The Outlaw's Secret

“Riding a horse? Yes.” She joined her hands around his waist as if to prove her point. “I’ve done this countless times.”

He shook his head. Not just at her words but to dismiss how nice it felt to ride with a woman again—something he hadn’t done in years. Not since Ravena. Tate pushed thoughts of the dark-haired girl back to the deepest recesses of his mind, a place where they’d stayed put for the last eight years. Right beside the regret and guilt he still harbored for Tex, his twin brother.

“I mean coming with us, Miss Vanderfair.” He didn’t bother disguising the irritation in his voice.

“As I said earlier, I want to interview you.” She shifted her weight, poking him with her valise again. He ground his teeth over a growl.

“Why?” he countered, eager to riddle out her true motives. After all, that was his job as a detective.

“Because I’m an authoress of dime novels. I pen stories of romance and adventure.” Her tone held a touch of pride.

“A fine occupation but—”

An amused sniff sounded at his back and interrupted his interrogation. “I’m perfectly aware of what others, especially men, think of my profession, Mr. Tex. You don’t have to feign interest. I can assure you I’ve heard every ill sentiment there is regarding dime novels and their creators. Nothing you can say would surprise me.”

A bit of a smile worked at his mouth at her challenge. He was never one to back down from a challenge. “I’m not feigning anything, Miss Vanderfair. I think writing novels would be hard, whether you’re a man or a woman.” He cleared his throat before adding, though he wasn’t sure why, “My mother wrote poetry up until she died, and I would’ve been honored to see her work published.”

The ensuing silence proved that he’d been right about surprising her. Tate’s smile rose to a grin.

“Still,” he continued, “what does writing dime novels have to do with you accompanying us?”

Her answer came swiftly. “I’d like to write a novel about train robbers, and naturally the best research is firsthand.” He could easily imagine her chin tipped high as she spoke, her pert little nose in the air. “I saw an opportunity and I took it. I suspect that’s something you and I have in common.”

He couldn’t argue with that. But who courted trouble in the name of “research”? If nothing else, his job of the last eight years had shown him what happened when seemingly good people went looking for trouble. They always found it.

Removing his hat, he wiped his sweaty forehead with his sleeve. Though it was mid-September, temperatures the last few days had been overly warm. That, or it was his irritation toward the woman seated behind him.

“There’s a scar behind your ear.” A featherlight touch skated his marred skin. “How come the Wanted posters don’t mention it?”

Icy panic drove any thoughts of heat from Tate’s mind. Clapping his hat back on, he gripped the reins tighter as he answered matter-of-factly, “Don’t know. Maybe whoever made up the poster didn’t know about it—I don’t usually have someone right behind me when my hat’s off.”

Inside, though, he was reeling. Essie Vanderfair, with her doe-eyed determination, had just identified the most prominent visible difference between him and his identical twin brother.

Thankfully, Essie didn’t seem to notice his now-rigid posture or tense shoulders. She began prattling about some of the more famous crimes of his brother’s. Tate tried to ignore her, concentrating instead on the hilly landscape. But with each tale she shared, her voice full of near admiration, his alarm grew. She wasn’t just overly curious; she apparently knew a great deal about Tex’s life of crime.

What if she caught on to more discrepancies between him and his brother? That could ruin everything.

At that moment, Silas called from up ahead, “We gotta keep this pace for another thirty minutes. Then we’ll be to the spot where we stowed those horses this morning.”

“That’s ingenious,” Essie murmured. “I’ll have to write that down in my notebook tonight.”

Tate swallowed a groan. If only Fletcher hadn’t agreed to let her come along. This assignment could not go wrong. Fletcher was merciless—if he caught on to Tate’s true identity too soon, Tate doubted he’d be able to get out of it alive.

It would be much easier, for him and his job, if Essie Vanderfair could wait to interview these men until he had them behind bars.

Now, there’s an idea.

A new plan began to take root inside him and he clung to it with all his might. If he could somehow give Essie the slip when they changed horses, both of them would be better off for it. She wouldn’t get hurt riding across the country with a notorious outlaw gang and he wouldn’t have to watch his carefully orchestrated mission fail.

