Deeper than the Boomshaw

By Brooks Johnson

When Morgan Taylor finds that she has inherited her grandfather's country estate and rural newspaper, she quits her successful advertising career in San Francisco and returns to her birthplace in Tennessee. There she learns that she has also "inherited" a business partner. Travis Cooper not only shares the newspaper with Morgan, he is joint owner of her land. And under the terms of her grandfather's will if either of them wish to leave the land or the newspaper, they forfeit the entire inheritance to the other.
Soon after arriving in Tennessee, Morgan receives anonymous threats and attempts on her life including being tossed into the bottomless " boomshaw." Travis seems to know more than he will tell. In spite of all this, Morgan is attracted to him and is reluctant to believe he would harm her.
DEEPER THAN THE BOOMSHAW is set in a section of rural Tennessee that is both beautiful and fascinating in its variety. The valley was the floor of a shallow ocean 500 million years ago. While today there are lovely rolling green hills and sweeping flower-strewn meadows, the area also has numerous underground lakes, caves and treacherous sink holes. The title of this book refers to the largest of these, called a "boomshaw" (an Indian word for "big hole"). It is believed the boomshaw has a never-ending supply of cool, crystal clear water.
While they struggle together to hold onto their inheritance against an unseen enemy, Morgan and Travis will find a love that is Deeper than the Boomshaw.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brooks Johnson
• Release date: Mar 29, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311945914

Brooks Johnson

ELLEN BROOKSEllen Brooks has published a wide range of nonfiction articles and short features. She was a radio news writer and an entertainment journalist specializing in country music. Her celebrity interviews and articles have appeared in Country Song Roundup Magazine, Music City News, Songwriter and numerous other entertainment publications. For nine years, she was editor and writer of The Nashville Newsletter, a weekly publication about the activities in the country music industry in Nashville, Tennessee.JEANNIE JOHNSONJeannie Johnson holds a B.A. in Theatre Arts from San Francisco State University and has been an acting teacher, community theatre director and actress. She was a country music singer and traveled extensively throughout the Midwest and West with her band. Eventually moving to Nashville, Tennessee she published The Nashville Newsletter and wrote the weekly column “ Cruising Music Row with Jeannie J.” After years of traveling she now resides in her home state of North Carolina and spends most of her time working on writing projects.

Book preview

Deeper Than the Boomshaw

By Brooks Johnson

Published by Brooks Johnson Publishing

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 1996 Ellen Brooks and Jeannie Johnson

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover design by Sue Hieter

Cover photography by LuAnne Underhill

A Word from the Author

Dear Reader,

Thank you for reading Deeper than the Boomshaw. This was the first novel Ellen Brooks and I wrote. Before we were able to publish it, Ellen became very ill but loving to write, we continued to co-write several more novels. Just before she passed, she said she had no regrets other than she wished we could have had time to publish the books.

Over the next months, we will be sharing more of our books and invite you to watch our website (http://www.brooksjohnsonpublishing) for available dates. The very next eBook will be Eye of the Storm located on the coast of North Carolina. After that, the Nashville series, Looking for Music Row, will take you behind the scenes of the country music industry and down the alleys of the Music Row district. Our books are about people like you. They include romance, mystery and a good deal of humor along the way.

Jeannie Johnson

Brooks Johnson Publishing

Dedication

For Ellie B –Mission accomplished!

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

A Word from the Author

Dedication

Prologue – Time for a Change

Chapter One – Homecoming

Chapter Two – Jack of All Trades

Chapter Three – Another Heir

Chapter Four – Rocky Valley Times

Chapter Five – Boomshaw

Chapter Six – Edwin Comes for Morgan

Chapter Seven – Hoedown

Chapter Eight – Trouble is Back

Chapter Nine – The Cave

Chapter Ten – Fire!!!

Chapter Eleven – Hostage

Chapter Twelve – Finally Home

Acknowledgements

About the Authors

Visit our Website

Book Club Questions

Coming Soon – Eye of the Storm

PROLOGUE – Time for a Change

Morgan Taylor glanced anxiously at the oversized watch on her slim wrist. She was running out of time. In the last two hours she'd typed only four words into her computer. Those four words, Time for a Change, and the nagging Enter Text command were all that glowed on the color monitor.

