A Western Romance: Travis Yancey: Taking the High Road (Taking the High Road series Book 5)

by Morris Fenris

  Matthew patted her shoulder consolingly. “Yeah, a smack like that can sting, all right. Next time, you just do this instead.”

  From the hall stand he retrieved a silver-headed cane, appraised the thing as if checking for damage, then suddenly sent it flying in a sharp whack across the fallen man’s posterior.

  “Yipe!” howled Harwood. Curling up in the fetal position, he begged for rescue.

  “A damned coward, t’ boot,” said Travis. “The bedroom, huh?”

  “Oh, hush, for heaven’s sake. Come on, Travis, you’re beginning to look pasty. Let’s get you down to the kitchen and see what needs to be done for that wound.”

  The next few hours before full dawn were busy ones.

  Elizabeth was dispatched to Hayes’ office to begin dismantling whatever sort of operation he had in force. When Thomas stopped in the room briefly to see how she was making out, she looked up from her work with a smile.

  “This is now the third set of ranch books I’ve been sorting through,” she told him. “And I think I’m finally getting the hang of it. Give me time and I should have some answers and information for you. But, first, Tom—”

  “Ahuh?”

  Another artful, come-hither smile. “Give me a kiss.”

  The prisoners were dragged, without much regard for comfort, down the stairs and into the luxurious parlor, scene of Hayes’ fabulous party as recently as last night. All were cuffed, most were ankle-shackled, and Mr. Nameless (he of the foul mouth) was gagged. There they waited, without hope of escape, for their captors’ next move.

  In the chill pink light of early dawn, Matthew and John, with Cochinay trailing behind, headed out to make arrangements on the ranch’s perimeter. Maids and staff living in the servants’ quarters were courteously awakened and, after being given a brief time to dress and collect themselves, informed of the change in regime.

  “So. Got a butler round here somewheres?” the Pinkerton Man wanted to know of the assembled group. “You? Okay. And your name is?”

  “Parker, sir,” answered the dignified, gray-haired man with the bearing of a prince. “Winthrop Parker, at your service.”

  “Good enough. Well, then, Mr. Parker, here’s the story.” John, at his ease, stuffed both hands into his back pockets and slouched his tall lanky self against the wall. “Your boss and his henchmen are gonna be carted off t’ jail t’day, on a number of complaints. That leaves you in charge.”

  “The boys and I’ll run the outside stuff,” added Matthew. “We’ll be conscriptin’ a buckboard and a team of horses, stuff like that. Once we get things squared away, a trustee will be appointed t’ take over the ranch and handle the responsibilities. At that time you can decide what you wanna do. Sound okay, Mr. Parker?”

  “Of course, sir. Ah—Deputy Yancey.”

  “Ahuh.”

  “Am I to understand the Grizzly Bear has been a—well, a hotbed of criminal activity?”

  “Sure has. Any of you people involved in it?”

  Parker’s long nose tilted into the air. “Certainly not, sir. It’s just—well, I began to wonder now and then. Odd things happening, odd talk, you know.”

  “Hold that thought, Mr. Parker,” John advised him. “We may need you t’ do some testifyin’ in court on this case.”

  “In other words,” added Matthew, “don’t leave town.”

  Dispassionate and capable in dealing with the woes of others, Rosamond now found, in dealing with a man she had come to care so deeply for, that she was neither.

  “Well, look at it this way,” said Travis without a qualm. “At least you won’t have t’ be diggin’ a bullet outa my flesh.”

  They had adjourned to the well-lighted kitchen for his medical treatment before, Rosamond told him, he toppled over like a ponderosa pine. Upon her direction he had shucked off his flannel shirt, folded down his underwear, climbed onto the sturdy enamel-top table, and waited patiently for whatever nasty thing she had to do to him.

  “I can’t!” she suddenly realized, in shock.

  “O’ course you can, darlin’. Just get me patched up. You ain’t gonna turn up and faint on me b’cause of a little sight of blood, now, are you?”

  She shivered. “It isn’t that.”

