The Outlaw's Secret

by Stacy Henrie

  Clem cast a pinched look over his shoulder, but he followed after Fletcher.

  Too tired and worried for Silas to be angry, Essie took the reins of her horse and Tate’s in hand. She would walk, too. “Can you carry him?”

  Tate’s face tightened with determination. “Half a mile’s not that far.” He set Silas down and then propped his shoulder underneath the man, before slowly rising again. Silas’s hat dropped in the process and Essie hurried to pick it up. “All right. Let’s go.”

  Silas hung limp and ashen-faced over Tate’s shoulder. The sight made Essie want to weep. She followed alongside them with the horses. The muscles in Tate’s neck and back visibly tensed under the strain of his load, but he didn’t complain.

  They walked in comparative silence for a minute or two before Essie voiced the thought foremost in her mind. “He isn’t going to make it to the hideout, is he?”

  “Not at the speed Fletcher wants. And maybe not slowly, either.”

  It was what she’d feared. Silas needed rest and medical attention to recover—not another few days of trying to stay on his horse. She thought back over what she’d heard about the outlaws’ hideout. Clem had said they ate better there and cabins provided shelter. But if Silas wasn’t well enough to make it that far...

  A recollection niggled at Essie’s conscience. “Clem and Fletcher were discussing the hideout last night.”

  Tate turned to look at her. “What did they say?”

  She searched her memory, but it was like riffling through drawers without remembering what she was looking for. “I can’t recall,” she said, shaking her head. “I didn’t think it was important and I didn’t want to get up and write it down.”

  Stopping, Tate shifted Silas’s weight, his expression anxious. “Can you remember anything? You’ve been able to recite your interviews word for word to me these past few days.”

  “Because I wrote them down within hours of hearing them. Too much time has passed since last night.”

  She half expected him to get frustrated, but he simply blew out a breath and plodded forward again. “Maybe it’ll come back to you.”

  “Maybe,” she echoed, but with little hope. The overheard conversation had occurred at least twelve hours ago and she’d been half awake, not fully listening.

  Was there any part of it she could remember? She focused her mind on last night. “They said something about lawmen and the hideout.”

  Tate whipped around, sending Silas’s upper body swinging. “Anything else?”

  Words floated through her head, but they remained just out of reach. “I’m sorry, Tate. I can’t think of anything more.”

  “It’s all right, Essie.” He threw her a tight smile.

  Still, she could sense his disappointment, could feel its sharp jab inside her. What if the information she couldn’t remember was lifesaving? “I’ll keep trying.”

  He nodded. “I know you will. I’ll be praying for you, too.”

  His words eased some of her frustration. “Good idea.” She tugged the horses’ reins to get the animals moving again and offered her own silent petition. Please, Lord, if it’s important for Tate to know what Clem and Fletcher were saying, help me remember. And, please, continue to bless Silas and protect Tate.

  She felt a little better, though her worries were far from gone. The sun felt hotter now that she was off her horse and walking slowly. She wished she had some water for her and Tate. Several times he stopped and shifted Silas’s weight. He would carry the injured man in his arms like a child, then switch to holding him over his shoulder like a sack of flour. The outlaw made no noise and didn’t regain consciousness, but each time they stopped, Essie was grateful to see his chest still rising and falling in spite of his seemingly lifeless state.

  At last they reached a wide ravine, guarded by buttes to the north. Essie guided the horses down the gradual slope to the ground below, Tate following behind with Silas. Clem and Fletcher were waiting in the shade. Shivers ran up Essie’s arms at the change in temperature as she stopped in the shadow of the ravine’s walls.

  Tate carefully lowered Silas to the ground, though Essie could see from his fatigued face and hunched shoulders how exhausted he was. Dropping down beside the injured outlaw, Tate sprawled on his back, his breathing heavy.

  “Is he all right?” Clem asked as he approached his friend.

