by Stacy Henrie
“But...” She shook her head in disbelief, seeming to forget all about him holding her hand. Tate wasn’t complaining—he wanted to cradle her soft fingers a little longer. “But you look exactly like the Texas Titan. Same eye color, same hair color, same build. Everything the same as listed on those Wanted posters. Well, except for that scar behind your ear.”
Tate leaned forward, bringing his eyes to the same level as hers. “And that is the biggest difference between me and my twin brother.”
“Twin?” she repeated, her expression stunned.
He nodded. “My twin brother, Tex Beckett, is the real Texas Titan.”
“You have a twin?” Her voice had risen in volume. Tate released her hand to clap his over her mouth. If she woke the others before he could finish...
Above his fingers, her green eyes stared in shock at him. “The others don’t know,” he murmured. Her gaze flicked to Silas and she dipped her head in a nod. He lowered his hand and continued his explanation. “My brother disappeared a few months back and I saw it as an opportunity to infiltrate Fletcher’s gang by pretending to be Tex.”
“So you really haven’t ever been to the Paiges’ ranch. That’s what you meant when you said I had to trust you.” Essie swiveled to face him. “You weren’t the one who tried to rob the bank in Casper, either.”
He couldn’t help smiling at her skills of memory and deduction. “Right on both accounts. I didn’t know Tex had been to the ranch or even to that bank. Which made both situations pretty tricky to navigate while I was pretending to be him.”
Instead of joining in his merriment, though, she glanced at her lap. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
The smile dropped from his face. Taking her shoulders gently in hand, he waited for her to lift her chin before he continued. “I wanted to, Essie. Soon after getting to know you. But I didn’t think I could risk it. There was—still is—the possibility of harm coming to me and to you if Fletcher finds out.”
“Then why tell me now?”
He rubbed her sleeves with his thumbs, a longing to hold her close, to kiss that drooping mouth, filling him to distraction. “Because,” he said, clearing his throat, “I feel like you ought to know.” Tate released her and fiddled with the brim of his hat. Emotions pushed against his logic and won out.
“I wanted you to know,” he added in a half whisper, “because I want you to know the real me.”
The smile he’d been missing for hours finally bloomed on her lips. “Even if I thought you were an outlaw, Tate, I’ve known the real you for several days now.”
Her words struck with force inside his heart and mind. Had his seemingly irrational hunch been correct all along? Had God intended for him to meet Essie?
“I have a question, then,” she said, pulling him from his thoughts.
“Just one?” He prompted another smile from her with his teasing.
“Whose story were you telling the other night by the corral?”
Tate shifted on the hard ground. “I told it from Tex’s perspective, but I was sharing my story, too. Everything happened just as I said. I was so angry that night, for a lot of reasons. Something inside me just snapped when I saw Tex meant to sell our mother’s cherished earrings.” He lifted his hand and absently rubbed at the scar behind his ear. “When I came to after he hit me with the lantern, I wasn’t able to find him. He’d disappeared completely. Eventually I sold the farm and joined the Pinkerton agency.”
Reaching out, Essie touched his ear. “So that’s why you have that scar. I wondered why the newspapers or Wanted posters hadn’t mentioned it.”
“Telling you that story from my brother’s viewpoint caused me to see things I didn’t at the time.”
“Such as?”
“I was too hard on him, Essie. Always goading him about responsibility and working for what you get. In a lot of ways he reminded me of our pa and I couldn’t watch him turn out like that. Even if I was older by only a few minutes.” He lowered his head, the burden pressing down anew. “In the end, I drove him to a life that was much worse.”
Her hand settled on his arm. “Tate?” she said quietly. He didn’t want to lift his head, didn’t want to see the accusation he knew he’d find in her innocent gaze. But when he finally dragged his eyes upward, the compassion emanating from those green-brown eyes surprised him. “You didn’t drive him to do anything.”
“But—”
She shook her head, silencing his protest. “Tex’s choices are his. Just as your choices—to sell the farm, to become a detective, to come on this mission—those are yours and no one else’s.”
He couldn’t help eyeing her with skepticism. “But I was too hard on him. He was hurting just as much as I was after our ma died, but he showed it differently. I didn’t understand that at the time. And I was jealous of him and Ravena. They were the only family I had left and they wanted to leave me behind.”
The honesty and bitterness of his own words caked his mouth with acid. He hated admitting them, but he wanted Essie to understand everything. “I’ve done my best to make things right. I’ve hunted down outlaw after outlaw to keep people like Tex from hurting the innocent. But there’s always another job, another robbery to investigate.”
“Is that why you became a Pinkerton agent?” Her eyebrows rose in question. “For your brother?”
Hearing her voice his motive out loud made him shrink inwardly. “I was trying to balance things, to bring justice to a world Tex is determined to undermine.”
To his annoyance, Essie regarded him with sorrowful empathy rather than admiration. “You have to stop paying penance for your brother’s mistakes. They aren’t yours.”
He scowled at the stream, his mind whirling like a jetty. Did he truly think bringing justice to the world would make up for Tex’s wrongdoings? Or was he really trying to atone for his own?
