The Outlaw's Secret

“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.

Chapter Five

According to his pocket watch, a gift from his mother years ago, Tate had been awake off and on the past four hours. Jude had taken over guard duty at the appointed time, but Tate had kept his spot near Essie. Though he felt sure no harm would come to her while he slept, the possibility had him waking every hour and unable to get back to sleep the last thirty minutes. It was going to be another long day.

When Clem rose, Tate sloughed off his blanket and got up, too. Essie appeared to still be sleeping, judging by her even breathing and occasional soft snores. He found himself smiling as he went in search of wood for a fire.

His thoughts soon returned to what Essie had said about the danger of overprotecting one’s family. Was that what he’d done with Tex after their mother had died? Or when he’d tried to intervene between his brother and Ravena?

A frown replaced his earlier smile. He’d done and said what he had out of love and concern—for both Tex and Ravena. And yet had he unknowingly stifled his brother’s potential instead of letting consequences play out naturally?

The question drudged up memories and emotions he preferred to keep buried. Chief among them was guilt, even though he wasn’t the brother living on the wrong side of the law. Maybe when this was all over, he would track Tex down. Find out why his brother had disappeared four months ago. Despite the mile-wide canyon of disagreement and bruised pride between them, Tate hated to think of his twin hurt, or worse.

After finding a few decent-size sticks, he headed back to camp. Essie was awake, wearing the jacket he’d loaned her last night. The thing dwarfed her, but she’d rolled the cuffs back so she could brush her hair. Unlike yesterday, after the rainstorm, the unbound blond waves looked smooth and glossy this morning. Tate had the strangest urge to run the ends through his fingers.

“Thank you again for your jacket, Ta—Mr. Tex,” she quickly amended, her eyes widening at her mistake. But Clem didn’t seem to be paying attention, and Jude, now relieved of guard duty, was dozing on one side of the camp. Fletcher and Silas were off by the horses.

Not for the first time, Tate questioned what had possessed him to give Essie his real name last night. He was certain no one knew the Texas Titan had a brother, let alone a twin. Disclosing such a personal detail, though, had the potential to get him in loads of trouble. Especially if Essie slipped up in front of Fletcher. But, after hearing her talk about her own brother before she’d fallen asleep, Tate had felt compelled to share something real in return.

“Here’s your jacket.”

Tate belatedly realized she’d been sitting there, holding the jacket out for him. “Keep it. At least until the day warms up.” He rather liked how she looked in the oversize garment, her hair flowing around her shoulders and her small but capable hands peeking out from the cuffs.

He tried to push aside the thought as he dumped the wood next to the cold ashes. But he couldn’t deny the fact that Essie was far more attractive than he’d given her credit for on the train yesterday. Not that it mattered. He was on a mission and she believed him to be an outlaw—and that was the way he needed it.

“What’s for breakfast, Clem?” Essie asked in a cheery tone as she put away her brush and folded her blanket up neat and tidy.

Clem exchanged a look with Tate. “Uh...that’d be beans and biscuits again, ma’am.”

A slight frown appeared between her brows, but it vanished the next moment. Tate was beginning to realize her smiles and optimism weren’t a show or a cover for fear—her cheerful disposition was apparently as real as her knowledge of guns and tracking and family relationships.

“That sounds good and hearty.” She smiled at Clem. “May I help? It’s been some time since I cooked, but I used to make decent biscuits at home.”

The outlaw cook glanced around as if fearing her help might cause him trouble. “All right,” he finally said with a shrug. “I ’spose you can do the biscuits.”

A full smile curved her mouth, reminding Tate once again that she was as pretty as she was intriguing. “I’ll try not to disappoint.”

Tate coughed to cover a laugh—anything would be an improvement over Clem’s clumsy cooking. Essie shot him a disapproving look, as if she could somehow read his thoughts and didn’t want him wounding Clem’s feelings. With nothing more to do, he excused himself, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll go see what the plan is for today.”

Silas was saddling the horses while Fletcher watched. “Hear anything suspicious last night, cowboy?”

Tate shook his head. “Not a peep.”

“Good.” Fletcher situated the saddlebag of money onto one of the horses. “No lawmen will likely catch up to us, then.”

“What’s the plan?”

“We’ll split up again, just in case. You, Silas and Clem can ride together. And me, Jude and the girl.”

