The Outlaw's Secret Read online

  “It’ll work,” he said, softening his voice. “I know it. Somehow I’ll keep Fletcher here. All you have to do is convince the sheriff and then you can head home.”

  Essie glared at him. If the situation hadn’t been so dire, he might have laughed at her petulance. “If I ride all that way, I’m not going to abandon you by heading home to Evanston. I’ll return with the sheriff.”

  Frustration began chipping away at his hopeful plans. “It’s too dangerous. You’ve got to stay far away from Fletcher once you leave here.”

  “I’m not a pampered child, Tate. And I refuse to ride away and not know for days or weeks if Fletcher shot you in my absence.” She straightened to her full height, her arms held tense at her sides. “I can take care of myself. Besides, I’ll be with armed men.”

  He wanted to insist she stay away from any possible harm. But he couldn’t. He hadn’t been able to do that with Tex and he certainly wasn’t going to be able to do that with Essie. He could only pray and hope and do his part.

  “It’s your choice,” he said softly, cupping her cheek. “Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

  She leaned into his touch as some of the agitation drained from her face. “I promise.”

  Taking her hand in his again, he headed once more toward the stream. He heard the trickling of the water before he saw it. The small brook offered them clear, cold water, and he and Essie both drank before filling their cups.

  “Ready to head back?” he asked. They could iron out the details of their plan on the walk back to the camp.

  Instead of nodding, though, Essie sat back, her full cup forgotten beside her. “What if I can’t do it, Tate? What if I can’t convince the sheriff to come back with me?”

  He set down his cup and threaded his fingers with hers. “I have every faith in you, Essie. Look how you tracked us that first day. How you thought on your feet when those lawmen came. How you’ve nursed Silas with limited supplies.”

  A few tears leaked down her smooth cheeks, drawing his attention. Reaching out, Tate brushed them away, glad for another excuse to touch her lovely face. “It isn’t about being capable or not,” she said, sniffing.

  “What is it, then?” He wanted to help her, to ease her troubles and cares.

  “I’m afraid.”

  He bit back a chuckle. “I don’t think I’ve seen you afraid once. And we’ve faced a lot in the last five days.”

  She plucked up a stiff piece of grass and twisted it around her fingers. “It isn’t outlaws or storms or injuries that frighten me.”

  He waited through her pause, not wanting to interrupt her.

  “I fear what’s in here.” She touched her heart. “No one but you and Nils have ever seen me as strong. I was the overly cheerful, flighty child growing up. ‘Never takes anything seriously,’ my older siblings and parents would say.”

  Sorrow for Essie spilled over into a scowl that he leveled at the water. Why couldn’t others see her natural abilities to cheer and comfort, not to mention the strength and resolve she carried underneath her optimism? “I’m sorry they said that, Essie. But it isn’t true.”

  “Isn’t it?” she countered, but there was no real fight in it. “I left home to pursue my dream as a dime novelist, but even that hasn’t panned out as I thought. This new story, whatever it is, might not be enough to sustain a career. And then what?” She glanced down and shrugged. “Do I go home, tail between my legs, and admit that I’ve failed? That maybe I’m not serious enough about anything to be successful?”

  “Whoa, whoa. Hold up right there.” He tugged her toward him and looped his arm around her shoulders. “How many people have dreams they never go after? But you went for them. And whether your next book is a huge success or not, you didn’t fail. You’ve worked at this, tirelessly, and grown because of it. That is not the definition of defeat.”

  She pressed her cheek to his shirt, reminding Tate how natural it felt to hold her. “Maybe.”

  “Have you ever told your family how you feel?” He thought of Tex and all the things that needed saying between them.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Then it sounds like we both have people we need to talk to.”

  “Do you think they’ll listen?”

  Tate considered the question for a long moment. “I hope so. But maybe the talking isn’t as much for them as it is for us. Because whether they listen or not doesn’t change who we are.”

