Stacy Henrie - The Outlaw's Secret

For once Fletcher offered a smile that almost bordered on genuine. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

“I still think that we ought to keep moving,” Silas said with surprising force. Tate had dubbed him “Silent Silas” in his head on account of the man’s quiet, non-talkative nature. “Today went well, but there’s nothing between here and Casper worth taking on. Besides, we got that girl’s ransom coming.”

Uncrossing his arms, Fletcher gazed across the campsite toward Essie. A feeling of unease crept over Tate. Did Fletcher plan to keep Essie around until the spring? There was no telling what the outlaw would do—he was as fickle as a woman with two beaus. But Tate would do all in his power to get Essie back on her merry way sooner than later. At least the forthcoming ransom seemed to be holding Fletcher in check as far as mistreating her.

“I get to say if we do another job or not,” Fletcher finally growled. “But since I ain’t made up my mind, we’ll continue on to the hideout as planned. Tex, you’re on guard duty tonight. Wake Jude up at two o’clock to switch places.” With that, he marched toward the fire.

Jude and Silas threw tight looks at one another then followed after their leader. Tate remained by the horses another minute, doing his best to rein in the annoyance rippling through him. He didn’t like having Fletcher order him around, but it was a necessary part of infiltrating the gang and getting the man to trust him.

Breathing out a heavy sigh, Tate collected his rifle from his saddle and returned to the campfire. The other four men had laid out their bedrolls. Fletcher was using the bag with the stolen money as a pillow. Essie, on the other hand, still sat with her blanket wrapped around her shoulders, writing.

Tate grabbed the remaining blanket and sat beside her. She didn’t glance up. While guard duty meant little sleep, at least this way he could keep an eye on her during her first night with them. “Don’t you think you ought to get some rest?” he asked as he set his gun next to him on the ground. He left his revolver in the holster at his waist.

“A Winchester Model 1886,” she murmured.

“What?”

She lifted her chin and pointed with her pencil at his gun. “Your rifle is a Winchester, the 1886 model, correct?”

Tate nodded in disbelief. “How did you know that?”

A small but lovely smile lifted her lips. “As the authoress of dime novels set in the West,” she said, her gaze returning to her notebook, “I would be remiss in my research if I didn’t know a Winchester from a Sharps.”

He didn’t bother to swallow his startled laughter. There was clearly more to Miss Essie Vanderfair than he’d suspected. “Do you know how to shoot it?”

She shot him an arch look. “I was raised on a ranch. I can shoot anything with a trigger.”

Leaning back on his hands, Tate regarded her appreciatively. “Are you writing a story right now?”

The glint of steel fell from her face as she shook her head. “Unfortunately, no. I’m merely getting down your answers from our interview earlier.”

The recollection of her nosy questions and keen discernment made his stomach twist with apprehension. “It’s been a while since your interview. How do I know you’re remembering my answers correctly?”

Essie shoved the notebook into his chest, making him wince. “Have a look yourself.”

He studied the page before him and the two columns of neat, looping writing penned there. Above one column, Essie had written “Questions.” The other column she’d labeled “Answers.” Tate read through several of her questions. Were you desperate for money? What drove you to such a life? Then he glanced at the second column for the answers. No. Anger, mostly. My parents. God. My girl... My brother.

Though he didn’t have a perfect memory, he remembered enough of his responses to know she’d penned them—word for word. “How did you remember these?” He handed her back the notebook but kept hold of his end when she reached for it. “You weren’t taking notes.”

“No, I wasn’t,” she said, ducking her chin. The firelight revealed the blush on her cheeks. “But when I come up with things to write down for my stories, I can keep it all there in my mind until I can get to paper and a pencil. Then I just note it down, like reading a page out of a book.”

“Can you recall everything you hear?” Having her on this job was proving more and more useful. If she happened to overhear anything or if the outlaws kept babbling to her as Clem had done earlier...

But his hopefulness died when Essie shook her head. “I can’t recall everything. Usually it’s easiest with information relating to my work. Though even that, after a few hours, half a day at the most, gets blurred.”

Tate relinquished his hold on her notebook. Resting his arms on his knees, he threw a sideways glance at her as she began writing again. What was it Clem had said about her? She’s an interestin’ little thing. Tate had to agree.

Miss Essie Vanderfair surprised him and it had been some time since he’d been truly, and pleasantly, surprised. It hadn’t been an entire day since they’d met, and yet he found himself more and more intrigued by her as the hours passed. If only he weren’t on assignment, and a dangerous one at that, he might have invited her to dinner at a hotel restaurant and plied her with questions instead of the other way around.

But he was on an assignment, he reminded himself as he stared into the flames of the fire. And the fascinating woman seated beside him unknowingly held the key that could expose him for the detective he was and the renegade he wasn’t.

Frowning at the thought, he picked up his rifle and placed it across his knees. He’d have to keep his distance from her, while also doing his best to smooth over any more of her suspicion. He couldn’t guarantee the safety of either of them if his secret was revealed.

* * *

All done. Essie stuck her pencil in the center of her notebook and smiled tiredly at the filled page. She’d penned every question and cryptic answer of the Texas Titan’s as well as the novel scenes she’d composed in her head earlier. Stretching, she tried to release the kink in her neck from bending over.

You’ll be stooped and wearing spectacles if you keep up all that foolish writing. The remembered words erased the smile from her mouth. What would her family think of her being here, with these armed men?

She glanced at the Texan seated silently nearby, his rifle across his knees. He hadn’t said another word since discovering her unusual talent for remembering things she heard or wrote inside her head. What could he be thinking just now?

Lowering her gaze, she read the last few sentences she’d written. The outlaw stared morosely into the fire as if seeing the tortured memories of his past. Or was it the possibility of a bleak and lonely future that pilfered his smile? The heroine met his gaze across the flames and a jolt of tenderness ran through her as his haunted blue eyes beckoned to her. His masculine mouth held her attention next and she pondered for a moment what it might be like...

“You ready?”

Essie slammed her notebook shut, her cheeks burning. Had he seen what she’d written? Good thing she hadn’t begun penning any of her scene ideas when she’d shown him her notebook earlier. “What do you mean?”

The Texan regarded her with a glint of amusement in those haunted blue eyes of his. They certainly were beckoning when they watched her that way. Blinking, Essie glanced in the opposite direction. She wasn’t writing about him; she was writing about her own fictional hero. Though perhaps she ought to change the hero’s eye color...and hair color...and build. Oh, bother.