A Western Romance: Rob Yancey: Taking the High Road (Book 10) (Western Mystery Romance Series Book 10)

by Morris Fenris

  Absolutely nothing could have prevented the abduction, Rob insisted; no extra security, no hidden weapons, no armed guards. It was just one of those things that would most likely never take place again.

  “To go on from there, let me just say, right off, what a fine job all of you are doing. Since I was here last week, I’m seeing a lot of improvement, and I appreciate all your efforts and hard work. That keeps the guests happy and the hotel filled up and your paychecks coming.”

  A little ripple of amusement, from one to the other. So far, not so bad. Usually Amory Kincaid’s staff meetings had resulted in criticism and recriminations, tears or blow-ups, and firings. But Mr. Kincaid hadn’t been around so much lately.

  “Speaking of those paychecks…”

  A muffled groan. Was that what this was all about, to cut their salaries yet again?

  “I’m giving everyone a ten percent raise, effective immediately.”

  Whoa! An increase? More looks exchanged, this time gleeful.

  “In three months, we’ll revisit this salary situation to discuss future hikes. You do your job well, everyone, and I’ll do mine. Sound fair?”

  Rob caught the approving, satisfied gazes of several, saw the nods of several more.

  “Also effective immediately, Mr. Kincaid is no longer part of our staff.”

  Raised brows, back and forth. Good thing, thought most, to get rid of that good-for-nothing brown-noser. More useless than udders on a bull.

  And, as soon as I can find him, reflected Rob, I mean to fire his ass off this property.

  “Your assistant manager, Daniel Rohlwing, will be promoted to that position.”

  A few oohs and ahs. No surprise. And no resentment or jealousy, either, it was plain to see. So that was a good decision.

  “Mr. Rohlwing couldn’t be with us right now, because he’s off learning some of his new duties. But I have no doubt he’ll want to have a little chat with each of you, at some time. Also, from here on, Yancey Holdings will be taking care of all the uniforms; you’ll no longer have to buy your own.”

  The room was tight, and he couldn’t pace as he liked to do when thinking or speechifying. So, instead, he came out from behind his desk and plopped one hip upon it to half-sit, half-lean.

  “Now, we’re making real progress around here, with how the place looks and how it’s being served,” Rob continued. “That will continue, as will all the projects and upgrades we have going on. We’re bringing the Sea Wind back to the way it used to be, folks—” a pause, for the expected cheer, which did not disappoint, “—and we’re all gonna be playing a big part in how that goes.”

  Reaching across to the corner of the desk, Rob held up a colorful and informative brochure, which he opened to display for his audience.

  “This is a brand-new idea, from our brand-new marketing department. We’ll have these available to hand out and to mail out. We’re expecting a nice growth of repeat business, along with brand-new guests. Which means we’ll need more employees. If you know of anyone looking for work, please send them along to Mr. Rohlwing for an interview. Okay?”

  “Okay,” came several murmurs, as a few began rising, preparatory to departure.

  “Oh, one last thing,” added Rob, in his capacity as consultant. “I expect to have family members arriving soon—a lot of family members—and they’ll all need rooms. So block out a bunch for me, if you would, please. Reckon that’s about it for now. Thank you for your time, people. We’re all part of this, and I expect great things for everyone here.”

  As bodies began shifting and moving toward the door, and the room emptied out with air to breathe, Rob caught the attention of his desk clerk. “Oh, Farley, another moment?”

  Earlier, during the altercation with the Brennans, the rather timid young man’s admiration of his employer had grown by leaps and bounds. Now, seeing him in action once again, was cause for near hero-worship. Anything Mr. Yancey wanted was absolutely fine with Farley.

  “Yes, sir?”

  Rob motioned him closer, speaking in confidence. “Farley, last night I—uh—borrowed a horse from the stable to chase after Mr. Hadley. Ten miles out, he threw a shoe, so we limped home together. Please tell me that someone took care of the big guy.”

  “The piebald? Oh, yes, sir. Todd Wakely—he manages the stable, Mr. Yancey—Todd got him back, looked him over, curried him down. He’s fine. Todd was gonna have our blacksmith look after his hooves.”