  “When did you get to be so wise?” He sensed her smile in her voice.

  “Sometime after this pretty dime novelist ran into me on the train.”

  She laughed lightly and the sound made him want to grin. “I did run right smack into you, didn’t I? Although I think the Lord might have pushed us together.”

  Tipping her face up toward him, Tate had to swallow before he could speak. “I think He did, too, Essie. And no matter what anyone else thinks, you matter to Him. He’s given you some amazing gifts, like your ability to bring laughter and sunshine and hope to people. Even hardened outlaws.” He prayed she could feel his earnestness as she quietly watched him. “So no matter what happens with your family or your books, you are enough exactly as you are, right now. To God...and to me.”

  Her smile started at the corners of her mouth and finally bowed in the middle. “Thank you,” she said softly. “There’s just one last concern.”

  “Just one?” he teased.

  She nodded, her demeanor growing solemn again. “What if Fletcher finds out who you really are before I get back with the sheriff?” A shudder ran through her and he could easily imagine what scenarios she was envisioning.

  “I can’t say that won’t happen, but I have hope that things will end up all right.” He rested his chin on her hair, wishing he could guarantee their safety. “I suppose we just have to do our part and trust the Lord with the rest.”

  “Trust the Lord,” she repeated. “He’s seen us through so far, hasn’t He? Even if it doesn’t always look that way.”

  He tightened his clasp around her shoulders, feeling gratitude again for her timely entrance into his life. “Yes, He has.”

  With her brow crunched in thought, Essie sat up. “Rather than me just sneaking away, what if we give Fletcher a believable reason for my going? Then maybe he wouldn’t try to hurt you or come after me in retaliation.”

  Tate rubbed a hand over his chin—he hadn’t thought about Fletcher attempting to retrieve Essie. “You’d still need to leave at night, after they’re asleep. Fletcher isn’t just going to let you go on your own, whatever the reason.”

  “I agree. But if he believed it was for something other than running away...” She glanced around as if the answer might be sitting nearby. Perhaps for Essie it was. “Is there anything we need?”

  “Food, medical supplies, a closer source of water.”

  She rose to her knees and grinned at Tate. “That’s it. Medical supplies. I can say I’ve gone to get Silas some medical supplies.”

  The more he considered the idea, the more it made sense. And it just might keep Essie safe, too. “I think that could work. But to really make it believable, we may need to do some acting.”

  Smiling, she tossed her hair over one shoulder. “You just happen to be looking at the author of The Actor’s Atonement. I spent some time observing a local theater troupe for that book.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” he said, laughing as much with admiration as mirth. “All right, then. Why don’t we stage a bit of an argument about Silas’s care?”

  “Yes.” Essie clapped her hands with enthusiasm. “Then I’ll leave a note saying I’ve gone to get the supplies. What do you think?”

  “It just might work.” And everything in him hoped it would. Standing, he pulled Essie up onto her feet. “You’re sure about going? If you don’t wan
t to do this, we’ll come up with some other way for me to finish this job.”

  There was no hesitation in her gaze as she said, “Yes. We can do this.”

  He’d been hoping to instill greater confidence in her and, in return, she’d bolstered his. “Then we’ve got an argument to act out.” Tate picked up his cup of water.

  “Probably not our first or our last.” A teasing smile lit her pretty face as she hefted her cup.

  As they walked back to the camp, Tate couldn’t help smiling at the hinted promise behind her words. Once they’d made it through the next twenty-four hours—alive and well, he hoped—he would make it a priority to analyze his heart. It was past time for him to figure out what he really wanted out of life. And even more important, he thought, glancing at Essie, who he wanted to spend it with.

  * * *

  Essie rinsed the supper dishes in the stream, grateful Fletcher had decided to move their camp the quarter mile westward after all. On her and Tate’s return, they’d found Silas partially revived, but more water was required to properly care for his wound. Fletcher had, thankfully, announced they move camp, though he wasn’t pleased about doing so. Silas had endured the short ride well enough and Essie had access to all the water she needed from the brook to re-dress his leg bandage.

