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

by Morris Fenris

  “Yeah? And?”

  Thomas shifted his attention long enough to grin. “Ol’ Trav here took an instant dislike t’ the lawman in that great metropolis. Last name o’ Lawton.”

  “Huh.” Both brothers chewed that over for a minute.

  “Hey, Ranger. Or Marshal. Or Miss Waring. Somebody!”

  With a black-browed scowl, Matthew clomped over to where the prisoner still slumped in his chair like a gunny sack full of wet sand. “Thought I toldja t’ shut your mouth,” he warned.

  “But I’m thirsty,” whined Elliott. “You all got somethin’ t’ drink, cancha get me—”

  “In a while. Now be quiet b’fore I toss you out int’ the hog lot with the rest o’ the pigs.”

  Things had only just settled down before Cochinay was urging, “Well, go on from there. We got us any names or places yet?”

  John smiled. It was not a pretty smile. “Micah Hayes.”

  “Micah Hayes?” Rosamond repeated slowly, thoughtfully. “Of the Grizzly Bear Ranch?”

  “So I’m told.”

  Closely studying the girl, and liking what he saw, Travis asked what she knew about the man.

  “He once owned a cattle ranch in South Dakota,” Rosamond answered. Pausing for reflection, she pushed the spectacles back in place and wrinkled her pretty little nose. “Then, not long ago, he moved here, bought the Bear, and tried to get chummy with my father.”

  “Chummy. Whaddya mean, chummy?”

  Irresolute, she flapped one hand. “Dad never talked to me much about business. Except this. He mentioned that Mr. Hayes seemed to have plenty of money, but he wanted more. He had enough power, but he wanted more of that, too.”

  “Money-mad and power-hungry.”

  “Oh, yes. He spoke of buying a congressman or two, so that, with enough influence in Washington, the men he bought would write laws for his benefit…and so on.”

  “Goddamned politicians,” grumbled Travis, right on cue.

  “But Mr. Waring would have nothin’ t’ do with that setup,” was John’s shrewd guess. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping from a cup of coffee, keeping up with the conversation.

  “No, he—” Rosamond stopped in surprise. “How did you know?”

  The nonchalant lift of one shoulder. “Heard what kinda man he was b’fore we even took this job, Miss Waring. Honest, hard-workin’, ethical. Only real fault was that he mighta been too easy-goin’ with his people.”

  Once again tears shimmered behind the spectacles. “Yes, that’s true. Very true.”

  “And what about Hayes?” Cochinay, designated dragger-back of those wandering away from the subject, persisted.

  “Oh, Father never trusted him. So he wanted nothing to do with any proposition Mr. Hayes came forward with. He also felt—” Here the volume of her voice lowered, almost to a whisper, “—that Mr. Hayes was involved somehow with those who planned the assassination of President Lincoln, and the attempted assassinations of Secretary of State Seward and Vice President Johnson.”

  Silence. Deep thick enervating silence, like a gray fog, into which came the clanging of a blacksmith’s hammer at his white-hot forge, and the cooing of turtledoves in a sycamore tree, and from somewhere farther distant the barking of Rancho Riata’s resident border collie.

  “Son of a bitch,” whispered Matthew. And turned to fling such a fierce glance toward their captive that, had it been fire, would have scorched his skin.

  “God, what a black day that was,” John roused from melancholy thought to recall. “We had chaos bad enough, after the shootin’. But how much worse if Booth and his crew had killed the next two top men runnin’ the country. After Lincoln brought us back together, he wanted to tear everything apart again.”

  Travis jerked off his stool, and, needing movement—any movement—began to pace. “Booth was shot and killed. But the rest of ’em got caught and taken to a lynchin’ bee. Powell, Atzerdot, Herold, all hanged by the neck till dead, at Fort McNair. They even hanged Mary Surrett. Co-conspirators, every damned one.” He wheeled back on Rosamond. “And your paw figured that this Hayes was involved somehow in that—that—murderin’ spree.”

  Quailing a little before such fire and fury from these men of the law, good men and true who were doing their best to uphold every oath ever taken, she nodded.

  “Elliott called him Chief,” Matthew interjected quietly. “That mean anything t’ you, Rose?”

