by Stacy Henrie
Tate pried his gaze from his horse’s ears and realized he was falling behind. Urging the animal to go faster, he kept the horse at a trot to match the speed of the others. Apparently, Fletcher hoped to reach the ranch sooner than later.
He reminded himself he needed to pay more attention to the landscape and to these outlaws and less to a certain pretty dime novelist. At least Essie’s interviews had already provided him with helpful information about Fletcher’s gang.
You’re trying to do everything on your own, Tate. The memory of his mother’s gentle voice entered his mind. You need God and He needs you. Never forget that. Her tender entreaty felt like a balm to his current troubled thoughts. He hadn’t done much to include God in his plans the last few weeks or so.
Glancing around to make sure no one was paying him heed, he lowered his chin and shut his eyes, grateful he was at the back of the group. “Bless my efforts,” he prayed aloud, though he kept the words to a whisper. “Let this mission be successful, Lord. Amen.”
The stranglehold of doubt and discouragement released its grip on him as he raised his head and blew out a cleansing breath. Of its own volition, his gaze went directly to Essie riding up ahead, next to Clem. The sun shone down on her smile, making her appear as if she were lit from the inside. As Tate stared at her, something inside him shifted, something he thought he’d locked behind an iron door.
Even if he couldn’t do anything more than be her friend and protector, he would do both to the best of his ability. “Watch over her, too,” he added with a look toward the blue sky. Then, with renewed purpose, he spurred his horse forward to face whatever the day brought their way.
* * *
“Tell me about your family growing up, Clem.”
The outlaw cook squinted at the white clouds overhead. “Nothing much to tell, ma’am. Had me a ma and a pa and a whole passel of brothers and sisters.”
Essie smiled. “I have a whole passel of siblings, too.” She nudged her horse closer to his so she wouldn’t miss any of his answers. “Did you feel like you fit in with your family?”
“Suppose so. Though I ain’t ever had a place at school. Too stupid.” He shrugged his shoulders as if his words were truth.
Maybe to him they were.
She felt a keen sadness at the possibility. While the man might not be scholarly, he did possess an innate openness and kindness. “Did you finish school?”
“No, ma’am,” Clem said with a laugh. “I done quit after the fourth grade. Though it didn’t matter none. The cholera come through a few years later and took out the whole family, ’cept me and my older brother Pete.”
Her sorrow transformed into immediate horror as Essie gaped at him. “You lost your entire family to illness?”
“Yep. So my brother and me, we walked for a few days till we come to this ranch. We worked as cowhands there.” Clem adjusted his hat, his face thoughtful. “It wasn’t a bad life.”
Essie swallowed and forced a nod. She couldn’t imagine losing her whole family and having to fend for herself. “What led you from there to here?” She waved her arm to include the other outlaws.
“Pete used to go to the saloon, though he never let me come along. He didn’t much care for the cards or dance-hall girls. Just liked a good stiff drink now and then.” His voice held a trace of grief and somberness as he recalled the long-ago memories. “He came onto this big fellow roughin’ up a saloon girl. Pete stepped in to help her and the man pulled out a gun. My brother was a crack shot and he had his gun drawn and fired before the other fella knew what happened.”
Clem rubbed a hand over his whiskered chin. A few white hairs attested to his aging, but he still rode and moved with the agility of a twenty-year-old. “When Pete realized the man was dead, he got spooked. He hurried back to the ranch and said we had to steal two horses and leave. The girl had been knocked clean out and hadn’t seen any of it. So with no proof the other man drew first, Pete thought he’d be wanted for murder.”
“Is that what you did? Stole two horses and left?” Essie prompted when silence followed his words.
Clem seemed to shake himself then straighten in the saddle. “That we did, ma’am. Stole two of the ranch’s fastest horses and we hightailed it outta there. We hid out for a few months before Pete up and decides we gotta steal us a horse that we can sell so we don’t go starving. We did and that kept us fed for a time, until...”
Essie sensed another awful turn in Clem’s past. “Until?”
“Pete got shot and killed when we tried stealing us another horse. I couldn’t even stick around to bury him.” He brushed at his eyes with his thumb before his face hardened. Essie hadn’t seen such a harsh expression on him before. “I swore I’d get back at the man who killed Pete. So I asked around to see who else hated him and found Fletcher. We lay low for two weeks, then went back and started taking his livestock. Over the next year, we stole every one of his horses and cattle. Finally he tucked tail and went back east.”
Though greatly relieved Clem hadn’t killed the other man to avenge Pete’s death, Essie felt sorry for both Clem and the man who’d been robbed of his livelihood just for trying to defend his property. A frown pulled at her mouth as she compared Clem’s story with that of Silas’s and what she knew of Tate’s.
“I’m so sorry, Clem.” She hoped he knew how much she meant it. “About your brother and everything. That must have been incredibly difficult.”
The man shrugged. “It’s all in the past, ma’am. And while this ain’t always the best life, it’s what I know and it’s mine.”
“Where did you learn to cook?” Essie asked, hoping to ease the shroud of pain still surrounding him.