  It was a good thing she planned to get supplies along with the sheriff. Silas’s leg had stopped bleeding, but it looked infected to Essie. Out of earshot of Silas, Tate had concurred that it wasn’t healing as it should.

  Before she could get supplies, though, she and Tate had to stage their argument. She pulled in a cleansing breath to calm her rapidly thudding heart and straightened. It was one thing to discuss or write about bravery; it was another matter entirely to live the principle in real life.

  I can do this, she reminded herself. With Thy help, Lord. Tate’s words from earlier filled her mind and heart with peace as she carried the dishes back to Clem. She was enough to God, exactly as she was right now, and she needed to trust that, to trust Him.

  Now that supper was over, Essie returned to Silas’s makeshift bed. “How are you feeling?” He’d managed to down some biscuit earlier.

  “Been better,” he answered with a grimace as he tried to move his injured leg into a different position. “Think it’ll heal, Miss Vanderfair?”

  She sought Tate’s gaze from across the campfire and caught the slight nod of his head. It was time for their little show. “No, Silas, I don’t.” She straightened and her heart broke a little at the expression of dismay that crossed his already-haggard face. But she was speaking the truth. “Not without the proper supplies,” she added, letting her voice rise in volume. “Your leg needs attention from a proper doctor.”

  Wheeling around, hands on her hips, she glowered at Fletcher seated near Tate and Clem. “He can’t continue on, Mr. Fletcher. His wound is likely to become even more infected. And that means he could lose his leg.”

  “It can’t be that bad—” Silas started before Fletcher interrupted.

  “I’m not the one that shot him,” the outlaw jeered at her. “If he can make it to the hideout, he’ll be fine. Won’t you, Silas?”

  The man nodded, but Essie wasn’t convinced he believed it.

  She feigned a huff of indignation. “This is ridiculous. Casper isn’t that far away. We can ride back for supplies and then continue on to the hideout.”

  “We are not goin’ back for supplies.” Fletcher’s voice dripped with vehemence, causing Essie to inwardly cringe. “Get that through your head, woman. We are ridin’ out tomorrow. Got it?”

  “But a man’s life—”

  Tate threw her a rather convincing scowl. “Essie, let it go. For once I’m in agreement with Fletcher. We were almost arrested last time we were in Casper. Someone would be sure to recognize us if we returned. We can’t go back for supplies, not now. Silas will be fine.”

  If she hadn’t known he was acting, she would have fully believed his tone of finality. “Does no one understand the seriousness of this?” she persisted as she waved a hand at the prone Silas. “This man needs help. More than you or I can give him out here in the desert. He needs real medical attention.”

  “Enough,” Fletcher hollered, drawing his gun. From the corner of her eye, she saw Tate tense, but he held still. “Sit down, Miss Vanderfair.” He waved at the campfire with the gun. “And I don’t want to hear another word out of you. Not about medicine or Silas or anything. Understood?”

  Nodding, Essie took a seat. A glance at Tate rewarded her with his brief smile. He approved of her performance. The conversation around the fire picked up again, but it felt stilted. Silas asked for a drink and Essie silently obliged. She’d pushed Fletcher far enough; she would comply with his demand for silence—at least while he was awake.

  When Silas had drained the cup, she put it with the other dishes and fished out her notebook. She busied herself with writing a note to the men, declaring her intentions to ride back to Casper for supplies. With that complete, she tried thinking up new possible scenes for her book, but the longer the shadows grew, the more nervous she felt at what lay ahead.

  Finally, Fletcher insisted Clem bank the fire. Essie exchanged a look with Tate, then got up to get a drink at the stream. The cold water helped calm her as did the approaching steps of Tate from behind. He crouched by the water as she handed him the cup to drink from.

