ do, young man. But there ain’t no point in doin’ ’em all at once. Didja want somethin’ in particular?”
“Just payin’ my respects. Also wanted t’ let you know that me and the boys are havin’ a little confab in your parlor, in case you’d like t’ get in on it.”
“Confab?” Gus reached for his cane, got himself out of a comfortable chair, and began hobbling across the room. “C’mon, y’ damfool galoot. Reckon it’s only right I be in on whatever’s takin’ place, since this is my damn house. And you might’s well join us.”
With a heartfelt groan, Carpenter took one last long drag from his glass, then pushed and pulled until, gasping for breath, he and his gunshot leg were erect.
Travis, watching the two of them struggle with infirmity, could only shake his head. Then he moved forward to offer Win the support of one arm. “You still feelin’ much pain?” he asked sympathetically.
“Oh, some, some.” Baldwin waved a negligent hand. “More nuisance than anything, son. That tea Liz brews up does a right smart job o’ gettin’ me through the day. Sure never thought I’d end up fillin’ my belly with bark and weeds, though.”
The parlor filled up from wall to wall with tall, rough-hewn, hard-riding, proficient males.
Cochinay, half Tonto Apache, changed out of respectable wedding togs to his customary buckskins; Baldwin Carpenter, sheriff turned fugitive turned respectable near-hermit, still recovering from bullet wounds; Augustus Drayton, man of history and mystery, dealing with a badly sprained ankle.
And then there were the four Yancey brothers: John, Matthew, and the twins. Despite a difference in the color of eyes and hair, all bore an obvious familial resemblance in their careful, watchful expressions and the confident way they carried themselves. These men knew danger; they had experienced threats and warnings and the whisper of fear. Quiet competence oozed from their every pore.
True to her word, Elizabeth had prepared a plate of surpassing proportion from an earlier noon dinner. Tender, oven-simmered roast beef, gravy and mashed potatoes, baking powder biscuits, and a separate dish of apple cobbler. While Travis dug in with gusto and appreciation, she brought a tray of cups and condiments, accompanied by her husband with the big silver coffee urn, for everyone to help themselves.
Then she calmly ensconced herself on the settee next to Thomas, prepared to stay, to listen, and to join in if so moved.
Gus looked her up and down. “Girl, where’s the rest of the family?”
“Well, now.” She began to tick the names off on her fingers, one by one. “Rob is outside, playing ball with the twins—yours, right, John?—Susan and Samuel. Cecelia is keeping watch over them from the swing. Star is sitting next to her, barely able to move in case she goes into labor. James and Molly have taken off for a long walk that seems to need some privacy. The rest of the men are looking over that new filly Dad bought not long ago. Does that account for everyone?”
“Damnation. You didn’t have t’ go int’ such details. Just wonderin’ why you ain’t out there with the rest o’ the women.”
“Because, Father, dear,” she smiled sweetly at him, “I choose not to be. I choose to be here.”
Laughing, Thomas took charge of her free hand, first for a kiss across the knuckles, then for a hold close to his side. “You know your daughter, Gus. If she wants to be in on this, she will be. No messin’ around.”
“Well, then, speakin’ of messin’ around,” said John, after a sip of the blistering coffee, “you about done shovelin’ that food down your gullet, brother? Let’s move this along, whatdya say? I got a wife and kids t’ spend time with.”
“Sure, sure.” Travis put aside his plate, plied the napkin, and poured a cup full to let it cool. “So. You all were aware that I was called back t’ Washington in a hurry.”
A chorus of “Uh-huh.” and “Yeah.” and “Sure did.” made its way around from chair to chair.
“At the express command of the President, himself.”
Respectful silence.
Travis went on to explain the reason for his summons, and all that was entailed concerning the Rancho Oro near San Juan Capistrano. The suspicious death, the worries about safety of the widow and her daughters, the enormous amount of money involved.
“I’ve been given a free hand for whatever I need t’ do up there, as overseer,” Travis finished at last. “And I’m t’ bring along anybody I want t’ help out,’s long as I keep everything confidential. Sort of a secret agent thing.”
John’s level gaze sought out his brother’s across the room. “And you want us—?”
“Gotta have the law with me. You, Matt, Tom, and Coch. If you all can spare the time.”
Some consternation on some faces, quiet reflection on others. Immediately Cochinay volunteered. “Be happy t’ come along, Trav. That is—” a small hesitation and a glance toward his father, “—if my bein’ gone don’t cause you any problems, Paw.”
Thick brows beetled with thought. “Depends. You got a time frame on this here mission?”
The Marshal shrugged. “Don’t rightly know, Gus. Could be a month or two, could be just a coupla weeks.”
“Ahuh. Well, Thunder,” his father paused for a small crooked smile, “if it was me, I’d wanna be goin’. Sounds like a whale of a business. We can get along without you for a while, boy. Just don’t make it too long.”