  Another nod, more solemn. “From what I heard, Chief is running everything. Reuben and Bentley were meeting Mr. Hotchkiss, and then they were all going to join him at—”

  “At the Grizzly Bear Ranch,” surmised Travis. “So that’s our next stop, boys. But we gotta find the place. Rose, didja ever go there with your paw?”

  “No, not with him. But he visited on his own a couple of times. North and east, he said; toward the Santa Ana Mountains.”

  “How far away, darlin’?” Thomas leaned forward to ask.

  The low growl issuing from his twin’s throat was inaudible to everyone except Cochinay, who flung his friend a startled look. A fire had lit behind Travis’ green eyes, turning them molten. Call your own girl darlin’, you honey-talkin’ sidewinder, and leave my—

  “Well, I—I’m not really sure. Except Dad was able to make it there and back in one day. Ten miles? Twenty, possibly?”

  “Okay, then. That’s sure ’nuff doable yet this evenin’, then.”

  Thrusting impatient fingers through his thatch of unruly hair, Travis rose to begin issuing directions. “Liz, reckon you might throw t’gether a quick meal for all of us? Figure we’d be better off ridin’ with full bellies t’ this confab. Boys, let’s get our gear checked and ready. Pack plentya ammo and all the extra firepower you can carry.”

  “Hard t’ tell what we’ll run into,” agreed Matthew, reaching down for his saddlebag. “Best t’ be prepared.”

  “Tom, you and John take care of things for this Elliott character. Feed him, water him, hose him down, whatever. Then find some place safe t’ lock him up till we get back.”

  “And me?” Rosamond interrupted the focus of his attention to ask. “What would you have me take care of? I can help Liz with supper. Or gather supplies. Tell me, Travis, and I’ll do whatever you want.”

  His gaze centered on her like a beacon. “Good t’ hear. You’re headin’ on up t’ the main house, where you’ll stay nicely settled with your maw and your sister for the duration of this little fandango.”

  Her jaw dropped, her mouth rounded into an indignant O, and her hand reached to push up the spectacles a millimeter or two. “I will do no such thing.”

  “Damn it, you just said you would. Whatever I want, you told me. I heard you say it.” Annoyed, he reached for her arm to enforce his order, only to have her jerk furiously free.

  “Is Liz going with you?”

  “O’ course she’s goin’ with us. She can handle herself on the trail, and she shoots like a champ. I’d be a damn bonehead t’ leave her behind.”

  “Very well, then.” Rosamond took a step back, hands on hips, and lifted her chin. Pugnacious as all get out. “I’m going, too.”

  “You are not goin’!” Travis snapped. Uncomfortably aware that this small melodrama was being played out for the benefit of an audience of the entire room, and that his authority was rapidly being eroded, besides, he took a stance intended to intimidate. “I’m runnin’ this outfit. I got the say in what gets done, and I make the rules.”

  The chin lifted further. “Then you may as well handcuff me to a chair, like you did Marty, there. Because I am not about to stay behind!”

  At this point Elizabeth, already an expert in the art of handling a Yancey twin, wisely interceded. “Oh, get down off your high horse, Trav,” she advised him with a smile. “Better she’s with us, where we can keep an eye on her. Come on, Rose, let’s put some food on the table. Then you and I will get ready, as well.”

  “Huh,” muttered Travis, bested. And barely managed
to ignore the shared and deliberately vocal amusement of his no-good, no-account, no-credit siblings.

  VII

  The San Juan party of six, now increased in size by the addition of one more, reached the vicinity of the Grizzly Bear Ranch in full dark, about nine o’clock that night.

  From a canter to a trot to a gallop to a walk, their horses had eaten up the dusty miles, veering north and east toward the mountains far beyond. A pleasant journey, filled with moonlight and sea scent, occasional conversation and the call of an owl or hawk, that might have been downright gorgeous were it not for the awesome task awaiting them.

  After their quick meal and an even quicker clean-up, Rosamond had changed into fresh riding clothes and a light tight coat, packed a bag of necessities, kissed her stepmother and sister goodbye, and climbed aboard her Andalusian. Now she was progressing along beside Elizabeth, sharing experiences, discussing men and their foibles, chuckling now and then over some private female joke.

