A Western Romance: James Yancey - Taking the High Road (Book 3) (Taking the High Road series)

by Morris Fenris

  As they strode along through the sweet-scented meadow grass, under the blaze of a hot July sun and the semi-cool dappled shade overhead from California hardwoods, James pulled up his thin smile. “Eight years ago she was only twelve, Matt. When I was released from the Island, and went home for a few weeks, I asked her to marry me.”

  “Jimmy! Damn me, you didn’t!” Matt stopped short with a look of absolute joy, and then a hearty, back-slapping hug. “That’s wonderful news, little brother. Congratulations. So—next in your plans, then, is t’ get her out here?”

  “Next,” agreed James easily. “That’s the way we left things, that I’d settle in and then send for her. Her paw died last year, and her maw durin’ the war; she’s been livin’ with an aunt and ready for somethin’ new.”

  “Well, hurry up and start the ball rollin’, son,” said Matt with a broad smile. “My Star and John’s Cecelia will be pesterin’ us for details, soon’s they hear this. They’ll be as happy for you as I am.”

  James tried not to appear too complacent but failed utterly. “Gotta arrange for a travelin’ companion. Then you can share all the details you want to.”

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  “Oh, it is dreadfully hot, Molly. Don’t you agree that it is dreadfully hot? I swan, I shall simply perish if the California weather is this hot!”

  Emma’s aggrieved, petulant complaints carried from the ship’s rail, where they stood, to a knot of passengers farther away. All of whom rolled their eyes with mock sympathy, only to turn their attention elsewhere. The last two weeks of listening to the sound of her voice, in pitch somewhere near a mosquito’s whine, had left travelers and crew in short supply of patience.

  “Now, now, Miss Palmer, of course you’ll deal with any kind of weather a’tall,” soothed her companion, “just to be with your betrothed again. How exciting; you must be on pins and needles, ready to catch a glimpse of his dear face.”

  Disarmed by this show of enthusiasm, just as Molly had hoped, Emma backed down. “Well—yes, I am. Except—oh, dear…I must confess…we spent so little time together, just before he left for this terrible place, that I—well, I can scarce even remember what he looks like!”

  “Oh, I have no doubt your memory will come back to you soon enough, Miss. Here, let’s move back into the shade of the awning,” Molly briskly instructed, suiting action to words. “You’re bound to feel cooler here.”

  “You’re right,” said the young lady on a gush of relief, “this is much cooler. Thank you. And chairs, too; wonderful. I don’t know what I should have done without you all durin’ this horrible trip!”

  “You’d have done just fine, Miss. We’re all a lot stronger than we realize.”

  “Well—maybe…”

  Upon receipt of James’ telegram with directions for the journey from Charleston to San Francisco, Emma’s aunt, Mavis Sinclair, had set upon finding a lady’s maid / companion for her niece. In short order she had hired one Molly Buchanan, partly because of her take-charge attitude, partly because, with no family ties, she could be ready to depart on a moment’s notice. Then had come a flurry of packing and travel arrangements, during which Emma had hardly had time to catch her breath.

  Newly returned from her European tour, upon which her ailing father had dispatched her for the duration of the War Between the States—out of harm’s way—she had suffered none of the privations or terror inflicted upon so much of the South. While she might assume some show of sympathy for victims of the Lost Cause, she could, without the experience of their hardships, feel none of the actual emotions involved.

  The land was so scarred by devastation, and Emma so dismayed by what she had returned to at War’s end, that she had with immense relief accepted James’ proposal and his plan for starting afresh, clear across the country.

  How to get there, and what she might find when she arrived, were proving to be a different concept altogether.

  Settled in comfort on board a ship aptly named Panama—for such was her destination—Emma used and took for granted every little luxury possible, having never existed without them. Her morning bath, her lengthy toilette, her change of costume and jewelry for every occasion—all served to consume hours of every day; all served to display her delectable figure (if not her witty conversation) to perfection.

  As the pampered and protected young woman of leisure, she had cast no thought toward the life to be taken up in a place so far removed from all that was safe and familiar. Nor had her flibbertigibbet aunt, who depended solely upon her attorney and various retainers, prepared her for what might lay waiting. It was assumed, rightly or wrongly, that Emma’s daily routine would continue as it had.