Elizabeth sent a small secretive smile of her own toward the man she had just so joyously married. Amazing what a difference some traumatic event could make. Ever since her safe return, after being abducted into the mountains, Gus Drayton was a changed man. Not only had he openly accepted Cochinay as his son and co-heir to the Condor Ranch, but he was also actively courting Cochinay’s
mother, Sonsee-array (prodded by Elizabeth herself), with the idea of tying a permanent knot.
And now here was the prospect of an exciting new adventure.
“I’m in,” said John. “Need to check with Cecie, just t’ make sure, but I don’t think she’ll have any objections.”
“Me, too,” agreed Matthew. “Don’t like leavin’ Star very long, with her bein’ so far along. So I maybe won’t be stayin’ more’n a few days, whilst you get things goin’. At least she’s got her folks nearby t’ make sure everything’s okay.”
“And of course we’re going,” piped up Elizabeth, pert and sassy as ever.
“Oh, now wait a minute, Missy—” Thomas began with an eye for storm clouds on the horizon.
“For what? Do you really think you’re going to ride off hundreds of miles away from me, and us just wed? Think again, my friend. We’re joined at the hip. Where you go, I go.”
She presented such a pleasant, pretty picture, with her yellow-gold hair tied back under a ribbon and her seductive self buttoned into a low-cut candy-pink gown, that Thomas couldn’t help capitulating. In fact, he fell in love with her all over again.
“Well, then, darlin’, I reckon if you’re all that set on it,” he drawled, “you’ll just haveta ride with us.”
Travis snorted. His brother was grinning like some damned horse’s ass. Be damned if he would ever make such a fool of himself over some flighty girl.
“Fine. But the only reason I’m lettin’ you join us, Liz, is b’cause I know how well you can handle yourself. One wrong move, though, and you’re done. Now, let’s start makin’ some plans. You boys that’re married will haveta get your families squared away, and we gotta pack up supplies for the trip. So let’s get t’ gullywhompin’.”
“You’re soundin’ a mite big for your britches,” observed Matthew, with an older brother’s prerogative.
“Presidential sanction, Matt, remember?” The Marshal’s pugnacious chin lifted, his moss-green eyes glinted. “I’m the leader of this expedition. I give the orders.”
“Don’t mean we haveta take ’em,” John responded mildly. “Howsomever,” appealing to the others, “reckon I can stomach the little pipsqueak’s ego trip if you all can.” Grins and nods and chuckles every which way, from every direction. “All right, then, little brother. Lay it on us.”
“Tough talk.” Gus shared a bemused look with his fellow invalid. “Glad t’ say I ain’t part o’ this Yancey crowd. S’pose us old codgers’ll end up havin’ t’ sit back and watch these young sprouts head out without so much as a by-your-leave.”
III
The rest of the afternoon passed by quickly, as those involved in this most recent undertaking discussed what would be expected, what they might find, and just how far and under what circumstances they would have to travel.
“Buckboard and hawseback, son,” Thomas opined lazily from the settee, where he was enjoying the feel of one arm draped around his bride’s amenable shoulders. “I misdoubt there’s any train service b’tween here and there; prob’ly not even stagecoach. May’s well tell your posterior t’ prepare itself for some long hours in the saddle.”
“Better a saddle than a wagon seat,” was Elizabeth’s contribution. “I suppose we’ll be drawing straws to decide who does what?”
“Prob’ly takin’ turns.” An absent-minded response, as if he were not fully focused on the current subject matter.
Not surprising. While his free hand was slowly stroking up and down Elizabeth’s bare arm, he had inched closer in order to nibble at her earlobe. Which raised the prickles on her bare flesh and roused her to a rare, earthy giggle.
Thomas was a brand-new bridegroom, after all, with other, more enticing concerns on his mind; and his private honeymoon time had been not only interrupted but indefinitely postponed. Might as well get in whatever he could while he had a chance. Given the choice between larking off on some misadventure with his brothers and taking his eager wife to bed, he knew to a millisecond which he’d go for.
Too many in the room watched with envious eyes. John, who was wishing his own wife were within such easy reach for similar shenanigans, cleared his throat. “We crowdin’ you there, Tommy?” he asked politely.
“Why, no, Johnny. Not a’tall,” replied Thomas, just as politely.
“Then kindly move your brain back up from your pants t’ your head and listen t’ what’s goin’ on.”
Finding it easier to ignore this display of sibling affection, Matthew sat hunched over the pencil drawing of a very crude map. “Got any idea of distance, Trav?”
He was working on his third cup of coffee and another helping of apple cobbler. “Around five hundred miles, give or take.”
“Looks like some rough country. Backwoods and brake, desert, mountain ranges…’bout the only thing we’ll miss crossin’ is the Pacific Ocean.”