  It was those low, throaty chuckles that got to him, Travis realized, riding in the lead with Thomas. That, and wondering just what it was those girls found so damn funny. Exasperated, he caught his brother’s mischievous eye and grunted in response.

  “It’ll get easier as time goes on,” Thomas assured him.

  Which begged the question: what would get easier?

  By unspoken consent, the group fell silent upon arrival at the Bear gate. A plan had already been worked out in advance, and agreed upon: down a short dirt lane to the house, a sprawling edifice lit up like a damn Cunard cruise ship. Leaving their horses safely tied at the hitching rail, like any casual visitor, John, Matthew, and Elizabeth and their combined firepower would reconnoiter around to the back on foot to see what was going on. Meanwhile, the twins and Cochinay would circle the front. Hand signals had been arranged, just in case.

  “Where am I to go?” Rosamond asked in a whisper.

  “Over there.”

  A puzzled survey of the property, shadowed and clouded by nightfall. “Where?”

  “That stand of ironwood, over there, see it? Plentya bushes and rocks about, for a hidin’ place.”

  “Hiding place? Travis, you said—”

  “Rose!” he hissed. “I didn’t wancha here in the first place. I explained all that. But, since you are here, I’d appreciate your obeyin’ my orders, like everybody else.”

  A stray shaft of moonlight caught her lovely face in its grasp, painting soft shadows on every curve of cheekbone and chin, reflecting off the silver frame of her spectacles. Instead of adoring acceptance, however, lines of mutiny were settling in.

  “I want to be involved, Travis, not squirreled away in some hole-and-corner somewhere. I want—”

  “Rose, I don’t give a good goddamn what you want. You need t’ be squirreled away, so I can go int’ this with a clear mind, not worryin’ where you are or what’s happenin’ t’ you. Understand?”

  “In a way, I do, but, still—”

  “Jesus Christ Almighty!” he burst out in a muted growl. And turned fiercely upon her.

  There, in the camouflage provided by surrounding shrubbery and full-leafed black walnut branches entwined overhead, before God and everyone, he seized the girl in a grasp that would leave bruises. For the space of a heartbeat, he gazed down at her with lust and glory in his green eyes, and she gazed up at him with wonder and passion in her own.

  The kiss fused them together, Marshal and maiden, one compressed column of living, breathing, lascivious flesh. His sinewy left arm enveloped her slim body, pulling her tight against all he had to offer; his forceful right hand captured and held her chin fast, for the immediate plunder of her mouth.

  Rosamond knew nothing, heard nothing, felt nothing, other than what this man was doing to her. An outlaw gang somewhere about: no matter; danger overtaking like storm clouds: no matter. She wanted only to give Travis all she could, even while demanding more.

  The fullness and heat of her breasts smashed hard to his ribcage, the heat and fullness of his sex smashed hard to her cleft, the meshing of limbs fore and aft, the tangling of hair and lips and fingers as each frantically tried to encompass and absorb the other…a taste of heaven, or a glimpse of hell?

  It was the ragged little moan from deep in her throat that finally brought Travis crashing back to the present.

  “Good God,” he rasped into the hollow near her earlobe, where a pulse thrummed raggedly.

  She dared not meet his gaze, this man who had deliberately initiated and wholeheartedly engaged in such delicious, if public, lovemaking. Not when she had so enthusiastically responded! Blushing from the roots of her hair to—well, probably to the soles of her feet, panting like a winded old dray, she hid her face in the soft old flannel of his shirt and prayed to sink into some void in the earth. Preferably immediately. Preferably forever.

  “Grand performance, big brother,” came his twin’s teasing voice. “Didn’t know you had it in you. Or outa you, as the case may be. And after all the hogwash you been givin’ me over my Lizzie and our hootin’ and hollerin’ together. Whadja say, Coch, figure about an eight?”

  Their guide was grinning like a moon-faced muttonhead. “Naw. Only a five for now, Tom. Gotta see the rest of the action b’fore I’d give higher marks.”

  Although frustrated at the necessary disruption of all he wanted to do right now, Travis was feeling neither irritation nor animosity toward the two purported wits. Quite the opposite, in fact: serene good humor, despite the uncertainty of their business ahead. He tipped Rosamond into the curve of one arm and turned with a mocking smile.