  Essie released the two horses to join the others and went to stand beside Silas. “He’s still alive.” Thanks to Tate and the Lord, she thought as she peered down at the unconscious outlaw. “But his wound needs cleaning and re-bandaging. And, of course, he needs water to drink.” They all did, including the horses. But no stream ran along the bottom of this gully.

  “There’s a stream west of here,” Fletcher said, rising. “We’ll camp there.”

  Tate sat up, but Essie could see it cost him to move. “You said we could camp here, Fletcher. Silas isn’t going to make it any farther.” And neither would Tate if he had to keep carrying him.

  Lifting his hands in a pacifying gesture, Clem walked toward Fletcher. “You and me can take the horses to the stream to water them.” He pointed a thumb back at Silas. “Let ’im rest, Fletch. None of them are goin’ nowhere. Not with us havin’ the horses. They can hike to the water when we get back.”

  The outlaw leader scowled at Clem then tossed his arms in the air. “Bunch of whimperin’ children. Fine. Get the horses, Clem. We’ll water them and come back.”

  “I’ll try’n bring water back for Silas,” Clem said quietly to Essie. “So he can drink sooner.”

  The two outlaws climbed onto their horses and led the other two down the ravine, heading west. When they disappeared around a bend, Essie walked to Tate’s side. “Are you all right?”

  He’d slumped back to the ground. Without opening his eyes, he nodded. “Just catching my breath. How’s Silas?”

  “Still not awake.”

  “Here.” Tate rose to a sitting position just long enough to remove his jacket, then handed it to her. “He can use this as a pillow.”

  Carefully lifting Silas’s head, Essie tucked the jacket beneath him. Hopefully it would help him be more comfortable. “I feel as if this is all my fault, Tate.” She collapsed next to him, no longer able to stand herself. The worry and fear she’d felt the last twenty-four hours had depleted her strength to nothing.

  “How is any of this your fault?” Tate asked, his eyes still shut. His hat had been knocked askew, which gave Essie an unobstructed view of his handsome face.

  She twisted her mouth in indecision. There was still the real possibility of him getting angry when she voiced the truth. And yet she’d resolved to share it—to be as honest with him as he’d been with her. “It’s my fault because...well, because there is no ransom coming.”

  His eyes flew open and locked with hers as he slowly sat up. “What do you mean there’s no ransom coming?” His voice held a note of tension.

  Glancing down at her hands, Essie forced her next words from her lips. “It’s true that I am Henry Vanderfair’s great-granddaughter.” She picked at a broken fingernail. “What I didn’t share is that my grandmother chose to marry a poor man and so her father cut her off, completely. I’ve never even met my great-grandfather, nor is he likely to even be aware of my father’s existence. Let alone my own.”

  “Essie...” He spoke her name with a note of cautionary warning.

  “I know, I know.” She looked away, unwilling to see the disappointment in his blue eyes. “I was desperate to interview all of you and so I allowed Fletcher to believe what he would about my connection to my great-grandfather.”

  Tate scrubbed his hands down his face and bristled chin. “There’s still the slim chance Henry Vanderfair will take pity on you once he sees the telegram.”

  She shook her head. “No, the
re isn’t.”

  “Why is that?” he asked, his voice rising in volume with obvious alarm.

  “Because...” She glanced at the comatose Silas before spilling the truth in one great rush. “Because I didn’t send the telegram. When Fletcher had me go back inside the telegraph office alone to change the message, I realized I could prevent the telegram from being sent at all. That way I wouldn’t be around when they got a message that either denied my existence and relation to Henry Vanderfair or curtly declined sending any funds to ensure my well-being.”

  Tate climbed to his feet and began pacing in front of her with agitated steps. “Fletcher is counting on that money, Essie.” He paused long enough to pierce her with a stern look. “He may very well kill to get his hands on it.”

  “I know,” she repeated in a whisper. She felt as though her heart had dropped into her stomach. “It seemed the only logical thing to do at the time, but now...”

  “You have to leave.” He whirled to face her. “Right now. It’s not safe for you to stay here anymore.”

