by Stacy Henrie
The hero’s heart drummed with alarm at the sight of the sheriff’s star. Despite the warm day, a shiver crept over him. His only thought was saving the heroine from any culpability. But how? His fingers itched for the gun in his holster, but drawing his weapon would surely—
“Miss Vanderfair?” Tate’s voice cracked through her thoughts like a gunshot. “Essie! You all right?” His hand settled over hers.
She regarded his strong-looking fingers, the warmth of his touch sweeping away the cold alarm she’d felt earlier. “I...I’m fine. Just writing in my head.”
“You can still write after that?” he quipped, chuckling as he released her hand. “That was close.”
“Too close,” Silas added, his face looking more gray than tan. “Wonder if they ran across Fletch and the others.”
Tate shook his head. “I doubt it, from the direction they were headed. But that doesn’t mean they haven’t got other men on the search.”
Silas stood, with less confidence in the movement than normal. “Good thing we split up, then.”
Climbing to his feet, Tate reached out to help Essie stand. “That stunt you pulled just now...”
She allowed him to help her up then turned away from him in the direction the lawmen had gone. “I know. It was risky, but it worked, didn’t it?” She crossed her arms over the bite of disappointment that he didn’t appreciate that she’d saved him—all three of them—with her quick thinking.
Instead of walking away or continuing to air his grievances at her harebrained idea, he stepped in front of her so he was looking her in the eye. “It worked brilliantly, Miss Vanderfair.” His awed tone sent a cascade of happiness spilling through her. No one had ever called anything she’d done brilliant before, except for maybe Nils. “Where in the world did you come up with that idea?”
“I put it in one of my books.” She shot him a smile, a genuine one, not the stiff ones she’d offered the sheriff and his deputy. “Or something similar. In my story, the hero was the lawman and he tricked the villains into thinking he and his deputy were simply having a picnic while passing through. It wasn’t until the bad men sat to join them that the hero pulled out his gun—and his badge.”
“Guess it works both ways.” He matched her smile. “You know, you are something else, Miss Vanderfair,” he said, shaking his head as he scooped up his jacket. “Who knew you had such a bag of tricks inside that pretty little head of yours?”
Essie gaped at him. Had he just called her pretty? Her? Heat filled her cheeks. “I guess looks can be deceiving.”
“More than you know,” he murmured, though she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right. Especially when he frowned and fell back a step. “We’d better get going.” Silas had already remounted.
“Right.” She exhaled to clear away any lingering emotions from their tense encounter with the law. And those stirred by this handsome outlaw before her.
She moved to her horse, but before she could get a shoe in the stirrup, Tate came over to assist her. “Thank you,” she whispered, trying to ignore the feel of his grip at her waist.
As she swung up into the saddle, he bent close. “I appreciate what you did. But why didn’t you take the chance to save yourself by turning us in? Why did you play along?” His blue eyes were troubled, his brow creased.
Essie fingered the reins. “I need these interviews.”
“Fine. But at what risk?”
“Let’s go, Tex,” Silas said, frowning from atop his horse several yards away. “We need some distance between us and those lawmen.”
“Coming.” Tate shot her another look and started to turn away.
“My publisher has threatened to stop publishing my books.” The words were out before Essie could pull them back. “I’ve got to write something far better than anything I’ve written before or I’m sunk. These interviews could mean the difference between success and failure. That’s why I played along.”
He studied her a long moment, making her squirm a little in the saddle. Did he approve or not? She tipped her chin up, reminding herself that whatever he thought, she wasn’t going anywhere. Especially after her less-than-stellar interview with him.
“I suppose that makes sense.” He glanced down at his hands. “But I hate to think that was your one chance to...to stay safe.”
A shiver of dread ran up Essie’s back. Did he somehow suspect that no ransom would be paid for her safe return? No, he couldn’t know that. But if Tate was concerned about her safety, should she be more so? She clutched the reins tighter, causing her horse to dance to the side.
“Whoa, boy.” She patted the animal’s neck to soothe him and take a moment to calm herself. “I’ll be fine,” she said to Tate. “Haven’t I been so far?”
Amusement lit his gaze. “Yes, you have. And quite ingeniously so.” But before he turned away to mount his horse, Essie caught sight of his tense expression.
Perhaps she’d best get her interviews done sooner than later. And there was no time like the present to get to work. “Mr. Silas,” she called out as she rode past Tate.
The other outlaw twisted and glanced back at her. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Will you allow me to interview you? While we ride?”
He appeared to think it over, his mouth turned down a bit at the sides. Would he refuse? She hadn’t exactly received verbal consent from any of them but Fletcher to answer her questions. Then he dipped his head in a decisive nod. “After what you done back there, ma’am, I’d be mighty ungrateful if I didn’t let you interview me.”
Triumph whooshed through Essie’s veins and out her lips in the form of a laugh. She’d thrown off the lawmen, for the time being, and Silas would submit to her questioning. Things were going well and it was only her second day. It was all too easy to brush aside Tate’s earlier concern. She was going to be just fine.