Uneasiness churned inside Tate’s empty stomach at Fletcher’s words, though he hid it behind a thoughtful look as he casually crossed his arms. No way was he letting Essie out of his sight. Not yet, and maybe not at all. Though she wasn’t completely helpless, she was still a bit naive, viewing their flight to the hideout as a grand adventure.

“We can do that,” he said with nonchalance. “Though I thought the girl was my responsibility.”

“She is, but I don’t trust you, Tex.” The outlaw leader threw him a level look. “You left her behind yesterday. What’s to say you aren’t gonna try another move like that today?”

Tate’s jaw tightened. “Because I now understand that if something happens to her, I’m to blame.”

Fletcher nodded, a sneer on his mouth. “You got that right, cowboy.”

“Besides.” Tate pressed on. “She’ll likely slow you down today.” Though he doubted it. Essie could ride better than any woman he’d encountered. “And if you do run across the law, you’ll have far less explaining to do if you aren’t riding pell-mell over the hills with a woman in tow.” He let that reason settle in before he finished with, “As the leader of this gang, you’ve got to keep yourself far from the most risk.”

Scowling, Fletcher rubbed a hand over his whiskered jaw. “You may have a point, cowboy.” He pushed up his hat and stared in the direction of the camp. Tate could see Essie working over a pan at the fire. “You take the girl with you. Clem will come with us. Now let’s eat.”

Tate hid his smile, in spite of the relief coursing through him, as he trailed Fletcher and Silas to the fire. The smell of freshly cooked dough filled his nose and made his mouth water.

“Your breakfast, gentlemen,” Essie announced when they approached. “Courtesy of Clem and myself.”

“I only done the beans,” Clem muttered, scooping portions of them onto the tin plates. But his brown eyes glowed with obvious appreciation at Essie for including him.

Tate thanked her as she passed him a full plate. The biscuits looked as light and airy as clouds. Maybe Essie could be cajoled into taking over all the cooking for the duration of her stay.

Lifting a biscuit to his mouth, anticipating the flakiness melting on his tongue, he paused when he caught sight of Essie’s dipped chin and shut eyes. She was giving thanks for the food. He lowered his arm, feeling a twist of regret at not praying himself. He hadn’t known Essie was religious, but he found he wasn’t surprised. And while he couldn’t outwardly show his own faith, not if he wanted to maintain his brother’s identity, no one would hear his Heaven-sent thoughts.

Pushing his beans around his plate, he offered his own silent prayer of gratitude. Lord, thank Thee for this food. Thank Thee for keeping me...and Essie...safe. Guide my actions and bless my efforts. Amen.

He lifted his gaze and found Essie watching him, a puzzled frown on her mouth. Did she suspect he’d also been praying? Clearing his throat, he bit into the biscuit with relish, hoping to throw off her perceptiveness, then grinned at her. “Best biscuits I’ve ever tasted,” he said after swallowing the delicious morsel.

“Amen to that,” Jude and Fletcher admitted at the same time. Even Silas was silently nodding approval.

Essie lowered her gaze from his, her cheeks flushing a pretty shade of pink, and ducked her head. Was it all the compliments that made her blush? Or his in particular? Tate couldn’t help hoping his words had affected her the most.

Once the fire was out and their belongings stowed, it was time to saddle up. “Who am I riding with today?” Essie asked. Still sporting his jacket, she held the handle of her bag between her hands and watched him and the others expectantly.

“You’ll ride with Tex and Silas, on your own horse,” Fletcher said as he swung into the saddle. “We’ll split up one more day and meet up again at the camp tonight.”

“Oh...wonderful.”

Tate thought he detected a note of disappointment in her voice, but he wasn’t certain of its source. Was she wishing she could ride with Fletcher and Jude? Or was she regretting the fact that she wouldn’t be sharing a horse with him this time? He had to admit he wouldn’t mind having her ride with him once more, even at the risk of being badgered by her bag handle and her questions.

Raking his hand over the bristles of his jaw, he reined in his bizarre thoughts. “I’ll help you up, Miss Vanderfair.” Somehow the idea of calling her Essie in front of the others felt too personal.

He helped her onto the horse she’d ridden yesterday and then climbed onto the back of his own mount. Shifting his weight, he flexed his hands around the reins, preparing himself for another long day of riding—this time bareback, since he’d opted to give his saddle to Essie. But to see Fletcher and his gang eventually apprehended, he’d ride twice as far and twice as long.