The Outlaw's Secret

Tate grabbed the remaining blanket and sat beside her. She didn’t glance up. While guard duty meant little sleep, at least this way he could keep an eye on her during her first night with them. “Don’t you think you ought to get some rest?” he asked as he set his gun next to him on the ground. He left his revolver in the holster at his waist.

“A Winchester Model 1886,” she murmured.

“What?”

She lifted her chin and pointed with her pencil at his gun. “Your rifle is a Winchester, the 1886 model, correct?”

Tate nodded in disbelief. “How did you know that?”

A small but lovely smile lifted her lips. “As the authoress of dime novels set in the West,” she said, her gaze returning to her notebook, “I would be remiss in my research if I didn’t know a Winchester from a Sharps.”

He didn’t bother to swallow his startled laughter. There was clearly more to Miss Essie Vanderfair than he’d suspected. “Do you know how to shoot it?”

She shot him an arch look. “I was raised on a ranch. I can shoot anything with a trigger.”

Leaning back on his hands, Tate regarded her appreciatively. “Are you writing a story right now?”

The glint of steel fell from her face as she shook her head. “Unfortunately, no. I’m merely getting down your answers from our interview earlier.”

The recollection of her nosy questions and keen discernment made his stomach twist with apprehension. “It’s been a while since your interview. How do I know you’re remembering my answers correctly?”

Essie shoved the notebook into his chest, making him wince. “Have a look yourself.”

He studied the page before him and the two columns of neat, looping writing penned there. Above one column, Essie had written “Questions.” The other column she’d labeled “Answers.” Tate read through several of her questions. Were you desperate for money? What drove you to such a life? Then he glanced at the second column for the answers. No. Anger, mostly. My parents. God. My girl... My brother.

Though he didn’t have a perfect memory, he remembered enough of his responses to know she’d penned them—word for word. “How did you remember these?” He handed her back the notebook but kept hold of his end when she reached for it. “You weren’t taking notes.”

“No, I wasn’t,” she said, ducking her chin. The firelight revealed the blush on her cheeks. “But when I come up with things to write down for my stories, I can keep it all there in my mind until I can get to paper and a pencil. Then I just note it down, like reading a page out of a book.”

“Can you recall everything you hear?” Having her on this job was proving more and more useful. If she happened to overhear anything or if the outlaws kept babbling to her as Clem had done earlier...

But his hopefulness died when Essie shook her head. “I can’t recall everything. Usually it’s easiest with information relating to my work. Though even that, after a few hours, half a day at the most, gets blurred.”

Tate relinquished his hold on her notebook. Resting his arms on his knees, he threw a sideways glance at her as she began writing again. What was it Clem had said about her? She’s an interestin’ little thing. Tate had to agree.

Miss Essie Vanderfair surprised him and it had been some time since he’d been truly, and pleasantly, surprised. It hadn’t been an entire day since they’d met, and yet he found himself more and more intrigued by her as the hours passed. If only he weren’t on assignment, and a dangerous one at that, he might have invited her to dinner at a hotel restaurant and plied her with questions instead of the other way around.

But he was on an assignment, he reminded himself as he stared into the flames of the fire. And the fascinating woman seated beside him unknowingly held the key that could expose him for the detective he was and the renegade he wasn’t.

Frowning at the thought, he picked up his rifle and placed it across his knees. He’d have to keep his distance from her, while also doing his best to smooth over any more of her suspicion. He couldn’t guarantee the safety of either of them if his secret was revealed.

* * *

All done. Essie stuck her pencil in the center of her notebook and smiled tiredly at the filled page. She’d penned every question and cryptic answer of the Texas Titan’s as well as the novel scenes she’d composed in her head earlier. Stretching, she tried to release the kink in her neck from bending over.

You’ll be stooped and wearing spectacles if you keep up all that foolish writing. The remembered words erased the smile from her mouth. What would her family think of her being here, with these armed men?

She glanced at the Texan seated silently nearby, his rifle across his knees. He hadn’t said another word since discovering her unusual talent for remembering things she heard or wrote inside her head. What could he be thinking just now?

