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The Outlaw's Secret
Stacy Henrie


Lawman in DisguiseGetting taken hostage by a gang of train robbers wasn’t in dime novelist Essie Vanderfair’s plans, but interviewing these men could make her career soar.Especially since the gang includes legendary outlaw Tex Beckett, better known as the Texas Titan. Tex is famed for his protection of women and children, so she’ll be fine…right?Keeping the gang in line was hard enough before a stubborn, beautiful writer interfered. Now Tex is scrambling to keep Essie safe, to gather evidence against the gang and most of all to hide his dangerous secrets. First, that he’s a detective working undercover. And second, that he’s not the Texas Titan at all, but Tex’s twin brother, Tate Beckett.







Lawman in Disguise

Getting taken hostage by a gang of train robbers wasn’t in dime novelist Essie Vanderfair’s plans, but interviewing these men could make her career soar. Especially since the gang includes legendary outlaw Tex Beckett, better known as the Texas Titan. Tex is famed for his protection of women and children, so she’ll be fine...right?

Keeping the gang in line was hard enough before a stubborn, beautiful writer interfered. Now Tex is scrambling to keep Essie safe, to gather evidence against the gang and most of all to hide his dangerous secrets. First, that he’s a detective working undercover. And second, that he’s not the Texas Titan at all, but Tex’s twin brother, Tate Beckett.


Tate Beckett’s jaw was clenched so tight he thought it might snap.

If he wasn’t careful, this woman, with all her probing questions, would figure out he wasn’t the Texas Titan after all. Then his covert work, posing as his outlaw twin brother, would be finished.

No. He wouldn’t let her ruin his plans. Not when he was on the most important case of his career.

“If she comes,” Tate announced, “she rides with me.”

Fletcher shrugged. “Fine. The three of you will head northwest. Silas and Clem know the way to the camp.”

“Where are they going?” Essie asked, her eyes following the other two men.

“We’re splitting up. No one will suspect two or three men riding together, when they’re looking for five.”

“Ah. Very clever.”

He reached a hand down to help her up, frustration churning in his gut. His focus would have to be divided between paying attention to the trail to the gang’s hideout and playing nursemaid.

“Thank you,” she said brightly as he pulled her onto the horse. As she situated herself behind him, she managed to jab him with the handle of her valise—twice.

It was going to be a long ride.


Dear Reader (#ucf2f2af1-0354-55f5-903e-382a221d0540),

I find the stories of Old West outlaws fascinating, including that of my state’s most famous bandit, Butch Cassidy. He and his gang were known to have used the valley at Hole-in-the-Wall in Johnson County, Wyoming, as one of their hideouts. This hideout was easy to defend because the outlaws could spot anyone trying to enter the valley. Legend has it that no lawmen were ever able to infiltrate the hideout. And while these outlaws appeared to have lived adventurous, carefree lives, they nearly all experienced tragedies in their pasts.

The Grand Central Hotel in Casper, Wyoming, appears to have been in existence by at least 1893. For the sake of the story, though, I have it existing the year before. There were also likely two banks operating in Casper in the year 1892, but for the purposes of this story, I didn’t distinguish which bank the men rob.

The Occidental Hotel in Buffalo, Wyoming, is another actual building, founded in 1880, and is still in operation today. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid reportedly stayed at this hotel.

I’ve very much enjoyed introducing readers to the Beckett brothers in this book, and I’m thrilled to share the story of Tex, Tate’s identical twin brother, later this year. It was also lots of fun to give Essie, this optimistic and fearless dime novelist, her own story and share some of the melodrama of these bygone novels through her.

My hope with this book is that readers will identify with what Tate and Essie come to learn: the importance of being ourselves, our unchangeable and infinite worth in the eyes of God, and the reality that we are only stewards of our own choices. I also hope readers will enjoy the fun adventure of this outlaw-in-disguise story!

I love hearing from readers. You can contact me through my website at www.stacyhenrie.com (http://www.stacyhenrie.com/).

All the best,

Stacy


STACY HENRIE has always had a love for history, fiction and chocolate. She earned her BA in public relations before turning her attentions to raising a family and writing inspirational historical romances. The wife of an entrepreneur husband and a mother to three, Stacy loves to live out history through her fictional characters. In addition to author, she is also a reader, a road trip enthusiast and a novice interior decorator.


The Outlaw’s Secret

Stacy Henrie






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


God giveth power to the faint; and to them that have no might he increaseth strength...

—Isaiah 40:29


For M.

I hope you know, as Essie comes to, that your optimistic, bright nature is a beautiful gift.


Contents

Cover (#u33b95e96-b249-52cd-9d07-59895d37a74d)

Back Cover Text (#u9dc230e1-b048-51e6-a084-b984bb50b8c4)

Introduction (#uacd4044c-51ed-59d6-a3b7-b0664a4ad747)

Dear Reader (#u74840e90-c262-5883-b8a8-d6eae10d559b)

About the Author (#uc0a37d15-2990-59f1-abae-5d17e3bd3ec8)

Title Page (#ue3daf79d-1112-5d35-beab-38fb6f4edbb6)

Bible Verse (#u16c6b49e-9695-50a5-906e-f5085ec6123b)

Dedication (#u37231de9-61bd-58fa-9b9a-1c4bfffe0dc4)

Chapter One (#u05b4febb-249b-5f98-93be-a6e76911b3c8)

Chapter Two (#u9981feb6-4cff-58c5-a864-bd377da6edef)

Chapter Three (#ua9698b4a-2a51-5943-a43e-7c41899fff06)

Chapter Four (#u9f0428e0-3f8d-51ad-9afd-36b48da8ab7c)

Chapter Five (#u12b5e305-2696-516f-a6cd-db158ecb1869)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ucf2f2af1-0354-55f5-903e-382a221d0540)

Near Medicine Bow, Wyoming, 1892

The squeal of the train wheels jerked Essie Vanderfair’s attention from the doodles and half-formed thoughts scribbled inside her notebook to the window beside her. Nothing but hills of sagebrush and late-morning sunshine met her curious gaze. They shouldn’t be stopping yet. But even as the thought entered her mind, the locomotive shuddered to a halt.