  The sight was not of blood, but of what she had fantasized about, in the tub. Bare naked and powerful, a man to take notice of. Rugged, robust shoulders and chest built to sustain, to harbor, to shelter and warm. Skin the color of yesterday’s biscuits, fresh from the oven. Soft swirls of brown hair ranging from one side to the other and down, over the flat belly, lower still to whatever delights awaited anyone on a journey of discovery.

  “Oh, hell,” rasped Travis, and trolled her close with his one good arm.

  This kiss raised her up on her toes in a whirl of passion and pleasure. Because all the while his mouth was tasting and savoring hers, his palm slipped from the back of her neck to the front of her shirtwaist.

  “Ahhhhh,” she murmured under his lips.

  “Jesus, Rosie,” he broke free to grind out. “You feel good. You feel so damn good.”

  His hand found her breast, lifted the weight of it, thumbed the center of it, squeezed the pliancy of it, until she was moaning under the onslaught. Another soul-stealing kiss sucked her in, hard and tight between his spread thighs and the magnificent bulge that held her there.

  At last, sanity and reason entered the room along with first light.

  By then, both were crazy with desire and ready for bed. Any bed, anywhere. Or a blanket on the floor. Or a pile of straw in the barn.

  “It ain’t gonna happen like that,” Travis said resolutely, if a trifle shakily.

  She looked at him, with her green eyes enormous and weepy behind the spectacles, her hair a tousled disaster, her mouth swollen by too much force.

  “You heard me, Rosamond Waring. I love you. I want you t’ marry me. And there ain’t gonna be no more o’ this till we’re safely wed.”

  Another little shiver. “I love you, too, Travis. With all my heart. So—I think we’d better set a date fairly soon.”

  His big hand tenderly cupped the side of her face. “We’ll talk more on the way back t’ your ranch, darlin’. Meanwhile, how about you haul out the hot water and the carbolic and get me tended to? We got places t’ go and plans t’ make.”

  Once her skittering nerves had quieted down, once her medical care had been expended, and while Travis headed on out to see what his brothers were up to, Rosamond joined Elizabeth in Micah Hayes’ office.

  “Are you having any luck?”

  “Not much so far. Hayes has covered his tracks pretty well, I must admit. But at least his books are in perfect order, and it’s simple to match one thing to another.”

  “Can I help with anything?”

  “Oh, sure, Rose. Just dig in anywhere. You could start on that pile of registers right there, if you like. Just flip through the pages to see if anything really unusual catches your attention.”

  For an hour or so they worked diligently together, with an occasional question or comment. From the parlor came restive stirrings of Hayes and his men, with grumbles and rattles of chain to break up the monotony.

  “I’ll be relieved when we get rid of this bunch,” Elizabeth finally said frankly. “They make me feel—I don’t know…not frightened, but agitated.”

  Rosamond put aside the book she’d been studying to nod in agreement. “Maybe it’s because of all the terrible crimes they’ve committed. And the fact that they would commit so many more, if they were given the chance.”

  “Miserable scum of the earth. I hope they all are punished as they deserve, and that none of them—especially Hayes—is able to escape.”

  A shift of Rosamond’s castered chair banged her square into the underside of the massive desk. “Ouch. Ouch. That really hurt. Damn!”

  From her place at the library table, Elizabeth sent her newfound friend a charming grin. “Look at that. Only a couple days around Travis, and you’re already
losing your inhibitions. You’re not in such good shape, Rosie. First that injury to your fingers, and now a bump on your knee. At this rate, we’ll have to get you to—what is it?”

  Puzzled, she was touching around the wooden sidewall which held the drawers. “It felt—-peculiar,” she admitted. A light rap of the knuckles. “And it sounds peculiar. Liz, you don’t think—”

  Elizabeth’s eyes had lit up. “I certainly do think. Let’s look.”

  Crawling around on hands and knees beneath an immense piece of furniture is much more easily done in casual clothing, such as a split riding skirt or woolen trousers, than a formal dress. Success in their mission meant pulling out this and that and feeling for hidden springs.

  “And there we are,” said Elizabeth of the hidden file area that lay before her. She couldn’t have been more proud of discovering the Holy Grail, or the Lost City of Troy.

  A pile of smaller ledgers, which had fit nicely into the cubbyhole, and a small box of papers.

  “Hopefully incriminating. We’ve done a good day’s work here, Rose. Let’s go find the men.”