Chapter Six
Feminine laughter floated back to Tate, jerking him from his half-dazed state. His less-than-restorative sleep the night before was finally catching up to him. Sitting straighter in the saddle, he eyed Essie and Silas up ahead. He’d dropped back to give them a little privacy when he realized Essie intended to interview the outlaw.
Another laugh reached his ears, but it didn’t come from Essie this time. It was Silas who was laughing. How in the world had Essie coaxed anything more than silence from the man?
Tate watched them another moment as they conversed. And then it wasn’t Silas and Essie riding in front of him anymore. It was Tex and Ravena. He could see their faces so clearly, open and trusting and happy, that he had to blink to make sure they weren’t real.
Frowning, he averted his gaze and scowled at the surrounding hills. His twin brother and the pretty dime novelist had at least one thing in common—neither took life seriously. How many times had Tex joshed him for being too serious, too solemn? Even Ravena, who was far more like him than she was Tex, had urged Tate to find more joy in the world and the people around him.
Joy, he scoffed to himself. Where was joy found in a war-injured father who gambled away their money faster than the farm could bring it in, then up and left them in the dead of winter? Where was joy when his mother lost her fight against illness and a broken heart? Where was joy when his own brother left him unconscious and bleeding in the dirt to run off and embrace a life of crime?
His jaw tightened at the painful march of memories through his mind. He’d learned early on that someone had to gravely face the world and its ills—and that someone had been him.
“You are older than your years,” his mother used to say with a note of love and regret. On the other hand, Tex was always known as “the spark of joy” in her life. The one who could nimbly laugh at the world, who needed sheltering from its cruelties. Until those cruelties caught up to him.
Tate wondered again where Tex had ended up
. Was his twin still alive? He swallowed hard at the possibility he might be the only Beckett still living. Though he hadn’t seen Tex in eight years, at least he’d known his brother was out there, mostly from the Texas Titan’s exploits he’d read about in the paper. And while everything in him abhorred his brother’s decisions, there’d been comfort there, too, knowing a part of his family, a part of himself, still existed out in the world.
He tried loosening the viselike muscles of his jaw, but tension still rippled off him. What was it about this trip that had his thoughts turning to the past, to Tex, again and again? Even after taking on his brother’s name and persona, he’d managed to keep most of his memories buried, but not these last two days.
Up ahead Silas and Essie had slowed. It was probably time to rest the horses again. But the thought of standing around, talking, didn’t suit Tate’s black mood. Back in his teenage years, he’d have grabbed his gun and gone hunting. Sometimes he shot something; sometimes he didn’t. It didn’t really matter—it was the chance to be alone, with God and nature, that restored his spirits. Perhaps he needed the same thing today.
“I’m going to see if I can find something more for Clem to cook than beans,” he announced, climbing off his horse. Silas and Essie had already dismounted.
“Sounds good to me.” Silas actually shot him a half smile as he gathered the horses’ reins. The man appeared more relaxed than Tate had ever seen him.
Tate shouldered his rifle. “I won’t be long.” He checked his pocket watch. “Thirty minutes at the most.”
“May I come along?” Essie asked.
He wanted to refuse, to insist he have a moment’s peace, alone. But the open, expectant look on her face made him bite back the words.
“If you keep up,” he conceded as he started walking.
Not that he had any doubts she wouldn’t. Once again, Essie Vanderfair was proving herself exceptionally adept. She’d saved him earlier from ruining his disguise—and his entire mission—with her fast thinking.
He heard Essie’s soft steps behind him, but she didn’t speak for a few minutes. Searching the surrounding countryside, Tate hoped to find a rabbit or a grouse. Why, even a gopher or two would bring some welcome meat to their nightly fare of beans and biscuits.
“How well do you know Silas?”
“I only met him when I joined up with Fletcher.”
“Hmm,” Essie murmured. “He’s an interesting man.”
“He warmed up to talking to you.”
She gave a soft smirk. “Really? What’s he normally like?”
He stopped walking to let her catch up. “The man is as silent as the grave most of the time. Have you heard him say more than ten words since you joined us?”
Essie looked thoughtful. “Well, I’ve only been with you for a day, but I suppose you’re right.” She strolled past him, a small smile on her lips. “Though he had plenty to say during our ride.”
Her remark hung in the air, begging for him to question it further. Tate puffed out a sigh. So much for the peace and quiet of hunting alone. “What did he have to say?”
“Far more than you did,” she said, but her tone conveyed only amusement. “Do you know he used to be a groomsman at a mansion in Boston?”
Tate glanced back over his shoulder at Silas in the distance, surprised to hear this detail about the other man’s past. Then again, where Fletcher and his comrades had come from or what they’d done before robbing trains and banks was also a mystery to him. “No, I didn’t know that.”
“What’s more, he fell ardently in love with his employer’s youngest daughter,” Essie continued eagerly. “And the daughter fell equally in love with him. For two years they kept their mutual understanding a secret. But, of course, they came from two completely different stations in life and that was bound to cause trouble sooner or later.”
“So what happened?” Tate asked almost without thought. The way her voice and words wove the story left him eager for more and made him wonder what her dime novels were like.