Impatience brought a frown to her lips. She still had hours to go before she reached her room at the boardinghouse in Evanston, where she planned to stay sequestered until her next brilliant dime-novel idea presented itself. Most of what she had in her notebook wouldn’t create the successful novel her publisher wanted.

“I wonder why we’ve stopped,” her seatmate remarked, bouncing her drooling baby on her lap.

The little boy was every bit as handsome as his mother was beautiful. Her lovely chestnut hair and sky-colored eyes reminded Essie of her three older sisters. She looked nothing like them with her blond hair and muddy-green eyes.

A twinge of envy wound its way around her heart at the lovely picture the mother and babe made. That might have been her, if Harrison hadn’t decided she wasn’t serious enough or committed enough to make a suitable wife.

Not serious enough about life. How many times had she heard those words? Not just from Harrison but from her own family, too. But Essie had gotten revenge as far as her old beau was concerned. The villain in her last dime novel had sported the name Harris and the same pointy nose and mustache as the man she’d once fancied herself in love with.

Movement out the window caught her eye and she leaned closer to the glass. Five riders with bandannas over their mouths and noses rode toward the stalled train.

Her heart galloped as she realized who they must be. “It appears...” She wet her dry lips. “That we are being accosted by train robbers.”

She hadn’t spoken loudly, but the man in front of them clearly heard her anyway. “Train robbers,” he bellowed. Panicked murmurs swept through the passenger car.

“Oh, my,” the babe’s mother cried, her face draining of color. She clutched her child to her bosom. “Whatever do they want?”

“Money, most likely.” Essie stuffed her notebook into her valise, anxious to be ready for whatever lay ahead. “Although they might wish to take a few women along as hostages, as well.”

Like in The Train Robber’s Bride, the latest dime novel from her professional nemesis Victor Daley. It seemed whatever story line Essie pursued, Mr. Daley came up with a similar one but achieved much greater success. If only she could think of an idea that would scoop his...

The woman’s face had grown even paler. “At least I have a child,” she murmured. “They won’t take a woman with a baby.”

“Either way—” Essie snapped her valise shut “—I won’t let them hurt you or your child.” Lowering her voice, she explained. “I have a derringer in my boot.” She wiggled her shoe for emphasis. Not that one gun would be a match against five, but at least it was something.

Her seatmate looked askance. “Whatever do you own a gun for? Do you know how to use it?”

Essie couldn’t help laughing, in spite of the tense situation. “Ma’am, I was raised on a ranch and now live on my own in a city. I know my way around a great many weapons. Now switch me seats.”

Speechless, the woman rose and sank into the vacated spot as Essie slid toward the aisle. Please watch over us, Lord, in this most unorthodox situation. Or could this be the Lord’s working in her life already? Maybe this was an answer to her prayer to help her write a more exciting tale than Mr. Daley. But would it be good enough to erase the troubled frown she’d seen on her publisher’s face during her recent visit to Ohio?

“Look, Miss Vanderfair,” he’d said, peering over the top of his glasses at her. “You have talent, more so than any other female whose work I’ve read. But we can’t afford to publish more of your stories. Not unless your next one can outsell the likes of Mr. Daley.”

The remembrance of those ominous words set her pulse kicking faster with dread than seeing the train robbers. She needed a new story that would be a guaranteed success—and soon. Otherwise she’d have to go back to the ranch and admit defeat. Wouldn’t her siblings crow over that one?

Just one little idea, Lord. That’s all I ask.

A train robbery wasn’t a bad place to start. The door to the passenger car opened with a clatter, she mused, composing in her head. She’d pen it down in her notebook later. The devastatingly handsome train robber stepped inside, his black gaze keen as it swept the passengers, finally alighting on the beautiful, demure heroine. Her heart beat wildly in her throat as their eyes locked. What did he—

Someone screamed, jerking Essie’s thoughts back to reality. A man stood in the doorway at the front of the car. But instead of the tall, handsome hero of her imagination, the man blocking the doorway stood at five feet tall and sported what must be a bulbous nose beneath his bandanna. Essie smirked. Real life was never as interesting as fiction.

“Sorry to keep ya, folks,” the man said in a tone that implied anything but regret. “We’ll get you movin’ on in a short lick. But for now, just sit tight while we work.”

“What does that mean?” an older woman across the aisle whispered loudly to her husband.

He glared at the robber. “It means they’re likely going to blow up the train’s safe.”

Several gasps followed the man’s pronouncement, but Essie let out a sigh of relief. If their focus was the safe then the robbers would probably leave the passengers alone. Essie patted the sleeve of her seatmate in reassurance. “We’ll be on our way soon.” If the conductor wasn’t harmed.

“Has any injury come to the train conductor?” she bravely asked the robber.

He chuckled. “The conductor and that guard’ll be right as rain once they come to. The Texas Titan don’t like roughin’ people up too much.”

The Texas Titan was here? On her train? Essie had read plenty of newspaper articles about the man and his legendary outlaw career. He usually worked alone, though. Why had he joined this gang? She wished she could ask him. An interview with a real-live outlaw, or five, would provide any novelist with a gold mine of research.

And give her a leg up on the competition.

Essie’s eyes widened at her own bold idea. The men weren’t likely to talk to her on the train, where she’d be slowing down their getaway. Would she be able to convince them to take her with them? More important, did she dare attempt such a harebrained scheme?

Her publisher’s dire prediction ran through her head again: “We can’t afford to publish more of your stories...”

But her next story was sure to be a success if she included firsthand accounts from these men.

“I’m going to do it,” she whispered to herself. She had her gun and the Texas Titan was known for his benevolent treatment of women and children. She’d be safe with him.