  Cooking? No. A chef could be hired. Cleaning? Absolutely not. Surely maids would be available in that godforsaken country. Laundry? Merciful heaven! And ruin her pretty hands?

  So much for household duties.

  As for marital duties, poor Emma was even less prepared. A chaste peck on the cheek by a sanctioned groom-to-be, or a quick squeeze of the hand: those she expected and accepted. What went on behind a closed bedroom door, however, might just shock her silly.

  “Was I gettin’ my poor self sunburnt?” wondered Emma now, with understandable concern. “Tell me, Molly, has my skin gone red? Or brown?”

  Molly, slightly younger in time than her twenty-year-old charge but eons older in experience, was finding that her main responsibility during their journey was to soothe and comfort this spoiled darling. Tending to every necessary arrangement came second.

  “Of course you’re not sunburnt, Miss. Your complexion is lovely, as always.”

  Certainly Emma was a beautiful girl, with her luxuriant flaxen locks done up in the post-War corkscrew curl style, and her brilliant blue eyes fashioned for flirting and favoring. What she deigned to show of her figure must excite admiration in male hearts, as well, with her flawless small bosoms displayed by lace trimming like diamonds set in a platinum frame, and her tiny corseted waist.

  “And there’s no doubt in my mind but what Mr. Yancey will be as thrilled to see you again as you are to see him,” Molly went on cheerfully. “Will you be getting married right away, do you think?”

  “Oh! I hope not,” protested Emma, aghast. “We’ll need to speak with a minister, and post the banns, and decide on my weddin’ gown, and…oh, a thousand other details!”

  “To be sure, Miss. To be sure.” Molly was nothing if not polite. She had to be. At a very early age, growing up alone and virtually friendless in an orphanage, she’d learned to be still, to be respectful, to bite her tongue when necessary. But, most of all, to be strong.

  She could stake no real claim to beauty, this commonsense, practical young woman with her own way to make in the world. Blessed with an irrepressible can-do spirit, a nose full of freckles, candid green eyes the color of catmint, and riotous reddish-brown hair that refused to rest staidly under its pins, Molly’s attraction lay more in her spriteliness and verve than in actual physical components.

  “How much longer do you think we’ll be on board?” Emma wanted to know from under her awning, with a child’s lack of patience.

  “According to the itinerary,” Molly, sitting in a deck chair alongside, turned to respond, “we’ll land at the Isthmus itself tomorrow.”

  “And then what?”

  “We’ll all be unloaded, bag and baggage, to embark upon the train in Panama. Only a few hours there, and then it’s the Pacific Ocean, Miss Palmer. Imagine, the Pacific Ocean! Did you ever think you would see such a sight?”

  Wearily Emma closed her china-blue eyes with an almost audible thunk. “It’s just more water, Molly,” she fretted. “Nothin’ special, that I know of. I’m tired of travelin’. I want to get somewhere, and start my new life.”

  “Very soon, Miss. From the Isthmus it’s but a short jaunt up the California coast. Then we’ll put into the Bay, and—well, there you’ll be.”

  “With, hopefully, James waitin’ for me.” She yawned d
elicately behind a gloved hand. “And then he’ll sweep me away to his ranch.”

  “Indeed, ma’am. Sweep away, indeed.”

  A pause, while the conversation of other meandering passengers swirled and flowed around them, and from the air several seagulls squawked and clacked. Then: “Molly.”

  “Yes, Miss?”

  “What’s a ranch?”

  II

  “There they are. See ’em, Matt? In the small boat, headin’ our way.”

  Of all the family members gathered at the Goddard household, only James and his brother had ridden down to the wharfs, earlier this afternoon, to await the appearance of Emma Palmer and her companion.

  Not knowing their exact disembarkation time was one consideration; they being just two, the Yanceys could easily while away the hours until arrival at one of the saloons, playing poker and sampling the most recent shipments of moonshine and rum. The other consideration was, of course, space; the open, two-seater wagon James had rented would hold four comfortably, and some luggage besides.

  Some luggage. While it was true that Miss Palmer had decided to move here permanently, he could only hope she hadn’t brought along every gewgaw and memento she owned.