Lowering her gaze, she read the last few sentences she’d written. The outlaw stared morosely into the fire as if seeing the tortured memories of his past. Or was it the possibility of a bleak and lonely future that pilfered his smile? The heroine met his gaze across the flames and a jolt of tenderness ran through her as his haunted blue eyes beckoned to her. His masculine mouth held her attention next and she pondered for a moment what it might be like...

“You ready?”

Essie slammed her notebook shut, her cheeks burning. Had he seen what she’d written? Good thing she hadn’t begun penning any of her scene ideas when she’d shown him her notebook earlier. “What do you mean?”

The Texan regarded her with a glint of amusement in those haunted blue eyes of his. They certainly were beckoning when they watched her that way. Blinking, Essie glanced in the opposite direction. She wasn’t writing about him; she was writing about her own fictional hero. Though perhaps she ought to change the hero’s eye color...and hair color...and build. Oh, bother.

“Are you ready to turn in? If so, I’ll put out the fire.”

Glancing at the flames, she suddenly realized this was the reason she’d been able to write so long—the Texan had kept the fire burning so she could see. Her gaze jumped to his. This wasn’t the only chivalrous gesture he’d performed tonight. He’d given her the blanket that was keeping her warm, too. Perhaps she’d misjudged him earlier, thinking he wasn’t as much of a gentleman as the newspapers touted.

“Yes, I’m finished,” she answered quietly, not wishing to disturb the four outlaws who were sleeping. One of them more loudly than the others. “Thank you,” she added, waving a hand at the fire, “for not banking it sooner.”

He dipped his chin in response and set aside his gun to kneel by the fire. Essie slipped her notebook inside her valise and then positioned it to act as a pillow. Lying down, she shut her eyes and tried to relax. But the hard ground poked through her blanket and into her side. Sleep was likely to be a distant friend for a while longer.

At least her present discomfort wasn’t exacerbated by feelings of fear. She still had her small gun stowed in her boot, so she wasn’t afraid to fall asleep in her present company. Especially with the Texan nearby. Something more than the newspaper compliments made her feel safe in his presence.

And yet even his solid frame watching over everything and everyone couldn’t chase away the doubts that suddenly assailed her—now that the thrill of joining the outlaw group had faded.

What am I doing here? she asked herself for the first time since stepping off the train. Her family would be horrified if they could see her now. Though their shock would likely be followed by exclamations of self-satisfaction. Of course she’d ended up here—a lone woman among wanted thieves, so desperate to cling to her dream of publishing that she’d risk her reputation and her career on a chance. If her other interviews went anything like the one with the Texan had, her life as an author would truly be over.

Tears blurred her eyes as she watched him finish banking the fire. She couldn’t give up—not yet. Clem had been quite forthcoming at supper. Surely the rest of the outlaws weren’t as cryptic as the Texas Titan. Although she suspected Fletcher might be worse. Still, three good interviews and the opportunity to share in a real retreat to a hideout would provide her with more information than she’d ever dreamed of.

Certainly more than Victor Daley ever had.

“Can’t sleep?” The Texan returned to his spot, but instead of taking up his gun again, he pulled a pocket watch from his vest. After checking the time, he rested his elbows on his bent knees.

“Not yet,” Essie replied honestly. She dragged in a full breath of smoke-scented air and blew it out slowly. A few tears made their way down her cheeks, but she no longer felt the urge to give way to sobbing. Her family might not believe her to be strong—and maybe she wasn’t—but God had given her a talent for seeing the good. And that was what she would think about. The not-too-cold evening, a blanket to keep her warm, the brush she’d thrown into her valise that would come in handy tomorrow morning...

“You ever sleep out under the stars?”

She twisted her head to look up at him. “All the time in the summer. I was usually the first one out there, but eventually my brothers and sisters would pile outside to join me.”

He smiled, though even in the dying light, it appeared more sad than nostalgic. “My brother and I slept outside a lot, too.” He shifted his position, the heel of his boot digging into the ground. “How many siblings do you have?”

“Eight.”

His eyebrows shot upward. “Eight, huh? Are you close with any of them?”

Pain lodged inside her chest at the question. “My brother Nils. He’s a year older.”

“Where is he now?”