“Sounds about right.” Travis finished his dessert and peered sadly into the empty dish, like a basset hound snuffling around for more bones. “Which means preparin’ for anything along the way. I figure five, six days of travel, at least. Depends on what we run into along the way.”
“And both me and Win too laid up t’ get in on this,” lamented Gus from his wide, comfortable chair. “Damn. Just the kinda thing I’da joined up with in a heartbeat, when I was younger. Sounds like a lotta fun.”
“Fun?” repeated Travis dubiously. “Dunno about fun. Outa the ord’nary, at least.”
Drayton laughed. “At my age, young man, once in a while you look for somethin’ outa the ord’nary.”
A slow, cat-footed few paces in sturdy moccasins brought Cochinay within range of his father, close enough to dare laying one hand on the ranch owner’s meaty shoulder. “And if all of us are leavin’ in the mawnin’, then we gotta have somebody here to run the spread, Paw. Think you and Win can handle the job?”
“Oh, yeah, son. I think we can handle the job, all right.”
“Yep,” cackled Win. “Him with his bad ankle, and me with my gunshot leg. We’re a hard-workin’ pair, Coch.”
While this byplay was going on, Travis began to unroll the tube of paper upon which he had busily scrawled notes and thoughts during his return journey. “I got a list of stuff that we’ll need t’ take. Food and gear, campin’ supplies, and the like. If you got enough here to spare, Gus, I’d like t’ buy what I can. Otherwise, we can make a stop at Chico t’morrow.”
A moment to consider. “We got quite a bit on hand. Liz, whyncha hunt up Sonsee, ask her t’ come in here for a bit, let’s check on our stock. Ain’t nothin’ you need t’ buy from me, Yancey. Hell, by now we’re family, every dadblasted one of you. Reckon we can keep it that way. You just take whatever you feel is necessary.”
After a few more minutes of serious discourse, back and forth, Elizabeth returned with her foster mother. Sonsee entered the room with her usual soundless but majestic tread, carrying the heritage of her forbears in thick black hair, neatly braided and coiffed, smooth bronze skin, and an air of dignity and grace. Handsome, rather than beautiful: a quality she had passed on to her son.
“Hey, girl,” Drayton greeted her, reaching out to include her in the group. His attitude toward everything in general had softened and sweetened since his daughter’s marriage, and that included the woman to whom he had finally confessed his feelings. After all these years.
Smiling, Sonsee accepted the hand he offered her and perched lithely on the chair’s wide upholstered arm. The familiarity served to emphasize her altered position in the Condor’s staff, from housekeeper to affianced. “Yes, my Augustus?” she murmured serenely.
“Travis here has a commission t’ take care of, Ma,” Cochinay began. “Assigned by President Johnson himself. So we need your input.”
For some time the conversation continued, from one to the other, with questions, suggestions, and—the Yanceys being who they were, and brothers, at that—occasional heated disputes.
Sonsee confirmed the promise of provisions
, with one caveat: “As to payment, that is not my province. But, in our stores, we have plenty of what you would need. Medical supplies also, just in case, yes? And a tent, for privacy, since you say that Liz will be going along.”
Quite amenable, quite agreeable. Until something was mentioned about disposition of the men’s families while they were off on this jaunt. Then she put her foot down. With force.
“Absolutely not!” Outraged, black eyes flashing, she rose to her full height of nearly sixty inches to confront these single-minded, foolhardy males. “You will not be taking Goldenstar anywhere else right now. In her condition, she should not even have come this far. But I think she has no more common sense than you do, Matthew Yancey.”
Besieged, Matthew attempted weak defense. “But she said she was doin’ all right.”
“Pah! And you believed her? Are you ben-et-dine, tonto, crazy? Do you want your wife to give birth on the trail somewhere between here and San Francisco?”
“Well, no, I surely don’t. It didn’t seem—”
“She stays here.” Arms crossed over her ample breasts, Sonsee stood implacable and unmoving against any protest. “You go do your gallivanting, but she stays here, under my care, until you return. We have already discussed this, and she agrees.”
“Star agrees?” Matthew was taken aback. “What, ’thout even talkin’ it over with me? The hell you say!”
“Hey, brother,” John interrupted even though he was plainly stepping into the lion’s den, “I hate t’ intrude, but—uh—it kinda works both ways. Didja talk over this trek we’re makin’ t’ San Juan with Star, or didja just decide it on your own?”
“And you, John Yancey.” Sonsee turned on him, next to feel her displeasure. “Cecelia stays here, also, with the twins.”
“Now, wait a goldarned minute. I’d already planned on gettin’ all of ’em back home, safe and sound, and then—”
“She is sick. You know this, yes?” The dark gaze bore down on him with piercing force, until John winced. “Cecelia is with child and has the morning sickness. Bad. The last thing she needs right now is to be jounced around in a buggy or a train car for an endless time, feeling as she does.”
A Western Romance: Travis Yancey: Taking the High Road (Taking the High Road series Book 5) Page 2