Again and again, a flurry of staccato key strokes was followed by the click-click-click of the delete key. In less than an hour, top brass from one of the world's largest baby products manufacturers would be meeting in the agency's conference room just down the plush carpeted hall.

This morning, agency head honcho Edwin Pogue swooped down on Morgan as she entered the office. He dumped an armload of glossy baby bottle-shaped annual reports and an array of colorful disposable diapers on her desk.

Come up with something short, sweet and snappy, babe, Edwin instructed. Whip out a proposal to be kicked around in the meeting. We'll refine it later. Ten o'clock. Conference room. I know you can do it. You've done it before. Edwin swept his arm to indicate the wall of gold framed awards for Morgan's winning ads.

But now with less than an hour left, all she'd come up with was Time for a Change. An apt slogan for a diaper campaign, but not enough for ten people to mull over for very long.

What was happening to San Francisco's hottest young ad exec? That's what one of the trade papers recently called her, but Morgan was finding it more and more difficult to whip out these clever campaign proposals on short notice.

She reached across the sleek black acrylic table which served as her desk and picked up a clipboard. Maybe a low tech approach would help. She began writing in bold print with a black felt pen:

IF BABY IS DRY -- BABY WON'T CRY.

No, she said aloud.

KEEP YOUR HANDS OUT OF SUDS, DRESS YOUR BABY IN DYDEE DUDS THE PREMIER DISPOSABLE DIAPER.

No, no, no!

FOR BABY'S STYLE AND MAMA'S SMILE -

Disgusted, Morgan tossed the clipboard aside, and slid down into the butter-soft recesses of the white leather chair.

Not exactly what I had in mind when I decided to be a writer, she grumbled aloud. Oh well, she had enough to bluff a verbal presentation. She'd just pretend to be enthusiastic and confident.

That decided, Morgan swung her feet up on the corner of the desk and watched the surrealistic, swirling fog which allowed only occasional glimpses of the panoramic view of San Francisco. Like the fog, a vague uneasiness hung over her. She was depressed and restless. Something unnamed, something missing.

The endless intense days at the agency were getting her down. There was no time to have a personal life and no time to write. All of her energies were poured into the agency where she spent at least ten hours a day and many weekends.

Even when she was away from the office, there was always a bulging briefcase nearby. When she fell asleep at night, her mind was on the current project, how to please the client, Edwin's latest demands . . . although sometimes, she would reach over and touch the empty pillow beside her, and wonder what it would be like to have someone there, a husband, someone to share all the moments of triumph and the frustrations of failure.

Now that her mother had finally remarried, Morgan had been thinking more of her own plans. While Marilee had done a wonderful job as a single mother, it was always the two of them alone in a series of progressively less-shabby apartments. Since childhood, Morgan had daydreamed of a big house filled with children and pets, life and laughter.

Back then she'd envisioned herself as one of the children. When she allowed herself the luxury of daydreaming now, it was her house and the children were her own. She had problems envisioning the father. All she knew was he would be handsome and kind and wise and funny. Someone to share a home and a family. Someone who would encourage her to pursue her dream of writing.

With that special someone, she'd experience all the wonderful, ordinary events of life that were really the most important things in the world. Together they'd learn the joys of children and family life and loving and working together. She'd be the person and the writer she'd always planned to become.

After getting her degree at San Francisco State, Morgan had been elated to land a job at the City's top ad agency as a copywriter. She did well and soon became an account executive. For the past several years, she promised herself someday soon she'd get around to some serious writing.

After all, her father and her grandfather were both highly respected writers. Although she couldn't remember either one of them, Morgan knew the ever present slow burning desire to write came from that heritage.

I come from a family of writers -- real writers, she reminded herself.

She looked at her watch again. Mickey seemed to be scowling. Turning her attention to the task at hand, Morgan picked up one of the high fashion rectangles on her desk. She dressed the mauve telephone receiver in a blue pinstriped diaper.

Appropriate for a preppy baby, I suppose, Morgan mused, then laughed at herself for diapering the telephone.

She jumped when the intercom buzzed loudly beneath her hands. Quickly peeling back the Velcro closures of the diaper, she answered the phone.

Yes, Beth?

Sorry to interrupt, Morgan. But it's long distance and this Andy Griffith-sounding fella says it's urgent.

Morgan sighed and jabbed at the lighted button blinking on her telephone set.

Morgan Taylor here.