  She stood, as well, her hands held out in a helpless gesture. “I can’t leave. I don’t have a horse. And where am I to go?”

  “Back home,” he barked, but his expression had lost some of its edge. “You can leave tonight, then.”

  “Fine.” She turned her back on him as she faced the ravine wall, her eyes filling with tears. His anger was reasonable, but she’d hoped he might try to understand her motive a little more. “I’ll head back to Evanston tonight.”

  What a ninny she’d been to think there was a future between them. Tate cared for her, yes, but surely it was more out of duty than anything else. Even if there had been times when she thought she’d read something more in his gaze and actions.

  She startled when his large hands gently gripped her upper arms, but she didn’t turn around.

  “Essie, I don’t know that I can protect you if you stay.” The anguish in his tone melted her frustration like sunrays on a frozen pond. “And I can’t bear the thought...” She heard him swallow hard. “Of anything happening to you. Ever.”

  She nodded, not daring to speak for fear of revealing the irrational hope that rose sharply inside her at his words.

  “You’re courageous and strong and beautiful and smart. And you’re also human.” He gently turned her around to face him. “Even you aren’t immune to getting hurt. But I understand the desperation that made you ignore such a fact.”

  Her heart thudded faster at the tenderness in his blue eyes, and the apprehension she felt at erasing it with her next question, but she plunged ahead. “Do you find me incredibly silly and naive for what I did? With the ransom and the telegram?”

  He released one of her arms to trail his thumb down her jawline. “Naive, maybe. Bold, definitely. But never silly.”

  Never silly. Gratitude and warmth seeped through her. Tate didn’t find her silly. Others, like her family, might, but he didn’t.

  Essie parted her lips to thank him for understanding—but the words stilled in her throat when she realized his gaze had dropped to her mouth. She didn’t have to be a novelist to know he wished very much to kiss her. And she couldn’t deny how much she, too, wished for that kiss. His eyes rose to hers, questioning, then softening when she offered him a small smile of encouragement.

  Tilting her chin upward, Tate bent toward her. It was a moment she’d written about in fiction numerous times, but today she would get to experience this kiss as the heroine of her own story. This time she, and not one of her fictional female characters, was about to be kissed by a man she deeply cared for.

  Tate’s lips pressed to hers, filling Essie from head to toe with wonder and joy. Shutting her eyes, she kissed him back. And for the span of several moments nothing else existed but them—not Silas’s injury or the lack of her ransom or the possible danger they faced. It was only her and Tate and the marvel of her first real kiss.

  A mumbled request for “water” from Silas pulled them apart and ended the kiss, to Essie’s disappointment. She blew out a calming breath as Tate turned toward the wounded outlaw. But not before he threw a keen look at her over his shoulder. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t need to. Essie read his emotions in his blue eyes—hope, regret, protection. And possibly love?

  She wasn’t sure, but she knew what she wanted now. The interview with Fletcher no longer mattered. Her next book no longer mattered. She would put all of her energy at present in keeping herself—and Tate—safe. For that was the only way a future together might change from fictional dream to possible reality.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Keeping Essie’s hand firmly grasped in his, Tate led her along the bottom of the gully in the direction of the stream. They each held a cup to fill with water. Thankfully, Clem and Fletcher had arrived not long after Silas had stirred, so the man was able to get his much-needed drink. A little color had returned to his cheeks then, but he was still weak and in pain. If only there was more they could do for him...

  Tate shot a glance at Essie and couldn’t help smiling, in spite of their situation. How long had he wanted to kiss her? If he was honest with himself, probably ever since he’d found her doggedly trying to follow Fletcher’s gang after the rainstorm that first day. But the actual moment had proved much sweeter than he’d anticipated.

  Now he just had to get her out of harm’s way so there might be more such moments. That was, if she returned his growing affection for her. Everything in him said she did, but there were still his own feelings to sort out about his job and the completion of this mission to focus on first.