  A flurry of colorful skirts at the dock, like plumage of some exotic tropical birds, and a montage of feminine voices, caught his attention.

  “C’mon, Matt, they’re prob’ly needin’ some help,” urged James. He took off at a lope from the Turner Hall Saloon, with Matt, grinning broadly, right behind him. Nothing to say the boy wasn’t excited about meeting his prospective bride again. Nosirree. Excited? He was just about over the moon.

  By the time they had skidded to a stop at pier’s end, side by side, two young women had been assisted from their longboat and handed carefully ashore, like fragile porcelain teacups. One had turned away to discuss baggage unloading with one of the sailors; the other, a beautiful young blonde wearing slithery gold and apricot silk, glanced up, burst into shaky laughter, and hastened forward.

  “James!” she cried, big blue eyes full of tears. “I am so happy to see you again!”

  And promptly flung herself into Matthew’s arms.

  Completely taken aback, he blinked and stood stock still, unable to move due to shock, for about half a minute. Then, with another broad grin, he shifted her several inches away toward his brother. “I think this is yours,” he said, amused.

  “Oh, my stars and garters!” proclaimed Emma, flushing from bare collarbone to temple. “You mean I—oh, I’m so sorry, I just—uh…you are James?” Her voice sounded plaintive as she peered up into his face.

  “I am,” said James, unsmiling. “And you are about to become my wife?”

  “Oh, mercy, I am just blushin’ like a rose,” Emma babbled in deep embarrassment. “It’s just—well, heavenly days, you look so much alike, and I just thought—well…”

  “How do you do?” said Molly, joining the group with her usual straightforward manner to introduce herself. “I’m Molly Buchanan, traveling with Miss Palmer as her companion.”

  Matt looked her up and down, liking what he saw, getting a sense of who she was. The feistiness, the independent spirit, the ability to take hold and make do—all this reminded him of his own beloved wife, Star. “Nice to meetcha, Miss Buchanan. Matthew Yancey, and this here’s my brother, James.”

  He was rewarded with a crinkle of sassy green eyes. “So I gathered. Our baggage is here, gentlemen, being unloaded from the boat as we speak. Is there something available to pile all this into?”

  James glanced over her shoulder and paled at the sight of the small mountain: trunks, carpet bags, hatboxes, satchels, and the like. “All that?”

  “Well, darlin’,” murmured Emma, in a sorghum-sweet tone, “you did ask me to spend my life here with you, a million miles away from home. I couldn’t leave my precious things behind, now, could I?” Smiling, she reached up a gloved hand to run her finger down his jawline, teasing, tempting.

  Matt’s chuckle broke the spell. “Oh, get along, Jimmy. We’ll just stuff everything into the back of the wagon. I’m sure Miss Buchanan won’t mind if she has to sit on top of some stuff.”

  “Don’t be too sure of that,” said Molly coolly. “It’s best you don’t take me—or what I might mind—for granted, Mr. Yancey.”

  “Well, now.” Surprised, he raised one brow. “Beats me all t’ hell, Miss Buchanan. I won’t make that mistake again. Hey, little brother, let’s get these ladies on up to the house.”

  With every last bit of baggage stowed away and strapped into place, the ladies were helped on board the big open wagon. Emma settled herself in front, the place of honor, beside her husband-to-be; Molly was perched behind them, in the rear seat next to Matt, who kept up a running conversation about his wife, his son, and the new baby due to make an appearance soon.

  “So Star’s takin’ it kinda easy,” confided Matt, “restin’ right now at Goddard’s.”

  “Restin’,” repeated Emma, with longing in her voice. “I do so look forward to restin’ my own self. This has been the longest journey, James. You can’t begin to know how tiresome travel is.”

  “B’lieve I can guess,” said James, who had done a fair amount of traveling, as well.

  His team of horses needed little guidance along the streets of San Francisco, especially late in the afternoon; the big Belgians were ready to call it a day, return to their stables, and munch on some fresh grass, or, better yet, a bag of oats.

  “I know so little of this area,” said Molly, looking around with interest. “Only what I was able to find at the library and that wasn’t much. You might as well be living on the far side of the moon.”

