A Western Romance: Cole Yancey: Taking the High Road (Taking The High Road Series Book 9)

by Morris Fenris

  That was promising. Pleased with the direction his comments had taken them, Oliver nodded. “Yessir, even tired and cranky as she got sometimes, she was still the prettiest thing in shoe leather. God. I loved her more’n anybody could ever know.”

  “More’n the sun, moon, and stars,” said Cole into the stillness, suddenly but quietly.

  Oliver shot him a surprised glance. “Yes, sir, that was about it. Near killed me when Carlotta died.”

  “Pneumonia, wasn’t it, Pa?” whispered Janetta. As if words spoken aloud might break this spell of reminiscence.

  “Yeah. Had us that one wallopin’ winter, remember, honey? Terrible snow and winds. She took sick with a nasty cold, and it went from bad t’ worse. You were—what, ten that year?”

  “I was. And I still miss her. But—you, Pa—” she smiled at him, “you took over as mother and father. You gave me the best life I could have had.”

  After a cough, hastily stifled, he lifted his cup to her in a mock salute. “Thank you, Janie. That means a lot t’ me.”

  Little spirals of wood from Cole’s carving curled up and floated to the ground. “Hard thing, losin’ a maw. I was but a shaver when my own died.” Giving birth to John, he remembered with sharp clarity. And the last thing in the world he would mention to Janetta right now.

  As it was, she flung him a deeply sympathetic glance, sweet and warm and in the firelight.

  “So, anyway, Cole…” Oliver was like a dog with a bone, gnawing on a subject till he’d finished chewing it. “When the time comes…when it’s needful…you’ll go on watchin’ over my Janie, won’tcha?”

  There it was, brought out into the open. The old man’s voice was barely audible but intense enough to convey his depth of feeling. And worry.

  The flash of the whittling knife paused as Cole cleared his throat and looked from one to the other. “Reckon so.”

  “Ah.” Oliver sighed, patted the dog, and closed his eyes. “Good t’ know. That relieves my mind considerable, son. Thank you.”

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  Janetta slept late the next morning.

  Although she had consulted Doc Ashton about her pregnancy, and spoken privately to both Violet and Ruth, she had had little guidance as to what to expect and when to expect it. This overweening fatigue came as, apparently, part of the whole package. It was an effort even to drag herself up and about each day, to perform whatever necessary tasks to keep the wagon going, to endure the endless jolting when she rode and the endless plodding when she walked.

  Sunlight shone through the wagon’s canvas cover, brightening the interior and stirring her to life. Smiling a little, she shifted on the thin mattress, stretching stiffened muscles. The smell of coffee brewing from outside reminded her that it was breakfast time, and she was hungry.

  “Good morning.” Remembering their last night’s discussion, more revealing than any in the past, she greeted Cole with diffidence.

  “Mawnin’.” With a smile, he reached up a hand to help her down. “Sleep well, didja?”

  “I did.” She didn’t.

  Tired as she was, her rest had been broken by wild dreams and troublesome thoughts. Some of them had involved this man, this man so clean-shaven and cheerful as all get out, wearing a blue plaid shirt with neckerchief to match, smelling of soap and leather and wood smoke.

  “Ready for somethin’ t’ eat?”

  Janetta looked around in amazement. Coffee wasn’t the only enticing scent she smelled; there were slices of bacon, sizzling in the pan, and a pile of flapjacks on a plate. “You can cook?”

  “Well, yeah. I can cook some, when I’m called upon t’ do it. Can’t put t’gether the gourmet stuff you turn out, but I get along well enough t’ keep from starvin’.” He grinned. “Don’t like lettin’ anybody know, though. I sure do prefer havin’ a pretty woman take pity on my situation and fix me vittles.”

  Laughing, she admitted he had a point. “You flimflammer, you. Where’s Pa?”

  Cole bent down to refill his cup. “Takin’ a constitutional. Warned him not t’ go too far, but he said he’d been ridin’ that wagon too much lately, and he wanted a walk. So. Wanna sit down here, and keep me comp’ny?”

  Still attired in her neck-to-toes nightwear, with her feet scuffed into slippers, she had wrapped a quilt around her shoulders for modesty’s sake. “I’d love to. Just let me—uh—well…take care of business first.”

