by Stacy Henrie
But he’s also an outlaw, her head warned. The smile on her lips slipped to a frown as Essie looked away. Was she beginning to care too much? Her initial plan had seemed so simple—she’d interview these men, learn their pasts and discover information she might use in her next story. Her heart and feelings were to have no bearing on things at all. And yet the thought of not seeing Tate again, once she was finished interviewing everyone, brought a physical ache.
“What am I doing?” she whispered as much to herself as to the Lord. Now that she had more of Tate’s story, she needed to focus on obtaining her last two interviews. And she would not lose her heart to an outlaw in the process.
She urged her horse faster, with the intent of passing by Tate in favor of riding next to Jude. She could get in her fourth interview while they rode. But Tate spoke before she could pull ahead of him.
“It’s nice to have a saddle again.” The Paiges had insisted he take one of their saddles, so neither he nor Essie had to ride bareback again.
“Yes, I’m sure it is.” Essie licked her lips, doing her best not to remember how he’d kissed her hand when they’d bantered about riding bareback the day before.
Tate scrutinized the sky overhead. “Looks like another day of sunshine. Should be a nice ride to Casper.”
Essie nodded. She needed to maintain her professionalism and not be sidetracked.
“You all right?” Tate asked after a moment, his expression changing to one of concern.
“Yes, of course.” She pasted on a smile. “I, uh, think I’ll interview Jude today. I mean this morning. Right now, actually.”
He shot her a puzzled frown but Essie ignored it.
“All right,” he said.
“I’ll talk to you later, Tate.”
With that, she pushed her horse into a trot to catch up with Jude, riding in the middle of the group. A prick of regret at not being friendlier to Tate pierced her determination. After all, he had been open and candid last night in talking about him and his brother. But the closer they became as friends, the more the lines in her head, and heart, blurred over what she felt for him.
She trusted him, but she didn’t completely trust herself. At least when it came to giving her heart away. She refused to be like Winnifred or Isabelle, pining for a man who wasn’t free or present to love completely. Such a thing might work in one of her stories but not in real life.
“I’ll never be at liberty to truly follow my heart,” the hero said, the heroine’s face gently cupped between his large, strong hands.
Tears of sorrow and pain dripped over his fingers from her watering eyes. “Does this mean you’re saying goodbye?”
He nodded, his gaze tortured with unspoken feelings. “I didn’t intend for this to hap—”
“I know.” She silenced his words with a hand to his lips. Those masculine lips she’d kissed only once but would never forget. “And yet...” she couldn’t help whispering.
“And yet?” he repeated.
She was desperate to ease the ache in her heart and remain at his side. “If you give up your outlawing ways and turn your back on this life of crime, we can be together.”
His gaze lifted to something over her head. “Can I live the life of an honest man? A free man?”
“Yes,” she cried, clasping his wrist. “You can. And I will help you. We’ll embrace this chance at a new life together, far from the influence of your partners.”
A look of tranquillity shone from his handsome face. “Then so be it.” He drew her close. “We will make it, together, my love.”
Essie blinked away the moisture in her eyes, but two or three tears escaped. Lifting her hand, she brushed the droplets away. Hopefully, Tate hadn’t seen. She didn’t want him thinking she was crying over him. But wasn’t she? Wasn’t she simply playing out her own wishes in her fictional story, imagining the happy ending they would never be able to have?
No. She straightened in the saddle, keeping her face pointed forward. Her story would be completely different from her experience with him. After all, it wasn’t like she’d kissed him on the lips—nor had he given her any indication that he cared for her as more than a friend.
Still, it was a good scene and one she would write down tonight. She passed Silas and Clem, riding in the middle of the group. They both called out a greeting, which she returned. At the front of the pack, Fletcher and Jude were arguing. As Essie approached, the outlaw leader suddenly jerked his horse to a stop. Jude did the same.
“The answer’s no.” Fletcher glared at the other man. “So don’t ask again, Jude, or I’ll cut your amount. You hear me?”
Jude looked away, his face hardened with anger. “I hear you.”
“What’s going on?” Tate asked as he, Silas and Clem drew to a stop alongside Essie. He glanced at her, but she could only shake her head in response.
“Nothing. Everything’s fine.” Fletcher threw another dark look at Jude. “Let’s keep riding.” He kicked his horse in the flanks and started forward again.
Essie followed after the others, though she hung back when she saw Jude take up a position at the rear this time. Unlike everyone else in the group, he looked to be only a year or two older than her and he was the one she knew the least. But hopefully he’d be willing to talk, in spite of whatever altercation had just occurred between him and Fletcher.
Slowing her horse, she waited for Jude to ride up beside her, then let her mount fall into step with his. He flicked a glance at her, one eyebrow lifted, but he didn’t speak. His mouth still formed a tight frown.
“That’s a nice Colt 1851 Navy you’ve got there,” she said, nodding at the gun she’d seen him toting around camp.
The next thing she knew, Jude had the gun in hand and pointed right at her. “You mean this Colt?”
Essie gave a startled laugh, as much at his skill as at the discomfort of having the barrel aimed in her direction. She’d never seen anyone draw a weapon that fast. “How long did it take you to learn to do that?”