  From the front seat, James laughed. “Sometimes it does seem that way. A lot of the state has been explored, but not much information put into books yet. Maybe that could be a job for you, Miss Buchanan,” he turned his head slightly to glance her way, “if you were lookin’ for work, that is.”

  “Well, I’m not exactly sure what the future will hold for me,” she said frankly. “I’ll consider my options open.”

  “Oh, pooh, Molly, you know you’ll be comin’ along out to the ranch with me,” put in Emma. “Why, what would I do in the middle of nowhere, without someone to keep me company?”

  James stared. “That someone would be me, I think. As your husband.”

  Which was, Molly decided, the perfect rejoinder. But it caused Emma definite consternation.

  “Oh, well, I was just—I mean, I was thinkin’ more—female companionship, that’s all. Now, don’t be angry with me, James, please.” A sudden jolt of the wagon over an unseen rut sent her hard against his arm; and he immediately reached out to brace her. “B’sides, we can’t let Molly go packin’ off where we’d never see her again. Why, she’s my friend!”

  Friend? Molly wondered where that had come from. Discerning Matt caught a glimpse of her small shrug and sent her a whimsical lopsided smile. No flies on him. Or, she suspected, on James, either, or on the other they had mentioned, John. How many of these Yancey brothers were there, anyway?

  Her interest piqued, she asked the question aloud.

  “Ten of us,” answered James. “Three right here in California, at the moment.”

  “Ten,” said Molly, dazed. “Your poor mother. And what is it you do, Matthew Yancey?”

  If every Yancey family member had been blessed with a sense of humor, certainly Matt shone as a happy example. He was smiling now as he described his former job with the Texas Rangers and his present job as deputy to Sheriff William Goddard.

  “At whose house you’ll be stayin’, by the way,” he added. “About the time I married Star, he stole away my housekeeper, right from under my nose, and married her. So Will and Sarah share the place with Will’s sister, Frances.”

  “My goodness,” murmured Emma. “All this sounds very complicated. We’ll be stayin’ in a private dwellin’, then, James, instead of a nice hotel?”

  “Trust me, Emma, you wouldn’
t think much of the hotel hereabouts. ‘Nice’ is not part of its vocabulary.”

  Rattlety-bang over another rut, and then another. Molly, wedged into place by the mounds of luggage, hung onto the back seat; Emma allowed herself the luxury of James’ sturdy shoulder and a sweet Southern gal’s flirtatious glance.

  “Well, will I have—um—you know…privacy? I mean, I am used to my own bath, and such.”

  Unseen behind her, Matt rolled his eyes and set up some tuneless whistling. Molly grinned. What a pleasure to hand off this overindulged, cosseted young belle to her rightful keepers!

  James frowned a little. “Dunno about the private bath. But the Goddards are salt of the earth, and it’s kind of ’em t’ open their house to you.”

  “Oh, of course, absolutely. I intended no harm, James, truly I didn’t. Then that must mean—um—we won’t be going out to your ranch until sometime tomorrow?”

  Tweedling and wheedling, she slowly moved her fingers up over James’ shirt-sleeved arm and down again. Molly squinted against the brilliant sunshine to watch these shenanigans, in a mixture of amazement and amusement. So that’s how it was done. She’d never learned the fine art of cajoling her way to get whatever she wanted; she’d been too busy scraping by an existence.

  “That’s right,” agreed James now. “I figured you might like to sleep here t’night, sorta get used to us roundabouts, and then we’ll head out there in the mornin’.”

  “Why, that sounds just fine. I am lookin’ forward to seein’ your ranch. But just for a short visit only, I am assumin’?”

  Another small frown, one of confusion and uncertainty. “That’s what I was plannin’. It wouldn’t be proper otherwise. You can look the place over, and then once we come back t’ town we can see about gettin’ married.”

  Wait for it, thought Molly, unconsciously clenching her teeth. Wait for it.

  Emma did not disappoint.

  “Oh, o’ course, absolutely. But not right away, James, dear. My goodness gracious, I have so many preparations to make before the actual ceremony. Perhaps your Mrs. Goddard can help me find a dressmaker, to work on my weddin’ dress.”