It wasn’t like he’d be leaving her stranded, either. With one of three tired but workable mounts to choose from, she’d eventually encounter a train or a town on her ride back to civilization. Of course, with her keen perceptiveness, he’d have to be smart in how he managed to leave her behind. But it shouldn’t be too hard a task. After all, he was one of the best Pinkerton agents out there. And no one was going to take away his chance to see justice served.

Chapter Two

Essie slid from the horse to the ground with help from the Texan. Three fresh mounts clustered in the shade of the narrow canyon formed between two hills. Gripping her valise, she walked a few paces away from the men to stretch her legs.

It had been some time since she’d ridden a horse. Her own two feet could get her everywhere in Evanston, which meant she didn’t require an animal or a carriage. But she did miss the thrill of riding, something she’d done nearly every day back on the ranch.

Thoughts of home, and her family, pinched at her excitement until she pushed them away. She’d just been handed the greatest opportunity of her writing career and that was what mattered today. She was really and truly here, with an outlaw gang. Wherever here was.

She moved toward the group. They were swapping the saddles to the fresh horses.

“Thirsty?” the Texan asked.

Before she could answer, he tossed her a canteen. Essie dropped her valise and easily caught the water container between her hands. A flicker of surprise passed through his blue eyes—he clearly hadn’t expected her to catch the canteen—but he shuttered his expression once again.

“Thank you,” she said, giving him a smile. She took a long drink and then stepped forward to hand him the canteen.

“Keep it. There’s still plenty of riding ahead.”

Essie cocked her head to study him as he saddled his new horse. He was different in person than he sounded in the newspapers. More serious, less charismatic. A gentleman, though. The reports had been correct there. Unlike him, the other two outlaws were doing their best to ignore her. Not that she minded. She was grateful the Texan had insisted she ride with him, so she wasn’t off somewhere with Fletcher and his companion, by herself, at this precise moment. She wanted to interview the gang’s leader...but she didn’t want to be alone with him.

“We’ll be a few more minutes.” The Texan threw the words over his shoulder at her. “Might want to wait in the shade.”

Turning, she located a patch of shadow to one side that wasn’t currently occupied by the six horses. She picked up her valise and went to sit. A stiff breeze fanned her face. Essie pushed out a contented sigh as she shut her eyes.

“There’s no need to be afraid,” the train robber intoned in a deep voice, crouching beside the heroine. “You’ll come under no harm, as long as you’re with me.”

She swallowed back the bite of fear in her dry throat. “Truly?”

He nodded and his blue eyes peered deeply into hers. “Here, have a drink.” His fingers lingered against her own as he passed her his canteen. “We still have a long way to—”

The whinny of a horse followed by a cry from one of the men shattered the peace of the moment. Essie opened her eyes. They widened in shock when she realized all three outlaws were galloping away from the canyon, and from her.

“Wait!” She scrambled to her feet. “Come back!”

Her voice was drowned out by the thud of the horses’ hooves. Had they forgotten her, quiet as she had been the last few moments? No, surely the Texan wouldn’t leave her. Only minutes had passed since he’d tossed her his canteen. The one now lying in the dirt beside her valise.

She reached for the derringer in her boot, hoping to attract their attention with a shot in the sky. Before she could extricate it, though, she saw the Texan glance over his shoulder. Their eyes met, bringing Essie instant relief. She laughed off her earlier concern of being left behind and released her gun. Of course he wouldn’t forget her.

Only, instead of coming back, he whipped his face forward once more and appeared to urge his animal to move faster.

The merriment drained from Essie’s lips as she watched the three men move farther away. The Texan had seen her—she felt certain of it. So why hadn’t he returned for her?

Reality doused her with a coldness that made her shiver. He meant to leave you here. That’s why he was so generous with his canteen. She balled her hands into fists and glared at the man’s form in the distance. How could she have fallen for such a trick? He hadn’t wanted her to come along from the beginning, so he’d cleverly worked out a way to leave her behind.

“Ooo,” she muttered, kicking at a clump of sagebrush. Handsome or not, the man certainly wasn’t a gentleman, as the newspapers claimed. Unless his benevolent treatment meant leaving women and children to fend for themselves. But, like his boss, Fletcher, the Texan had underestimated her. Landing himself in the same unsavory category as Victor Daley. “And I will best you both,” she hollered to the quiet prairie.