The poignant question smacked him in the forehead, bringing sudden clarity. He’d been running from reality just as surely as Tex had. By not owning his part in their argument that night. By thinking he could control his brother or make different choices for Tex—or even atone in his place. By putting all of his energies into a job he didn’t truly love.
All these years he’d lived under the shame of having an outlaw twin brother, thinking he had to do something about it. But Essie was right. He wasn’t responsible for Tex’s choices, just as Tex wasn’t responsible for his.
A peace he hadn’t known since boyhood filled him head to toe. No wonder his prayers about continuing to do his duty had gone unanswered.
That’s what You’ve been trying to tell me all along, Lord. That I was only responsible for my part, not his.
“It’s not too late to make things right with your brother, Tate.” Essie’s imploring glance drew him back to the conversation. “But that isn’t going to happen by rounding up every criminal you can find. It’ll happen when you tell him you’re sorry for the things you said and did, and how those affected him. Hopefully he’ll say the same, but even if he doesn’t, you’ll be able to move forward.”
Tate studied his hands—they were so similar to his brother’s. Were Tex’s as lined and weathered with growing age as his were? “I have to find him first.”
Linking her fingers through his, Essie offered him a smile. “I believe you will.” Hope as warm and comforting as a hot meal filled him as he studied her pretty face.
“I think he might be hurt,” he said, drawing strength from Essie’s touch. “The sheriff in Casper was yelling about shooting me—or rather, him—again.”
“Then we can pray for him. Right now.”
He’d done the right thing in telling her. A physical weight had dropped from his shoulders now that he wasn’t carrying the burden of truth alone anymore. Tate cast a glance at the sleeping outlaws. “All right.”
Low
ering his head, he murmured the words that filled his heart. He wasn’t sure if Essie could hear him, but he welcomed the chance to pray openly in her presence. “Father, thank You for Essie’s wisdom. Thank You for using her to show me my own stubborn blindness. Bless Tex. Keep him safe.” A lump crowded his throat and prompted a cough. Essie squeezed his hand, encouraging him to finish. “He’s my brother and always will be. And I want to find him and make things right between us. In the name of Thy Son. Amen.”
He opened his eyes to find Essie peering openly back at him. Her gentle smile, and the fact that she still held his hand, encouraged a scene to form inside his mind. He and Essie were riding astride matching horses, silhouetted by a frame house in the distance with plenty of farm acreage surrounding it. No outlaws, no covert jobs, no more running ragged trying to redeem the past. The image stirred dreams he’d thought he had long ago buried—dreams of working a farm again, of having a family, of being at peace.
“Thank you for telling me the truth, Tate.”
Her soft voice disrupted his imaginings, but a feeling of liberation remained within him. Somehow everything would work out, especially now that he was committed to truly trusting the Lord. Even though Silas was still injured and Tate still had to see this mission through to the finish, he no longer felt alone. “It’s nice not to have to keep that secret from you.”
Instead of responding with mutual happiness, Essie slid her hand from his and fiddled with the hem of her borrowed dress. Her bright expression had grown cloudy again, reminding him of earlier.
“What is it?” he asked.
She released a sigh as she clasped and unclasped her hands. “There’s something I ought to tell you...now that I know you’re not an outlaw.” Tate waited, his relief at voicing the truth evaporating at her reluctance. “It’s about...”
A noise from Silas drew their attention; he was stirring. But it could wait a moment. “Essie, what is it?”
Standing, she shook her head. “I can tell you later. We need to re-dress Silas’s bandage before Fletcher demands it’s time to go.”
Tate consulted his watch. They had less than ten minutes of their rest hour left. Though he didn’t like the idea of putting off their conversation, Silas did need their help if he was going to make it through another long ride. “All right. But will you tell me when we stop tonight?”
She hesitated then dipped her chin in a quick nod. Concern and uncertainty still reflected in her gaze. They returned to Silas’s side and Essie removed the soiled bandage. Working quickly, she soon had the cloth rinsed and tied once more around the injured leg.
After waking Clem and Fletcher, Tate helped Silas back into the saddle. The man’s face had a little more color, but he still insisted on being tied onto his horse. They started out again, Tate feeling less burdened than he had in years. One look at Essie, though, told him something was still bothering her. She threw him a smile but it didn’t fill her eyes or light up her face. What could be bothering her? She knew the whole truth about him now.
Or did she?
He hadn’t confided everything. There was something he’d kept back. He hadn’t shared how much he’d come to admire her or how she figured prominently into his new dream for the future. Tonight he’d tell her. Then she could choose if she felt the same or not.
One way or the other, he hoped revealing more of his heart would help put the sunshine permanently back into her demeanor. Because whatever his future held over the next few days or weeks or years, he hoped Essie would be a part of it.
Chapter Thirteen
Tate’s not an outlaw. Tate’s not an outlaw. The refrain ran through Essie’s mind like a music box someone kept winding up to play over and over again. She was hardly conscious of anything else.
She hadn’t come to care for a man who wasn’t free to care for her in return. Because Tate wasn’t an outlaw; he was a Pinkerton detective. That truth had greatly soothed her battered spirits, though she still wondered if he thought her silly. Perhaps the kindness of his touch and the happiness in his blue eyes as they’d spoken by the stream were only evidences of his relief and nothing more.