  As if reading his thoughts, Essie drew alongside him and asked, “What is your plan once you and the others reach the hideout?”

  Tate squinted up at the sun, guessing it was nearing four o’clock. Plenty of time to figure out how to spirit Essie away tonight before Fletcher could learn her ransom wasn’t coming. “I didn’t have the best plan,” he admitted. “Once I saw where the hideout was located, I was going to sneak away to the nearest town and convince the sheriff to follow me back.”

  “What if Fletcher and the others hid somewhere else once they discovered you were gone?”

  He’d had the same thought a number of times. “That was a risk I knew I was taking doing this mission on my own. But I didn’t see any other way around it. No other lawman has been able to ingratiate himself into Fletcher’s gang until now, let alone discover his hideout.”

  Essie suddenly jerked to a stop, her eyes widening in surprise. Had something spooked her? Tate searched the ground for a snake but saw nothing except dirt and yellowing grass. “What’s the mat—”

  “That’s it, Tate.”

  “What are you talking about?” he asked.

  Her full smile radiated relief. “I just recalled what Clem and Fletcher were discussing last night. What you said about the lawmen helped me remember.”

  Thank You, Lord, he silently prayed as he waited for her to share. He’d been disappointed earlier when she couldn’t remember the late-night conversation, though he didn’t fault Essie. She could recollect far more than he ever could. But a niggling thought at the back of his mind had him fearing this information might be crucial to his finishing this mission.

  “They were talking about the hideout and how no lawman has ever made it inside.”

  Trepidation began roiling within his stomach. Was this undertaking already doomed to fail? “Did they say why?”

  She nodded. “The hideout can be defended with little trouble. Anyone who attempts to access it, friend or foe, is easily spotted. That’s why no lawman can reach it.”

  “Because they’ll be seen before they make it inside,” he finished in a flat voice.

  “I’m sorry, Tate.” Her expression conveyed her sincerity and dismay.

  He shook his head and drew her to him for an embr
ace. “It’s not your fault, Essie. I’m proud of you for remembering all of that, especially so long after hearing it.”

  Lifting her head, she regarded him with those expressive green-brown eyes. “I’m grateful that I did. I’ve been praying to remember since this morning.”

  “Me, too.” He brushed a strand of blond hair from her forehead.

  “What are you going to do?”

  A mirthless chuckle escaped his mouth. “I don’t know. I can’t stay there all winter with them, in hopes of apprehending them next spring during a robbery. But I can’t lead the lawmen into an ambush.”

  She rested her cheek against his chest, giving him a moment of comfort and clarity. There had to be another solution. Another way to arrest Fletcher and his men without getting shot up trying to reach the hideout. But what?

  “Too bad you can’t get word to the sheriff in Casper,” Essie said, her hand lying directly over his heart, “for him to meet you here. Then you wouldn’t have to venture all the way to this impenetrable hideout.”

  “Yes,” he murmured, “it is too bad.”

  He stroked her hair, his mind running circles as it searched for a solution. What am I missing, Lord? Essie’s idea of having the sheriff meet up with him before they reached the hideout wasn’t a bad one; it was just a matter of how to reach the man and get back before Fletcher bolted, injured Silas or not. If someone could go in Tate’s place, though...

  “Essie, you can go.” He eased back to peer into her face, his hope for a successful mission no longer destroyed. It was the perfect solution.

  “Me?”

  Tate nodded as the idea began to take full shape inside his head. “You’re leaving tonight anyway, right?”

  She frowned. “I was considering it, yes.”

  “So you can ride to the sheriff in Casper and tell him to return here. It’s only forty miles. You can do that in half a day.”

  “Tate.” She shook her head, her expression anxious. “How am I going to convince the sheriff that a gang of outlaws and one Pinkerton detective are really half a day’s ride away?” Folding her arms, her cup clutched to her middle, she gave him a pleading look. “And what if Fletcher decides to up and flee after I’ve disappeared and the sheriff can’t find you?”