Shrugging, he twisted around in his saddle to train the gun on Fletcher’s back. “A couple years, but I was better than most by the time I was fifteen.” He narrowed his gaze on the other outlaw. “I was a gunslinger before I joined up with Fletch.”
Would he pull the trigger and shoot the gang leader in the back? Essie moistened her lips, thinking fast about how to distract him. “A gunslinger? Now, that sounds exciting. And since you’re still alive, I’m guessing you’re rather good.”
A half smile replaced his scowl. “Never had a fight I didn’t walk away from. Or at least crawl.” He sniffed in amusement at his own joke and then holstered his gun, to Essie’s immense relief.
“What can you tell me about your family?”
Jude tossed her a questioning look. “Is this my interview?”
“It can be,” she said with a smile.
His shoulders visibly relaxed. “All right, then. My father was a preacher, so my eight siblings and me got religion morning, noon and night.”
“I have eight siblings, too.” She found it interesting that she, Clem and Jude all had large families in common, though she hoped Jude’s hadn’t come to the tragic end that Clem’s had.
“Guess I don’t have to elaborate on that score, then, huh?”
Essie chuckled and shook her head. “Where do you fall in the family?”
“I’m the oldest son,” he said, but some of the amusement had fled his expression, “though I got me a bunch of older sisters. You?”
“Right in the middle.” She adjusted the reins in her grip, wondering if she ought to say any more. “I had an older brother myself, whom I admired very much.”
“Had?” Jude turned to study her.
A familiar ache filled her chest. “He died four years ago.” She cleared her throat. “He had high h
opes of being a fast draw, too, but he never quite got the hang of it.” She laughed, thinking of a time when Nils accidentally shot a hole in the milk bucket and narrowly missed injuring their cow.
Knowing Jude would appreciate the story, she recounted it for him. He regaled her in return with several bullet mishaps of his own and a few stories about the antics he’d shared with his younger siblings.
Essie found herself laughing more than once as they exchanged stories. “I loved my brother very much,” she said, interrupting the comfortable quiet that settled between them once the stories ran out. “And I don’t think it was easy for him being the oldest son.”
“Don’t I know it? Nothing I ever did pleased my father.” The lines around his mouth tightened again. “He talked all the time about me becomin’ a preacher, too, but I wanted something more exciting out of life.”
“Is that why you became an outlaw?” she asked, keeping her tone light.
Jude gave a bitter chuckle. “In a roundabout way.”
She waited for him to continue, and after a few moments, her patience was rewarded.
“I left home at sixteen, doing different jobs here and there to get by. But I never stayed in one place for long. I had it in my head to see as much of this country as I could.” He shifted on his horse, his gaze distant. “It wasn’t long until I got a reputation for havin’ a fast draw. So I did gunslingin’ for a few years, earning money off of bets, but it never paid too well.”
“Did you...?” She hesitated asking, but she needed to be thorough in her research. “Did you ever...kill anyone?”
His countenance turned instantly grave, making her throat go dry with apprehension. Then he grinned. “Nah. I may not be religious, but I always aimed to injure, not end a man’s life.”
Essie released the breath she’d been holding. “What made you switch from being a gunslinger to an outlaw?”
Instead of answering, though, Jude frowned and seemed to find sudden fascination in the ground. She sensed she was on the verge of another real story regarding these outlaws’ past lives. But would Jude feel comfortable enough to share it?
After a full minute he blew out a loud sigh, appearing to make a decision. “I became an outlaw to make more money, so I could support...my little boy.”
She couldn’t help gaping at him. Jude had a child? “How old is he?” And where was the boy’s mother?
“He’s two years old,” Jude said with obvious pride. “And I married his mama proper-like, Miss Vanderfair. But she...” His shoulders drooped and his gaze skittered away. “She only lived a couple months after his birth.”
“I’m so sorry.” Compassion flooded her at the thought of his pain. She’d know the grief of losing a brother, but losing a spouse... She shook her head, unable to comprehend the heartache of saying farewell to a sweetheart. Her attention went to Tate, riding up ahead. He wasn’t even her sweetheart and yet she already knew that bidding him goodbye wouldn’t be free of anguish.
“Where is your boy now?” she asked, pulling her thoughts back to Jude.
He straightened in the saddle as if casting off the sad memories of the past. “He lives with my sister and her husband, along with their five children. But my sister took sick this spring and she hasn’t felt the same since. They don’t have much money and the medicine she ought to have costs a fortune.” When he turned to face her, she could see the worry and fear in his eyes. “If she dies, my brother-in-law will have to parcel out the children to other relatives, including my son. So you can see, Miss Vanderfair, why I need this money. I have to help keep her well, for her sake and for my boy’s.”
She might not agree with his choices, or with his sister accepting stolen money, but Essie’s heart went out to the man. “That’s a very difficult spot to be in.”
“It is.” The tight lines returned to his face as he looked at Fletcher again. “And Fletch says he won’t divide up the money from the train until we reach the hideout. But I’ve got to get that money to Mary sooner than later.”
“Have you told Fletcher about your son?”
