*Author's Note*

Thank you for the favs, follows, and reviews.

Second Best Seller

Jessa POV:

"Why didn't you show me the front page of the New York Globe?" I asked my husband, roundin' on him as soon as he walked thru the door.

Taking off his hat and jacket, only to hang them up on the wall hook, Shaw answered me dryly with, "Cause I knew you'd overreacted." Hanging up his gun belt and rifle on the rack by the door, he asked with knitted brows, "How'd ya find out 'bout it anyways?"

"I found the paper when I was cleaning off your side-table." I answered Shaw as he walked by me, as if I didn't exist, and made his way into the main room.

"Oh…" His voice hung out into the air, like clothes on a line, as he crossed the main room (not even payin' the kids, Todd, or Cotton any mind) on his way to the kitchen. "Well, Devil Anse contacted The Examiner in San Francisco; they're sendin' some reporter named Asa M. Merriweather to interview him." Shaw told me, walking into the kitchen and taking a seat at the table.

"When's this Asa guy gonna be here?" I asked, walking into the kitchen and going over to the cabinets.

"Sometime next week, I reckon." Shaw shrugged as I took a stack of plates out of the cabinet.

"So now the New York and San Francisco papers are picking sides in this feud." I remarked in a huff of disbelief, bringing the plates over to the table.

"Yep." My husband popped his tongue, watchin' me as I set the table. Wagglin' a finger at me, Shaw claimed in a sure tone, "But the only reason why the New York Globe even printed a damn story was cause the journalist's friends with Brock, Senator Billings' brother."

"Well, the writer, T.C. Crawford, sure did make you look bad in his article. Made Devil Anse and the entire family look bad too." I told my husband as I went over to the open cabinet, taking some glasses out of it to set the table with.

"Of course, he made me and everyone else look bad. His job's to make the McCoys look good." He scoffed, acting as if it was the writer's fault and not his own dark deeds that was the reason why he looked bad printed in black and white.

"The way he writes is so full of conviction, fluidity, and sympathy that most of the country's going to be backing up the McCoys in the feud." I told my husband in a sure as day tone while I placed the glasses at all of the table's place settings.

Shaw didn't say a word, just let out a throaty scoff and rolled his eyes. I didn't say a word to him either, just looked over my shoulder and called out, "Super's ready!", before going to the counter to grab the milk and tea pitchers.

If my husband wanted to act like we weren't on the ugly side of the feud then so be it. I wasn't going to argue with him. Hell, I'm pregnant so I'm not going to get myself upset by fighting with his dumb drunk ass.

Shaw POV:

I didn't drink durin' the day anymore; instead I did all my drinkin' at night. I used the ring my dad gave me to poof myself to bars every night once my wife was sound asleep. Tonight, I did what I always did, went to a bar durin' some time I didn't know. Unfortunately for me, I forgot to tell the ring to take me somewhere without any McCoys so I got hurled thru time to that bar in Florida. Of course, I went to the back corner of the bar after buyin' a bottle of cheap whiskey.

The air was humid and muggy as I sat at the corner table, sippin' on my bottle. I was keepin' a keen, but conspicuous eye out on the bar's patrons. It was a habit of self-preservation and defense that I had. Even tho I wasn't in 1883, I was always on guard. Reckon it was just an instinct I had since I was livin' durin' the infamous Hatfield and McCoy feud after all.

I took a long sip off my bottle whenever the giant ginger, his tall golden brunette brother, and their step-dad walked into the bar. I nearly choked on my booze as I realized that the step-dad with the impeccable suit and the grey streaked dark hair was nonother than Brock Brooksdale. Holy shit… So, he must've hooked up with a McCoy or somethin' during the feud to be step-daddy to dudes with McCoy vibes. I mean the prick arranged for the McCoys to be written about by T.C. Crawford in the New York Globe.

I couldn't help, but scoff at the site of Brock snappin' his fingers while demandin' that the barkeep bring a bottle of whiskey and some glasses over to his table. Shit, this guy sure did think highly of himself. I didn't like him. There was somethin' 'bout him that I couldn't put my finger on, but it made me dislike him a lot. Hmm, maybe it was just the way he held himself? Who knows?

After the barkeep brought over the whiskey, he scurried back to the bar a tad bit richer since Brock paid him. Brock poured himself and his step-sons some drinks with arrogant movements. After slidin' the drinks over to the young men, he held his glass up and said, "Let's make a toast to E.J. for releasing his second best seller."