“I’m going to get off here,” she told the woman beside her. “But you and your baby will be fine.”

“You’re going to what?” The woman’s eyes bulged with shock.

Essie didn’t bother answering, afraid her seatmate would try to talk her out of her plan. Instead she shot to her feet and walked toward the robber manning the door.

“Excuse me, might I have a word?”

He blinked in confusion then scowled. “Get back to your seat, ma’am.”

“First, I have a request.”

“We ain’t gonna take no hostages, if that’s what you’re frettin’ about. So sit back down.” His hand rose to touch the Colt revolver sticking out of the holster at his waist. Essie fought a smile. A little distraction and his gun would be in her hand before he’d even noticed she’d moved. She’d learned that trick from a lawman while writing The Deputy’s Destiny. But she would only attempt it if necessary. She would try reasoning and friendliness first.

“Very kind about the hostages, but I’m in need of a different act of generosity.”

His bushy eyebrows rose. “I don’t know what you’re playin’ at...”

“I’m not playacting.” Essie sniffed. “I’m a writer.”

The man choked on a laugh. “A writer? What’s a woman doing writin’?”

She ignored the insult, though it echoed the question she’d been asked over and over again by well-meaning friends and family for the last three years. “I’ve decided I would like to go with you and your gang. For research purposes.”

“Research?” He scratched at his forehead beneath his cowboy hat. “What’re ya gonna research?”

“Your lives, your motivations, your goals.” She smiled fully, the last of her hesitation melting away. “I want to know why you do what you do and how you do it.”

He shook his head, his eyes clouding with confusion. “I gotta talk to Fletcher first. He’s the bo—”

A thunderous boom shook the car. Essie gripped the nearest seatback to stay upright as cries of horror split the air. Clearly, the robbers had blasted open the safe. The robbery was almost over. If she didn’t finish convincing one of these men to let her come along, they’d leave without her. And her chance to keep publishing would surely disappear with them.

“Nothin’ to fret about, folks,” the robber said, yelling over the chaos erupting inside the train car. “We’re nearly done.”

Hoping she might have more success speaking with a different robber, Essie took advantage of the man’s diverted attention and dashed through the door behind him. She hadn’t gotten more than a foot, though, when she crashed into a solid body exiting the opposite car.

“What are you doing out of your seat?” a deep voice growled in her ear.

“I’m sorry.” She clung to the railing to steady herself. “I’m trying to...”

Her voice faded into silence as she lifted her chin and found herself peering into piercing blue eyes. She’d always been rather tall for a girl, and yet her head only came to this man’s nose. He wore a hat like his companion, but his bandanna had slipped off his face, allowing her a clear view of his chiseled features. Features she knew at once. This was the Texas Titan.

She was already imagining the handsome train robber she would pattern after him for her new story, the one who would sweep the heroine into his arms and carry her away...

Except he didn’t seem intent on carrying anyone away, let alone sweeping a woman into his arms. Instead he gripped Essie’s elbow, hard, and spun her back toward the door she’d burst through. “You need to return to your seat. Now!”

Essie dug her heels in. “I’m afraid you don’t understand. I’m coming with you.”

“What?” he choked out, his dark eyebrows arching.

“Yes. I explained everything to your companion there...”

“Clem,” he supplied, his firm expression unwavering.

“Yes, Clem. And he said—”

Clem hurried to join them, pulling his own bandanna away from his mouth. “Sorry, Tex. She wanted to talk to Fletcher.”

“So you really are the Texas Titan?” Her cheeks heated when she heard the breathless awe in her voice.

The Texan dropped her arm and gave a curt nod. “One and the same.”

“Have you given up working alone?” No time like the present to get her first few questions in.

His eyes narrowed as he scowled. “For the time being. Now, let’s get you back to your seat.” He resumed his clasp on her elbow.

“But I’m not going back to my seat. As I said, I’m going with you.”

“And I say you aren’t.” He maneuvered her past his troubled-looking partner. “This isn’t some parlor game, young lady,” he hissed. “All of these men are armed and dangerous.”

She furrowed her brow, annoyed. As if she didn’t know who or what she was dealing with. “Including yourself?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You are also armed and dangerous, are you not? You said ‘these men’ as if you aren’t a part of them.”

The Texan shook his head, annoyance rippling off him like heat waves. “I can’t waste any more of my time arguing with you. Will you please—”

His entreaty disappeared beneath the commotion of approaching horses. The other three robbers rode up to the train, leading two riderless mounts behind them. “What’s the holdup?” one of them hollered. “We gotta go before that guard recovers.”

Essie seized the opportunity. “Which of you gentlemen is called Fletcher?”

“Who’s askin’?” The tallest of the three stared hard at her, his gray-blue eyes cold and calculating. She’d have to keep an extra watch on him.

“I’m a writer,” she answered, drawing herself up to full height and maintaining her own level gaze. “I would like to interview you. All of you. I would like to immortalize your lives in fiction.”

Fletcher gave a smirk. “Very flattering, lady, but we’re on a schedule.” He wheeled his horse around. “Clem? Tex? You comin’ or not?”

“Wait.” She moved to the railing, her valise clutched tightly against her chest. “My name is Essie. Essie Vanderfair.”

The name stopped the gang leader at once, as she’d known it would. “Vanderfair?” He looked her over with blatant interest. “You related to Henry Vanderfair? The railway tycoon?”

Essie dipped a nod. “He’s my great-grandfather.” It was the truth, though she hadn’t ever met the man or spoken with him.

“Fletcher,” the Texan interjected from behind, “let’s go. Leave her be.”

The man pushed up the brim of his hat. “Hold on a minute there, cowboy. We might be lookin’ at a real nice ransom if we bring her along. I heard the Vanderfairs have more money than Rockefeller. And I’m sure they’d pay handsomely for the safe return of one of their own.” He turned to Essie as he added, “But only after you get your interviews.”

“So you’d kidnap her?” The Texan crossed his arms and glared at their leader.

