Taking the High Road
Book 8: Paul Yancey
(A Western Romance)
Morris Fenris
Western Romance Publications House
Taking the High Road Book 7: Paul Yancey (A Western Romance)
Copyright 2015 Morris Fenris, Western Romance Publications House
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Thank You
About the Author
Booklist
I
“Well, as I live and breathe, if it ain’t Paul Yancey, the world-famous journalist!”
“H’lo, yourself, you mangy ole hornswaggler—minister of God, believe it or not!”
Two men, alike enough in appearance to be instantly recognizable as brothers to every onlooker, wrapped long muscular arms around each other for some unaccustomed bear-hugging and back-slapping. Both tall and sinewy, with a thatch of overlong black hair that rebelled against any comb, far-seeing dark eyes, and an air of casual confidence and capability that set the whole Yancey clan apart from average men.
The difference lay in their dress: Nathaniel, wearing black button up leather shoes, nutmeg-colored twill trousers, and a loose white cotton shirt that, although of a formal cut and style, showed marks of wrinkles, small fingerprints, and some sticky substance; while Paul was more comfortably and casually attired for the rigors of travel, in blue chambray and lightweight wool jacket and trousers.
This long-awaited reunion was taking place beside the rented livery carriage, from which Paul had just alighted, in the tree-shaded lane outside The Little Chapel’s parsonage. The Reverend, watching and listening for his brother’s arrival lo these many hours, had come loping out from his study to enthusiastically welcome the visitor.
“Holy Hannah, Nate, it’s damn good t’ see you again. Even if we were just t’gether last November, when Ben got himself hitched.”
“And a few months b’fore that, for my own weddin’. If nothin’ else, we Yancey boys are carryin’ on the family tradition.”
Eyes crinkling, tanned face furrowed by good humor, Paul grinned. “You mean like Ma and Paw—see a girl, fall for her like a wagonload of rocks, and tie her up legal b’fore she can come t’ her senses?”
“I’d say that’s just about right,” Nathaniel agreed, chuckling. “Don’t want our future wives t’ find out b’forehand what we’re really like, do we?”
“Speakin’ of,” a curious glance cast about, “where’s your own dearly beloved?”
“Carrie,” said the minister, with a look of great joy suddenly encompassing his features. Occasionally he still couldn’t quite take in that the beauteous and wondrous Caroline Winthrop had actually joined him in holy matrimony. “She wanted t’ check in at the studio, for Hollie’s ballet classes. Then she’s goin’ t’ the store for some groceries. Meantime, Delilah’s holdin’ down the fort here on the home front, bakin’ up some of her famous cinnamon rolls.”
Paul’s nostrils twitched as he scented the air, like a coon dog seeking prey. “Is that what I’m smellin’? Damn, brother, let me at ’em. Your stationmaster kindly offered me some vittles, but I was hopin’ your housekeeper would take pity on me and my empty belly.”
“Then let’s get to it. C’mon, we’ll haul in all your belongin’s and settle you in our spare room. Then we can have us a nice good long confab, afore we take that carriage back t’ Buckwell.”
As promised, the two men made themselves comfortable in Nathaniel’s study, with a big platter of fresh pastry straight from Delilah’s oven, and a tray of cups and coffeepot filled with hot fresh brew.
“I do like this room,” Paul approved, surveying his surroundings with a contented sigh.
Nathaniel followed his glance. “Yes, sir, Reverend Winthrop done a fine job, designin’ this house. Suits the needs of all of us, quite well.”
Little had changed here during the past year. The long blue Chesterfield still ranged against one wall, the rich draperies still framed sizable windows looking out onto treed and shrubbed and flowered back yard, mellow wood tones of floor and paneling still added to the mood of soothing repose.
“Bet you write some wallopin’ Jesus-come-t’-meetin’ sermons in this place. But we coulda sat down t’gether in the kitchen, you know. Didn’t need t’ invade your sanctuary, just t’ catch up.”
Holding up one finger, Nathaniel indicated a moment for silence. Paul cocked his head to one side and listened. From outside those great windows came the shouts of children playing, the loud squeaks of a swing chain lurching back and forth, the sudden bray of something not quite cat and not quite dog. Then the inevitable argument and a squabble of young female voices. A cry, a sob. Finally, Delilah breaking in to resolve the dispute and restore peace.
Nathaniel grinned. “This is the only room that’s off limit t’ my little hellions,” he confessed. “At least here we shouldn’t be interrupted. Unless it’s a real emergency, and blood is spilled, nobody will come in a-badgerin’ us.”
“Seems like a few months of bein’ married have given you wisdom beyond your years,” observed Paul with a slightly lopsided but charming smile.
“Oh, yeah. That, and livin’ with a packet of females. Now. Where were we? Oh, yes. You were gonna tell me what place you’ve come from, and how long you’re gonna stay with us.”
Reaching out for his second cinnamon roll, dripping with sugar and melted butter, Paul chomped down, chewed, and sighed. “Man, if I ever got myself settled in one spot, I’d entice Delilah away from you in a heartbeat. What a wizard in the kitchen that woman is! Well, my brother, thought I’d drop my boots here for a few days, if that’s okay with you. Then I’m headin’ on west for another feature.”