  “Very good. Listen, Farley, I need to apologize to the owner for taking him without permission. I just dashed in there, grabbed the first mount I saw, threw on a saddle, and headed out. Think you could find out who he belongs to?”

  The clerk stared. “That’s Hector, sir. He belongs to the hotel. In case anybody needs an extra horse, once in a while, or to go riding.”

  “Well, he did well for me and Miss Brennan last night. I’ll speak to Todd later on; I want that horse to have all the best treatment from here on.”

  “Certainly, sir. Except—”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, Mr. Yancey, Todd is real good with all the animals. He wouldn’t do anything but give ’em the best treatment.”

  Another beaming smile. “Well, now, Farley, that relieves my mind considerable. Thanks! Oh, and, Farley—let me know if the Rangers get back, okay? Need to talk with ’em.”

  After that he made arrangements with his new chef, Antoine Budreaux, to serve another top of the line dinner this evening. Dinner for three. In the private dining room. It was to be hoped that Padraic would take the hint and retire early. And if Fiona refused to show up, he’d by God wrap her in a horse blanket and haul her down no matter how many objections she spewed forth.

  While he was enjoying a quite savory dinner, served with élan on gold-rimmed white chinaware, he made quiet notes on how well the service was done, how clean the room appeared, how interesting and varied the menu.

  Finished, he returned to his office to sort through paperwork that was beginning to pile up. At this rate, with all the forms and accounting work he’d been perusing lately, and so much of it in the dead of night, with poor lighting, he’d soon be needing spectacles. Or a seeing eye dog. He was in the middle of consulting his itemized list when the knock came on his door, and he rose to answer.

  “Pardon me, sir, for interrupting.” Farley, with an update. “You asked to be kept informed of when the Texas Rangers got back. And they’re here now, sir, waiting to see you.”

  “Ah, good.” Rob shoved ledgers and pencils aside, into one slightly haphazard pile. “Show them in, please.”

  The next half-hour, over a tray of hot coffee and a plate of hot doughnuts, was spent renewing the acquaintance that had begun with last night’s travail. Once again, Rob thanked the men for their valuable expertise and certainly their prompt response to a call for help.

  “I didn’t ask,” he said now, leaning back in his chair while cradling a cup of his favorite brew, “but I’m assuming our criminal has been captured and is safely behind bars.”

  “You assume correctly,” agreed Sam Blackwell. “Say, these are mighty tasty, Mr. Yancey. Thanks for the afternoon pick-me-up.”

  “Anytime, Captain. And, by the way, both of you, and your families, are welcome in our dining room, anytime, on a complimentary basis. I’ll let the hotel manager know. Anything else I’ll need to do with regards to Mr. Hadley?”

  “Not right now. The city attorney will be in touch with you about needin’ to testify at the man’s trial, whenever that’s set for.”

  “We caught him up in the hill country,” contributed his partner, Pete Mazursky. “On the run, headin’ for Mexico. Not all that far t’ go, when you come right down to it.”

  Rob’s dark far-sighted eyes stared out the window, considering. It was a sad thing to see a former friend, a trusted ally, go down in flames as he had. And apparently all because of a bad habit that couldn’t be broken. “Walter embezzled a lot of money from our syndicate,” he said soberly. “I imagine t
he court will need to check records, which I have. And we’ll need to visit his wife, too, make sure she’s taken care of.”

  “When we come upon him, he was babblin’ about all the cash he had ferreted away somewhere,” the Captain put in. “Maybe somebody can get outa him just where that might be.”

  “It’s a sure bet he won’t be needin’ any of that for a long time, where he’s goin’.” Mazursky’s voice held a whole realm of satisfaction, as well it should. These two had done a fine job for the public, for the Yanceys, and certainly for the Brennans.

  Pensive gaze shifting back to the Rangers, Rob asked, “Did he—uh—mention his job? The people he worked with? Me?”

  “Yes, sir.” Blackwell’s voice and expression were as sober as his host’s. “He said he wanted t’ spit on all of you.”

  IX

  As he expected, his parents and siblings were first to arrive.