Morgan Taylor? Miss Morgan Elizabeth Taylor?

Yes, but could I call you back? I'm really busy, Morgan pleaded, all the while clearing her desk and putting away the clutter.

Miss Taylor, this is J. Pennington Wortham. Could you tell me your birth place, please?

Oh great -- some sort of geographical survey, Morgan thought.

I really don't see -- I was born in Rocky Valley, Tennessee, but I haven't been there since I was a baby. You probably never even heard of the town -- what is this, anyway?

Only half listening to the caller, she continued to get things ready for the meeting with the Dydee Duds people. She glanced impatiently at the clock on her desk. Almost ten o'clock. Edwin would be tapping his pencil on the table by now.

Preparing to bolt out the door, Morgan retrieved her clipboard from its landing place behind the credenza. That accomplished, she picked up her pen to recap it.

Her hand stopped in midair as the mellifluous voice of J. Pennington Wortham caught her complete attention. Now she listened with rapt interest, automatically jotting notes, but barely breathing.

When the mostly one-way conversation was completed, Morgan stared with disbelief at her notes which looked like a cryptic telegram. Under where she'd scrawled the caller's name, she'd written:

Attorney -- Nashville. Grandfather Charles Taylor -- died two months ago. Looking for you. Last living relative. Inherit country estate and newspaper business. Some conditions -- will discuss when you arrive Tennessee. Condolences. He was a great man.

Grandfather Taylor was dead! Morgan felt a profound sense of loss. Other than her mother, she had no relatives on the maternal side of her family. Now she knew she was the lone survivor on her father's side -- the last of the Taylors, the attorney had dramatically intoned. That meant her grandmother was already deceased and now her grandfather was gone, too.

Morgan had not even known that she had grandparents still living in Tennessee until her sixteenth birthday. On that day, after years of refusing to talk about the past, Marilee Taylor relented and told her daughter of how she'd run away to San Francisco, a teenage widow grieving over her young husband's death. She'd carried Morgan, who was not quite two years old then, in a carrier on her back.

Morgan had been fascinated by her mother’s story. It was so romantic. The poor orphaned farm girl marrying the only son of the most respected family in the community.

Charles Taylor, Morgan's grandfather, published the local newspaper and wrote a nationally- syndicated column. Morgan’s father, Brandon Taylor, was a writer whose stories were printed in New York magazines while he was still in school.

After Brandon died, I knew the Taylors would never willingly let me take you away -- you were all they had of your father. But I couldn't stay cooped up there in that big house on the hill. I was still young. San Francisco was the place to be back then so that's where I went. We young people were going to take over and change the world.

It was hard to imagine Marilee Taylor, Data Processing Manager for a Marin County bank, as a 60's flower child. Morgan hugged her mother that day, feeling closer to her than ever before.

Mom, I want to thank you for something.

What's that? Marilee asked, wiping away tears for the long buried memories that she was finally sharing with her daughter.

Now that I know you were a hippie, thank you, thank you for not naming me Sunshine or Oatmeal or one of those psychedelic names.

Morgan, that's just the sort of thing your father would have said, Marilee laughed through her tears. You've got the Taylor wit and the Taylor talent.

That same day, she gave Morgan a slim volume of Brandon Taylor's short stories. After reading the stories, Morgan vowed to someday return to the place he wrote about. She would never be able to see her father but she always planned to get to know her grandparents.

She wanted to tell Grandfather Taylor that she dreamed of following in his footsteps to become a respected journalist. She also intended to write the novels her father never got the chance to complete. But first she had to finish high school, then college and now this demanding job. Time and again she'd drafted letters to her grandparents, never to mail them. Somehow it seemed disloyal to her mother. Now it was too late. She was the last of the Taylors.

Morgan's mother, Marilee, was sailing somewhere in the South Seas with her new husband. Morgan didn't even know how to reach her. She felt very alone in the world.

Breaking through the veil of memories and regrets, Edwin's sonorous voice cooed over the intercom.

Morgan, dear, I understand you've been on a personal call. But sweetie, we have clients waiting. Since you've finished your little chat, please scoot into the conference room.

Morgan couldn't reply before Edwin impatiently clicked off. Anger and frustration welled up inside her throat. For several years now she'd taken Edwin's patronizing abuse and allowed him to take credit for her work. Not only that, Morgan had become Edwin's date to industry functions. He claimed it was part of her training and important that she get to know potential clients at the glitzy parties where the elite of Northern California politics, industry and society mingled.

