A Western Romance: Matthew Yancey: Taking the High Road (Book 2) (Taking the High Road series)

by Morris Fenris

  So there, during the lull between the last battle and whenever the next one would start, Matthew described his visit with Frances, upon her insistence, to Star’s family home.

  “You saw my mother?” repeated Star, wonderingly.

  “Sure did. Adsila. Pretty name. What’s it mean?”

  “Blossom,” said she, with a half-smile of remembrance. “Her name means blossom.”

  “Ahuh. Pretty name for a pretty woman. Anyway, as desperate as we were to see her, and find out what had happened t’ you, she was just as desperate herself t’ find somebody to give help. Seems your paw’s brother…well, he’s parta this gang shootin’ up our shelter, here.”

  “Ricardo. But my father never speaks of him, he’s the—well, I suppose you would say he’s the black sheep of our family.”

  Matt nodded and squeezed her a little more tightly. She felt good, soft and warm in all the places a girl should feel soft and warm, and he liked the way she fit so well into the crook of his arm, next to his heart. “Black sheep or not, he done you a good turn, Star,” Matt told her soberly. “He let your maw know what had happened t’ you.”

  The story continued, from the conversation with Adsila that provided all the background details she had so long tried to hide, to the frantic race back to San Francisco, to the wild gallop all the way south along Glen Creek Road, using Ricardo’s accurate directions to the camp.

  “And there you were, by God,” finished up Matt on a note of satisfaction. “Damn. I about passed out, just havin’ that load off my mind, when I saw you back amongst the rocks.”

  “You can imagine my own reaction,” said Star dryly.

  A flash of the old familiar grin. “Think I can, at that. Don’t think either of us ever wanna go through it again, either. Now, talk t’ me. Tell me what happened that got you caught up in this mess.”

  “Oh, Matt.” She sighed.

  Despite their rough, cramped surroundings and the danger waiting somewhere outside, it was pure luxury to sit here beside him, snuggled close, sharing his thoughts and capturing his attention. If she died today, she wanted to die like this, in this man’s company, in this man’s care. He had come to mean too much to her, in too short a time, and she wished to never be out of his sight again.

  His left hand was slowly caressing her upper arm, his left thigh lay against her, hard as wood and just about as sturdy. Matthew Yancey had today proven himself to be all that a Texas Ranger lays claim to be: loyal, honorable, dependable as dawn, ethical to a fault, and fiercely conscientious. How could she ever have doubted him and his motives?

  “Is it that tough t’ say?” he asked gently. His Colt had been laid aside, within reach, so that his right hand was free to lift her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his in the semi-dark. “Damn.”

  “What?”

  “I wanna touch you, Star,” he admitted. “But you’re so bunged-up that I’m afraid I’ll hurt you if I do.”

  “Not now,” she agreed, the brilliance of her upward gaze reflecting her name. “But later—perhaps?”

  “Later. Definitely. Think you can go on now?”

  Most assuredly she could go on now. All outside still lay silent and ominous, giving no hint of what was to come. Before another confrontation, she must recount the happenings from yesterday morning until this desperate evening.

  “I was taking my bath,” she began.

  As always ruthlessly honest with others as she was with herself, she spared nothing in the telling. That long night of disillusionment and woe, the tears, the conclusions reached—Star laid bare her heart, and under the bruised cheek she could feel a conscience-stricken wince of Matt’s torso.

  Then had come Bower’s unexpected visit, his demands, his threats of blackmail.

  “I was so worried about my mother, Matt,” she diverged to admit. “If you talked with her, then you know—”

  “I know. She told me all about her past, Star. And I think we can get that taken care of, so put any concerns about Adsila right outa your head for the moment.”

  Again that shining star-like regard of pure admiration. Seen thus, Matt felt suddenly ten feet tall and filled with miracles. He could lick his weight in catamounts, or climb a mountain barefoot, if necessary. What was a little Mexican outlaw gang to deal with, by comparison?