  Upon receipt of their answering telegram, Rob had sent the hotel carriage to San Jose’s train station for pickup. With them came Sheriff William and Sarah Coleman Goddard, his former governess, now married to his father’s friend and former boss; and Frances Goddard, the sheriff’s sister and one of his teachers. Along with plenty of luggage. Because, of course, the ladies would, according to Matthew, need their gewgaws and best gowns.

  The carriage made three trips, back and forth.

  “You sure know how t’ get under your ma’s skin, son,” Matthew, eyes twinkling, said with admiration once the group was settled and the hullabaloo quieted down. “She no sooner got that telegram of yours than she was already packin’.”

  Ducking the chaos upstairs, they had quietly retired to Rob’s office late that afternoon, to share a bottle of Old Forester and a few father-son moments.

  Rob grinned. “Figured that might do it.”

  “Well, you got Walter’s problems in hand, from the way it sounds, and him right where he should be for the time bein’. You’ve done fine work down here, son. I have no doubt the other three hotels in trouble will fall right in line, once this one is completely fixed.”

  A glow of pride started heating up somewhere in the middle of Rob’s chest and spread outward like a beacon. “Thanks, Pa. You can’t imagine how much it means, hearing you say that.”

  With a shrug, Matthew took another sip from his glass. “Only tellin’ you what’s true, Rob. And what you deserve t’ hear. So, back to a happier subject—what’s goin’ on with this lady friend of yours?”

  “Huh. Wish I could fill you in, Pa. We were getting along fine, but when I asked her to marry me she just—I dunno, sorta froze up. And I can’t get her to talk, to say what I did wrong.”

  Matthew studied his son’s grave, morose face for a few minutes. He knew what that was like, the feeling that you’d hurt somebody almost beyond repair but can’t figure out how to fix the damage. He’d been there himself.

  “This came about pretty sudden, didn’t it, Rob?” his father asked carefully. “Sounds like you might need t’ slow down, take some time, and—”

  “Nope. Don’t need either one. This is the one, the only one for me.” He laughed, a sound that carried no mirth in it. “Funny, isn’t it? I was the one who railed about all those Yancey weddings I had to attend, as a kid. Said that would never happen to me. I would never go through the same thing. And yet, here I am, hoping I still can.”

  “We Yancey boys are a strange bunch. We see a particular lady, the hammer falls, then and there, and we’re dead meat. Just can’t fight it.”

  “I tried, dammit.” Rob sucked down half his glassful and swallowed noisily. “But in the space of just a single day, I was a goner. I set up a special dinner for her the other night. She ignored me. Tried to find out from Paddy what’s going on, but he’s as baffled as I am.”

  “Your mother rounded up the troops, son. Everybody’ll be here in the next few days. You just have a little confab with those Yancey women, see what they wanna do.” Matthew reached over the desk top to pat his son’s clenched hand, reassuring. “It’ll work out, Rob. Things always do, eventually, work out.”

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  The rest of the family trickled in, a few at a time depending on family size. Several of the women, far enough along in pregnancy, were advised that traveling right now would be a bad idea. Otherwise, the Sea Wind was taken over by crazy, noisy, running-amok Yanceys wherever you looked.

  Rob would have preferred not to, but, after all, he was the one who had called this madness down upon everyone’s heads. Mothers took their children sightseeing or shopping; fathers gladly escaped to find some measure of sanity in the lounge or at The Cavalier, smoking up a storm or losing coinage in games of chance.

  And all around the upper stories, chaos reigned. Games and toys, children’s clothing (including diapers, fresh and used), Reese’s dog Woof and a rubber ball—all lay scattered through the hallways, no matter how often parents and servants and hotel staff tried to keep everything picked up.

  Rob was just beginning to wonder if this whole idea had been harebrained when Fiona made an appearance. Mainly to see what on earth was going on, and how could she avoid it.

  And that was when Rob, keeping watch through his spy network of every aunt and cousin available, waylaid her.

  She was coming down the stairs, wearing a tight-waisted, bell-skirted outfit in rich shiny golden-brown that melted his heart, when he went up the stairs to stop dead in her path. Startled, she moved to the left to go around; he moved to the left and blocked progress. Her brows quirked, her mouth tightened, and she moved to the right; he moved to the right and blocked progress.