  That was another inconvenience, she thought, tottering away. With the infant’s bulk pressing on all her internal organs, nature’s call happened much more frequently. And it didn’t seem to matter where she was at the time, or what was going on.

  Once more seated in her rocker, in the shade of the schooner’s canvas top, Cole took it upon himself to serve her. With a grin that was full of the devil, and a flourish. Just as he reached out with a plate, the baby decided to start kicking.

  He nearly dropped everything in hand. “Holy Hannah!” was his amazed exclamation, as the movement rippled across her belly and back again. “If that ain’t the most hellacious thing!”

  Modesty be damned; it was a lost cause by now, anyway. “You can see what’s going on?”

  “See it? Lady, all that scoonchin’ around in there damned near knocked me off my feet.” Incredulous, wondering, his gaze followed from one side to the other, and then he laughed. “Rambunctious little rascal, ain’t he?”

  Deciding he’d had enough fun at her expense, Janetta pulled the quilt over her lap and waited out the activity. “Rambunctious, definitely,” she retorted. “He, questionable.”

  “Oh, well, sure. Just seems like—well, here. Get some food down you.”

  By the time her father returned, to nibble a little at some bacon, Janetta was feeling stuffed full as a snake and almost as somnolent. Mainly because Cole had kept urging her to eat more, eat more. That baby needed nourishment. Apparently, according to his lights, she didn’t.

  “All right, you ’bout finished? C’mon, gonna take you somewhere.”

  Janetta groaned. “Oh. Do I have to walk?”

  He gave her a look of exasperation. “Well, I ain’t about t’ carry you. It’d be like slingin’ the horse over my back and haulin’ him around.”

  “Hmmph. Such sweet talk. I’m surprised you’re not married.”

  Over a small knoll and through a grove of sycamore took them to the stream he had promised. Meandering, musical, deep enough yet not too deep, he showed her the perfect spot to bathe. A boulder would provide privacy, as would a screen of gooseberry bushes and tall grass; and she could splash and wallow as much as she wanted.

  “Wallow?”

  “Huh. Well, kinda. I mean, happy as a pig in mud. Anyways…” Already recognizing that he was in serious trouble for that one, Cole sighed and pointed out to her the cake of soap he had brought here earlier, just for her convenience, and a couple of folded towels, and a wrapper he’d purloined from inside the wagon. “Water’s fairly warm, just like one of them fancy hotel tubs you asked for.”

  Her heart melted, as quickly and as surely as a candle left out in the sun. “Oh, Cole. This is one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me. Thank you.”

  A blush rose into his suntanned cheeks, and he almost did one of those, “Aw, shucks, ma’am,” but valiantly refrained. No point in letting her get away with too much.

  “Ahuh. Well, you just have a good time here, and c’mon back to the camp when you’re ready. We ain’t got any call t’ make many miles t’day. Figured both you and your paw could use some time t’ get your strength back.”

  Approaching, she lay one hand on his forearm, light as the brush of a bird’s wing. “You figured right.”

  VII

  “Well, now, just looky what we got here.”

  That rough voice was the stuff of nightmares, haunting her for too many months. She had hoped to forget it; so far the hope had been in vain. Splashing about frantically, she hauled her ungainly body farther from shore, into the deepe
r current, and turned for a confrontation.

  “Sweet as a prairie rose,” the voice continued with relish, as its owner moved out from cover to present himself. “Thought so then, think so now. And I’ve come all this way t’ prove it, Missy. That is,” he paused, squinting against the mid-morning sun, “you are still a Miss, ain’tcha?”

  With one shaking palm she brushed water off her face and away from her eyes. Caught, out here in the open, without even a weapon—caught, once again, helpless! Oh, where was God when you needed Him?

  “Kyle. Kyle Corcoran. Why—why are you—here?” Silently cursing her weakness, meanwhile, for the quaver in those words.

  “Been trackin’ you from St. Louis,” he told her proudly. As if that were some great accomplishment—stalking! “Planned on gettin’ hold of you, somehow, takin’ you with me. But no chance at’all whilst you rode with that train. Too many people around.”

