The Outlaw's Secret

by Stacy Henrie

  If she chose to tell them now that they wouldn’t be getting a single nickel from her great-grandfather, she would very likely put her life at risk. No, she’d have to play along a little longer and pray she was far enough away when Fetcher learned the truth about Henry Vanderfair.

  “You all right, Essie?” Tate studied her face, which she felt certain had gone white.

  She forced her lips to curve. “I’ll be fine. Thank you.” Perhaps she could pretend to send the message to her great-grandfather, but instead send a telegram to her parents, in the event word had reached them about the train robbery and her supposed “kidnapping.”

  Keeping her chin high, she swept past the men toward the door. “I’ll only be a minute or two.”

  But Fletcher grabbed her elbow in his iron grip, causing her heart to jump and her hope to dwindle. “We’ll be a minute or two. Wouldn’t want you to feel like we’d abandoned you, Miss Vanderfair. We are gentlemen, after all.”

  So much for her alternate plan. With a stiff nod, she allowed Fletcher to steer her into the telegraph office as she tried to tamp down her fears. No one on the other end of her telegram would bat an eye at her message or feel any need to reply, which worried her the most. What if Fletcher insisted on remaining in town until she received an answer? Although escaping his wrath would likely be easier here in a town than out on the Wyoming plains.

  “I’d like to post a telegram,” she managed to say in a calm voice to the telegraph clerk. He handed her the customary slip of paper and a stubby pencil.

  Taking the pencil into her clammy fingers, she found herself at a loss for what to write. What did one say in a ransom note? “Um...to Henry Vanderfair of New York, New York. From Essie Vanderfair.”

  “Had a slight mishap while traveling. Stop,” Fletcher dictated. “Require funds in the amount of $1000.00 to proceed. Stop.”

  She stifled an audible gasp as she penned the words, unsure whether to be flattered by the amount he was demanding or appalled.

  “Health and safety dependent on receipt of funds. Stop. Send directions for receiving funds to me care of the Grand Central Hotel, Casper, Wyoming. Stop.”

  Once she’d finished writing the message, Essie slid it across the counter to the clerk. “How much will that be?” she asked when Fletcher made no move to pay for the telegram. The clerk named the price and she fished several coins from her valise. What a shame she had to part with good money for something that would prove completely worthless.

  “We’ll book us rooms at the hotel while we wait,” Fletcher said, taking her arm again and leading her toward the door. “They ought to get back to us by tomorrow or the next day at the latest.”

  Panic coated Essie’s tongue. She couldn’t stay ensconced in the hotel for two days, awaiting her fate. There wasn’t likely to be a telegram in response, or if one did arrive, it would surely prove her great-grandfather’s indifference to Essie. “But it isn’t likely to come for some time...”

  Fletcher stopped short of the door. “What do you mean?” he snarled, his gaze jumping to the telegraph clerk behind them.

  “I mean...” She licked her dry lips, desperately trying to remember anything her grandmother had told the family about her father, Henry. “He, um, isn’t likely to be in the country at present.” Yes, that was it. She remembered hearing as a girl that Henry Vanderfair liked to travel to warmer climates for the winter. “Which means it could take some time, more than a few days, for a message to reach him and for him to reply to his secretary. Then that man would have to send the funds.”

  She allowed herself a sigh of relief, hoping she’d bought herself at least another week or two. They could continue on to the hideout and Fletcher could check back for a reply, long after Essie had fled the gang.

  Cursing, the outlaw marched her out the door.

  Tate threw her a concerned look, which she met with a tight smile. “The telegram’s been posted,” she said with false brightness.

  “But a lot a good it’s goin’ to do us now,” Fletcher barked.

  Clem looked between her and Fletcher. “Why’s that?”

  “Because her great-granddaddy is likely out of the country, which means we aren’t gonna get that money for some time.” He removed his hat and slapped it against his leg. “We need those funds now.”