Sure enough, Clem cracked a smile. “I picked up a few things watchin’ my ma all those years ago. And good thing, too. Pete’s beans were a thousand times worse than mine.”
So he knew his cooking wasn’t first-rate, but he tried anyway. The thought made Essie want to weep as well as smile. “I’m grateful for your abilities, Clem. I’m sure the others are, too.”
“Can’t say they don’t prefer your biscuits.”
“But man cannot live on biscuits alone.”
They shared a laugh. “Anything else you need to know, ma’am?”
“I would love to know which outlaw heist you feel was the most exciting and which was the most dangerous.”
For the next while, Clem regaled her with stories from his outlawing career. Once their conversation and her questions wore out, Essie smiled at him with genuine gratitude. “Thank you for telling me your story, Clem.”
Tipping his hat to her, he moved on ahead to join Fletcher at the front of the group. Essie glanced behind her to see Tate taking up the rear. He seemed content to stay there today, and while she could see the wisdom in it, she longed to talk to him. Maybe he could help her sort out her jumbled thoughts at the moment.
These men’s lives, past and present, weren’t what she’d expected. They’d seen and experienced hard, painful things. Losing loved ones, losing homes, losing livelihoods. Outlawing wasn’t the adventurous, carefree career she’d imagined or unknowingly penned into her novels. These men weren’t characters from some book. They were people with feelings, regrets, hopes and fears. Just like her.
And if she’d been wrong about them, what else might she also be wrong about?
* * *
“The ranch is just up ahead,” Fletcher announced, a rare grin brightening his face. “I can taste Winny’s flapjacks and bacon now.”
Tate’s stomach grumbled at the mention of food. Their meager lunch of jerky and biscuits, several hours ago, had worn off too soon and now he was starving again. The thought of real food, a roof overhead and a chance to shave his beard spurred him forward behind the others. Even Essie had perked up at Fletcher’s declaration.
She’d been more
quiet than usual during their ride today. Of course, she still smiled and laughed and seemed generally pleased to have completed another interview. Tate noticed she appeared more somber, though, whenever she thought no one was watching. He’d asked her at lunch if she was all right. But Essie simply waved off his question, declaring herself to be fine.
Perhaps she was only fatigued. Three days in a saddle could do that to a person. She’d likely feel better after a full supper and a good night’s sleep on something other than the hard ground.
After a few minutes the ranch came into view, nestled among the surrounding mountains beside a wide river. Tate blinked in surprise. Instead of the simple, one-room cabin he’d been expecting, a large, two-story house with a wide porch and several outbuildings stood before them.
Fletcher hadn’t said much in answer to Essie’s questions during lunch about the family who owned the ranch. The father had been killed years ago and his wife, two daughters and their ranch hands now looked after the place themselves. Clearly they were doing well, even though they occasionally harbored outlaws and provided them with fresh horses and room and board for a night or two. Tate had been stunned to learn there were seemingly decent people around here who didn’t see anything wrong with aiding criminals.
Had there been a family similar to this one who’d helped his brother out on occasion? While Tate didn’t condone such actions, he found himself almost hoping such a scenario might be true. Then Tex wouldn’t have been completely on his own the last eight years. Not like me. Was his brother holed up even now with some outlaw-friendly folks somewhere?
The moment the group ground to a halt, the door swung open and two women stepped outside. “Mr. Fletcher!” The oldest, a woman with pepper-colored hair and graceful features, approached them with a smile as she dried her hands on a towel. “It’s been a long time.”
Fletcher swung out of his saddle. “That it has, ma’am.” The outlaw removed his hat, but his eyes weren’t on the matron of the family. They’d settled on the younger woman with chestnut hair who watched Fletcher with equal abandon. “Winny.”
“Fletch.” She gazed shyly at him, her red lips tipped upward.
Chuckling at the obvious interest between the outlaw leader and the young woman, Tate dismounted before helping Essie down, as well. Then he helped Silas gather up the horses’ reins.
“You’ve brought a woman this time.” The older woman walked forward toward Essie. “I’m Adelaide Paige. And this is my daughter Winnifred.” Winnifred nodded in acknowledgment, but she was frowning. “Welcome to the BC Ranch.”
“Thank you.” Essie shook hands with Mrs. Paige. “My name is Essie.”
“She’s along to interview us,” Fletcher explained, his eyes on Winnifred once more. The other girl visibly relaxed. “But she won’t use any of our real names in her books.”
Mrs. Paige looked surprised. “You’re an author, then?”
“Yes. A dime novelist.” Essie stood a little taller, her chin jutting out as if ready to do battle for her profession.
Tate swallowed another chuckle. She was more than just an author—she was smart, pretty, trail savvy, a good cook, kind... He tried to push the errant thoughts away.
“Well, if we let the likes of these men stay here, I suppose we can let a dime novelist, too.” Mrs. Paige offered Essie a grin and then motioned for her to come into the house. “We’ll let them take the horses to the barn, while we start laying out supper.”
At that moment, another girl came out onto the porch. This one appeared to be a year or two younger than Winnifred and had dark, flowing hair. She was quite beautiful but Tate had no desire to stick around for any more of the introductions. He wasn’t interested in getting to know any girls.