  “Well, now, gentlemen, if I’da known there’d be an audience, I coulda done some back flips or somethin’ for your entertainment. You galoots got anything else t’ say, now that you’ve embarrassed Miss Waring almost to tears, or can we call the subject closed for good?”

  Chagrined, the gentlemen shuffled their feet, apologized profusely to the embarrassed Miss Waring, and agreed that the subject could be closed for good.

  Miss Waring had once again pushed her spectacles back, to rest in front of sparkling eyes. Oddly enough, once her initial realization had come and gone, she didn’t seem embarrassed at all.

  “Apology accepted, kind sirs. And I thank you in advance for your—uh—reticence. I wasn’t quite expecting to—uh—to be—”

  “Bowled over by the dashing Marshal Yancey?” suggested Thomas helpfully.

  She glanced up at the man beside her. He gave her a “See what I put up with?” shrug. Both began to chuckle softly with amusement.

  “So, now, Miss Waring.” Travis laid hands on her again, just to provide gentle emphasis to his words. “Will you take heed t’ what I say, and scamper that cute little backside of yours over t’ safety?”

  “If I must.” She sighed dramatically. “But you’ll come get me, as soon as everything is over? You won’t leave me there all alone?”

  His grip tightened marginally. “Darlin’, I’ll absolutely come get you. Now scat.”

  Some time had passed since their arrival at the Grizzly Bear, with no sign of activity abating inside the house. At least, not according to the number of rooms still blazing in light. From what the San Juan group had been able to ascertain, a passel of horses stood tied at the hitching rail, with several empty black carriages parked nearby.

  “Must have a goddamned party goin’ on in there,” whispered Travis from his hiding-place tucked into a planting of bay laurel and prickly gooseberry bushes.

  “You thinkin’ we should just barge inside and demand t’ see our fugitives?” his brother asked.

  “Why not?” countered Cochinay reasonably, alongside both. “You boys got badges. You’re the law. Why not go ahead and lay your cards on the table?”

  “Sure, we could do that, except—what the bloody hell!”

  “Christ on a handcart!” gasped Thomas, peering around. “What is that girl doin’?”

  For an interminable length of time—ten minutes or so—Rosamond ha
d stayed obediently where she’d been told to stay. But nothing was happening. No action had taken place. No burst of gunfire, no bad guys dragged off to jail.

  Impatient, impulsive, she had decided to give her colleagues the slip. She was a female, and a fairly attractive one, at that. Surely she, with all her talents, would be able to get something done.

  Her determined knock at the leaded-glass front door had drawn the shocked attention of those behind her, and the curious attention of those inside the Grizzly Bear mansion.

  “Good evening,” her voice, as she greeted whoever appeared, carried across the open area to the watchers disguised as shrubs. “I wonder—can you tell me if Reuben Harwood might happen to be here tonight?”

  The answer was inaudible. But apparently satisfactory. Because Rosamond smiled and marched across the threshold, bold as you please.

  “I’ll be goddamned,” muttered Travis in disgust. Forced to deal with this new wrinkle in his plan, he flopped his hindquarters flat onto the bare ground for a moment of thought.

  “Now what, oh great leader?” his twin wondered.

  “Beats me all t’ hell. Just give me a consarned minute, willya?”

  “Take as many minutes as you need, big brother. Meanwhile that hotsy-totsy of yours has just bearded the lion’s den, and there ain’t no tellin’ what she’s up to.”

  “Shit.” Travis felt like beating his head against a wall. Any wall. And the thorns of a gooseberry bush wouldn’t do. “Y’see now why I didn’t want her along?” he demanded bitterly. “Y’see now what your wife has gotten us into, practically draggin’ her onto a hawse? Shit.”

  “Hey, don’t blame Liz,” Thomas protested with a husband’s righteous fury. “This was your own damn fault, for not standin’ up against this girl when you got the chance. If you had a pair of balls—”

  “If you had control over the woman you married—”

  “Gentlemen,” interrupted Cochinay with a sigh. “Or should I say youngsters, instead? Can we stop arguin’ about whose fault this is and just solve the problem?”