  A small fish wiggled around in the blue-green depths, nibbled at her toes, and flashed away. The movement sent a shudder through every muscle. Imagine that great hulk of a midnight assailant doing the same thing, over every exposed inch of her body!

  “So howdja like what I done? Got them people all riled up till they couldn’t stand you bein’ around no more and threw you out. Worked plenty fine, didn’t it?”

  Bile rose in her throat. “You? You were the one responsible for—for destroying food, and stealing money, and—and cutting harness? For all the hatred against me? You—you did that?”

  “Yep. Me.” A big, blustering blacksmithing sort of man, with wild brown hair and a skin to match, he put his considerable muscles to work just slipping thumbs under his suspenders, boastful and self-satisfied. “And there was my brother, tellin’ me my brain never has done what it should. Pah! See how much he knows! Got things arranged here the way I wanted, didn’t I?”

  “I—I don’t think—”

  “Had t’ keep my eye on you.” He hunkered down, dipped one hand into the water, and let it trickle slowly through his fingers. “And now you’re here, with that sick old man and some kinda outrider. Been watchin’ you, Janie. Been waitin’ for my chance. Reckon that’s about now.”

  Eyes wide, submerged to her collarbones, she was tracking his every move. Just let his attention wander for a minute, just let him turn away, and she’d be off running. Clumsy, ponderous, hindered, somehow she must make an escape. Dear God, what she had gone through once must not happen again!

  His heavy-lidded gaze slid over her, hot and insinuating. “Missed you all this time, Janie. Sure was disappointed to find you up and gone. I had plans for us then. Come all this way after you. And this time it’s gonna be for good. You and me, we’re headin’ off int’ the mountains, some place nobody’ll ever find you, and I can have you as often as I want.”

  “You really can’t—you shouldn’t be—I don’t want you here, don’t you understand!”

  If a chuckle could sound lewd and condescending, all at once, his did. “Seems t’ me you’d oughta be right happy I tracked you down, seein’ as how that’s my brat been planted in your belly.”

  Janetta backed away a little further into the creek, feeling for footholds, fanning the current into frothy ripples.

  “Ho. You playin’ games now, Missy? Fine with me. I can stay right here on the bank, talkin’ away t’ you, or I can wade right in there and pull you out by your hair. But we can’t dilly-dack around much longer. Time t’ be movin’ on.”

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  As a concession to his manliness, Cole had thoroughly scrubbed every last pan, plate, and utensil, dried everything, and stacked neatly away what had been used. The concession being that Janetta would once again scold him for infringing on her territory, no matter that he knew how much she appreciated the help.

  By then, with the campsite cleaned up and the sun rising higher, with Oliver able to move with slightly more vigor, Cole was beginning to wonder what was taking the girl so damned long in her temporary bathtub. True, he had admonished her to relax and enjoy her privacy, but surely she must realize there were limits. Time to be on the road.

  First mild annoyance, then concern, then outright worry. What if Janetta had fallen asleep again and lay half-drowning underwater? What if, in her present awkward condition, she had tripped on something, fallen, hit her head or broken her leg?

  Finally, he could stand it no longer. “Decent or not, I’m gonna go check on her,” he told Oliver in no uncertain terms. “Find out what the hell is goin’ on.”

  Since her father lacked the strength, and possibly the ability, to go traipsing about some distance from the wagon, he sighed his relief. “Good. I’ll stay here, keep the fire goin’ and the coffeepot boilin’.” He lifted one hand. “And the rifle loaded.”

  “Ahuh. And Barney close by.”

  He wasn’t prepared. Much later, he would curse that split-second decision to leave his gun belt behind, having felt there would be no need for it. At least, to give him some credit, he approached the streambed silently. Not so much to sneak up on Venus Rising from the Sea, to catch her unaware, as to—well, what, exactly? Maybe some inkling of danger reached him, after all, keeping him wary.

  That, and some sounds being made that shouldn’t be. A male voice, burry and taunting; the splash and clump of heavy boots in the water; soft half-strangled cries from Janetta that raised the hackles on the back of his neck. Moving closer, cat-footed, he heard the filthy gutter-snipe jargon that no decent woman should ever be subjected to.

