The Outlaw's Secret

by Stacy Henrie

  Tate avoided eye contact with the woman, feigning interest in the sidewalk. She started past him and then, to his surprise, spun back around.

  “Do I know you, young man?”

  Cold panic stole over him, but Tate fought it back with logic. Surely this tiny woman wouldn’t recognize Tex—and Tate felt certain he had never met her before. Darting a quick look at her matronly face and gray bun, he shook his head. “I don’t think so, ma’am. I’m just passing through.”

  She pursed her lips. “No, I’m sure I know you.”

  “I’m not from these parts,” he said, maintaining a deadpan expression. Hopefully she’d lose interest and move on.

  But she stayed put. “Let’s see. Maybe you know my son Levi?”

  Tate forced an apologetic smile. “No, ma’am. As I said, I’m not from here. I’ve only been here once.” And that was about an hour ago.

  “Maybe you courted my daughter Lizzy?”

  Irritation began to snuff out his alarm. “I don’t think so. Like I said—”

  Before he could finish, he caught sight of a man heading for the bank. Tate stepped away from the wall to block the man’s progress. “Sorry, sir. Bank’s closed at the moment.”

  Frowning, the man glanced past him to the woman. “What do you mean? Closed?”

  “Don’t ask me,” the woman replied. “It was open a minute ago.”

  The stranger sized up Tate and made another move toward the door. “If it was open for her, then it should be open for me.”

  Using his firmest detective voice, Tate repeated his announcement as he stepped in front of the man. “As I said, it’s closed for a bit. I truly apologize for any inconvenience.”

  “Well, how do you like that,” the man huffed, folding his arms and glaring at both Tate and the woman. “How long before we can go in?”

  “I’ve already been in.” The woman grinned at the man.

  Tate resisted the desire to roll his eyes. The scene felt like something Essie might have written into one of her dime novels. “I don’t think it’ll be long now.” At least, he hoped not. The woman was still eyeing him, clearly trying to remember why he looked familiar.

  Sure enough, she turned to the other man. “Doesn’t he look familiar to you?”

  Belatedly Tate realized he should’ve used a bandanna, as well, though he’d hoped not wearing one would make him look less conspicuous. “Ma’am, I told you. I haven’t been—”

  The man began studying him intently. “Now that you mention it, yes, I think I’ve seen him before, too.”

  Tate glanced over his shoulder, willing the bank door to open and for Fletcher to appear and end this. Had Tex possibly come to Casper, this far north from his usual outlawing territory? Tate clenched his jaw in annoyance at the strangers and at his brother. “I’m telling you the truth.”

  “Wait a minute.” The man snapped his fingers. “It’s his picture I’ve seen. On a Wanted poster, maybe.”

  Dread clamped hard around Tate’s heart. What was taking Fletcher so long? “Now, let’s not jump to conclusions.” He eased away from the bank door, hoping they’d follow. To his relief, they did.

  “He’s right,” the woman declared, her eyes narrowing. “That’s where I’ve seen you.” She poked a knobby finger into his chest. “But which one are you?”

  Another woman holding the hand of a young boy approached the bank. Tate inwardly groaned. Why were so many people seeing to banking needs at this time of day? He took a step toward the newcomers, but the older woman and the man both hollered, “Bank’s closed.”

  The mother looked surprised, her gaze wandering over Tate and the others. “Closed? What for? Is something wrong?”

  The man shrugged. “Don’t know. But I think we’ve got ourselves a wanted man right here.”

  “Again, no need to jump to conclusions,” Tate repeated in a rational voice. He held up his hands in a surrendering gesture, but the mother still gasped and pulled her child protectively toward her. To the boy’s credit, he looked more in awe of Tate than afraid.

  “Should we get the sheriff?” the mother whispered loudly.

  The older woman dipped her double chin. “That’s not a bad idea.” She shooed her hands at the man. “Go see if the sheriff knows which criminal he is.”

  “Look,” Tate argued, “I’m not a—”

  “He’s the Texas Titan,” the boy announced with exuberance, his entire face lighting up.