The horses shifted at her impassioned cry, drawing her attention. While none of them sported a saddle, they’d been left with their bridles on, and Essie had no qualms about riding bareback. How many times as a young girl had she taken off without a saddle on her horse, Brownie?

Gathering her valise and the Texan’s canteen, she approached the tired-looking horses. She would have to take the ride slow, at least at first. A dappled gray gelding studied her in turn as she scrutinized each horse. The star on its forehead reminded her of Brownie.

“I think we’ll give you a try.”

She led the horse away from his companions to a sizable rock. Gripping the handle of her valise between her teeth, she held the horse’s reins in hand and climbed onto the rock. From there she easily slipped onto the horse’s back.

Bending down, she scooped up the canteen from off the rock and settled her things in her lap. “All right, boy. Let’s go.” She nudged the horse in the flanks, pointing him in the direction the robbers had taken minutes before.

Once they’d broken free of the chain of hills, Essie studied the ground for tracks. She’d done extensive research for her book The Bounty Hunter Betrayed and now it was about to pay off in real life. The Texan had messed with the wrong dime novelist if he thought her incapable of doing something as simple as follow after them.

Sure enough, she spotted the impression of horse hooves in the dirt and a partially trampled sagebrush farther on. If she kept heading in that same direction, she would eventually stumble into the trio.

She bent forward over the horse and coaxed it to go faster. There were interviews to conduct. And no one, not even a handsome, sly, backstabbing Texan, was going to stop her.

* * *

“The camp is next to those hills,” Silas said, pointing. The sun had already begun dipping toward the horizon.

Tate noted the spot absently. It was hard to focus on much of anything except the guilt that had been dogging him since he’d left Miss Vanderfair behind.

For the hundredth time he reassured himself that she’d likely be fine. She had his canteen and her pick of a horse. But he couldn’t drive away the image in his mind of her standing there, waving at them to come back, her hazel eyes wide with shock.

Running his bandanna over his dusty face, he followed the other two men toward the base of one of the hills. Eventually he spotted Fletcher and Jude up ahead. They appeared to be starting a fire.

Tate stopped his horse and climbed out of the saddle. He needed a good night’s sleep. A chance to put the train robbery—his first and only—and Essie Vanderfair safely in the past, where they belonged, so he could focus all of his energy on what lay ahead.

He handed his horse’s reins to Silas, the horse master, and headed off to look for more wood for the fire. Clem wouldn’t start cooking until the flames were blazing, and Tate’s belly was already rumbling for food.

A hard hand wrenched his shoulder before he’d gone far, jerking him backward. Tate fought the instinct to drive a fist into the offender’s stomach. He could easily handle himself in a fistfight, but he had to maintain the easygoing demeanor associated with his brother.

“Where’s the girl?” Spittle flew from Fletcher’s mouth as he snarled the words. “Silas and Clem said they didn’t know.”

Tate shook off the outlaw’s hold as he wiped the back of his hand across his jaw. Should he pretend he didn’t understand what Fletcher meant? Or would it be better to come clean with the truth?

Opting for honesty, at least where it concerned Miss Vanderfair, he took a wide stance with his feet and casually folded his arms. “I left her back when we changed horses.”

“You what?” Fletcher narrowed his gaze. “You left her behind without talkin’ to me?”

“She was trouble, Fletch, and you know it.” Tate maintained a level look. “We don’t need some overly curious female poking her nose in our business.”

The robber leader reached out and fisted Tate’s collar, his dark eyes menacing. “You don’t tell me how to run my operation, cowboy. I’m still the leader here.” His foul breath cured Tate of wanting any supper, at least for the moment. “That girl means a hefty ransom, and it’s easy money. We simply post a telegram and the money arrives in no time.” He shoved Tate back. “Now, go get her.”

Anger simmered hot inside Tate as he glared back at Fletcher. All of these outlaws were the same—greedy and remorseless when it came to ruining the lives of innocent people. Just like your brother, a voice chided inside his head. He tightened his jaw, willing his emotions to stay concealed, controlled.

