by Stacy Henrie
“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
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 investiga
tion.
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.”