Fletcher glowered right back. “What are you, the law? Besides, it ain’t kidnapping. Not if she comes of her own volition.”

“And I do.” Essie traversed the train steps with purpose, her chin high. “I assure you, gentlemen, I will not be a burden.”

She heard a snort above her, but she ignored the Texan. Her appeals were best directed toward the group’s true leader.

“I will make your robberies famous, Mr. Fletcher. I’ll share your tales of danger and riches to the world. Without using your actual names, of course.”

He tipped his hat in acquiescence. “Of course,” he echoed, his smile more sly than affable. He thought he had the upper hand, but he’d underestimated the skills she’d picked up over the years, both on the ranch and as a novelist. Which was fine by her—she preferred to be underestimated by everyone except her publisher.

“Does that mean I may come along?”

“Don’t see why not.”

“Fletcher,” the Texan said, the name a warning.

But the robber leader waved Essie toward the horses. “We need to meet up at camp by dark.”

She pushed out the breath she’d been holding and hugged her valise. She’d done it—she’d convinced them, and now she would be the victor instead of Victor Daley. An astonished laugh bubbled out of her. “What is our final destination, Mr. Fletcher?”

“Our hideout. And that’s where you can interview me, Miss Vanderfair.”

* * *

Tate Beckett’s jaw was clenched so tight he thought it might snap. Of all the rotten misfortune. He had to run into a nosy busybody like Miss Essie Vanderfair on his first job with Fletcher’s gang. If he wasn’t careful, this woman, with all her probing questions, would figure out he wasn’t the Texas Titan after all. Then his covert work, posing as his outlaw twin brother, would be finished.

No, he thought, his teeth grinding in resolve. He wouldn’t let her ruin his plans. Not when he was on the most important case of his career as a Pinkerton detective.

“If she comes,” Tate announced, stalking down the steps, “she rides with me.”

Fletcher shrugged. “Fine. Jude and I will head east, then cut back west to the campsite. The three of you will head in the opposite direction and then veer east. Silas and Clem know the way to the camp.”

Without a backward glance, Fletcher and Jude charged off at a gallop.

“Why are you splitting up?” Essie asked him, her gaze following the other two men.

Releasing a soft grunt of impatience, Tate climbed into the saddle of his horse. “Because no one will suspect two or three men riding together, when they’re looking for five.”

“Ah. Very clever.”

He reached a hand down to help her up. The wide-eyed look she gave him as she placed her palm in his resurrected the churning frustration in his gut. Now his focus would have to be divided between paying attention to the trail on the way to the gang’s hideout and playing nursemaid to this young lady so she didn’t get hurt.

“Thank you,” she said brightly as he pulled her onto the horse. As if he were taking her for a Sunday buggy ride instead of bringing her to the hideout of a gang of wanted outlaws.

Tate rolled his eyes. As she situated herself behind him, she managed to jab him in the back with the handle of her valise—twice. It was going to be a long ride.

Urging his horse forward, he allowed Silas and Clem to take the lead as the three of them rode across the Wyoming plain. Low hills were visible in the distance.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” The question escaped Tate’s mouth before he’d even finished thinking it.

“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 (#ucf2f2af1-0354-55f5-903e-382a221d0540)

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 (#ucf2f2af1-0354-55f5-903e-382a221d0540)

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.

Tate twisted in the saddle. “What’s the problem now?”

Her eyes maintained their emerald color. “I’m not going anywhere with you. The man who deliberately left me out here—alone.”

“You had some water,” he offered lamely, “and a horse.” But the paltry excuse only brought her chin up in a greater show of annoyance. So much for hoping she hadn’t realized he’d left her behind on purpose.

She prodded her horse forward. “Good day, Mr. Tex.”

He’d underestimated her pluck, and her anger; that was for sure. She wasn’t weeping all over him in gratitude at finding her, either. Instead she was going to stubbornly wander around Wyoming until she happened onto Fletcher and his gang. Or so she thought.

“Where are you going?” he called after her, leaning on the saddle horn as if he had all the time in the world.

Essie turned. “To find Mr. Fletcher and conduct my interviews.” Her chin hadn’t lowered one inch. “And I’ll do it without your help, thank you very much.”

“You might be able to follow my trail for a few minutes, but the rain washed most of it away.”

As he’d suspected, his words brought her and her horse to a full stop.

“You need me,” he added.

And he needed her, too, though he wasn’t about to reveal that information. It might make her overconfident, and that could mean serious trouble for him. Tate blew out a sigh, hating that his covert mission was now squarely tied to the woman glaring at him.

She didn’t bother to hide her emotions, which meant he could easily read the thoughts on her face. Frustration, dejection and, finally, acceptance. He had her and she knew it.

“Shall we continue, Miss Vanderfair?” He guided his horse alongside hers. “I don’t know about you, but I’m famished, and even Clem’s cooking is better than no cooking at all.”

But she didn’t humbly nod in acquiescence or make a move to follow him. No. She smiled at him instead. A smile that set fresh uneasiness churning in his stomach.

“I’ll come with you, Mr. Tex, if you allow me to interview you first.”

He sat back, feeling as if he’d been punched. The little imp had overthrown his plan with a cleverer one of her own.

The last thing he wanted, or needed, was to answer her nosy questions while still pretending to be his brother. He’d foolishly hoped they’d already be at Fletcher’s hideout before Essie could attempt to corner him into talking about the past. But that door had closed. He was caught, and he suspected she knew it, too.

“Fine. Just know I may not answer every question.”

A tiny furrow creased the space between her brows. “How am I to get the information I need—”

He shook his head. “Don’t know, but that’s my offer. Take it or leave it, Miss Vanderfair.”

She sized him up in a way that made him wonder what she saw. For one tiny moment he had the strangest wish to tell her that he wasn’t really an outlaw and she was riding straight into possible peril. But he couldn’t say a thing that might persuade her to turn around and ride hard in the opposite direction.