  And so she’d surrendered to Franklin Bower. The ride to his ranch, the dress, the dinner, the attempted lovemaking…she told it all, every relentless word. At that last part, with Bower’s obscene moves being made upon her, Matt let out a low animal growl, deep in his throat. Not as an interruption, but as an involuntary response. Let him but track down the filthy rancher, let him but return the favor of power reversed…!

  “And then there’s Raquel. She helped me, Matt. She helped me escape, but we were recaptured together, and I don’t know what happened to her. We have to find her, and find her brother, too.”

  “We will, Star,” he soothed, “we will. Just as soon as we can get outa this predicament.”

  “This—this bandito leader, this—Suarez—I was turned over to him, and to his men…early this morning. I don’t know exactly when, Matt; sometime around dawn, when they arrived at the Condor. And they took me away…”

  “Aw, Star.” Matt, distressed by her distress, tightened his strong left arm around her, feeling her overwrought body weaken and shiver. “If I coulda been there—if I coulda stopped ’em—”

  Her amber eyes darkened with remembered horror, with all that she had been forced to undergo during that ride south to the outlaw camp. “I was so—afraid, Matt. I didn’t dare even hope that—that you might somehow…out of the blue…appear for me…”

  “T’ the gates of hell itself, Goldenstar Mendoza,” he promised thickly.

  “And when I looked up—and saw you there—” Tears had once again gathered, to pool and overflow. “I thought you were—a mirage, a dream…like when you’re lost in the desert, and for thirst you begin to hallucinate…”

  “Touch me, Star. Do I feel like a dream?”

  Trembling, she lifted one hand to curve along his bearded cheek, in wonder and in gratitude. “No. You’re solid. You’re real. But you’re still my dream. Matthew Yancey.”

  She let out a half-sob then that shook him to the marrow. Overcome, he suddenly pulled her quivering body up and over, to lie full-length atop his. Both big hands smoothed down over her arms in a slow caress, then moved flat along her spine, then cupped her backside with potency and power.

  “My God, Star,” he managed on a soft rumble, “I do love you so much, girl.”

  “Oh, Matt! I never thought—I never believed—”

  “Believe, Star,” he told her roughly. A very cautious, light kiss to her temple, as he adjusted her position upon what was becoming a most interested spectator to their drama, something that had stirred up to peer around with speculation and need. “When we get outa this—”

  “You have plans?”

  “Damn straight I have plans. Thought of nothin’ else when I came barrelin’ after you. Scared t’ death I’d be too late. Scared t’ death I might never find you at all.” He enveloped her in a hug that came near to crushing her bones. “So, whaddya say, Star?”

  Crushed bones or not, she was studying him with tenderness and devotion. “To what, Matthew?”

  “Uh—you…me…if you feel the same way, that is.”

  “Matt. My rescuer. My Ranger. My man. How could I feel any other way? I love you, Matthew Yancey, with every breath of my lungs, with every pulse of my blood, with every throb of my heart.”

  Suddenly, shockingly, helplessly, she giggled. “And, I think…with every yin force of my body, ready for the yang force of yours.”

  In a bold move that he never would have expected from this ladylike flower of womanhood, she slipped one palm between them, over his chest, his belly, his loin, and lower, to press and grasp all that awaited.

  Matt gulped. “Sweet Jesus, Star,” he let out a groan. “Doncha go—’

&nbs
p; Bang; zzzzzzt; smack! One bullet sliced through the air to crack over their heads, joined by a volley of other bullets. Rejoined to the battle he had tried to forget, Matt thrust Star aside, grabbed his revolver, and took up position at the window. Accordingly, she reached for the rifle and took up position at the opposite wall. They had just a single instant to exchange one swift glance of love and mutual desire before hell started popping.

  Full dark, but for the faint white gleam of a full moon overhead, had encompassed the meadow. Flashes of gunfire here and there lit up outlaw positions scattered through the grass, upon which the little structure’s defenders could take aim and respond in kind. Behind them, Colonel, who had been happily dozing in his corner, woke at the noise and danced sideways with apprehension.

  “We have come back, you yellow-spined gringo!” The taunts of Suarez burbled along, gloating and purposeful. “Is my little hostage still alive? I gave you time to think…and do. Have you used her yet as I mean to use her?”