  Essie edged away from him to stand closer to Tate. His hand came to rest against the small of her back, bringing instant comfort. She trusted him—just as she’d said. Though she wasn’t sure if he would be much help to her if Fletcher uncovered her deception while she was still in their company.

  Fletcher began pacing the sidewalk. The taut cloud that had shrouded the group earlier returned. “Go back in there,” he commanded after a minute, coming to a stop in front of her and Tate. “Have them change the last part of that message. I want the instructions about the funds sent to the Occidental Hotel in Buffalo instead. It’s closer to the hideout, and we’ve got to go there anyway to get our supplies.”

  Glancing up at Tate, who nodded for her to go ahead, Essie stepped back inside the telegraph office. To her surprise, though, none of the men accompanied her this time, not even Fletcher. She was all alone. The realization soon gave way to a bold idea, one that made her heart hammer faster.

  “Did you forget something, miss?” the clerk asked kindly from his post behind the counter.

  “Sort of.” She smiled, in spite of the sharp hope and fresh apprehension stirring inside her. “Did you happen to send that telegram of mine?” she asked as she approached him.

  He shook his head. “Not yet. There were a few others ahead of yours.” His tone conveyed apology.

  “Not to worry.” She glanced out the window to make sure the men were not paying attention to her. “I’ve changed my mind, actually,” she said in a low voice as she leaned against the counter.

  The clerk’s brow furrowed with confusion. “So you don’t want the telegram sent?”

  Essie shook her head, trying her best to appear calm. “No, I don’t.”

  He studied her a moment then shrugged. Moving to the nearby desk, he shifted through a stack of slips before extracting hers. “Here you go, then, miss.” He passed the message across the counter to her. “I’d better return your money, too.”

  Taking the paper in hand, her gaze still on the figures outside the window, she tore the paper in two and then in two again. “Do you have a rubbish bin?”

  The man nodded. Scooping up the incriminating pieces, he turned and dumped them into the waste bin. The sight made Essie want to sing or throw her arms around the stranger. Now she wouldn’t have to worry about what Henry Vanderfair’s reply might have been. By the time Fletcher made it to Buffalo to see about the ransom, she would be long gone.

  She scooped up the coins the man placed on the counter and gave him a genuine smile. “Thank you for your help, sir.”

  Still looking a bit puzzled, the man smiled back. “I suppose you’re welcome.”

  Chuckling, as much at his words as from the relief coursing through her, she walked to the door and stepped outside. “It’s been taken care of,” she said before Fletcher could ask.

  He’d put his hat back on and stopped pacing, but he still looked displeased. She felt a prick of fear that his ire would be a thousand times worse if he knew what she’d just done. But what other choice had she had?

  Clem cleared his throat, interrupting the tense silence. “What’ll we do now, Fletch?”

  “We probably shouldn’t linger in town,” Tate offered, glancing around at the people moving along the sidewalk. “Word about the train might not have reached here yet, but you never know.”

  “I agree,” Silas replied as he moved to the horses. “It’s best if we keep going, Fletch.”

  “Saddle up, then,” their leader growled. He shot Essie a hard look that made her shi
ver, but she wouldn’t be cowed. Fletcher had no way of knowing she hadn’t sent the telegram. When there was no answer, he might just think her great-grandfather had refused to reply. There was plenty of time to finish conducting her research, and she fully intended to use it.

  Tate helped her climb into the saddle, and then she turned her horse around and followed the others out of town. Less than ten minutes later, they’d left the buildings and people behind. Only then did Essie realize her hands were shaking. Her time with the group had come so close to an abrupt, and possibly painful, end.

  Thank You for the respite, Lord, and for the chance to stop that telegram.

  Drawing in a full gulp of fresh air, she let it out slowly. Everything was going to be all right, she assured herself. Just a few more days and she’d be on her way back home, hopefully wiser and more than capable of writing the best book she’d ever penned.

  * * *

  The sun was still hours from setting when Fletcher stopped the group to make camp. Tate didn’t complain. After waiting out the earlier storm, and the one brewing inside him as he and Essie had taken shelter, he felt more than ready to put this day behind him.