A small seed of protectiveness, one born out of something deeper than simply keeping the innocent safe, sprouted in him as he regarded her, too. Tate tried to eradicate it. After all, he hadn’t been able to protect Tex or the people his brother had wronged as part of his illustrious outlaw career. But something about Essie tugged at the locked handle of his heart, even before she gave him her answer.

“Very well, Mr. Tex.” Her eyes shone dark green again. “I accept your terms.”

* * *

“Were you born and raised in Texas?” Essie asked, a thrill pulsing through her at interviewing her very first outlaw. “Is that how you came by your name?”

The Texan shook his head. “I was born in Idaho. Lived there until eight years ago.” He paused before adding, “My mother and her family were from Texas.”

Essie kept her horse in pace with his, so she wouldn’t miss hearing his answers. Though her hands weren’t free to write down his responses, she wouldn’t soon forget them. Like the stories she penned in her head, her interview would be stored in her memory for a few hours and easily retrieved once she was able to write it in her notebook.

“You mentioned your mother passed away.” She gentled her tone so he wouldn’t feel as if she were prying. “When was that?”

“Ten years ago.” His shoulders stiffened, a clear indication he didn’t like the topic.

“And your father?” she prodded.

“He up and left us when I was nine. Next question.”

His abrupt manner did a poor job of hiding his pain. Essie swallowed a twinge of unease. Things with her parents and siblings might be strained, but at least she had a family. “Any brothers or sisters?”

“A brother.”

“Older or younger?”

Another long pause preceded his answer. “Younger.”

So much for delving deep into the life of an outlaw. She needed to think up better questions if she wanted to draw out more of his story. “When did you first become an outlaw?”

He cleared his throat, his face still rigidly pointed forward. “It was right after I left Idaho.”

“Were you desperate for money?”

“No.”

His response surprised her. She’d long believed money was the driving reason for most outlaws’ choices. Cocking her head, she studied his tense expression. Was he being truthful? It was hard to know after so short an acquaintance. “What drove you to such a life, then?”

“Anger, mostly.”

“At whom?” she prompted. She sensed she was on the brink of learning something critical, if the Texan would only comply.

He adjusted his weight in the saddle. “My parents. God. My girl...” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “My brother.”

A tremor of victory rocked through Essie at his words. This was exactly what she’d been hoping to achieve. To excavate from these outlaws’ pasts those events and people who’d influenced who they’d become. Their stories were going to make her novel successful.

She could envision the newspaper article touting her praise now, though she might forgo having her photograph taken. No need to highlight her plainness.

Female authoress Essie Vanderfair, who shares no acknowledged connection to the railway magnate Henry Vanderfair...

She opened her eyes at the disturbing intrusion into her daydream. These men didn’t need to know this piece from her family’s past. At least, not yet. Once she’d conducted her interviews, she would calmly explain why a ransom from Henry Vanderfair would not be forthcoming, and then she would ride back to civilization. Or make a well-executed escape. Then she would write her novel. Her wildly successful novel.

Satisfied, she continued with her reverie. Female authoress Essie Vanderfair pens the greatest dime novel of all time. Fans of Victor Daley have abandoned the pedantic musings of their former literary hero to snatch up Miss Vanderfair’s clever and engaging story of five train robbers who—

“Is the interview over?”

The Texan’s voice jerked her back to the present. She straightened, her muscles still aching from riding bareback, as she cast a sidelong glance at the man’s saddle. He might have offered it to her.

“I was just thinking.” She schooled her thoughts back to their conversation. He’d mentioned his parents and a brother. “Were you and your brother close?”

“Used to be.”

She resisted the desire to roll her eyes at another short response from him. “When was the last time you saw him?”

“This interview is supposed to be about me, not him,” he countered in a voice seeping with irritation. She’d clearly touched upon another sore topic.

“True, but I believe our past and current relationships can shape our decisions.” In her case, they’d driven her to do what others deemed improper or undoable. Perhaps it was the same with the man riding beside her. “If you won’t discuss your brother, then tell me about this girl you left behind,” she tried next, hoping a change in the conversation’s direction would elicit a longer answer.

But she was disappointed in that, too.

“There’s nothing to say about her. I haven’t seen her in eight years.”

Another tender subject. She exhaled a sigh through her nose. Would it be this difficult to interview the other outlaws? She hoped not.

“Do you still harbor feelings for her?” The question fled her lips before she could swallow it back. He wasn’t going to give her an answer. And why should she care if he had loved, or still loved, this other woman? She didn’t.

Instead of shooting back an angry retort, though, some of the starch left him. “Not in that way. But there’s some...regret...there.” He shot her a glance, his mouth turned down. “Next question.”

“All right.” She didn’t bother to hide her growing annoyance. “What was your most exciting robbery?” Perhaps focusing on the more daring aspects of his chosen profession would result in the replies she really wanted. Men enjoyed bragging, didn’t they?

He barked with laughter, startling her and the horses. “There’s nothing exciting about robbing innocent people.”

“Then why do you keep doing it?” she countered, her gaze narrowing in on his face.

His attitude and actions didn’t seem to match. He was an odd mix of contradictions and nothing like the newspapers portrayed him to be. Maybe none of the reporters had actually spoken to him in person. If they were going off the hearsay reports of witnesses for their articles, that would explain the added charisma and excitement allegedly surrounding this man. A man who was ungentlemanly and morose in real life.

Turning his head, he mumbled something that sounded very much to Essie like “I don’t know” before he twisted to face her again. “That’s enough interviewing for today.” He pushed his horse to a gallop. “Let’s pick up the pace,” he called back to her. “I don’t want to be riding all night.”

Essie hurried to catch up, her earlier excitement all but evaporated. Her first interview hadn’t gone at all as she’d expected. And now she only had a few tidbits to work with.

She glared at the man’s back, only partially grateful to him for coming back for her. He was hiding something; she could sense it in every unyielding line of his form. But what could it be?