She turned her gaze to the stars overhead as bittersweet memories filled her thoughts. “He, um, died. Four years ago. He was thrown from his horse.” Her father had wanted to shoot the skittish animal, but Essie had pleaded with him not to exact revenge on the innocent creature. Even while her heart had ripped in two at the loss of her brother.

“I’m very sorry, Miss Vanderfair.”

“Thank you.” She glanced at him, but with his chin lowered, his face was shadowed by his hat. “You lost your mother. I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”

While her parents and the rest of her siblings hadn’t championed her dreams of writing as Nils always had, they were still alive and seemed concerned about her welfare. Letters came from the ranch nearly once a week, asking how she fared and when she might return home.

The Texan cleared his throat, though he didn’t lift his head. “It was a great loss. But we pulled through it. At least, one of us did.”

“Your brother didn’t feel her passing as keenly?”

“He did.” His chin rose and he leveled her with a look both intense and regretful. “But he felt like he had to...to...overcompensate. To be father and mother, even if there wasn’t much difference in our ages.”

Essie rose onto her elbow and rested her head in her palm. “I suppose most families have someone like that. Wanting so desperately to protect and care for the others, even if it stifles those they love.”

He frowned. “How does wanting to protect and care for someone stifle them?”

“It does so in many ways.” She sat up and faced him, eager to help him understand what she’d come to see the last three years on her own. “If one is never allowed to stumble about or tread down uncertain paths, that person will likely never reach his or her true potential. They’ll be perpetually stuck in a web of safekeeping that offers no growth because there is no opportunity to learn from trial and error.”

Her impassioned speech was met with stony silence. Essie fiddled with the edge of the blanket, embarrassed. Not for what she’d said but because she’d spoken it to a man she hardly knew.

“You are rather wise for someone so young.”

At that, she laughed outright, then clapped a hand to her mouth, afraid she’d wake the others. She was enjoying their open conversation and suspected it would come to an abrupt end if anyone stirred. “My sisters would be the first to point out that I am far from young. I turned twenty-three this summer.”

Even in the dim light, she caught sight of the full smile he threw her way. And it left her a bit breathless. “Twenty-three sounds young to someone who’s twenty-nine.”

She chuckled. “I’ll remember that.” A breeze swept over the camp, swirling the ash around the fire and shooting a chill up Essie’s spine. Pulling the blanket tighter around her, she lay back down on her makeshift pillow.

“Cold?”

“A little. But it’ll pass soon enough.”

A jacket dropped onto her shoulders and back, bringing welcome warmth. “How are you going to keep out the cold?” she asked, peering up at him.

He settled on the ground once more and hoisted his blanket for her to see. “I’ve got this, when I need it.”

“Thank you.” Essie burrowed into the thick material. No longer as chilled or as uncomfortable as before, sleepiness began to creep over her, but she hoped to keep it at bay. At least for another minute or two. “Can I ask you one more question?”

“Just one?” The teasing note in his deep voice made her smile. “For the rest of the trip?”

“No,” she said emphatically. “One more tonight.”

He pushed out a sigh, though he didn’t sound nearly as irritated as she’d expected. “All right, Miss Vanderfair. One more.”

“This is purely out of curiosity. Your answer won’t go into my book.”

She thought she heard him mutter, “That’s a relief.”

“They call you the Texas Titan, but what’s your real name?”

Tension, heavy and silent, radiated from him, erasing the companionship of moments ago. Essie gripped the edge of the blanket tighter, waiting. Would he answer her or not? She didn’t need the information, but for some inexplicable reason, she very much wanted to know.

The scraping of his heel against the dirt preceded his soft answer. “You can call me Tate.”

“Tate,” she whispered.

“But only out of earshot of the others. Understand?”

“Yes,” she said with a nod. “Good night, then...Tate.”

“Good night, Miss Vanderfair.”

Her heart beat faster as she opened her mouth and said, “Call me Essie. It’s only fair.”

A low chuckle sounded in her ears. “Try to get some sleep, Essie. We’ve got another long ride tomorrow.”

Smiling in triumph, she closed her eyes, but it was still some time later before she could turn her thoughts from the silent figure guarding the camp. And from the memory of her name on those nice, masculine lips.

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