  For answer, Matt fired carefully and coolly at the disembodied voice. Every Ranger in his group could testify as to the accuracy of his shots. What he targeted, he hit.

  Disembodied no more. Several smacks of a bullet plowing into vulnerable human flesh, a couple of yowls of pain, then silence. Over his shoulder, Matt gave a thumbs’-up sign to his companion.

  Except that now the outlaws, apparently infuriated by the wounding—or killing—of their leader, had decided to set in with a vengeance. So much lead poured into the cabin, so many rounds and shells, that both Matt and Star dropped down, crawled to meet in a frantic embrace, and ducked for cover.

  “Reckon we’ve riled up a hornet’s nest?” he said in her ear.

  “Maybe they will give up and go away again?” she wondered hopefully.

  More gunfire, another horrendous deafening barrage. Oddly enough, however, the noise seemed to be approaching from another direction. From the north. Accompanied by yells, shouted curses, and the whinnies and neighs of excited horses.

  “Star!” Matt raised himself off the dusty ground to kneel beside her, both hands curved around her skull in protective mode. He was grinning like the village idiot. “I think the cavalry has arrived!”

  “Cavalry? But—what—I don’t understand…who—”

  “Sheriff William Goddard and his merry band of recruits, that’s who!”

  Outside, an occasional shot still rang across the meadow, but the hullabaloo was slowly dying down. Matt wasn’t about to investigate yet; they would wait things out inside, in relative safety, until given the all-clear.

  That came soon enough.

  “Hello the house!” rumbled William. “Hold your fire, Matt. I’m comin’ in!”

  Surging upright, Matt unbarred and flung open the door. “Will, you ole bull moose. Never been so glad t’ see anybody in my life! Well—” he glanced sideways at Star, who had risen and was brushing off her skirts, to amend, “except for this woman here.” Reaching out one long arm, he gathered her in to hold close and secure.

  The sheriff carefully set his lighted lantern onto the least wobbly of the two chairs to look both rescuer and hostage up and down. Relief had brightened his features into great cheer. “Not much gladder than I am, Mr. Ranger man. You okay in here?”

  Matt grinned. “Better’n okay. What’s goin’ on out there?”

  “Oh, y’ know, the usual. Catch a few outlaws, knock ’em around, tie ’em up. All in a day’s work. Brought me a passel of deputies, after settlin’ the plague problem down by the docks, and they’re takin’ care of things as we speak.”

  “Ahuh. D’ja find Suarez in that mess?”

  “The leader? Hell, yes. Bleedin’ like a stuck pig and yellin’ for some help, when we come upon him. You wanna run on out and say howdy-do? Maybe give him a big sloppy kiss?”

  “Yeah, I’d like t’ give him somethin’, all right.”

  Man talk briefly and temporarily put aside, William turned his attention to the center of this dramatic turmoil. “You doin’ all right, Star?” Even in the fragile lamplight he could see how badly she had been treated, and the dark lines of exhaustion and horror beneath her eyes.

  “You may not think it to look at me, Will,” she answered, smiling like a Madonna, “but I am doing just wonderfully.”

  “Ah. That’s good, then.” The last thing he needed to deal with on this busy night was a female’s histrionics, justified or not.

  Subdued sounds from whatever was taking place outside—shouts, and the cringe worthy noise of fists slammed into flesh, and heated words in Spanish and English—reached them. Back to reality.

  “So, you wanna hear some o’ this now, my friend, or as we head back north?”

  Matt chuckled. “Definitely now, Will. Not one of your long-winded stories, though. I’m lookin’ to get this girl home before she collapses on me.”

  “Huh. Well, then.”

  Suarez had led his crew of banditos like a typical bully, with intimidation and threats. Now, caught, handcuffed, about to face prison, he was singing like a sweet wood thrush.

  “Man, he’s confessin’ to crimes I never knew he was involved in,” Will said in awe, shaking his head. “Should be a great day when they land him in court. Anyway, Star, he killed Franklin Bower.”

  “What?” From being tucked wearily into the comforting crook of Matt’s shoulder she jerked upright, astounded. “He’s dead? Truly?”

