Читать книгу The Outlaw's Secret - Stacy Henrie - Страница 12

Chapter Three

Tate’s mouth curved into a grin at the sight of Essie Vanderfair. He sent up a quick prayer of gratitude at finding her alive and well. And to think he’d stumbled onto her after riding just a little more than an hour. She’d wandered closer to Fletcher’s camp than he would’ve thought possible. A blessing for both of them.

“You’re a ways off from any kind of town,” he called good-naturedly as he approached.

Instead of relief at seeing another human being way out here, she fixed him with a thorny glare. “I wasn’t trying to find a town. I was tracking you.” A bit of color flooded her cheeks. “At least until it started to rain.”

Tate stopped his horse beside hers. He’d ridden through the rain, too, but his hat had helped keep his head and face mostly dry. Essie looked drenched, her hair hanging limp against her back.

“You remind me of a cat I once rescued who nearly met his end in a swollen stream.” He couldn’t help a chuckle, which only narrowed her gaze even further.

“And you remind me of a...a...” She closed her lips.

“A what?” he prompted, more curious than offended. “Can’t think of a good rejoinder, Miss Vanderfair?”

The corners of her mouth quirked upward. “I’m full of good rejoinders, Mr. Tex. But I prefer to give my comeuppance in fiction.”

That wiped the smile from his face. He didn’t need her writing about him—or rather, his outlaw brother—in some sensationalized story. “My apologies. Your hair—” he motioned to the long wet mane “—looks...nice like that.”

One eyebrow rose in silent question. His neck felt warm, despite riding through the cool rain earlier. It wasn’t a lie, though. He liked it when a woman left her hair long instead of pinning it up. Ravena had always worn it long and flowing.

He couldn’t help comparing her to Essie, even as he fought memories from his youth. Ravena and Tex wove through nearly every one, and thinking back on the happiness they’d once shared left a bitter taste in his mouth. While not as stunning a beauty as Ravena had been, Miss Vanderfair had nice hazel eyes. Ones that apparently turned more green than brown when she was either determined or amused. With her hair down and her cheeks still pink, she made a rather lovely picture. Not that he’d noticed.

Clearing his throat, he turned his horse around. “Let’s get going.” He nudged the animal forward, but they hadn’t gone more than a couple of feet when he realized she wasn’t following.

Tate twisted in the saddle. “What’s the problem now?”

Her eyes maintained their emerald color. “I’m not going anywhere with you. The man who deliberately left me out here—alone.”

“You had some water,” he offered lamely, “and a horse.” But the paltry excuse only brought her chin up in a greater show of annoyance. So much for hoping she hadn’t realized he’d left her behind on purpose.

She prodded her horse forward. “Good day, Mr. Tex.”

He’d underestimated her pluck, and her anger; that was for sure. She wasn’t weeping all over him in gratitude at finding her, either. Instead she was going to stubbornly wander around Wyoming until she happened onto Fletcher and his gang. Or so she thought.

“Where are you going?” he called after her, leaning on the saddle horn as if he had all the time in the world.

Essie turned. “To find Mr. Fletcher and conduct my interviews.” Her chin hadn’t lowered one inch. “And I’ll do it without your help, thank you very much.”

“You might be able to follow my trail for a few minutes, but the rain washed most of it away.”

As he’d suspected, his words brought her and her horse to a full stop.

“You need me,” he added.

And he needed her, too, though he wasn’t about to reveal that information. It might make her overconfident, and that could mean serious trouble for him. Tate blew out a sigh, hating that his covert mission was now squarely tied to the woman glaring at him.

She didn’t bother to hide her emotions, which meant he could easily read the thoughts on her face. Frustration, dejection and, finally, acceptance. He had her and she knew it.

“Shall we continue, Miss Vanderfair?” He guided his horse alongside hers. “I don’t know about you, but I’m famished, and even Clem’s cooking is better than no cooking at all.”

But she didn’t humbly nod in acquiescence or make a move to follow him. No. She smiled at him instead. A smile that set fresh uneasiness churning in his stomach.

“I’ll come with you, Mr. Tex, if you allow me to interview you first.”