“And if I don’t?”

Fletcher’s mouth curled up in a sneer. “Try me, Tex.” He lifted his hands in a mock gesture of innocence. “But now your life is tied with hers.” He walked away, adding over his shoulder, “I think you’re smart enough to figure out what that means.”

Clenching and unclenching his fingers, Tate forced a deep breath between his gritted teeth. He wanted to slam his fist into something, though it wouldn’t change the situation. For better or worse, his fate—and his entire operation—now lay in the hands of Miss Essie Vanderfair. If he didn’t return with her, he’d be expelled from the gang at the very least and his case would go up in smoke. At the very worst, he’d wind up dead.

Which meant he’d better go back and retrieve her.

He marched to the horses and saddled his mount again. The other men glanced between him and Fletcher in obvious confusion. “Better hope she’s alive and well,” the outlaw leader called out, shooting him a condescending grin as Tate swung up onto his horse.

The anger in his gut iced into anxiety as his mind filled once more with horrible visions of Miss Vanderfair injured, or worse. He shoved aside the nagging thoughts. She was fine, most likely.

Still, he couldn’t help praying as he urged his horse back the direction he’d just come. Please, Lord. Let me find her and let her be all right. For both our sakes.

* * *

Essie eyed the darkening sky ahead and swallowed hard. In a short while she wouldn’t be able to see much of anything, let alone the robbers’ tracks, if the clouds dropped their rain. Sliding to the ground, she pressed her lips over a cry at the throbbing ache in her legs. Too many years had passed since she’d ridden bareback.

“Want some water, boy?” she said to the gelding. If she focused on something else, she could ignore the pain.

She set down her valise and cupped her hand to capture as much of the water from her canteen as she could. The liquid disappeared into the horse’s mouth at once. The poor animal was thirsty, even though she’d kept him moving at a slow gait. She allowed him another mouthful and then she drank from the canteen herself.

When she’d finished, she sloshed the water against the sides of the container. There wasn’t much left, judging by the sound. And she had nothing in the way of food for herself, either. But at least there was food for the horse.

“Why don’t you sample the grass over here?” She led the gelding to a patch of yellowing grass among the dirt and sagebrush. “I’ll see if I can’t spot their trail again.”

Looping the reins around a large sagebrush, Essie returned to the place where she’d dismounted. She walked slowly, searching the ground for tracks. A few yards away she found the imprints from the trio’s horses.

A feeling of optimism bloomed inside her. Her tracking skills, though a bit novice, had proved to be more than adequate. She’d be back with the train-robbing gang in no time at—

The crack of thunder from above made her jump and caused the gelding to skitter to one side. She hurried to soothe the horse as fat drops of rain began to strike her head and shoulders. If the downpour washed away the tracks...

Essie swatted away the troubling thought. Surely she’d stumble onto the men’s campsite before too long.

After tying up the canteen in the reins to free both her hands, she clutched the handle of her valise between her teeth once again and attempted to climb onto the gelding. But without the aid of a rock, she had to try three times before successfully hauling herself onto the horse’s back. By then the rain had picked up, pounding the prairie as though it were as angry as she’d been earlier.

Essie could hardly see more than a few feet in any direction. Wiping strands of hair from her face, she untied the canteen and turned her mount toward the spot where she’d last seen the tracks. She kept her valise and the water container crushed to her chest with one hand while she grasped the reins with the other.

Cold droplets slid down her dress collar and pulled her hair from its pins until it lay soaked against her back. There was nothing to do, though, but keep going. The horse plodded on, its head down. She wished she could lower hers, too, but she needed to make certain they were traveling in the right direction, drenched or not.

Thankfully, it wasn’t long before the rain ceased its thunderous fury and dwindled to a light sprinkle. After another few minutes it stopped altogether.

“Look at that, boy—we made it through.” Essie ventured a smile and shifted her grip on the reins to pat the gelding’s neck.

But her relief ended abruptly when she leaned to the side to study the ground. Any tracks made by the three horses were no longer visible. A pinprick of alarm punctured her hope further as she realized the light was beginning to fade around them.