  “That’s it.” The woman snapped her fingers in triumph. “I knew I’d seen your face. You tried to rob this bank a few months back. But I thought you were shot up real bad.” She scowled at him as if angry that he showed no sign of injury.

  Tex had robbed this same bank and been seriously hurt? Pain squeezed at Tate’s chest at the thought of his twin brother wounded and bleeding, but anger followed quickly on its heels. It was only a matter of time before Tex’s choices reaped such inevitable consequences.

  From the corner of his eye, Tate watched the other man stumble backward and then dash across the street. It didn’t take detective skills to deduce the stranger was going for the sheriff. Tate whirled around and yanked open the door of the bank. “Time to go,” he hollered inside. “We’ve got trouble.”

  Fletcher spun to face him, his gun in one hand and a bag in the other. On the other side of the counter, the bank clerk watched them with frightened eyes. “What’s wrong?” Fletcher demanded through the bandanna covering his mouth.

  “The sheriff’s coming.”

  The outlaw cursed as he sprinted for the door. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Tate needed no further prodding. Ignoring the cries from the two women and the boy, he rushed past them toward the spot where Silas and the horses waited. The rapid pounding of his heartbeat filled his ears. If they were caught, his mission would be over. He’d never know where the outlaws’ hideout was located. Clem would go free...and who knew what would happen to Essie. It was better to see his course through than to abandon it, and that meant getting away—now.

  “Go, go, go,” Fletcher yelled as they neared the horses. Silas scrambled up from where he’d been waiting.

  “What happened?” he asked as he held Fletcher’s horse. “Did you get the money?”

  Tate hurried to mount. “He got it, but the sheriff’s coming.”

  More commotion sounded from down the street, confirming his words. Above the melee, a male voice roared, “Pumping that Texan fellow with lead last time wasn’t enough to keep him away, huh? Had to come back and try to rob our bank again.”

  Fletcher jerked around in his saddle and stared at Tate, his gaze dangerous and angry. Before the outlaw could demand an explanation, though, a shot rang out. Tate ducked his head right before the bullet struck the building beside him. Another shot followed and this time he didn’t wait to see where it landed. He spurred his horse forward and started up the street.

  A quick glance over his shoulder showed Fletcher and Silas were following, but so was the sheriff and a small crowd. While the three of them had the advantage of speed with their horses, the threat of the sheriff’s gun from behind still had alarm spiking inside Tate.

  The sheriff fired a third bullet and, this time, there was an accompanying cry of pain. Tate spun in the saddle to see what had happened. Leaning forward on his horse, Silas gripped his right leg. Guilt seared Tate’s stomach at the sight. Things were deteriorating fast and it was because of him, his attempt to impersonate his brother.

  “Don’t slow down,” he urged Silas.

  A fourth shot rang out, making Tate flinch. The sheriff wasn’t giving up on teaching them a lesson. But he felt no pain, proof he hadn’t been hit. To his relief, there were no further cries of anguish, either. They were nearly out of shooting range. The thought brought only little comfort. It wouldn’t be long before
the sheriff went for his horse and pursued them. Most likely accompanied by a whole posse of men who would also be armed.

  “We gotta split up,” Fletcher shouted when they reached the end of the street, echoing Tate’s sentiments, as well. “Meet back at camp.”

  Tate looked to Silas, whose face had gone pale. “Can you make it alone?”

  Visibly gritting his teeth, Silas gave a silent nod.

  Fletcher didn’t wait to hear more. The gang leader took off at a gallop. Irritated at the man’s selfishness, Tate hesitated, slowing his horse and bringing the animal alongside Silas. He hated leaving an injured man alone to fend for himself against a possible mob. And if Silas was captured and ratted them out, it would further complicate things.

  But Silas waved him on. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

  Fishing his bandanna from his pocket, he thrust it at Silas. “Use this to help stop the blood.” Even as he watched, the mark on Silas’s pant leg was growing larger. “I’ll be praying for you.” The words were out before Tate could recall them and yet he didn’t regret voicing them.