Jude wheeled on her. “Yes, but he thinks I’m going soft because of him, that I oughta just let my sister handle things.”
Not anxious to end up in the middle of the outlaws’ feud, Essie pasted on a gentle smile. “I’ll be praying for him, Mr. Jude. And for your sister.”
He nodded, though his expression hadn’t lost its stony appearance. “Thank you, but it’s gonna take more than that to help them.” His eyes narrowed. “It’s gonna take action.”
A feeling of discomfort crept up her back at the man’s harsh look. “Thank you for letting me interview you.”
Some of the anger left his face as Jude tipped his hat to her. “My pleasure, Miss Vanderfair. It’s been some time since I had a woman to talk to and it’s been downright pleasant.”
“I enjoyed our conversation, too.” And she meant it. She was grateful to have another full interview completed—and a good one at that.
But as Jude retreated into his thoughts, she couldn’t shake the growing wariness inside her. Something was brewing between him and Fletcher, and she could only hope that she, Tate and the others wouldn’t be caught in the middle when things inevitably erupted.
* * *
Tate tugged his hat down tighter as the wind grew stronger. The nice blue sky and gentle breeze of the morning had morphed into fast-forming clouds and a stiff gust. He had a sinking suspicion their bout of good weather was about to end.
Turning in the saddle, he looked for Essie. She and Jude still rode at the back of the group, though it appeared their interview had ended. A glimmer of satisfaction ran through him before regret followed it. He shouldn’t mind that Essie sought out the others for her interviews. That was the reason she’d come along in the first place and, after what she’d said the other day about her publisher, he knew she needed their stories to help her own.
But he couldn’t deny a twinge of jealousy each time he heard her laughing and easily conversing with one of the other men in the group. It was he who was supposed to be protecting her, looking out for her. Although he didn’t doubt Essie could probably handle herself just fine in about any situation. She’d make an excellent detective. A smile curved his mouth at the thought.
The smile deepened when he recalled—again—her kiss on his cheek the night before. He’d told her parts of his and Tex’s story that he’d never told another person. And even though he’d greatly appreciated her compassion during the telling, he couldn’t help wishing later that some of her empathy could have been directed at him. Not as his brother but as himself. As Tate.
The wind began to blow harder. Tate held tighter to the reins, hoping his horse wouldn’t get spooked. He wasn’t sure how much farther they had to go to reach Casper, but the sooner, the better. He didn’t like the idea of being caught out in the open during a storm.
No sooner had the thought entered his mind than fat, cold raindrops started to fall, slicing sideways in the wind. Tate hunkered into his collar, one hand on his hat, the other clenching the reins. Within minutes he was half soaked and could hardly see where he was going. He nearly ran into Silas before he realized he and Fletcher had stopped. The group formed a tight huddle.
“We gotta get out of this,” Fletcher hollered, trying to make himself heard above the buffeting wind and rain. “There’s a burned-down cabin we passed half a mile back or so. We’ll take shelter there.”
Tate nodded silently along with the others and whirled his horse around to face the way they’d come. Now the rain slashed at his back, but he preferred that to the dousing in his face. He maneuvered his mount closer to Essie’s. She glanced up long enough to throw him a grim smile before tucking her chin against the elements. Without a hat or a suitable jacket, she was taking the worst of the weather.
Nudging his horse even near
er, he removed his hat and reached out to plunk it onto her wet hair. She looked up in surprise, though she didn’t protest his offer. “Thank you,” she shouted.
Rain ran down Tate’s face and into his collar, making him shiver. But he reminded himself that they’d have shelter soon enough. Wiping his eyes, he peered ahead, hoping to see the cabin Fletcher had mentioned, but the storm made it difficult to see much of anything.
At last, Tate spied the roofless building. Two of the walls were charred and had fallen in on themselves, but the other two stood relatively straight. Jumping from his saddle, he held on to his horse and did his best to assist Essie to the ground. Then he added her horse’s reins to his. “Where do you want them?” he yelled to Silas.
The outlaw pointed at a half-ruined corral. “Tie them to the fence posts,” he shouted back. “Then take off the saddles. We’ll use the blankets.”
Tate obeyed, leading his and Essie’s horses to the fence and securing them before he removed the saddles, which he laid on the ground beside the fence posts. The rain and wind tore at his jacket and face, and by the time he’d finished and had the two blankets in his arms, he couldn’t tell where everyone else had taken cover.
Moving in the direction of the cabin, he finally caught sight of Essie standing against the south wall. “Where are the others?” he asked as he drew closer.
“Along the east wall, I think,” she said, pointing. She was visibly shivering, her arms folded tightly against her as she hopped from one foot to the other in a clear effort to keep warm.
Tate took a seat on the ground and motioned for her to do the same. When she sat, he spread one of the blankets across their knees. Essie took off his hat and offered it to him, but he declined. Using the other blanket, he formed a tent over their heads and then leaned back against the rough-hewn logs of the cabin, cocooning him and Essie inside. The smell of horses from the blankets mingled with the smell of wet earth beyond their makeshift shelter, but at least they weren’t being battered by the storm.