Then there was the matter about the ransom. He’d told her his secret and she needed to tell him hers. But would he be angry with her when he found out there was no money coming? Or worse, would Tate see her deception in destroying the telegram as further proof that she didn’t take life seriously?
Essie grasped the reins more tightly and then winced as the leather scraped the cuts on her palms. Perhaps Tate wouldn’t be upset with her. After all, he’d concealed important information, as well. Though, if she were truly honest with herself, she knew he had greater reason for doing so. Keeping his true identity to himself was critical to saving his life and fulfilling his mission.
And what of your mission? her head persuasively argued. You wouldn’t have been allowed to come along if they’d known about the ransom that first day.
This was also the truth. But now that Tate had shared his secret, Essie felt compelled to do the same. No matter how upset he might get or how silly he accused her of being. He needed to know, long before Fletcher ever did, that the money wasn’t coming.
Resolved, she tried to smile each time Tate looked her way, but her stomach wouldn’t cease its churning. She’d inadvertently and carelessly plunged herself into the middle of a dangerous situation. A detective in disguise, an injured outlaw and a man desperate for her money didn’t make for the most safe or ideal companions, especially when there was likely a bunch of lawmen on their trail. The circumstances looked dire, even to someone as imaginative as herself. What had seemed like the perfect solution to her worries over her writing career now felt more like a nightmare, a trap.
Except for meeting Tate. Essie twisted to look at him, but she hurried to face forward when he turned in her direction. Was it possible they could have a future together? Neither of them had voiced any real feelings, though Essie had felt them growing the more time she spent in his company. And yet would being a detective’s sweetheart or wife be much different than an outlaw’s? While on the right side of the law, the job was still dangerous, still allowing for long periods of time without seeing one another. Then there was her own career to consider. Did she wish to give up writing dime novels to be a wife and mother? She loved her life as an authoress...didn’t she?
Regret pressed hard against her ribs at the question. Of course there were moments of exultation when she was writing and creating, when she was caught up in a world of her own making. But what of building a fulfilling life for herself in the real world instead of retreating into her imagination? Since leaving home, she hadn’t put much effort into really cultivating friendships or relationships outside her made-up characters. She’d convinced herself, especially after Harrison’s rejection, that her fictional world and a life on her own were enough to satisfy her. And yet over the last five days she’d begun to see that wasn’t true. Befriending Tate had thrown harsh light onto her solitary existence in Evanston.
Since Nils’s death, she’d thought she was so brave to finally move away from the ranch and pursue her bold career. But perhaps she’d only been running from her past, like Tate had from his. Every decision driven by the hurt that she wasn’t accepted by her own family. Tears pricked Essie’s eyes at the raw feelings such realizations drew from deep within her.
Was she writing for the love of it or as a way to escape? Was her career an excuse for avoiding real life? She sniffed hard and rubbed at her eyes, the ache in her chest expanding. Perhaps what she really feared was not being enough. With her naturally cheerful personality and carefree, adventurous outlook, would she even make a suitable wife or mother?
She had no answers to such painful questions and their chorus snuffed out any spark of desire to create scenes inside her head today. In the absence of her usual creative distraction, the ride felt longer and hott
er, their final destination farther and farther away.
The dust stirred into the air by the horses scratched at her eyes and collar. She slowed her mount to match the plodding pace of Silas’s animal. The outlaw appeared to be sleeping, slumped forward in the saddle. Probably better for him, Essie thought with concern.
She guided her horse into a canter up a slight incline behind Silas. Suddenly the outlaw slipped from the saddle. The rope around his waist prevented him from tumbling to the ground, but he’d clearly lost consciousness.
“Silas needs help,” she screamed, urging her horse forward toward the outlaw. Up ahead, Tate echoed the cry to Clem and Fletcher, then jerked his horse around.
Essie managed to snag the reins of Silas’s mount to stop it. She could see the man was still breathing, but he seemed oblivious to having stopped or fallen from the saddle.
“What happened?” Tate asked, dismounting.
“I don’t know.” She shook her head as she slipped from the saddle, worry renewing the twisting in her stomach. “I thought he was sleeping and then all of a sudden he dropped over to the side.”
Fletcher and Clem rode up as Tate propped up Silas and instructed Essie to untie the rope. “What’s going on?” The outlaw leader scowled at them from atop his horse.
Essie hurried to untie the knots to free Silas. “We have to stop. Silas is unconscious. And look at his leg.” She gestured to his tattered pant leg where fresh blood had begun seeping through.
Mumbling a curse, Fletcher surveyed the grassy plain, squat trees and rocky buttes surrounding them. “There’s a ravine about half a mile north of here,” he barked, pointing his finger in that direction. “Get him there and we’ll camp for the night.”
“He can’t ride anymore,” Tate said, hoisting the unconscious outlaw.
“Guess you’ll have to carry him, then, cowboy.” With that, Fletcher grabbed the reins of Silas’s horse and started forward again. “We’ll see you in a bit.”