Except one, his heart argued before he wrestled the idea away.
Besides, he was hungry, and the sooner they saw to the horses, the sooner he could see to his own supper. Silas was already moving toward the barn, and Tate followed, leading two of the horses.
From behind, he heard Mrs. Paige introduce the other girl to Essie. “This is Isabelle. She’s my youngest—”
A high-pitched squeal pierced the air, causing the horses to jerk their heads in surprise. Tate held on to keep them from bolting and turned to see the cause of the ruckus.
Isabelle came charging off the porch, heading straight for him. “Tex! I knew you’d come back. I just knew it.”
Tate froze, panic filling his veins with ice. How in the world did she know his brother? When had Tex come so far north? Before he could recover from the shock, Isabelle cupped his face between her hands and pressed her mouth to his in a firm kiss.
Fighting alarm, Tate eased back. Hopefully his hat and the setting sun would hide the flush creeping up his neck. “Hello, Isabelle,” he managed to croak out from his suddenly dry throat. “It’s been...what...a few months?”
“Over four,” she crooned, fingering the top button of his shirt. “And you promised not to forget me.”
He swallowed hard. “Did I?”
“I thought you looked familiar,” Mrs. Paige said. “Welcome back, Tex.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
He caught Fletcher watching him, though it appeared to be with more curiosity than suspicion. “You’ve been here before, cowboy? How come you didn’t say so?”
Tate removed Isabelle’s hand from his shirt and gave her fingers a quick squeeze before releasing her. “Didn’t want to spoil the surprise.”
She smiled coyly up at him and he forced himself to match the happy gesture. “We can catch up at supper,” she said, leaning in as if she planned to kiss him again.
“I can hardly wait.” He tapped her on the nose to prevent another unwanted kiss. “Got to get these horses put away first.”
After she sauntered away, he pushed out a breath. His acting skills could use a little work, but he’d at least convinced Isabelle that he was his brother. Now he just had to convince everyone he knew his way around a ranch he hadn’t ever seen before.
Then he remembered.
He’d told Essie this morning that he had never been to the ranch. For the first time since Isabelle had accosted him, he looked at Essie. The others had gone inside, but she stood completely still on the bottom step of the porch, her eyes wide. They’d gone dark green in the last few minutes, and Tate could plainly see the shock and hurt reflected in their depths. When she realized he was watching her, she narrowed her gaze. The heat of her anger could be felt clear across the yard.
She believed he’d lied to her. And while everything inside screamed at him to walk over and tell her the truth, he couldn’t. It would destroy the cover he’d worked so hard to maintain these last few weeks. And, what was worse, he would put Essie and himself in grave danger.
Throwing her a pained glance, he tugged the horses forward toward the barn. Silas would be halfway through getting the other animals settled by now. Although taking extra time, and skipping out on supper, didn’t sound like a bad option anymore. He hated the thought of facing Essie’s anger—not just the anger of a friend, either, but the anger from a woman he was beginning to care far too much for.
Chapter Eight
Essie forced herself to eat the plentiful supper, though she didn’t taste a thing. The flapjacks and bacon might as well have been sand and pieces of shoe leather for all she cared. Happy chatter bounced around the table, reminding her of her own family meals. But she felt wrapped in a cocoon of shock and anger that nothing could penetrate.
Her gaze shifted often to where Isabelle sat next to Tate at the far end of the table. The younger girl might as well have crawled into his lap with the way she kept latching on to his arm and leaning into him.
Admit it, Essie. You’re jealous. She glared down at her half-empty plate as she dismissed the silly thought. She was not jealous of the other youn
g woman, however doe-eyed and gorgeous she might be. It was only anger that she felt. Anger at Tate for lying to her this morning.
He’d tried to speak to her when he came in for supper, but she’d brushed past him and sat where he couldn’t sit beside her. Essie didn’t want to hear his excuses for why he hadn’t been truthful. She’d come to trust him—more so than any of the others—but now she realized how silly she’d been to depend upon an outlaw.
Perhaps Tate recognized that she was starting to care for him and was embarrassed to tell her his affections lay elsewhere. Like on a ranch in the middle of nowhere. Her jaw tightened and she stabbed at another piece of flapjack before popping it into her mouth. She chewed and swallowed and, once again, tasted nothing.
The heroine’s heart splintered further as she watched the loathsome, lying, despicable man at the other end of the table fawn over the young woman of questionable beauty. How long had they been working together? she wondered. For they only had eyes for each other. Her awful predicament was heightened when the hero announced...
“So you write novels?” Winnifred asked from her seat at Essie’s right.
Essie cleared her throat. “Uh, yes.”
The eldest of the two daughters gave her a shy smile. “What sort of stories do you tell?”
“Oh, romantic, adventurous ones. Full of trustworthy heroes, determined heroines and dastardly villains.” Essie glared in Tate’s direction as she loudly voiced the last two words. There was a dastardly villain if she’d ever seen one.
A pained look filled his brilliant blue eyes as he regarded her. She hoped it was contrition she saw there and not pity.
