Stacy Henrie - The Outlaw's Secret

“Is the interview over?”

The Texan’s voice jerked her back to the present. She straightened, her muscles still aching from riding bareback, as she cast a sidelong glance at the man’s saddle. He might have offered it to her.

“I was just thinking.” She schooled her thoughts back to their conversation. He’d mentioned his parents and a brother. “Were you and your brother close?”

“Used to be.”

She resisted the desire to roll her eyes at another short response from him. “When was the last time you saw him?”

“This interview is supposed to be about me, not him,” he countered in a voice seeping with irritation. She’d clearly touched upon another sore topic.

“True, but I believe our past and current relationships can shape our decisions.” In her case, they’d driven her to do what others deemed improper or undoable. Perhaps it was the same with the man riding beside her. “If you won’t discuss your brother, then tell me about this girl you left behind,” she tried next, hoping a change in the conversation’s direction would elicit a longer answer.

But she was disappointed in that, too.

“There’s nothing to say about her. I haven’t seen her in eight years.”

Another tender subject. She exhaled a sigh through her nose. Would it be this difficult to interview the other outlaws? She hoped not.

“Do you still harbor feelings for her?” The question fled her lips before she could swallow it back. He wasn’t going to give her an answer. And why should she care if he had loved, or still loved, this other woman? She didn’t.

Instead of shooting back an angry retort, though, some of the starch left him. “Not in that way. But there’s some...regret...there.” He shot her a glance, his mouth turned down. “Next question.”

“All right.” She didn’t bother to hide her growing annoyance. “What was your most exciting robbery?” Perhaps focusing on the more daring aspects of his chosen profession would result in the replies she really wanted. Men enjoyed bragging, didn’t they?

He barked with laughter, startling her and the horses. “There’s nothing exciting about robbing innocent people.”

“Then why do you keep doing it?” she countered, her gaze narrowing in on his face.

His attitude and actions didn’t seem to match. He was an odd mix of contradictions and nothing like the newspapers portrayed him to be. Maybe none of the reporters had actually spoken to him in person. If they were going off the hearsay reports of witnesses for their articles, that would explain the added charisma and excitement allegedly surrounding this man. A man who was ungentlemanly and morose in real life.

Turning his head, he mumbled something that sounded very much to Essie like “I don’t know” before he twisted to face her again. “That’s enough interviewing for today.” He pushed his horse to a gallop. “Let’s pick up the pace,” he called back to her. “I don’t want to be riding all night.”

Essie hurried to catch up, her earlier excitement all but evaporated. Her first interview hadn’t gone at all as she’d expected. And now she only had a few tidbits to work with.

She glared at the man’s back, only partially grateful to him for coming back for her. He was hiding something; she could sense it in every unyielding line of his form. But what could it be?

If he thought she’d be satisfied with their second-rate interview today, he was gravely mistaken. She would ferret out every last detail of his story. After all, her father used to tell her, with a mixture of exasperation and pride in his voice, “You’d worry a dog right out from under its bone, Essie.”

And this time, that dog was a handsome outlaw with a secret.

Chapter Four

Tate slid from the saddle, casting a glance over his shoulder at Essie to see her doing the same. The smell of burned beans and smoke permeating the air around the camp wasn’t exactly appetizing, but he didn’t mind. He was starving and tired—and he couldn’t shake the wariness in his gut regarding Miss Vanderfair.

She’d remained surprisingly silent during the last thirty minutes or so of their ride. But Tate had the sense he’d awakened a sleeping bear with his vague answers earlier. Essie wouldn’t be thrown off easily, but then, neither would he.

“Welcome back, Miss Vanderfair,” Fletcher said, rising from his choice spot by the fire. “My apologies for the earlier misfortune. You can be assured if you’d been with me that you wouldn’t have been left behind.”

Essie looked at Tate, but he couldn’t read her expression. Was she still angry? He, for one, was glad she hadn’t ridden with Fletcher. He didn’t trust that man any further than he could throw him. And, anyway, it was easier to keep an eye on her when she was close by.

“As you can see,” she said, “no harm was done.”

She went to stand by the fire, her hands outstretched to the flames. While the day had been warm, the evening had brought a drop in temperature. He could see that she shivered beneath her dress jacket, but she still maintained a smile.

Annoyance rippled through him. Why couldn’t she just ask for a blanket if she needed one? No one was going to cater to her needs out here. Stalking to the edge of the camp where the saddlebags had been stowed, he yanked out a blanket.

Returning to the fire, he plopped the blanket around her shoulders. Her gaze jumped to his, her eyes wide. They weren’t dark green anymore, as they’d been at the end of her interview. Now they shone more brown. “Thank you.”

He nodded once then turned to Clem. “Any supper left?”

The outlaw dropped a helping of beans onto two tin plates along with some biscuits that looked anything but light and fluffy. He passed the food to Essie and Tate.

Graciously accepting hers, Essie took a seat on the ground. Tate selected a spot nearby. Fletcher and Jude wandered over to where Silas was seeing to the two horses. The three outlaws appeared to be in deep conversation, though they kept their voices low enough that Tate couldn’t discern their words. He’d have to learn at some point what they were discussing, but right now, he needed to satisfy his empty stomach.

The first mouthful of beans, with its scorched flavor, made him grimace, and yet he was too hungry to quit eating. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Essie take a bite. The moment the food hit her tongue a startled expression crossed her face, though, to her credit, she didn’t gag or cough. Instead she visibly swallowed and scooped up another spoonful.

“This is my first time having camp fare, Clem. Is this your usual cuisine?”

Tate stuffed a piece of tough biscuit into his mouth to keep from laughing. Especially when Clem scratched his head and looked confused. “What do you mean by...cuisine, ma’am?”

“She means is this the food you usually eat on the run,” Tate explained.

“Oh, that.” Clem rubbed a hand over the salt and pepper hairs covering his chin. “We have beans and biscuits, like this here meal, a fair amount of time. But also small game. Once we reach the hideout, the eatin’s better.”

Essie murmured acknowledgment. “And where is your hideout?”

Tate tensed at the question, though he forced himself to appear as if he wasn’t paying attention. So far Fletcher had dodged or outright refused to reveal the hideout’s location to Tate. But if Clem talked...

“It’s in Hole-in-the-Wall country, ma’am. But that’s still a long ride from here. At least a week.”

The desire to holler with victory nearly overpowered Tate. He’d suspected the gang of hiding out in northern Wyoming, somewhere quite remote. Now he knew the name. And over the next seven days he’d know exactly how to get there, too.