"Good job, lil brother." The golden brunette nodded, his voice holdin' a hint of jealously in it while tippin' his glass towards the giant ginger.

"Thanks, dad, Si." The giant ginger, who I now knew was E.J. (What the hell does that stand for?) nodded at his step-dad (who he refers to as dad) and his brother before knockin' back his shot.

As the shot glasses clinked on the table, Si (What the hell kinda name is that?) looked over at his brother and made the snide remark of, "But, the fact that ya use Brooksdale as your name instead of the one ya were born with makes your success a bit of a lackluster."

Brock narrowed his rich brown eyes at the brunette while pourin' out more drinks. "Si, son, don't insult your brother cause he chose to use my name." He chided in a low tone.

"I use the name Brooksdale cause I don't want any connection to our real dad, Si." E.J. informed his older brother while takin' his whiskey glass. "Unlike you, I don't have great memories of him." He darkly sneered 'fore tippin' back his glass.

Si opened his mouth, but shut it right as Brock gave him a pointed look and told him, "Si, I love both you and E.J. just as if you were my own. I know you were close to your dad, but your brother wasn't. In fact, if truth be told, your dad was a crazy piece of shit that killed himself."

Well, seems like these McCoy vibe dudes had a shitty dad and a shitty life before Brock swooped in and saved the day. Hmm, wonder what crazy guy's their dad? I mean I wonder if I know him or not.

Si's honey eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched as he spat, "Don't talk bad 'bout my dad. You've got no right since you were havin' an affair wit' my mom before my dad ever died."

OH SNAP! Shit just got real… Damn, now my ears are perked up. This juicy gossip can't be ignored. It's too interestin'. God, how I love crazy mountain people drama.

"You don't want to go there with me, son. It's not as black and white; as simple as ya think." Brock warned his oldest 'son' in a dark seethe. The lawyer let out a dark chuckle and narrowed his rich chocolate eyes into deadly slits, remindin' me of the way a snake looks before it strikes, and struck with the declaration of, "Oh, I could tell you the truth, but I don't think you could handle it since you seem to think your dead daddy's some kind of saint instead of the goddamned crazy sinner he is."

Si knocked back his whiskey, slammed his glass on the table, and shook his head in disgust before boltin' from the table. He had a hard, pissed off look on his face as he marched over to the door and stormed out of the bar. The bar's door loudly slammed shut behind him, showcasing just how riled up the tall golden brunette really was.

E.J. looked 'tween the door and his step-dad before askin', "What is the truth that he can't handle?"

"That your mom hated your dad; tried her damnedest to get away from him." Brock answered, leanin' back in his chair. He stretched one of his arms out on the table while revealing, "I met her when she came to me for help with a divorce. I told her that couldn't help her, even tho I wanted to, since I lived across the Tug from her; that divorce wouldn't be legal cause she needed to live in the same state as me and I told her as much." His rich brown eyes got a far-off look to tell as he went on to say, "I told her as much, but she begged for my help. Pleaded her case with if I didn't help, she was afraid that come the next winter ya'll would either starve to death or die from a disease." His lips pressed into a soft, but sad line as he revealed, "That hit my hard in the gut since I myself nearly died from a cholera outbreak durin' my last semester of university, so I decided to help her and took drastic measures to do so."

"So that's why you took us in." E.J. stated, not asked, as he traced the rim of his shot glass with his index finger.

Brock's face fell as he sadly sighed, "Yea, but one day your dad came and took you guys back."

E.J. downed his shot before confessin', "I remember that day as if it happened yesterday. God, I remember how you were tryin' to keep my dad from takin' us back only to get shot in the shoulder. Mom was hysteric; my cousin stayed to help which pissed off my dad. He disowned him; called him a traitor."

"Yea, well, it's all in the past now…" Brock shrugged, pourin' himself and his 'son' some more drinks.

"I'm glad you stepped up to be my dad cause mine never was that great of one." The ginger remarked gratefully, takin' the lawyer by surprise since the man faltered in his motion of puttin' the whiskey bottle back onto the table. Instead of just leavin' it at that, the giant ginger pressed on with, "Thank god that Junior and Betsy had you from birth. I don't know how either one would've been if they would've been born out of an affair or something when my dad was still alive, but distant."