If he thought she’d be satisfied with their second-rate interview today, he was gravely mistaken. She would ferret out every last detail of his story. After all, her father used to tell her, with a mixture of exasperation and pride in his voice, “You’d worry a dog right out from under its bone, Essie.”

And this time, that dog was a handsome outlaw with a secret.


Chapter Four (#ucf2f2af1-0354-55f5-903e-382a221d0540)

Tate slid from the saddle, casting a glance over his shoulder at Essie to see her doing the same. The smell of burned beans and smoke permeating the air around the camp wasn’t exactly appetizing, but he didn’t mind. He was starving and tired—and he couldn’t shake the wariness in his gut regarding Miss Vanderfair.

She’d remained surprisingly silent during the last thirty minutes or so of their ride. But Tate had the sense he’d awakened a sleeping bear with his vague answers earlier. Essie wouldn’t be thrown off easily, but then, neither would he.

“Welcome back, Miss Vanderfair,” Fletcher said, rising from his choice spot by the fire. “My apologies for the earlier misfortune. You can be assured if you’d been with me that you wouldn’t have been left behind.”

Essie looked at Tate, but he couldn’t read her expression. Was she still angry? He, for one, was glad she hadn’t ridden with Fletcher. He didn’t trust that man any further than he could throw him. And, anyway, it was easier to keep an eye on her when she was close by.

“As you can see,” she said, “no harm was done.”

She went to stand by the fire, her hands outstretched to the flames. While the day had been warm, the evening had brought a drop in temperature. He could see that she shivered beneath her dress jacket, but she still maintained a smile.

Annoyance rippled through him. Why couldn’t she just ask for a blanket if she needed one? No one was going to cater to her needs out here. Stalking to the edge of the camp where the saddlebags had been stowed, he yanked out a blanket.

Returning to the fire, he plopped the blanket around her shoulders. Her gaze jumped to his, her eyes wide. They weren’t dark green anymore, as they’d been at the end of her interview. Now they shone more brown. “Thank you.”

He nodded once then turned to Clem. “Any supper left?”

The outlaw dropped a helping of beans onto two tin plates along with some biscuits that looked anything but light and fluffy. He passed the food to Essie and Tate.

Graciously accepting hers, Essie took a seat on the ground. Tate selected a spot nearby. Fletcher and Jude wandered over to where Silas was seeing to the two horses. The three outlaws appeared to be in deep conversation, though they kept their voices low enough that Tate couldn’t discern their words. He’d have to learn at some point what they were discussing, but right now, he needed to satisfy his empty stomach.

The first mouthful of beans, with its scorched flavor, made him grimace, and yet he was too hungry to quit eating. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Essie take a bite. The moment the food hit her tongue a startled expression crossed her face, though, to her credit, she didn’t gag or cough. Instead she visibly swallowed and scooped up another spoonful.

“This is my first time having camp fare, Clem. Is this your usual cuisine?”

Tate stuffed a piece of tough biscuit into his mouth to keep from laughing. Especially when Clem scratched his head and looked confused. “What do you mean by...cuisine, ma’am?”

“She means is this the food you usually eat on the run,” Tate explained.

“Oh, that.” Clem rubbed a hand over the salt and pepper hairs covering his chin. “We have beans and biscuits, like this here meal, a fair amount of time. But also small game. Once we reach the hideout, the eatin’s better.”

Essie murmured acknowledgment. “And where is your hideout?”

Tate tensed at the question, though he forced himself to appear as if he wasn’t paying attention. So far Fletcher had dodged or outright refused to reveal the hideout’s location to Tate. But if Clem talked...

“It’s in Hole-in-the-Wall country, ma’am. But that’s still a long ride from here. At least a week.”

The desire to holler with victory nearly overpowered Tate. He’d suspected the gang of hiding out in northern Wyoming, somewhere quite remote. Now he knew the name. And over the next seven days he’d know exactly how to get there, too.

“What’s this hideout like?” Essie asked as she broke her biscuit into two and dipped one half into her beans.

Tate held his breath. Any minute now Clem would surely stop talking or Fletcher would march over and demand he shut up. But the outlaw didn’t even pause or look the least bit uncomfortable.

“It’s real rough country, ma’am.” He rested his arms on his knees and leaned slightly forward. “But there’s plenty of grass for the horses and a creek for water. There’s even some cabins for wintering over.”

Tate’s jaw went slack as he studied Essie and Clem in turn. What had made the man disclose so much to a complete stranger? He’d been trying to siphon information about their hideout ever since he’d joined up with Fletcher’s gang a few weeks ago. And yet, in the matter of a few minutes, Essie had drawn out details he hadn’t even come close to discovering for himself. Maybe having her along would actually prove helpful to his investigation.

The thought had barely registered in his head when she turned and smiled at him. Something in the smile obliterated his good mood. “Had you heard of the Texas Titan before you met him, Clem?” She posed the question to the other outlaw but kept her gaze locked on Tate.

“Well, sure, ma’am. I ’spect everybody has.”

“Tell me, then...” She cocked her head to one side as if in deep thought. “Does he fit the picture you imagined of him?”

Tate shifted on the hard ground, the meal in his stomach turning as ashy as it tasted. What was she doing?

“Don’t rightly know, ma’am. He looks like them Wanted posters all right.”

Essie finally returned her attention to her plate. Only then did Tate dare suck in a breath. “He does very much resemble his description in the posters and newspapers,” she agreed. “But no one has yet mentioned—”

“Food’s sure good tonight, Clem,” Tate interrupted, smacking his lips in an exaggerated fashion. He cringed at the way his voice carried loudly across the camp. “I’ll take another helping. What about you, Miss Vanderfair? Care for more food?” He leveled a hard look her way, though he didn’t miss Clem’s puzzled expression as the outlaw refilled his plate.

Essie pursed her mouth to the side, her eyes narrowed. If only he could decipher the thoughts inside that wily head of hers. “No, thank you. I find I’m quite done.” Tate sensed she was talking about more than just the meal.