“Ahuh. I remember the last one, from when I was still in seminary. Read like a dime novel in the St. Louis News—’cept I knew that every word was true.”
“Betcher bottom dollar. That was back when both twins were single and fancy-free, of course—just like me. Took up with the two of ’em a few times, at their invitation, when they had t’ chase down and capture some fugitives, escaped from the law. Those were the days, let me tell you.”
With a reminiscent smile, the journalist leaned back, stretched long legs out to cross one ankle over the other, and tucked both hands behind his head, elbows akimbo.
His first big story had broken completely by accident. Before he’d ever even considered following the career path of a reporter. But isn’t that how a great many serendipitous, sometimes life-changing events take place?
“Well, sir, I was sorta b’tween jobs at the time…”
In common with every other member of the Yancey clan, Paul’s character encompassed many sterling qualities, born and bred into him by conscientious but loving p
arents blessed with more money than time to spend on their rambunctious sons. He possessed the ability to take charge and prevail during any dicey situation; a practical, no-nonsense approach to problems; a compassionate helping hand when the situation warranted; and, most of all, the capacity to learn and adapt to events as necessary.
As a younger of the middle sons, he had given as good as he got when it came to teasing and practical jokes. Thus, early on, he had realized that life itself should not be taken too seriously; every experience was one to be lived and enjoyed to the fullest rather than looked back on with regret.
Which constituted one of his few flaws. It was easier, Paul had found, to drift from this to that without any real purpose, simply accepting and dealing with whatever came along. With the sale of Belle Clare, the family plantation, a few years ago, the brothers had divided up a healthy inheritance that allowed each to pursue his own interests, without having to worry about actually making a living.
As for Paul, favored with a boundless imagination and a dreamer’s soul, his drifting had dropped him down smack into an unexpected calling.
Several years earlier, elder brother Matthew, at the time needing a respite from his pressure-cooker job as a Texas Ranger, had invited him along on a hunting trip into the Hill Country. White-tailed deer abounded, as did waterfowl, ducks, and wild hogs. Since Matthew’s son, Rob, was still too young for such an outing, Paul’s companionship would be much appreciated.
Each day had been packed full of routine yet easy-going chores: journeying to and securing a comfortable campsite, high into the tree-covered knolls where God still walked the earth; the occasional hunting, shooting, and skinning a creature whose roasted flesh augmented their own stores; the bedding down at night, happily tired out and ready to relax beside a fire whose flames provided a sense of well-being as well as privacy.
“Talk? Man, we talked for hours,” Paul confided now, cradling his coffee cup in two hands. “Found out things about Matt I didn’t know. Like how long it took him t’ get over losin’ Clarissa, when baby Rob was born. And that he felt guilty even lookin’ at another woman. She was the love of his life, Nate. Never thought he’d find another.”
“Till Star came along,” murmured Nathaniel in agreement. “She filled up that big empty place in his heart. And gave Robbie some of the motherin’ he’d missed.”
“Reckon so. Back then, though, he was a mighty lonely fella. Didn’t see much ahead for him. As for me,” a pause, to collect his thoughts and put to words, “I’d been movin’ around from city t’ city for long enough that gettin’ out int’ the country again felt good. Damn good.”
“A rollin’ stone.” That came with a smile. “You got no permanent home, do you? Just skillyhaulin’ from one hotel room t’ another, or stoppin’ over with this brother or that one, when you’ve needed a place t’ light for a while.”
“Afraid you’ve got me pegged, Nate. Well, I found out how much I’d missed the rustic life. Sittin’ b’hind a desk just ain’t for me, y’ know. Anyways, we were stretched out around the fire one quiet evenin’, palaverin’ away, when…”
Matthew had slipped away into the bushes past the hill’s crest, to take care of business, when a skulking figure appeared. Before Paul quite realized what was going on, he felt a muscular arm suddenly locked around his throat and the prick of a knife blade jabbed into his jugular.
“Sit still,” hissed an ominous voice. “I need food. And a horse. Who else is here?”
The smell that preceded the intruder should have warned him—an unbathed body and unwashed garments, stinking of smoke and blood—but Paul, expecting no trouble here in the semi-wilderness, had been unprepared. Never again. Should he survive whatever was going on, never again would he be caught unready and vulnerable. “My brother.”
“Call him back.”
“He’s just—”
“I said,” the tip of the blade dug deeper, showing a line of scarlet in the fire’s glow, “call him.”
Paul tried to shift position but was dragged backward, across the rough dry ground. Coughing a little against the tight grip, he managed to croak out his brother’s name.
Only to hear the soft snick of a Colt’s hammer being cocked, behind and above him.
At the same instant, the larynx-crushing clinch was pulled free and Paul was flung aside like a bag of old clothes.
“Really?” said Matthew pleasantly. “You’re bettin’ you can throw that pig-sticker at me faster’n I can fire a slug int’ you?”
A rumble from the man who crouched, tattered and filthy, with fist and Bowie knife extended in defensive posture. “Might be a draw.”