  IX

  “Then, from what you’re telling me, Micah Hayes tried to blackmail my husband into this scheme of his.” Having put aside the crutch of alcohol, Martha Waring had emerged from her fog to listen to the whole sordid tale and ask pertinent questions. A businesswoman she might never be, but a woman with intelligence and charm she already was.

  “And when Henry wouldn’t go along with it, Hayes tried forcing him,” Travis told her.

  Everyone had gathered, by invitation, in the lovely sunlit drawing room of the Victorian mansion at Rancho Riata. Tea and lemonade had been served, a plate of assorted cookies had been passed around, and family and guests were as happy as clams at high tide.

  “And when that didn’t work, they killed him,” Rosamond said bitterly.

  Olivia, beside her, reached over to hold her sister’s hand. “Imagine you being able to help solve this case. Father would be so proud of you, Rosie.”

  “We all are proud of her,” said Travis, from the other side. He was moving stiffly and slowly, with a wound well-tended needing to heal and an exhausted body needing to sleep. Soon enough.

  Finish wrapping up the details and the whole San Juan crew could finally take some leisure.

  At the Grizzly Bear, earlier this morning, the Yanceys had turned out into open grazing land all the extra horses left tied to the rail. Then, loading up the readied buckboard with their prisoners and necessary supplies, they’d saddled their own horses and set out for Fort Joseph McLellan, some forty miles to the west.

  There, Travis had taken himself and his trusty badge to meet and talk with the commander, Captain Lew Riley, over a pot of army coffee and a plate of sourdough biscuits.

  “Quite a roster of charges against this bunch, Marshal Yancey,” the captain, putting together a list of notes, said thoughtfully. “Think it’ll be hard to prosecute? Even I have heard of Micah Hayes, and the power he wields in Washington.”

  “It’s never enough, though, is it, Captain? Greedy bastards always want more. But, t’ answer your question—no. I don’t think it’ll be hard to prosecute. What with plentya witnesses, and evidence I’ve brought along, seems t’ me that Hayes will go down in flames.”

  After an hour or so of palaver, Travis felt quite gratified to leave behind all six high-ranking prisoners, along with their four guards, at the fort to await trial. The Captain, who seemed a fair man, promised all due diligence in both treatment and speed where it concerned disposition.

  Travis had also left behind the buckboard and team, for military use. When the captain questioned this decision, Travis merely shrugged and sent a look toward Micah Hayes. “Don’t matter much. They b’long t’ him, anyway. And he ain’t gonna be needin’ a hawse anymore.”

  A few more hours of southeast travel returned the San Juan posse to their home grounds at the Riata, to be greeted with hugs and cries of joy from both Martha and Olivia. After the horses had been unsaddled and cared for, after the chance to wash up and eat a quick abbreviated meal, had come the invitation for one more conference.

  “But what exactly did Micah Hayes want from my father?” Olivia, puzzled, wanted to know.

  “Mr. Waring made a lot of donations to certain people in Washington,” John took it upon himself to explain. “He had plentya connections, power, and influence. Also, as you know, he had contracts to sell beef over a quarter of the country, includin’ military posts.”

  “And what he had,” Matthew finished up simply, “Hayes wanted.”

  “Hayes didn’t tell us any of this, Mattie,” said Rosamond. “But Reuben did. After I hit him.”

  Martha gasped. “You hit him? Oh, Rose, dear, whatever shall I do with you!” She shook her head, considered the situation a moment, then sighed. “Well, I never liked that man, anyway. Always sneaking around, and snooping. I’m glad you hit him.”

  Laughter filled the room. The plate of cookies, somewhat depleted, made the rounds again, and Martha rang the bell for more.

  “What did you find in the desk drawer at Grizzly Bear?” Olivia asked next.

  “Double ledgers,” Elizabeth answered crisply. With her golden curls tumbling anyhow over her shoulders, her lovely lapis eyes, and a figure to knock your socks off, she added spice and sass to her corner, and Thomas wanted to take advantage of it as soon as possible. “Actual entries, that is, as opposed to the made-up entries in his out-for-show books.”