Sure enough, after setting aside her empty plate, she swiveled to face him. “Remind me, Mr. Tex. What was the first crime you committed?”

“It was a bank robbery in Texas.” Tate shoved another spoonful of beans into his mouth, though he didn’t taste a thing this time.

The memory of seeing that first mention of his brother’s name and description in the newspaper still burned his gut with guilt every time he recalled it. He’d known Tex was angry and vengeful the last time they’d seen each other, but he hadn’t thought his twin would turn to a life of crime in retaliation. That first robbery led to others, each more daring than the last—more banks, then trains. All performed single-handedly and pulled off without a hitch.

Sometime around the fourth robbery, Tate had had enough. He’d sold the family farm and applied for a job with the Pinkertons. If he couldn’t help his brother, he could at least help others by bringing down other criminals.

“What was your last solo job?” Essie’s question cut into his thoughts.

He glanced at her and found that hard, emerald look in her eyes. Did she suspect something? “That would be a train robbery in Utah Territory.”

She nodded, though she didn’t drop the shrewd look. “How much did you take?”

“Six thousand dollars,” Tate said with a forced note of pride. In reality, disgust filled him at the thought of Tex taking even a dollar that didn’t belong to him.

Thankfully he’d kept abreast of Tex’s activities through the years. Not only did it afford him with the correct details to share with Essie, but it had also alerted him to the past four months of silence when it came to his brother’s criminal activities.

Tex had seemingly disappeared. Of course, Tate hoped the stop in robberies meant his brother had decided to change his ways. But, whatever the truth, he’d recognized a golden opportunity to bring in the Fletcher gang. With Tex out of the criminal scene, Tate could impersonate him as the notorious outlaw. It wouldn’t be too far-fetched for the Texas Titan to have wandered as far north as Wyoming, either. Medicine Bow, the closest town to where they’d stopped the train, was well-known for falling victim to train robberies.

So far Tate’s cover had worked, getting him closer to taking down Fletcher than any other detective had ever come. And it would continue to work as long as he kept his wits about him, especially around Essie Vanderfair.

A flash of surprise—or was it disappointment?—crossed Essie’s face. Had she been trying to trap him with his own words? Then the emotion fled, replaced by a smile. “Thank you again for the supper, Clem. May I help with cleaning up?”

Clem’s face flushed, but he shook his head. “Ain’t much to clean. I’ll do it.”

“Very well. I believe I shall work some before turning in.”

“Work?” Tate echoed, setting aside his plate. He still had a lot left of his second helping, but he no longer felt hungry.

“Writing, Mr. Tex,” she said. She gathered her valise, while still holding the blanket around her shoulders, and retreated to a spot a little ways from the fire.

Clem looked toward Tate and chuckled. “She’s an interestin’ little thing, huh?”

“Something like that.” Tate eyed Essie as she began scribbling in a notebook. Satisfied she wasn’t going to engage Clem in any more conversation tonight, he stood and moved toward the others who were still in heated discussion. “Sounds serious over here,” he said as he joined the small group.

Fletcher shot him a glare and crossed his arms in a defensive stance, the saddlebag of cash from the train draped over his shoulder. “It is, but I don’t know that it’s any of your business.”

“Come on, Fletch,” Jude said. “Let’s see what Tex has to say.”

The outlaw leader studied Tate and then sniffed. “All right. We’ve been debating the merits of taking one more job before heading to the hideout.”

Tate struck a casual stance and kept a deadpan expression, trying to hide the alarm Fletcher’s words inspired. He’d been hoping the train robbery today would be his only criminal activity. “What’s the reason?”

“A little more cash and supplies to see us through the winter,” Jude volunteered when Fletcher didn’t jump in with an answer. “Once the snow hits around here and the temperature dips real low, we don’t do much traveling, especially not in a hurry.”

“So you’re wintering over now?” Again the news blindsided him. He’d hoped they’d leave for another job after they reached the hideout. Then he’d make up some excuse for staying behind before riding to the nearest town and rounding up the law. When Fletcher and the gang returned, it would be to a sheriff and his posse, all waiting eagerly for the outlaws’ arrest. But a decision to winter over now could jeopardize that plan.

“Got a problem with that, cowboy?” Fletcher watched him closely. “You don’t have to join us for the winter.”

And miss his chance at seeing them brought to justice? Not happening. Tate fought the urge to clench his jaw in determination; he had to appear affable. But he wasn’t going to waste this opportunity or leave Essie to fend for herself, either.

He chose his next words carefully. “I told you in the beginning I’m done with doing things on my own. Too many close calls. If you’re wintering over, then I aim to, as well. If you have another job planned, I’m in on that, too.”

For once Fletcher offered a smile that almost bordered on genuine. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

“I still think that we ought to keep moving,” Silas said with surprising force. Tate had dubbed him “Silent Silas” in his head on account of the man’s quiet, non-talkative nature. “Today went well, but there’s nothing between here and Casper worth taking on. Besides, we got that girl’s ransom coming.”

Uncrossing his arms, Fletcher gazed across the campsite toward Essie. A feeling of unease crept over Tate. Did Fletcher plan to keep Essie around until the spring? There was no telling what the outlaw would do—he was as fickle as a woman with two beaus. But Tate would do all in his power to get Essie back on her merry way sooner than later. At least the forthcoming ransom seemed to be holding Fletcher in check as far as mistreating her.

“I get to say if we do another job or not,” Fletcher finally growled. “But since I ain’t made up my mind, we’ll continue on to the hideout as planned. Tex, you’re on guard duty tonight. Wake Jude up at two o’clock to switch places.” With that, he marched toward the fire.

Jude and Silas threw tight looks at one another then followed after their leader. Tate remained by the horses another minute, doing his best to rein in the annoyance rippling through him. He didn’t like having Fletcher order him around, but it was a necessary part of infiltrating the gang and getting the man to trust him.