  His gaze flicked to Essie—again. Something unpleasant had happened back at the telegraph office, though he couldn’t guess what. She’d been fairly talkative and cheerful since riding away from Casper, but Tate had seen a glimmer of unmistakable fear in her eyes before and after she’d taken care of the telegram. Perhaps he could find out the reason after dinner, when they did their usual talking as she wrote in her notebook.

  Essie, Clem and Silas dismounted, but before Tate could swing down from his own horse, Fletcher announced, “Hold up there, cowboy. We’re going back.”

  Tate jerked around in the saddle to look at the outlaw. “What do you mean?” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Essie and the other men staring in shock at Fletcher, as well. “Going back where?”

  Fletcher yanked his horse’s reins, turning the animal in the direction they’d just come. “Back to Casper. We’re going to rob the bank there.”

  Shock reared inside Tate and he frowned; he’d thought his involvement with robberies was over for this mission. “I don’t think that’s a good id—”

  “I’m not askin’ what you think.” Fletcher glared at each of them in turn. “We can’t get our hands on Henry Vanderfair’s money for at least a week or so.” Essie ducked her chin. “And that good-for-nothin’ Jude ran off with the rest. So we’re goin’ back to recoup our losses.”

  “You don’t need me for a bank job,” Tate said, trying to keep his voice nonchalant. “Why don’t I stay here with Miss Vanderfair?” That would keep them both out of the fray.

  “Now that I think about it, I’d like to join you,” Essie countered, taking a step toward him and Fletcher. “It would be great research, seeing all of you in action again. I could watch from across the street—”

  “No!” Tate and Fletcher barked at the same time. It was likely to be the only thing they ever agreed on.

  She crossed her arms, her mouth a tight line. “That’s why I’m here, gentlemen. To not only hear and record your stories, but to understand your operation, your way of doing things. I won’t be in the way, I promise, and it would help me to witness such a scene in person—”

  “You’re here to interview us, nothing more.” Fletcher’s steely tone made Essie visibly flinch. “Which means you’re stayin’ put.”

  To her credit, Essie offered no further argument.

  Tate felt a wash of relief at having dodged a dicey situation. His desire to keep her safe and far away from any illegal activity had worked. “I’ll stay with her,” he volunteered again. Fletcher didn’t need him on this job—three men would be plenty to rob the bank.

  But Fletcher shook his head. “Clem will stay with her.”

  “And why is that?” Tate couldn’t keep his voice free of tension.

  “Because I still don’t trust you, cowboy.” He glanced at Clem and something unspoken passed between them.

  “If I haven’t earned your trust now, I don’t know what will.”

  Fletcher threw him a snide grin, which only intensified the apprehension in Tate’s gut. “Oh, I’m startin’ to trust you on the jobs. Just not where Miss Vanderfair is concerned. I’m not convinced you won’t let her run off while we’re away.” With a dip of his chin, he signaled Clem. The outlaw cook suddenly drew his gun and pointed it at Essie, though his face drained of color.

  Tate tensed, making his horse dance beneath him. The urge to jump down and stand between Essie and that gun barrel was nearly overpowering. What if she was shot?

  He clenched the reins and forced himself to remain in his saddle. The sight of Essie standing there with her wide-eyed, confused expression and white lips felt like a knife through his chest, but if he wasn’t careful, he might anger Fletcher further or spook Clem into pulling the trigger. He had to protect her by staying calm and in control.

  “Is a gun really necessary?” He pushed the question past his sand-filled throat.

  After flicking an appreciative glance in his direction, Essie focused on Clem. “I promise I won’t run away. Truly, Clem. I will stay right here.” She held her hands out and slowly sank to the ground as proof of her words.

  “If she does make a move to leave, you shoot,” Fletcher ordered.

  Clem had the decency to look miserable at the task before him, but it was evident to Tate where the man’s true loyalties lay. And it wasn’t with the kind, pretty lady seated on the ground, her knees now drawn up to her chest.