She moved the horse in one direction then back in another. It was no use. The outlaws’ trail had disappeared and everywhere she looked the curve of the hills appeared the same. How was she to know where to go now?

Determination warred with her growing anxiety and she set her jaw. “We’re not giving up. We have to find them.” For more than just her interviews. The outlaws were her only ready source of food and fire and civilization. Unless, of course, she ran into other occupants of the plains...

She swallowed hard at the memory of the bloodcurdling tales she’d read, and those she had penned herself, of travelers beset by warring Indians. Although in her book The Indian Warrior’s Bride, the heroine had not only survived an attack on the wagon train but had found love, too.

Still, a shiver, that had nothing to do with her drenched clothes, ran up Essie’s spine. It was one thing to write such fanciful tales; it was another matter altogether to live them.

Which meant only one course of action remained open to her. She stopped the horse and bowed her chin. “As You can see, Lord, I’m in another predicament. Though I recognize, unlike earlier, this one is largely of my own making.” And the Texas Titan’s, she thought with a frown. “But if You wouldn’t mind sending some help...”

The gelding lifted his head and whinnied. Someone, or something, was coming their way.

Essie swallowed hard and peered through the dimming light. “Please let it be the two-legged kind of something,” she prayed, thinking of wolves and coyotes.

A rider crested a nearby rise. Essie’s heart slowed its frantic hammering, but only for a moment. While not a wolf, she hoped the stranger was good and decent and kind.

“Let him be a friend, not a foe,” she whispered. “A friend, not a foe.” She couldn’t see the man’s face beneath his hat, but she felt a flicker of relief that at least he was dressed in the clothes of a horseman and not an Indian on the warpath.

Just as she was about to call out a greeting from her dry throat, the man lifted his head, revealing the face of the Texan. The man who’d left her behind—on purpose.

“Very funny,” she muttered, lifting her eyes upward.

Sending her help in the form of that outlaw could only mean one thing—something she’d suspected for a while now. The Lord certainly had a sense of humor.

Chapter Three

Tate’s mouth curved into a grin at the sight of Essie Vanderfair. He sent up a quick prayer of gratitude at finding her alive and well. And to think he’d stumbled onto her after riding just a little more than an hour. She’d wandered closer to Fletcher’s camp than he would’ve thought possible. A blessing for both of them.

“You’re a ways off from any kind of town,” he called good-naturedly as he approached.

Instead of relief at seeing another human being way out here, she fixed him with a thorny glare. “I wasn’t trying to find a town. I was tracking you.” A bit of color flooded her cheeks. “At least until it started to rain.”

Tate stopped his horse beside hers. He’d ridden through the rain, too, but his hat had helped keep his head and face mostly dry. Essie looked drenched, her hair hanging limp against her back.

“You remind me of a cat I once rescued who nearly met his end in a swollen stream.” He couldn’t help a chuckle, which only narrowed her gaze even further.

“And you remind me of a...a...” She closed her lips.

“A what?” he prompted, more curious than offended. “Can’t think of a good rejoinder, Miss Vanderfair?”

The corners of her mouth quirked upward. “I’m full of good rejoinders, Mr. Tex. But I prefer to give my comeuppance in fiction.”

That wiped the smile from his face. He didn’t need her writing about him—or rather, his outlaw brother—in some sensationalized story. “My apologies. Your hair—” he motioned to the long wet mane “—looks...nice like that.”

One eyebrow rose in silent question. His neck felt warm, despite riding through the cool rain earlier. It wasn’t a lie, though. He liked it when a woman left her hair long instead of pinning it up. Ravena had always worn it long and flowing.

He couldn’t help comparing her to Essie, even as he fought memories from his youth. Ravena and Tex wove through nearly every one, and thinking back on the happiness they’d once shared left a bitter taste in his mouth. While not as stunning a beauty as Ravena had been, Miss Vanderfair had nice hazel eyes. Ones that apparently turned more green than brown when she was either determined or amused. With her hair down and her cheeks still pink, she made a rather lovely picture. Not that he’d noticed.

Clearing his throat, he turned his horse around. “Let’s get going.” He nudged the animal forward, but they hadn’t gone more than a couple of feet when he realized she wasn’t following.