  “Truly. Suarez just told us so, outside. Guess that’ll mean a trip to the Condor. Seems the outlaw was gettin’ impatient with some of what Bower had done, and after he took you he planned on no more business between the two of ’em any more. Rustlin’, Matt, and murder, and drugs. So that meant gettin’ rid of his main man to head south permanently.”

  Star tugged at Matt’s sleeve. “Raquel. Then we can go along with everyone, and find her, and release all those men at the silver mine.”

  “Raquel? Silver mine?” Sheriff Will’s jaw dropped. “Y’ mean there’s still more goin’ on?”

  “Oh, Will,” said Matt. His voice rang almost with pity for the lawman and the mountains of paperwork that would be involved, once this investigation had been completed and all the details worked out. “You sorry son-of-a-bitch. So much t’ look forward to!”

  “Huh. Then we’d better get crackin’.” Will took a minute to plan arrangements for what must be done next. “We got us two dead outlaws out there, three wounded, and six still up and kickin’. I’ll send half my troops back to the city with the prisoners. The other half can come along with us, off to the Condor.” In the dim light his kindly eyes ranged over the wavering figure of Matt’s charge. “You sure you wanna come with, Star? You gonna hold up okay?”

  She looked up at the man beside her, wearing such a beatific expression of love and adoration as to blur the eyesight and stutter the heartbeat. “Absolutely, I will hold up. We need to do this. We need to finish what Bower started. May I ride with you, Matt?”

  Not so strange that he, mere mortal, was wearing the same expression. “Absolutely. In front, this time, where I can keep good hold on you.” And whatever parts he could easily reach.

  X

  “The month of September is beautiful for a wedding,” sniffled Sarah, from her pew in the First Mission Church.

  “So’s October,” twinkled William, from her left. His right hand snaked up from the wooden seat to rest proprietarily on her thigh. “But then you must be aware, Sarah, girl, since that’s the month you decided on. And more shame t’ you, keepin’ me on tenterhooks that much longer.”

  She flashed him a pert glance. With her double dimples much in evidence, the effect was stunning, and her betrothed reeled under it. “No more so than you keeping me on tenterhooks for a long time yourself, Will Goddard.”

  He rumbled with subdued laughter. “Wasn’t planned that way, sweetheart. If you recall, me and my whole office and Matthew himself got pretty bogged down there for a while. Couldn’t exactly take care of my own personal plans with everyth
in’ else goin’ on.”

  Everything else going on, indeed. And what a crowded few weeks it had been!

  With the Los Huesos Banditos gang broken up and carted away by half the law force to the welcoming depths of San Francisco’s largest hoosegow, William had led the rest of his men, along with Matt and Star, homeward, veering off only toward the Condor Ranch. There, they found the situation chaotic.

  Just that very morning, Horace, Franklin Bower’s less-than-adoring manservant, had discovered the quite bullet-riddled, quite lifeless body of his erstwhile employer sprawled face-down in the dust. Shocked, and yet not so shocked—having a very good idea of all the nefarious activity in which Bower had been involved—Horace had dispatched one of the vaqueros for the local undertaker. And a coffin.

  Then he had set about packing his own essentials. By hook or by crook, he was definitely leaving for London on the first ship out of San Francisco harbor. It was way past time to shake the dirt of this miserable state from his polished boots and seek out his English Lord, in hopes of a truce.

  “And Raquel?” Star demanded anxiously from the warmth of Matt’s encircling, supportive arms. “Where is she, have you seen her?”

  “Indeed I have, Miss.” Horace had surveyed her, brow cocked with surprise. How circumstances do change, and how the mighty do sometimes fall! “Mr. Bower ordered me to lock her in the storeroom for a—I believe he termed it a ‘cooling-off period.’ And there she has stayed.”

  “In the storeroom!” Furious, Star had thrust herself to the ground and away, pelting into the house with a flurry of filthy, travel-worn skirts. Which left Matt no choice but to follow.

  Another rescue of a battered, beaten girl. Too bad Bower was dead, thought Matt dispassionately, as he watched the two hugging and weeping. He would have taken pure delight in doing some battering and beating on the rancher himself.