Breathing out a heavy sigh, Tate collected his rifle from his saddle and returned to the campfire. The other four men had laid out their bedrolls. Fletcher was using the bag with the stolen money as a pillow. Essie, on the other hand, still sat with her blanket wrapped around her shoulders, writing.

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.


Chapter Five (#ucf2f2af1-0354-55f5-903e-382a221d0540)

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.

After picking their way through a short range of hills, Fletcher, Clem and Jude headed northwest, while Tate and Essie followed Silas northeast. Both groups would double back at some point to meet up at the next camp. Looking over his shoulder, Tate saw Essie coming steadily behind him. She rode well, especially with a saddle.

“I can ride bareback,” she said, catching up with him. “I did it yesterday.”

“And I can do it today.”

She arched her eyebrows at him. He was beginning to recognize it as her telltale sign of skepticism. “When was the last time you rode without a saddle?”

Tate glanced at the sky, trying to remember. “I might have been ten.”

“I was fifteen, which means it’s been fewer years for me.”

“Then that’s all the more reason for you to enjoy having a saddle today.” He urged his horse a little faster. Couldn’t she just be grateful at his attempt at being a gentleman? He’d already fended a curious look from Fletcher after moving the saddle to her horse earlier.

To his consternation, she kept her horse in pace with his. “I don’t want to be a burden. I’m a lot stronger than I look.”

Tate shot her a glance. “I wouldn’t say you’ve been a burden so far. Especially not after that breakfast this morning.” He couldn’t help a smile when he thought of her biscuits. It was the first decent food he’d eaten since joining Fletcher’s gang. “I don’t doubt your strength, either.”

Instead of smiling, though, she turned in the saddle, facing away from him. He hadn’t seen her this agitated since he’d found her wandering over the prairie the day before, angry at him for leaving her behind. There was more underlying her words than stubbornness or pride.

Sudden understanding filled his mind. “Who’s told you that you aren’t strong?”

“A great many people,” she murmured, loud enough to be heard over the horses’ hooves but soft enough to convey the hurt behind the words. “Everyone I know, really.”

He opened his mouth to contradict her, to remind her that God knew her strength and He was the only One who mattered. But he forced himself to swallow the truth. Talking about faith with her would only raise her already-heightened suspicion about him.

A cloud of uneasiness settled over them before she twisted to look at him again. “It doesn’t matter.” She offered him a smile, but it didn’t strike Tate as quite as genuine as some of the others he’d seen since yesterday. “And thank you for the use of your saddle.”

He nodded in acknowledgment though he couldn’t shake his regret over not being able to talk more openly with her. Silas maintained the lead position, which suited Tate just fine. He didn’t know the geography like the outlaw did and, this way, he could observe their surroundings without drawing scrutiny from Fletcher’s man.

“It’s a glorious day for a ride, isn’t it?” Essie declared, the gloom of moments ago apparently forgotten. “Beautiful sunshine, beautiful countryside.”

Tate resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The landscape consisted of nothing but undulating stretches of grass and sagebrush with white, rocky bluffs rising in the near distance. It struck him as rather bleak.

He scrutinized the terrain again in an attempt to see what Essie found fascinating. He supposed the countryside did hold a certain wild beauty to it. And if it wasn’t for the potential dangers ahead, Tate had to admit he might actually be able to enjoy himself. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d gone for a ride simply for the pleasure of it and not because it was part of a job. Maybe there was something to be said for Essie’s skill to see the bright side of things.

That had been Tex’s personality. Always looking for the next fun adventure, always trying to make others laugh and enjoy themselves. It wasn’t a bad way to live, but Tate had eventually come to resent his brother’s wide-eyed optimism. Someone had to be responsible, and as the older twin by five minutes, he’d felt compelled to take up that burden after their father left.

Some responsibility you showed, Tate’s head argued back. Not only does your brother up and leave, but he becomes an outlaw, too.

Tate frowned. He was doing all he could to right the situation, wasn’t he? Steeling himself against further thoughts of Tex, he focused on taking mental notes of the scenery they rode through.

According to his watch, they stopped at noon beside a tiny creek to water the horses and fill their canteens. Silas handed around some jerky and some of Essie’s biscuits that Clem had insisted they save for later, despite protests from the others about finishing all of them at breakfast.

Tate had just taken a bite when the sound of rapid horse hooves reached his ears. “Did you hear that?” he asked, swallowing hard.

Silas cocked his head. “Someone’s coming.”

“I believe it’s more than one someone,” Essie said.

Sure enough, two riders crested a nearby hill, heading straight for them. Tate squinted against the sun to get a better look. “Who is it?” Was it Fletcher and one of the other outlaws? If so, something must have happened.

“They ain’t with us,” Silas murmured, his grim expression mirroring the wariness twisting Tate’s gut.

“Then who...?” The question died on his tongue as the sunlight reflected off a shiny silver star on the taller stranger’s jacket. Tate’s uneasiness spiked to alarm. He glanced at Essie and Silas, lunch entirely forgotten. “We’ve got ourselves a problem.”

* * *

“What do you mean? Who are they?” When Tate didn’t answer, Essie studied the approaching riders more carefully. They weren’t dressed like fugitives. In fact, they almost looked like... Something glinted in the sun, momentarily blinding her and making her look away. But she’d caught enough of a glimpse to know one of them wore a sheriff’s star.

Fear rolled through her at the realization. The two lawmen were nearly upon them and here she stood with two wanted outlaws. Would she be considered an accomplice? Should she turn Tate and Silas over to them to save herself?

“This isn’t going to look good to them,” Tate said, glancing at the horses. “If we try to run or split up, they’ll just chase after us. But if we wait for them to come to us, what reason can we give for being out here, so far from any town or ranch?”

A flash of memory had Essie peeling off Tate’s jacket from around her shoulders and spreading it on the ground. It was a similar trick to one she’d used with her hero in her book The Lawmen’s Legacy.




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