At first Morgan was awed. Lately, she was beginning to wonder if Edwin just liked the way she looked on his arm. Although Morgan went out often and dined at the best restaurants, it was always business, the ad business, Edwin's business.

For now she had to get back to the present and to the advertising business. A roomful of people were waiting for her to dazzle them with her glib grasp of words and mass market appeal. She flicked a comb through her blond page and smoothed her gray flannel skirt and pink cashmere jacket.

Her hands felt heavy and wooden. She felt - what? Grief. She felt grief. After all, there had been a death in the family. Her family. Her family. The word brought a lump to Morgan's throat. For all her life, she and her mom had been all the family she'd ever known. And for so many years, her mother seemed to have no past. But, all along, there had been family back in Tennessee.

The fog had lifted now and sunlight sparkled on the Bay. Morgan looked out at one of the most beautiful cities in the world and suddenly felt like a stranger. Her sleek black acrylic, silver chrome and white leather surroundings in this glass building seemed unreal. Home was far away and green. Tennessee. Tennessee was home.

The connection to her past, so long denied, was being handed back to her by the telephone call from a lawyer in Tennessee. Home.

Morgan slowly turned and looked at the computer screen. Blinking back tears, the glowing screen came into sharp focus -- Time for a Change the words were almost audible in the quiet room.

You're absolutely right! she spoke to the computer.

When Morgan entered the conference room, the elite of the disposable diaper world were solemnly focused on a life-sized doll in a pink polka dotted diaper which occupied the center of the large polished table. Edwin Pogue sat back drumming his long fingers impatiently.

Edwin, may I speak with you in private for a moment, please? Morgan whispered.

Morgan -- we can't keep our clients waiting. Let's show them the darling campaign we came up with.

Edwin -- I really need to speak with you.

Morgan --, Edwin motioned for her to sit next to him. She could see the displeasure in his eyes even though his lips were crimped into a make-believe smile. He rose to the flip chart to begin his portion of the presentation -- a history of the agency and its illustrious clients.

Another Dydee Duds doll, this one in pastel paisley, was being passed around the room. It reached Morgan just as she was about to take her place near the head of the table at Edwin's elbow. She carefully placed the doll in her lap while she tried to catch Edwin's eye.

It was futile. He had begun his spiel of what sounded like a spontaneous string of anecdotes but Morgan had heard them a thousand times and knew every inflection. She tried to be patient as she sat quietly waiting for the point in Edwin's presentation where she knew he would pause and look heavenward for special effect.

It wasn't the proper time or place, she knew, but Morgan couldn't hold back. She stood up. The Dydee Duds Diaper Doll slipped from her lap. She grabbed it by one soft stuffed foot before it hit the floor.

Edwin --, her voice started small with a quaver, then quickly rose to its strongest pitch and cadence. I'm going to Tennessee to take over my grandfather's newspaper business. I hope I can fulfill my legacy and become a serious journalist.

Edwin's mouth dropped open.

Guess you'll have to take care of this baby, Edwin.

Morgan placed the Dydee Duds doll in the crook of Edwin Pogue's arm, the red laser dot from his pointer pen still poised on Indiana on the demographics map.

Making her way quickly along the length of the enormous conference table, Morgan nodded politely to the people from the agency and the Dydee Duds representatives who were all watching her in disbelief.

She stopped at the end of the table and turned back to address Edwin.

It's time for a change, Edwin. It's time for me to go home.

Without looking back, Miss Morgan Elizabeth Taylor strode through the massive tree-top tall doors to fulfill her legacy.

Once her mind was made up, Morgan wasted little time getting ready to leave California. Within a few days, she had subleased her apartment, stored her furniture and packed the things she would need with her in Tennessee.

She wondered what kind of conditions the inheritance made. Whatever happened, it was time for a change in her life. And it was time to get acquainted with her roots.

She called Grandfather Taylor's lawyer, J. Pennington Wortham, and made arrangements to meet with him when she arrived in Nashville.

Wortham's reaction to her plans to move to Tennessee so suddenly was one of surprise. He was subdued at first, which gave Morgan an uneasy feeling. However, after they talked a few minutes, his tone