by Stacy Henrie
Tate’s face darkened. “You used some of the train money to buy that?”
“Sure did.” Fletcher scowled. “You gotta problem with that, cowboy? I’m thinkin’ maybe you just forfeited your chance to join us in a round.”
“I wasn’t going to drink anyway,” Tate grumbled.
“Good. More for us.” Fletcher tipped the flask back and guzzled several swallows. When he’d finished, he smeared the back of his hand across his mouth. “Your turn, Clem.”
Would they all get drunk? It didn’t sound as if Tate was joining them. But still... Uneasiness drove Essie to her feet, her notebook and blanket hugged tightly to her chest.
“Where are you going, Miss Vanderfair?” Fletcher said, his brow furrowed.
She swallowed her dry throat. “Just over there.” She indicated a spot ten feet from the campfire. It would be cooler and harder to write without the fire’s bright light, but she didn’t want to remain in the middle of their company as they became inebriated.
“Fine.” The outlaw leader shooed her away. “Another teetotaler,” he muttered with a shake of his head.
Keeping her chin up, Essie found a level spot of ground and took a seat. She swept her blanket around her shoulders then patted her boot, where her gun was still stowed, to reassure herself she wasn’t completely defenseless.
Now back to work. She opened her notebook and picked up her pencil, but before she could resume writing, Tate approached her.
Essie squinted at the page in front of her. She wouldn’t look at or acknowledge him. Maybe then he’d get the hint she didn’t want to talk to him. Not after he’d claimed her idea as his own.
To her dismay, he settled next to her. “You’re angry.”
It wasn’t a question but she stated flatly, “Yes, I am.”
“At me?”
“Naturally.”
He lifted his knees and rested his elbows on them. “I had a reason for telling Fletcher what I did.”
“I’m sure you did,” she shot back, vainly trying to remember the last thing she’d been writing before walking away.
A deep chuckle washed over her. “Do you want to know the reason?”
Pushing out an irritated sigh, she tossed down her pencil and lifted her head. “Do I have a choice?”
He offered her an amused smile. One that made her traitorous heart leap a bit in response. But the smile fell a moment later as he stared in the direction of the men seated around the fire. “Don’t underestimate Fletcher. He’s ruthless and conniving. That makes for a dangerous combination.” He shifted his gaze to hers. “I thought it might be safer for you to let him think I came up with the plan today.”
Essie fiddled with the corner of her notebook, her anger deflating beneath the concern she saw in his blue eyes. “Safer how?”
“I don’t want him knowing how skilled you are. He might take advantage of that.”
His warning unsettled her, reminding her of his words earlier about keeping her safe, but she was also grateful for his good sense and fast thinking. She studied the men on the other side of the camp. They were talking loudly and laughing more freely as they passed the flask around. And yet here sat Tate—looking out for her, talking to her, choosing not to participate in the jovial drinking.
She glanced over at him, at the serious expression furrowing his handsome face. When had she begun to trust him, to think of him as a friend? A spike of panic drove its way through her heart at the realization. How could she trust an outlaw? Because that was what he was, in spite of his help and protection the last two days. Once she had her interviews and was on her way back to Evanston, he would still be an outlaw, living a life of crime and forever dodging the law.
“Am I forgiven?” he asked, scattering her thoughts. His tone held a mixture of gravity and teasing.
Essie blew out a sigh. While he might be an outlaw, he was still a person, with feelings and experiences. A person beloved by his Father in Heaven. Just as she was.
“Yes.” She picked up her pencil again and tapped it against the page. “Can I ask you a question?”
“I expected no less when I came over here.”
She smiled. It was impossible to stay annoyed with a man who was doing his best to protect her and keep her spirits up. “How come you chose not to drink? Was that for my benefit?”
Picking up a small stick, he rotated it around his knuckles, back and forth, back and forth. “I don’t drink,” he finally said, his voice low. “Never have—never will.”
“An admirable quality, though a bit unconventional in an outlaw.” She might have to give that trait to her train-robber hero.
He shrugged, not missing a beat in twirling the stick. “I guess you could say I’m an unconventional outlaw.”
Essie laughed. “I won’t disagree with you there.”
“You writing down your interview with Silas?”
She nodded. “His story was a far cry from what I’d imagined it might be.”
“What did you imagine?” Tate switched the stick to his other hand and began rotating it again.
“I’m not sure, exactly. Certainly less cultured than his upbringing sounded, less heartache, maybe. More adventure and revenge.”
“I’m guessing Fletcher’s story might have more of the latter.”
She sniffed in agreement, her attention riveted on his trick. “How do you do that?”
He looked startled. “Do what?”
“Twist the stick like that.”
Tate looked down as if he’d forgotten all about the stick spinning over and under his knuckles. “Oh, it’s easy. Something my father taught me, actually...”
The father who’d up and left his family when Tate was nine. Sadness choked the air between them. Another reminder that these men weren’t what she’d expected. Had it only been two days since she’d insisted she ride along with them? It felt more like two weeks.
The stick had stopped moving. Essie reached out and plucked it from him. “Will you teach me how?” She did want to learn, but she also wanted to see him relax again.