  Fire flared in her eyes.

  “Good day, Miss Brennan,” he said cheerfully, stepping aside just as he figured her temper was about to explode.

  Irked, she ignored the greeting and went on about her business. Whatever it was.

  That was the morning. That afternoon, his spies reported Fiona’s trip to the local mercantile, a giant wooden warehouse of imaginable delights, with rows and rows and shelves and shelves and counters and counters of merchandise to explore.

  There, she was ambushed. This time by Rob’s immediate family of strong-minded females: Goldenstar, C.C., Kendra, Sarah, and Frances. Amid chatter like a flock of colorful birds, she was accosted, complimented, questioned, and overwhelmed. Until finally she fled, not to be seen again until the following day.

  With the dining room open for business, she was entering on her father’s arm, intent upon breakfast, when Rob appeared out of the blue. Another dance of delay, witnessed by Padraic, who, greatly amused, waited on the sidelines for the next little gambit in this ongoing game.

  Fiona was not so amused. She was furious. To the point that, over a plate of scrambled eggs and ham slices, she demanded that her father end this travesty right now and take her home.

  “Why, sugar, that won’t do,” Padraic offered a mild protest. “I still got things t’ do here in the city. Important things.”

  “Oh, balderdash, you have nothing of the kind. You’ve been vacationing since the moment we arrived, and there hasn’t been one speck of business done. I see absolutely no reason we can’t pack up and leave this afternoon, if we wanted to.”

  “Important things,” repeated her father stubbornly. “Trust me. Important things.”

  Aunt Cecelia came next. She and her daughter, Susan, Aunt Elizabeth and her daughters, Charlotte and Sophia, and Aunt Rosamond, with daughters, Annabel and Clara, accidentally ran into the lovely Miss Brennan that afternoon during their daily walk. More like a daily scramble, in Rob’s droll opinion, watching as the octet made their way down the street, some running or skipping, some striding, some strolling sedately, all yakking away like parakeets in a tree. In Rob’s opinion.

  “How nice to meet you,” Rosie gushed. (Or so it was reported later to her nephew.) “Are you out seeing the sights, as well? Pray, join us, and we’ll have a nice little chat.”

  The younger girls swarmed around their ne
w friend, bright butterflies fluttering from flower to flower; the older girls pestered with comments about dear Rob and his many attributes; the three adults carried on a conversation that included whatever positive tidbits about him that could be tucked inside.

  Rob was looking out his office window when the noisy group returned. Could he be blamed for feeling just a little vindicated by the dazed, shell-shocked expression on his lady love’s face?

  Business discussions took place wherever and whenever the men assembled, not only at the hotel’s private parlor, but in a conference room at The Cavalier. There, those brothers who had gathered thus far made the acquaintance of Riley Coleman, Club Seneschal, and passed on their thanks for his help with the errant Walter Hadley.

  It was during one of these visits that someone discovered Mr. Coleman had worked as a general construction manager / contractor for several firms in the central part of the state. Pressed, he admitted he wouldn’t mind getting back into that field.

  “Being shut up inside for so much of the day, victim of cigar smoke and bad air, has been detrimental to my health,” he told Rob. Indeed, he did rather resemble popular fiction’s idea of a vampire, with pasty complexion and shadowed eyes.

  Upon this disclosure, Rob looked at his father, who looked at his brother, John, who looked at another brother, Thomas.

  “You all thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” Matthew asked with a grin.

  Then and there, Riley Coleman was offered a position with the Yancey Holdings, pending a check of references. Once Hotel Sea Wind had been restored and updated, work would move on to those remaining. Rob was in great need of an assistant, and it seemed as if Mr. Coleman would fit that bill perfectly. A handshake all around sealed the deal.

  One more loose end tied up.

  And the last?

  Every Yancey woman had hovered around poor harassed Fiona like a hive of bees, driving her nearly to distraction. With her pleas for escape, back to the farm, her father only mumbled some vague reference to waiting business and tottered off.