  “Let’s go.” Fletcher kicked his horse in the flanks and started riding again without a backward look. And though he looked downright unhappy himself, Silas silently climbed back into the saddle and followed.

  Tate hesitated, wanting to give Essie some reassurance to allay the worry he still saw on her face. “So help me, Clem, if I find even one scratch on her when I get back...”

  Clem lowered the gun a few inches. “If she says she’ll stay put, I ain’t doubtin’ that.” Glancing in the direction Fletcher and Silas had gone, he frowned. “But you know I gotta do what Fletch says.”

  “I’ll be all right,” Essie said, her eyes locking with Tate’s. It wasn’t hard to read the trust, faith and determination glowing in their hazel depths. Even when she still thought he was an outlaw.

  Not for the first time, he wanted to feel worthy of her trust. If only he could tell her the truth about himself and his reasons for being there.

  “You’d better go,” she added, “before he gets even angrier. Clem won’t hurt me. Will you?”

  The outlaw shook his head. “On my honor. As long as you don’t run away, ma’am.” He tucked his gun away, a clear sign he meant his promise, and moved to gather the other horses’ reins.

  “All right, then.” Tate threw Essie one more look and then nudged his mount to get moving. If he didn’t catch up to Fletcher and Silas soon, there was no telling what the gang leader might conspire to do next.

  Chapter Eleven

  When he spied the bank up ahead, Tate’s heart sped as fast as a locomotive. How had he ended up here, about to be culpable in another robbery? The obvious answer was his need to maintain his cover, but that wasn’t the only reason. Ever since Essie had stumbled into his life, nothing had gone the way he’d expected. But he was fast realizing that wasn’t a bad thing. Far from it.

  The terrible memory of Clem drawing his gun on her flashed through Tate’s mind. For one awful moment he’d feared for her safety and also for the possibility of having her yanked from his life. And the latter thought had terrified him.

  At some point in the very near future Essie would disappear from his life—for good. He wouldn’t get to observe her adorable, tousled hair in the morning anymore. Wouldn’t get to sit and talk with her at night. Wouldn
’t get to watch her face light up as she told him stories or to hear her sparkling laugh or to see her pretty smile. She’d simply be gone.

  Tate swallowed hard against the pressure growing in his chest as he dismounted beside Fletcher and Silas, down the street from the bank. There wasn’t any way to keep Essie around, and now that he knew Fletcher had no qualms about holding her at gunpoint, he knew she should leave, for her own safety. But he hated the idea of never seeing her again.

  Is there another way, Lord? To stay my course and still have her in my life? He didn’t like the idea of her being a detective’s wife—that came with its own dangers and challenges. But he was duty-bound to keep ridding the world of injustice. Wasn’t he?

  “All right, here’s the plan,” Fletcher said, jerking Tate’s thoughts from the future to the present. “Silas, you stay with the horses. Have ’em ready to go the second we come out of the bank.” Silas nodded agreement before Fletcher turned to Tate. “You’ll guard the outside of the buildin’. Make sure no one enters the bank after I do.”

  “I can do that.” The tension in Tate’s neck and shoulders eased a little at hearing his assignment. He wouldn’t have to participate in the actual robbery—just keep other people from getting involved.

  Fletcher fished a bandanna from his pocket and tied it around his neck. “I want to make this quick.”

  Trailing Fletcher toward the bank, Tate tugged his hat lower and tried to look like he belonged. The outlaw stopped outside the door, his fingers reaching for his gun.

  “No one comes in,” he reminded Tate in a harsh whisper. “Got it?”

  Nodding, Tate blew out a full breath and leaned casually against the bank’s outer wall as Fletcher disappeared inside. He steeled himself for screams or protests, but the only sounds were the ones coming from the street in front of him. A few seconds passed and an older woman exited the bank, which meant Fletcher hadn’t made his move yet. What was he waiting for?