She couldn’t read the emotion in his blue eyes when he looked at her. But his shoulders rose in another shrug. “All right, though I can’t guarantee you’ll get it.”
“You just said it was easy,” she protested, though she was laughing.
He grinned. “Only because I’ve been doing it for years.” He scooted closer to her, his solid presence chasing away the cold. “To start, you grip the stick between your thumb and finger.”
Essie followed his instructions.
“Then you place your next finger under the stick and rotate it.”
She tried but ended up dropping the stick in the process.
“It’s okay. Hold it again.” This time his fingers slid over hers, capturing them and the stick. Essie’s pulse jumped at his touch. His hand felt wonderful and natural clasped over her own. “I’ll help you.”
“I can’t,” she whispered, bringing her gaze to his.
Was it her imagination or had his eyes darkened?
“Why not?” Tate asked, but his voice didn’t sound any steadier than hers. His thumb began tracing circles on the back of her hand.
Only inches separated them, she thought, unable to resist composing in her mind a similar moment for her story. All the hero had to do was lean forward to cross the trifling distance. The heroine’s heart galloped as she waited in breathless anticipation for the kiss she knew would...
Shaking herself back to reality, which surely did not include being kissed by Tate, Essie forced a light laugh. It sounded more like a strangled cough. “Your hand is covering mine.”
He glanced down. “Ah...right.” To her disappointment, he pulled his hand away. “Sorry. It’s probably easier to just try it on your own.”
> Essie frowned, hoping Tate would think it was in concentration. But inside she felt befuddled and annoyed. She couldn’t let herself enjoy this man’s company.
He’s an outlaw. Try to remember that, Essie.
Channeling her determination into the trick, she began rotating the stick, slowly at first and then with more speed. “I got it.” She performed the act for Tate.
“Look at that.” He shot her a crooked smile. “It took me longer than one lesson. You sure you’ve never done this before?”
Nudging his firm shoulder with her own felt like the most natural thing in the world for her to do. But the inherent familiarity in such a gesture also made her blush. Thankfully he probably wouldn’t notice in the dim light. “No, I’ve never done it before.”
He tipped up the brim of his hat and leaned back on his hands. “Another skill you’ve mastered quicker than I would have expected.”
“What did you expect?” she countered, hiding a smile at his veiled compliment. She twirled the stick around her fingers again and then switched to try it with her left hand.
Tate laughed. “I expected trouble.” He shrugged. “Maybe some helplessness. A little crying.”
Clasping the stick to her palm, she pivoted to face him directly. “I hardly ever cry and I rarely find myself in completely helpless situations.” She cocked her head. “However, I, too, expected some trouble. From you.” He threw her another pulse-skipping smile that only confirmed Essie’s words. If she fell for this man, there would be trouble indeed.
“I ought to let you get back to your writing.”
“Oh...yes.”
She set aside the stick to pick up her pencil, though she wished he would stay nearby. His company was more welcome than that of the others drinking around the campfire. But it’s more than that, her heart argued. She liked talking with Tate, liked teasing him, liked earning his respect and feeling his equal.
Tate didn’t make a move to stand. He didn’t seem to want to leave her any more than she wanted him to go. Essie’s heart pumped faster with wild hope, even as she tried to squelch it. The man probably only wanted to avoid the drunken revelry on the other side of the camp.
“You’re welcome to stay here,” she found herself offering, though she didn’t look at him, “if you want. I can write just fine alone or with company.”
He hesitated a moment. “All right. If you’re sure.”
“Quite sure.” Essie began writing again, but she found herself more distracted than she’d been before. Her focus kept straying to Tate seated silently beside her, a faraway look on his face. What was he thinking? Could it possibly be about her?
Cheeks flushing, she forced her mind to return to Silas’s story as she wrote down every detail. Sometime later she realized the camp no longer rang with loud exclamations and uproarious laughter. She lifted her chin to find the other four outlaws sprawled out and sleeping around the dying campfire.
“They’re all passed out,” Tate said with a sniff. “Good thing Fletcher didn’t assign any of them guard duty tonight.”
Essie shut her notebook. “Do you think that’s wise? Not to have anyone guarding the camp?” While she was grateful the ruckus had died down and she wouldn’t have a drunken guard keeping watch as she slept, she still worried a little about the lawmen finding them again.
“I’ll wait up another hour or so,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “Though we ought to move closer to the fire.”
The urge to kiss his cheek in gratitude all but overwhelmed her. But Essie fought it back with stern reminders of the futility of such a gesture. Before he could help her stand and resurrect her frantic heartbeat with his touch, she climbed to her feet. “Thank you, Tate.”
He stood, his gaze alighting on her face. “You’re welcome, Essie.”
She didn’t think she’d ever tire of hearing him say her name.
She followed him back to where the others noisily slept. After stowing away her notebook, she wrapped herself tightly in her blanket. She selected a spot slightly apart from the inebriated outlaws and lay down. Tate fed more wood to the flames then settled a foot or two away from Essie.