Hmm, sounds like the ginger McCoy guy's dead daddy ain't in the runnin' for any father of the year awards. Shit, that dude had so much disdain for daddy that it wasn't even funny. Hell, and I thought that the way I felt about Peter and Sully was bad…

"I did my best to be the father that you and your siblings deserved since ya'll were stuck with a crazy man beforehand." Brock told E.J. before knockin' back his whiskey. "Since you were 10, we easily bonded, but since the others were 12-and-13 they didn't want my fatherin'." Shakin' his head, he scoffed, "In fact, one ran off with a fuckin' carpet bagger at 14 and the other took over your dead dad's house at 16." A hint of a smile appeared on Brock's face as he remarked, "You're the only one that stuck around."

"I joined the Navy at 18." E.J. remined his step-dad since he too left home.

"Yes, but you always came home on leave when ya could and once you retired after a 4-year service you settled down with Sheila." Brock countered in a fatherly know-it-all town as he took a cigarette case out of his waist coast, flipping it open and takin' one before offerin' one to his son.

E.J. took one of the offered cigarettes from his dad's silver case while saying, "Yea, but settlin' down with her wasn't easy since half of her family liked me when the other half didn't."

Brock put his cigarette case back into his waistcoat and pulled out a matchbox, only to strike a match and light up his smoke, while stating, "The only one that didn't like you was her bitter drunk uncle and he lost the role of the family patriarch years before you and Sheila ever met."

Brock handed over the match to E.J., who lit up his smoke with it while groanin', "God, that man spit in my face and cussed me out on my weddin' day. It was so bad that Sammy and Jim had to pull him off of me."

Sammy and Jim? Is he talkin' about Squirrel and Jim McCoy, Randall's oldest son? Dear lord, who did this ginger marry that had the other McCoys coming to his aid to defuse a pissed off in-law?

The father and son duo took deep drags off of their smokes. The older man let out a lungful of grey billowin' smoke from his notrils and mouth while chucklin', "Well, I thought the best part of that ceremony was when your mom threatened to kill that bitter drunk if he dared disrespect her baby boy again."

"Yea, mom sure did set him straight. Sobered him up 'nough that he behaved at the reception." E.J. chuckled, takin' his second drag off his cigarette.

Well, as much as I'd like to stay and listen to more of this fucked up McCoy vibe dudes' drama, my bottle's empty and I gotta go home and get to bed. Damn, just when it was gettin' good too.

One Week Later…

Asa POV:

Logan County was a stark contrast to Charleston, the capitol city of West Virginia. The mountains and hills encompassed any and all towns. People were more skeptic too. Me and the photographer, Larry, were met with scowls and incredulous looks as we rode down the windin' road on our rented ponies. Every so often we'd spot men patrolling; looking for bounty hunters and outlaws. They must've known that Devil Anse was expectin' us cause one look at all of our equipment piled up high on the horses and they just let us pass through. Reckon bounty hunters travel light while us journalist don't.

We were almost to down town Mate Creek, where we were told a hotel called King's Hotel was at, whenever a tall man with golden-brown hair wearing a large slightly faded black Stetson rode up to us and remarked in a deep, but dry tone, "Either you're sorry excuses for bounty hunters or you're from The Examiner."

"We're from The Examiner." I confirmed before introducin' myself. "I'm journalist Asa M. Merriweather." Gesturing to Larry with a slight wave of my add, I added in, "And this is photographer Larry Greves."

"I'm Shaw Eldridge, one of Devil Anse's cousins." He responded in a flat, but informin' tone.

I couldn't help, but to think that this man (who I knew was my wife's ex-common-law husband) didn't look or sound so frightening. Hmm, I'm intrigued to see the true side of this man. From what little I know from Olga he was a black hearted man that made her so miserable she ran away to the other side of the country. He also had that Pinkerton snatch back their baby girl too.

Pointin' back up the road, he said, "Ya know Devil Anse's house is that way."

"We know, but we decided to down town Mate Creek to rent a room at the hotel and rest up from traveling on a train for a week straight." I informed the man who looked more so like a cowboy then a back hills mountain man.

"The town only has one hotel, King's Hotel, and it's right next to the tavern." Shaw informed us with a nod. Tippin' his hat at us, he simply said, "I'll let Anse know you'll be interviewin' him tomorrow.", before riding off.