He sat back, feeling as if he’d been punched. The little imp had overthrown his plan with a cleverer one of her own.

The last thing he wanted, or needed, was to answer her nosy questions while still pretending to be his brother. He’d foolishly hoped they’d already be at Fletcher’s hideout before Essie could attempt to corner him into talking about the past. But that door had closed. He was caught, and he suspected she knew it, too.

“Fine. Just know I may not answer every question.”

A tiny furrow creased the space between her brows. “How am I to get the information I need—”

He shook his head. “Don’t know, but that’s my offer. Take it or leave it, Miss Vanderfair.”

She sized him up in a way that made him wonder what she saw. For one tiny moment he had the strangest wish to tell her that he wasn’t really an outlaw and she was riding straight into possible peril. But he couldn’t say a thing that might persuade her to turn around and ride hard in the opposite direction.

A small seed of protectiveness, one born out of something deeper than simply keeping the innocent safe, sprouted in him as he regarded her, too. Tate tried to eradicate it. After all, he hadn’t been able to protect Tex or the people his brother had wronged as part of his illustrious outlaw career. But something about Essie tugged at the locked handle of his heart, even before she gave him her answer.

“Very well, Mr. Tex.” Her eyes shone dark green again. “I accept your terms.”

* * *

“Were you born and raised in Texas?” Essie asked, a thrill pulsing through her at interviewing her very first outlaw. “Is that how you came by your name?”

The Texan shook his head. “I was born in Idaho. Lived there until eight years ago.” He paused before adding, “My mother and her family were from Texas.”

Essie kept her horse in pace with his, so she wouldn’t miss hearing his answers. Though her hands weren’t free to write down his responses, she wouldn’t soon forget them. Like the stories she penned in her head, her interview would be stored in her memory for a few hours and easily retrieved once she was able to write it in her notebook.

“You mentioned your mother passed away.” She gentled her tone so he wouldn’t feel as if she were prying. “When was that?”

“Ten years ago.” His shoulders stiffened, a clear indication he didn’t like the topic.

“And your father?” she prodded.

“He up and left us when I was nine. Next question.”

His abrupt manner did a poor job of hiding his pain. Essie swallowed a twinge of unease. Things with her parents and siblings might be strained, but at least she had a family. “Any brothers or sisters?”

“A brother.”

“Older or younger?”

Another long pause preceded his answer. “Younger.”

So much for delving deep into the life of an outlaw. She needed to think up better questions if she wanted to draw out more of his story. “When did you first become an outlaw?”

He cleared his throat, his face still rigidly pointed forward. “It was right after I left Idaho.”

“Were you desperate for money?”

“No.”

His response surprised her. She’d long believed money was the driving reason for most outlaws’ choices. Cocking her head, she studied his tense expression. Was he being truthful? It was hard to know after so short an acquaintance. “What drove you to such a life, then?”

“Anger, mostly.”

“At whom?” she prompted. She sensed she was on the brink of learning something critical, if the Texan would only comply.

He adjusted his weight in the saddle. “My parents. God. My girl...” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “My brother.”

A tremor of victory rocked through Essie at his words. This was exactly what she’d been hoping to achieve. To excavate from these outlaws’ pasts those events and people who’d influenced who they’d become. Their stories were going to make her novel successful.

She could envision the newspaper article touting her praise now, though she might forgo having her photograph taken. No need to highlight her plainness.

Female authoress Essie Vanderfair, who shares no acknowledged connection to the railway magnate Henry Vanderfair...

She opened her eyes at the disturbing intrusion into her daydream. These men didn’t need to know this piece from her family’s past. At least, not yet. Once she’d conducted her interviews, she would calmly explain why a ransom from Henry Vanderfair would not be forthcoming, and then she would ride back to civilization. Or make a well-executed escape. Then she would write her novel. Her wildly successful novel.

Satisfied, she continued with her reverie. Female authoress Essie Vanderfair pens the greatest dime novel of all time. Fans of Victor Daley have abandoned the pedantic musings of their former literary hero to snatch up Miss Vanderfair’s clever and engaging story of five train robbers who—

“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.