  “I’ll wake you when it’s time to go,” he said in a whisper, his lips barely moving. He lifted his hand, as if to touch her face, but he lowered his arm back to his side instead. Essie felt a quiver of disappointment, though she understood the importance of maintaining needed distance in front of the others.

  Her heart resumed its fast pattering as she stood. Surely no one watching them would think anything suspicious. She went and prepared her bed. With that done, she tore out the note she’d written to the outlaws and tucked it inside her notebook.

  Tonight reminded Essie of her first one on this journey. The earth bit into her side, making it impossible to get comfortable, and her blanket barely kept the night breeze at bay. Her thoughts were as snarled now as they’d been then. This time, though, she had the added measure of uncertainty and adrenaline racing through her to keep her awake.

  She feared she might never sleep, but the next thing she knew, someone was gently shaking her shoulder. “Essie,” she heard Tate whisper near her ear. “Time to go.”

  Her eyes flew open, though the rest of her took longer to awaken. She sat up slowly, the blanket still gripped in her hand, and glanced at the other three bedrolls. From the light of the bright moon, she could see that each of the outlaws appeared to be lost in slumber.

  “Do you have the note?” Tate asked in a low voice.

  Nodding, she located her notebook and pulled out the folded slip of paper. Tate placed it near the cold ashes of the fire, beneath a fist-size rock.

  Essie clasped her valise and got to her feet. Shivers tripped down her back and arms, as much from the cool air as from her apprehension. “What time is it?” She kept her voice soft and quiet.

  “Two o’clock.” Tate motioned for her to follow him.

  Stepping as lightly as she could, she trailed him to where the horses had been tied up. Tate undid the reins of her horse, but instead of helping her into the saddle, he pantomimed that she should follow him farther away from the camp first.

  The stream’s cheerful gurgle grew fainter as they moved away from the sleeping outlaws. The ravine’s shadows stretched like ghoulish fingers toward them, renewing Essie’s shivering. The nighttime hour fueled her active imagination, conjuring up all sorts of villains hiding in the patches of brush.

  Tate didn’t stop until they were about a quarter of a mile from the camp. “You know the way back to Casper, right?”

  “Yes,” Essie said with another nod. “Just head south. I�
��ll run into the city eventually.”

  Tate rubbed the nose of the horse. “Rest him as often as you think he needs it, but maintain a steady pace. You’ll pass by a couple of streams where you can both drink.” Reaching into his jacket pocket, he produced a half-crumbled biscuit and some jerky. “It’s not much, but it’ll tide you over until you reach Casper.”

  Tears blurred her vision for a moment at the care behind his action. “Thank you. I’ll be back by sundown, with the sheriff and his men.” And not a minute later, if she could help it. “Will you be all right?”

  “Yes.” His confident tone eased some of her concern at leaving him. “Don’t you worry about Fletcher. Just get yourself safe and sound to Casper and back.”

  “I will.”

  He locked his fingers with hers and drew her a step closer. “Can we pray together before you leave?”

  She smiled. “I would like that.”

  Resting his forehead against hers in a comforting gesture, Tate quietly intoned a prayer for their safety and well-being. He thanked the Lord for her friendship and then closed with a final entreaty for their plan to work. Essie opened her eyes to find him peering at her from beneath his hat.

  “When this is all over, Essie...”

  “Yes?” she prompted when he paused.

  Instead of finishing his thought, though, he cupped her face with his other hand and captured her lips in a kiss. A kiss full of hope and fear and something greater than friendship.

  All too soon Tate stepped back, but Essie understood they couldn’t linger. It was time to go.

  He helped her climb onto the horse. “God be with you,” he said.

  “And with you.” The tears were back and this time they dripped freely from her lashes. “Keep yourself safe, Tate.”

  “You, too, Essie. Until tonight.”

  “Until tonight.” She hesitated, torn between staying and going. What would happen to him in a few hours? Would he still be here waiting, alive and whole, when she and the sheriff arrived?