Though he said nothing more to her, she felt comfort at knowing he was nearby. She shut her eyes and, unlike the night before, found sleep within easy reach.
* * *
The next morning Fletcher informed all of them that they would be traveling as a group for the first time since leaving the train. Essie wasn’t sure whether she welcomed the new arrangement or not. It was easier to converse with Tate when it was only two or three of them riding together. But perhaps some distance between her and the handsome outlaw would be good.
That didn’t mean she wanted him riding bareback, however. It was her turn to do without the saddle. While the others were busy finishing off a fresh batch of her biscuits, she slipped away to put the saddle on Tate’s horse.
Before she could finish cinching the straps, though, a deep voice demanded, “What do you think you’re doing?”
Essie squeaked in surprise and whirled around to find Tate watching her sternly, his arms crossed over his chest. “Giving you the saddle,” she said as she turned back to the horse.
“I didn’t ask for it.”
“I know.” Her fingers fumbled a bit under his scrutiny, but she was determined.
“Essie.” He reached out and placed his hand over hers, stilling her frenzied movements. “I appreciate the thought, but I’m perfectly capable of going without a saddle for less than a full day’s ride.”
She seized upon his words to keep from drowning in his warmth and nearness. “What do you mean less than a full day?” she asked as she gently removed her hand from beneath his.
A flicker of something filled his blue eyes before he shuttered it. Could it be disappointment? Inwardly she shook her head.
“Fletcher says we’re to stay the night at a ranch about twenty miles south of Casper. Which means we’ll be riding between fifteen and twenty miles total today.”
“Who owns the ranch? Is it safe to stay there?” Images tromped through her mind of a lawmen’s ambush when they arrived. Perhaps she ought to write that into her book, too.
Tate pulled the saddle off his horse. “I don’t know who owns it. I’ve never been there. Some family who’s partial to outlaws and not the law, according to Fletcher. I think we’ll be fine.”
“We’ll be fine,” Essie said, grabbing the other end of the saddle, “if you’ll stop being stubborn and let me put this back on your horse.”
“Me, stubborn?” A half grin lit his whiskered face. Most facial hair reminded Essie of Harrison, but Tate’s beard had grown on her. She rather liked the rugged look on him. “And what if I don’t agree to take the saddle today?”
She lifted her chin. “Then I won’t be riding with you,” she said before motioning to the others. “Any of you.”
“I think I can live with that.” He fully grinned as he jerked the saddle from her hands and placed it on her mount. “Can you?” he quipped. “You still have three more interviews to conduct, don’t you?”
“You know full well I do.” She crossed her arms and scowled at him, hating that he’d outmaneuvered her and they both knew it. “Can’t let a girl be kind, can you?” she snapped.
He leaned close, his breath fingering her cheek. “Can’t let a man be a gentleman, can you?”
Essie met his level look head-on, but after a long moment of peering into those sky blue eyes, her frustration began to fizzle away. “All right, you win.”
When he started to smile, she pressed a finger to his mouth to stop the self-satisfied gesture. The arch of his masculine mouth against her fingertip felt wonderfully nice. “But...” She gave him a firm look. “You either procure a saddle at this ranch we’re going to or we switch off who rides bareback from here t
o your hideout. Deal?”
Freeing her finger and taking her hand in his, Tate pressed a brief kiss to the back of her palm, his gaze never leaving hers. “Deal.”
For the second time in so many minutes Essie slid her fingers out from under his, though her heart continued to race as if he were still holding her hand. She gathered her horse’s reins and pulled in a full breath of the cool morning air.
“Thanks for the saddle. I believe I’ll ride by Clem today and interview him.” With that, she led her horse away from Tate and the mess of feelings and thoughts he was beginning to inspire.
Chapter Seven
Swallowing a groan of annoyance at himself, Tate watched Essie lead her horse to where the others had just finished breaking camp. It was time to go. He swung onto the back of his horse, wincing slightly at the ache from the long ride yesterday. But he felt no regret over letting Essie use the saddle again.
It was the least he owed her after kissing the back of her hand. He might have enjoyed the feel of her hand against his lips, but he didn’t have the right to pursue this attraction he felt for her. So what had compelled him to do what he’d done? It didn’t take him long to reason out the answer.
He’d been surprised but delighted by her determination to let him have the saddle. After being on his own for so long, without family around, he’d forgotten how nice it felt to have someone do something out of genuine kindness.
And maybe something more?
Tate drove the thought from his mind as he nudged his horse to fall in line behind the others. Essie had also looked downright adorable with that determined glint in her greenish-brown eyes, thinking she’d gained the upper hand by brokering a deal with him. One look at her pretty face and he couldn’t resist the desire to steal some of her thunder with an innocent kiss.
But it wasn’t completely innocent. He’d thought about kissing her ever since last night when she’d figured out that silly trick with the stick in no time at all. The more time he spent with her, the more his admiration for her grew. And yet there was nothing he could do about it. Pursuing Essie, while on an assignment, could prove dangerous for both of them. Which brought him right back to the annoyance he felt at himself for falling under her spell in the first place.