  “And various papers with your father’s signature, handing over water rights, grazing rights, property rights—you name it—to one Micah Hayes, in perpetuity,” added Travis.

  “Rights?” repeated Martha, startled. “But Henry wouldn’t have done that. He wouldn’t have signed away any rights that would have gone to me or the girls.”

  John agreed. “No, ma’am. His signature was forged.”

  Closing her eyes in distress, Martha Waring recalled her husband’s vigorous last days. “How—oh, dear, I’m not sure—how was Henry killed?”

  “He didn’t suffer, ma’am, if that’s what you’re thinkin’,” Travis gently reassured the widow. “Reuben told us the three of ’em—him, Hotchkiss, and Lawton—argued up and down with your husband for some time, tryin’ t’ make him see the error of his ways and pitch in with Hayes. After he kept refusin’, they finally gave him some kinda sedative, knocked him out.”

  “And, then—” Cochinay finished up, “—suffocation, with a pillow. He wouldn’t evena known what was happenin’ to him, Mrs. Waring.”

  She touched a lacy handkerchief to gathering tears. “Thank you for telling me. Thank you for all you’ve done. It’s always better to know the truth of any happening, isn’t it?”

  “You got that right, ma’am,” agreed Thomas with fervor.

  “Well, I reckon we can pretty soon pack up and head home, then, right?” Matthew wanted to know. “Looks t’ me like this posse of ours got all the loose ends tied up, sweet with a bow.”

  His twin looked around the cool, elegant room, so close in style and coloring to Martha Waring herself. But Travis preferred a comfortable place to relax, one full of soft edges and rounded corners, plump pillows and rugs and a cup of hot coffee nearby. A room more like that brave, smart, funny, not to mention beautiful and sexy besides, woman who was soon to become his wife.

  “Uh,” said Travis. “We got maybe one more loose end.”

  X

  The Yancey brothers were earning a reputation for quick-quick weddings. Meet a girl, fall off a cliff in love, marry her within a month. Or sooner, if proper arrangements could be made and the preacher was willing. Seeing how anxious the couples were to tie the knot, the preachers always were.

  Much as Travis and Rosamond wanted to get on with married life, however, to set up housekeeping and raise a passel of kids, time and circumstances interfered.

  For one thing, while several of the brothers lived within easy traveling distance, others did not.

>   That alone meant delay.

  For another, President Andrew Johnson planned to attend. That, too, meant delay. And security risks. And armed guards. And palatial accommodations. And so on.

  The date finally chosen was for a golden spring day in March, when daffodils were blooming and a salt sea breeze was careening over the southern California cliffs to tickle the willow wands.

  It had been a busy four months from November till now.

  The San Juan Posse had returned to the Condor Ranch in Arizona Territory, at much less than a breakneck speed, to discover Goldenstar about to give birth. Ten hours of labor, of pushing and straining and deliberately subduing cries of pain, had brought forth a black-haired, red-faced, screaming little girl the ecstatic parents promptly named Christina Coral. Fortunately, Rob approved of both.

  Several weeks later, after plenty of rest and good care for the new mother, they packed up and began the arduous trip home to San Francisco.

  With John’s wife, Cecelia, only three months pregnant and nowhere near term, they and their two children happily waited to leave so that both Yancey families could travel in a convoy.

  The twins settled in at the Condor—Thomas, permanently, with Elizabeth at the helm; Travis, only temporarily, until he could get himself back to California and the love of his life.

  In between times, another wedding took place: that of Elizabeth’s father, Augustus, and his long-term inamorata, Sonsee. The small outdoor ceremony was co-performed by a tolerant country minister and an Apache officiant.

  Baldwin Carpenter, that wily old former sheriff, recovered from the gunshot wound in his leg, although, in rainy weather or cold weather, pain still caused a mild limp.

  As for Rosamond herself, much as she disliked being separated for so long from her future bridegroom, of whom, she admitted to anyone who would listen, she was over the moon crazy for, she worked at honing her survival skills.

  Through letters exchanged with Elizabeth, and a couple of visits back and forth, she learned tracking and firearm use, care of horses, necessary wilderness supplies, and so on. Who knew if or when she might have need of such knowledge? Best to be prepared, as Matthew was so fond of saying.