“You wanna take that chance? Right now you only got cattle-thievin’ and one stagecoach holdup on your record, Arliss. Prob’ly means just a few years in some local hoosegow. But attackin’ a Texas Ranger could get you hard time in the state pen. Your choice, Arliss. Either come after me, or put down your weapon.”
Paul would never forget those few tense minutes during which his brother coolly faced down an outlaw, armed and dangerous. In the center of everything, their fire crackled and sparked, and he sat hunched in the dirt with a dry mouth and heartbeat skittering madly awry.
At last the man growled something unintelligible, then, surrendering, bent to drop his knife.
“Arliss Helms,” Paul told Nathaniel now, at the end of his story. “We cut short our campin’ trip and headed back home, with Helms tied ont’ the pack mule. And, once he was put b’hind bars, I wrote my first feature, and sold it.”
“That was a rousin’ good story,” approved the Reverend. “I thought at the time you had yourself a real talent for puttin’ words t’gether, and gettin’ ’em out t’ the public. Sent you a letter tellin’ you so, if I recall correctly.”
Paul beamed. “Sure enough, you did. It warmed my heart, Nate, and I thank you. A man likes havin’ his work appreciated.”
“Here.” Nathaniel shoved the depleted plate of cinnamon rolls closer to his brother’s reach. “May’s well finish what’s left. I’ll go get us some more, pretty soon. So then what was next? You mentioned bein’ with the twins.”
From outside came a bloodcurdling shriek, so sudden and so piercing that Paul, startled, jerked upright and nearly dropped his cup. Every hair on the nape of his neck stood erect, in tandem. “What the hell was that?”
His brother had already moved over to the window, twitching curtains aside to see what was going on. “Ahuh. Emmie’s at the bottom of it again. When she gets bored, she teases the other two. Linnie sulks, and Hollie screams. It’s a great way for all of ’em t’ get adult attention.”
A shake of the head, as if to clear away the sound of that ear-splitting scream. “Man. Does that happen often?”
“Not s’ much anymore.” Grinning with fond reminiscence, Nathaniel resumed his seat and reached for his own cup. Though its contents were now lukewarm, enough caffeine remained for his needs. “When I first got here, this kinda thing was happenin’ several times a day. But we had some little talks, and they’ve settled down considerable since then. Well, go on. I like livin’ your adventures vicariously, Paul, so fill me in on what happened next.”
“Huh. Let’s see. Reckon from there I went off visitin’ the twins. You remember they were stayin’ in Denver City for a while, serving as lawmen. After the Pike’s Peak gold rush faded, there was still quite a criminal element hangin’ out in the area. So good ol’ Travis sent me a Western Union, askin’ if I wanted t’ come along when they left t’ track down one Elijah Reed.”
Leaning forward, elbows on thighs, to absorb every word, Nathaniel was nodding with anticipation. “Yup. Recall that name, too. A bad one, seems like.”
“A killer,” Paul agreed soberly. “Had a string of bank robberies t’ his credit, with a few killin’s b’sides as he made off with the cash.”
“A price on his head?”
“Sure was. Wanted posters everywhere you chanced t’ look. We trailed him up int’ the Ro
ckies, that late fall, after the twins helped Lije’s cousin part with some vital information…”
To “help” meant, in the parlance of the day, to “strong-arm.” A number of threats, a few minor punches, some time spent in handcuffs, and the assurance of jail time had eventually yielded the sought-after intelligence. Mainly because Lije had broken his own promise to cousin Henry: that the two of them together would hightail it to his mountain hideaway after their most recent caper, lay low till the heat cooled, then slip off to the north, into Canada, with proceeds from the latest heist.
“Leavin’ Henry b’hind was Lije’s last mistake,” Paul said. A pause to dip up the remains of the cinnamon-flavored frosting from the empty plate with one finger, and another sip of cooling coffee, before continuing. “Let me tell you, Nate, those twins of ours make me proud. Amazin’ how well they track, and how much they know.”
“They seem to have found their callin’, all right.”
“Yessir, they have. So we loaded up our supplies and headed on int’ the foothills, and farther. Startin’ t’ get cold, so we kept on a-hoofin’. Woulda been a good time, Nate, if we hadn’t been lookin’ over our shoulders with every step.”
Chuckling, Nathaniel shook his head. “Only you could enjoy chasin’ after some outlaw, havin’ t’ rough it all the way.”
“Oh, hell, roughin’ it is the best part. There ain’t nothin’ like bein’ out there, one with nature, fightin’ the elements, risin’ to every challenge. Chuggin’ along atop your horse durin’ the day, rolled up tight in your blanket next t’ the fire at night…”
The Reverend studied his brother with wonderment. “Surely ain’t my idea of heaven. I’d much rather have all the comforts of home, especially cuddlin’ up beside my wife, on the mattress of my own bed.”
“Huh. You’ve gone soft, Nate.”
“Huh. Maybe I always have been.” He sounded a trifle miffed. “Well, I’m guessin’ you come across Mr. Reed and hauled his sorry carcass to the authorities?”
A Western Romance: Paul Yancey: Taking the High Road (Book 8) (Taking The High Road Series) Page 1