  On the sheltering rock lay Janetta’s towels and wrapper, untouched. Because she had been cornered at the far side of the stream by some great lumbering oaf who had climbed into the water to hunt her down. One of his ham-sized hands was twisted through her hair, holding her fast; the other, upraised, had clearly been used to assault, because the girl’s cheek bore the darkening imprint of his open palm.

  Cole saw red. Almost underfoot lay a dead tree branch the size of a caveman’s club and just about as hefty. Swooping to grab up the weapon, he let out a roar and charged.

  The stranger, intent upon his prey, had only a split second to let go the grip and turn, startled, just as Cole swung his cudgel head-on. The first blow landed with a solid thunk against one meaty thigh; the second jabbed straight into a pendulous gut; the third crashed with fearsome force along one side of the skull. That, at last, pitched him over like a ponderosa toppling heavily into history. An unearthly groan, a giant splash, a body as barrier to the current, and silence.

  Panting, Cole took a moment to recover his senses and survey the scene. “Janie. Janie, girl. You okay? He didn’t hurt you?”

  Her pupils had been shrunk by shock into mere black pinholes, he saw, and her teeth were chattering. Arms crossed over her breasts in typical defensive posture, she managed a tiny nod.

  “Okay, then. Can you get yourself over here?”

  While she half-swam, half-floated back to her original starting point, he reached down to check for any signs of life from her assailant. No breath, no pulse, no heartbeat. Dead as a doornail. And just as well, thought Cole without sympathy, as he fetched her wrapper and held it open. Deserved just what he got.

  “Here, stand up and get int’ this. No, honey, I ain’t lookin’. Got my head turned away, all right?”

  A sucking and sloshing of water as she complied, and a pool of droplets falling. “It doesn’t matter,” she commented in a dull, apathetic tone. “Nothing matters.”

  “You hush up now,” Cole ordered. “We’ll get things taken care of. You sure you’re okay?”

  Even despite the ugly discoloration on her cheek, she jerked out a nod. Then surrendered, numb as a rag doll, to his care. Carefully he helped her with the robe: one arm into one sleeve; one arm into the other; a firm tie of the cotton belt that held everything together over her pregnancy.

  He moved her to the sun-warmed boulder and began briskly rubbing the towel over her bare wet legs and feet. “That feller,” he finally decided to ask
about. “Somebody that just cropped up, outa the blue?”

  Words seemed reluctant to form through lips gone chilled and cold. “Kyle. Kyle Corcoran.”

  His motions slowed as he took that in, chewed it up for a minute. “The one who--”

  “Yes.”

  After a while, he got the story out of her, in faltering bits and pieces that nonetheless gave him the complete picture.

  “Janie.” Perched on the granite rock as she was, they were almost eye level to each other, and he settled his gentle hands around her upper arms for support. “The man ain’t ever gonna hurt you again. He won’t ever be trackin’ you t’ wherever you’re goin’. He’s dead.”

  She merely looked at him, letting her wonderstruck gaze move over his rugged face and tousled hair. “I—couldn’t scream—” she whispered. “I tried, but I—I couldn’t—even—scream…” Then the tears came, gathering to ooze over black lashes and down. Then a sob. Then she crumpled, right into his waiting embrace.

  For some unknown time, he simply stood and held her while she cried. His soothing hands caressed her wet cascade of ringlets, massaged neck muscles that had stiffened in aftermath, slipped down to move over her shoulder blades and spine in calming circles.

  “Cole…” she mumbled against the bony jut of his clavicle. “I was so afraid—I thought I was all alone, that he would be able to—to take me away, just as he threatened. And I’d be lost forever.”

  “I’m sorry for what you went through,” he told her softly. “Musta brought everything back, from that first time. But it’s over now. Once you’re able t’ put this b’hind you, things’ll be better all around.”

  She tipped her head back, to look up at him with brimming eyes. “Thank you, Cole. I can never—I can never thank you—enough…”

  “’S okay. Reckon it’s what I was here for. You’re safe now, Janie.” And damned near stopped my heart from beatin’ just t’ think how close a call that was. Another five minutes…only five minutes…

  He ended up carrying her back to camp, after all. Certainly, shivering and shaky as she was, it was the least he could do. As they approached the wagon, he commented something about the fact that this wasn’t as bad as he had expected; actually, she weighed a little less than his horse.