She sighed, her gaze distant. “They decided to elope and head west together. A night for their escape was set, and Silas, who’d been setting aside a little money every month, was ready and impatient to make her his bride.” Essie shot Tate a pained smile. “But it wasn’t meant to be. Another servant, who also admired this daughter, discovered the plot and told the girl’s father. When Silas went to meet his beloved at the appointed place, his employer was waiting there instead.”
Tate felt a familiar jab of pain in his chest. He’d seen how loving the same girl could make waves. “What did the father do?”
“He fired Silas on the spot and forbade him from ever seeing his daughter again. Heartbroken, Silas managed to get a note to her, informing her that he was still heading west as they’d planned. She wrote back that she was determined to join him, if he would only send a ticket.” Essie slowed to a stop and folded her arms. Tate stopped, as well.
“So, did she join him?”
With a shake of her head, she continued the story. “He sent the ticket but she mailed it back, claiming she no longer loved him and was marrying someone else.”
Essie began walking again, prompting Tate to move forward, too. He sensed the story wasn’t completely over. “Silas still doesn’t know what really happened to her—if she did change her mind about loving him and married another or not. Perhaps her father intercepted their letters and it was him who penned those lines to discourage Silas. It happened fifteen years ago, but the pain on Silas’s face as he told me the story was as raw as if it was only yesterday she turned him down.”
Tate whistled softly in disbelief. At least he’d known with certainty where he stood with Ravena. He’d made peace with that. He couldn’t imagine the anguish of never knowing.
“He said after that he stopped caring about everything and everyone. After drifting across the country, he wound up in a card game with Fletcher. Silas lost all of his money but Fletcher liked him and, after one too many drinks, Silas spilled everything about his past, including his way with horses. Fletcher recruited him, and Silas wasn’t in a position to say no. He was the last member to join Fletcher’s gang.”
“And he told you all of that?” Tate couldn’t believe such a story had poured from a man who rarely strung more than a few words together at a time.
Essie laughed. “Yes, he shared the entire story himself. No supposition on my part.”
Her happy peal of laughter reminded Tate of earlier, but this time he felt no irritation. “What had the two of you laughing before we stopped? I’ve never even seen Silas crack a smile, let alone a chuckle.”
“Oh, he was telling me how scared he was the first time they robbed a train. He dropped his gun and nearly shot his own toe in the process. I asked if I ought to make my outlaw characters more afraid.” She threw him a smile. “And he said, ‘well, maybe just a little.’”
At that moment, Tate realized how far they’d walked, but he hadn’t been paying attention to the ground or any potential catches for their supper. He’d been completely caught up in Essie’s storytelling. And her ability to get the silent outlaw to share the whole thing.
He was starting to see he’d been mistaken in thinking her nosy the day before. Essie wasn’t being meddlesome in asking her questions—she had genuine interest in people’s answers and stories. And that interest had changed Silas from a man of stoicism to one of half smiles and laughter this afternoon. She had a gift, though Tate suspected she didn’t know it.
“Tate, look,” Essie whispered, placing her hand on his arm to stop him.
For a moment he was more fascinated in studying the petite fingers seeping warmth through his sleeve than he was over what she’d discovered.
“Do you see it?”
He pulled his attention from her hand and looked in the direction she was
pointing. There, beside a squatty sagebrush, stood a grouse as still as a rock, poised to scurry at any second.
He’d have to add hunting to Essie’s list of skills.
“Well done,” he murmured with a chuckle as he brought the gun to his shoulder and aimed. His mood had taken a definite upturn in the last thirty minutes—and not just from the promise of a real meal. Essie’s company had proved to be more of a boon than a burden. And for that he’d be doubly grateful.
* * *
With a belly full of more than biscuits and burned beans, Essie happily scribbled her interview with Silas into her notebook. Tate had insisted on cooking the grouse and had done a fine job. The meat had tasted wonderful.
“You don’t think those lawmen suspected a thing?” Fletcher asked. It was the same question he’d posed before dinner when he and the others had rejoined her, Tate and Silas.
Tate shook his head. “Nope. They’re long gone by now.”
“What’d you say?”
Pausing in the middle of penning a sentence, Essie held her breath, wondering how much Tate would tell of her quick thinking. She felt more than saw Tate’s gaze settle on her, and then he cleared his throat.
“I...uh...pretended we were passing through, having a jolly ol’ picnic.”
The breath left her mouth in a squeak. Silas cut her a quick look before lowering his head and staring into the fire. Why had Tate taken the credit for her actions? She gripped her pencil harder, marking the page with a thick, dark dot.
Fletcher hooted. “A picnic? Now, that’s funny. Did the sheriff buy it?”
“Completely,” Tate said, though his tone sounded a bit strained. “You sure you didn’t see anything suspicious on your ride?”
“I told you already, cowboy. The only person we ran across today was some drifter. But he proved a boon to cross paths with. Am I right, boys?” he called to Clem and Jude. The two men murmured agreement. There was a shuffling noise as Fletcher pulled something from his saddlebag. Essie looked up to see it was a shiny flask. “Paid a pretty penny for this but figured it was worth it.” He sloshed the thin bottle. It sounded half full.