"Well, I do believe we just met the man T.C. Crawford described as a menacing patrol rider." Larry told me with a raised brow look.

"Yes, we did." I agreed with the photographer, who I suppose is my only friend while I'm here on assignment.

Silence filled the air as we continued down the road towards town and in extension the hotel.

A Short While Later…

When we arrived in downtown Mate Creek I was appalled. It was so small and seemed a bit dirty. It was the epitome of one-horse town. I rode by one of the nicest buildings as I entered town only to observe that the large buildin' was a livery titled S.E. Livery. Hmm, perhaps Shaw's a business man and that's how he was able to afford to send the Pinkerton to San Francisco to track down Olga and the baby years ago.

"This place looks like a good wind storm'll knock it over." Larry remarked as his head flittered back and forth, taking in the old weatherworn wooden buildings that lined downtown Mate Creek.

Pointing towards the two large buildings at the end of the street, whose walls were faded and peeling and had overly patched roofs, I said matter-of-factly, "Well, the tavern and the hotel down there looks to be in the worst shape."

"How do people live like this?" Larry asked, sounding a bit bewildered, as we rode straight towards the hotel.

"They don't know any better or they don't have the proper means to live in a bigger; better city."

"God, if I had to live in a small one-horse town like this, I'd go crazy." Larry declared with a scoff caught deep in his throat as we reached the hotel.

I couldn't help, but wonder how bad this town really was. Olga never talked about her short time in West Virginia, so I don't know much about this area. For some reason, this region intrigues me. These mountain men, who looks so uneducated and gruff, and their families hold the ticket to my journalist career. If I can write a good front page story on Devil Anse for The Examiner to counter the New York Globe with then I'm positive that I'll be promoted and well known in the journalist community.

"I don't care if you go crazy, we're staying here as long as we have to so that I can get good stories."

"Stories? I thought your job was to interview this Devil Anse man and leave?"

"It is, but I know for a fact that once our paper runs my story then New York will be sending that Crawford back to Kentucky to do a counter story; then our editor will say that Hearst wants us to counter back with another story." I broke the facts of life to Larry as we dismounted our horses, hitched them up, and unloaded our bags and supplies.

"Hell…we're gonna be here a long time ain't we?" Larry sighed as we walked up to the door of the large, but run-down hotel.

"Reckon so." I nodded before entering the hotel.

Larry was grumbling behind me as I made my way over to the clerk's desk that was near the staircase. The clerk looked us up and down before snortin', "Here on holiday?"

"No, a work assignment." I told the man, earning me a silent huff and sarcastic disbelief. "I'm Asa M. Merriweather; The Examiner sent me from San Francisco to interview Devil Anse Hatfield for the paper."

"Devil Anse is a good man; my son and nephews work for 'im at the loggin' camp." The clerk told me while grabbing some keys from the wall behind him. "Ya'll are in room 1 and 2. It's a dollar a night." He said, placing the keys down for us.

My brows furrowed as I asked, "Didn't anyone from The Examiner wire you the funds to cover or stay?"

"No, so either pay me my 2-bucks or ya can leave and sleep under a bridge for all I care." The clerk rudely snapped.

"God, we're stuck in an uncivilized mountain shithole." Larry muttered under his breath as we put our bags down and pulled our wallets out of our pockets.

"Isn't there a log book you need to write down our information in?" I asked the thin man, who's teeth were a mustard shade, while me and Larry took out our dollars and handed them to him.

"You're the only two rentin' rooms in this place. I don't needa log ya'll in cause I ain't gonna forget that ya owe me money every mornin'."

Larry just shook his head, grabbed his bags, and stormed up the staircase. I was more mannered then my professional counterpart. "Well, just put us in as Asa M. Merriweather and Larry Greves in the log book if any other renters arrive." I politely told the clerk before picking up my things and going upstairs to my room, number 1.

AN:

This was a short filler chapter, but it gave away some spoilers for some upcoming scenes in later chapters. Feel free to tell me your theories surrounding the spoilers dropped by Brock and E.J. (Endor) in the second scene. Well, Asa and Larry (the cameraman) aren't very impressed by Mate Creek. What do you think about Asa and Shaw's meeting? Will Asa every see the true ugly side of Shaw or no?

Next up is Asa's article/interview on Devil Anse.