  Silas stared askance at him for a moment, then whispered, “Thank you.”

  Tate nudged his horse and raced away toward the river and the open prairie beyond. He’d head east then cut back when he felt certain he wasn’t being followed.

  Only when he’d left the town behind did he feel able to catch his breath. But his heart still didn’t slow for another few miles as the adrenaline from the harried ordeal continued to pulse in his veins.

  He was grateful for the time to think. There would be plenty of miles to figure out what he’d say to Fletcher when he asked about “Tex” attempting to rob the bank before. And the gang leader would ask. Tate felt sure of that. What could he say in response? Sorry I failed to mention that I tried to rob this same bank a few months back?

  His thoughts returned to Silas and he silently offered a quick prayer for the man’s health and recovery. This afternoon had taken a dangerous turn, and while Tate knew he wasn’t responsible for Fletcher’s choice to rob the bank, he still felt culpability over Silas getting hurt. Perhaps he could’ve tried harder to convince Fletcher not to return to Casper, though he wasn’t sure if it would’ve changed anything.

  One thing was certain. He felt even more constrained to finish this job and then the next and the next. Too many of these outlaws were harming innocent people and getting away with it. A keen sense of regret filled him at the realization that a future with Essie would never be in reach now.

  After a moment Tate pushed the emotion aside. He may not ever see her again after this, but he could do one final thing to help her. He’d convince her to leave, convince her it was too dangerous for her to remain with them any longer. Sadness reared its head again, but he tempered it with the hope that even if he couldn’t be with Essie, he would know she was safe.

  * * *

  How much longer will they be? Essie thought, stifling an audible groan as she shifted her weight on the hard ground. She felt as if she and Clem had been waiting for the others to return for days instead of hours. Their conversation had run out soon after Tate had left.

  She didn’t believe Clem would actually shoot her, especially after he’d put away his gun. But she didn’t plan to test the theory, either. After asking him for permission to get her notebook, she’d busied herself with writing different scenes she might use in a story and detailing the landscape around them for possible future use.

  This time they’d stopped on a hill with scattered trees. Below them, a narrow ravine cut through the land, which dipped and swelled in every direction. At her back were the distant bluffs they’d passed through to reach Casper.

  After a time, her creative energy had run thin and she now sat staring at the elongated shadows of the trees, her thoughts circling like crows. A listless, melancholy feeling had sprouted in the pit of her stomach, but Essie had to ponder the emotion for a time before she could identify its source.

  She missed Tate.

  Missed talking to him, missed prompting a smile from him, missed just watching him. And she felt his absence as keenly as if she’d misplaced something precious.

  Might as well get used to it, she reminded herself, even as her heart rebelled at the thought. Tate had become the closest thing she’d had to a real friend since Nils had exited this world. It was only natural to miss his presence and feel a bit sad at the reality of that friendship coming to an end. And soon.

  She recalled the look on his face when Clem had pulled his gun on her—pure panic and hardened resolve. There was no doubt in her mind Tate would’ve leaped to protect her, though she’d sensed he was desperately trying to keep a level head in the tenseness of the moment. Would she ever find another man like him? Someone she felt completely safe with, someone she could talk openly with and who listened in return, someone who treated her as more than a silly writer who wasn’t serious about life?

  Sounds like more than friendship, her heart and head announced, in agreement at last. Essie jerked a glance at Clem, who was whittling, grateful he couldn’t read her mind. She wasn’t falling for an outlaw. Even a kind, protective, handsome one.

  Drawing her legs to her chest, she rested her chin on her knees. Was it too late? Had she already fallen for him? She shut her eyes, a feeling of hopelessness washing over her. Why did she have to go and do something so foolish? How absurd for her to give away pieces of her heart to a man who wasn’t free to love her back, at least not in the way she longed for.

  Loneliness lodged in her throat and leaked out as tears. She hadn’t felt this desolate since that first night with the group. And now she was even farther from her home and everything familiar. Traveling with a gang of outlaws, one of whom she’d irresponsibly come to care for too much.

  “They’ll be hankerin’ for food when they get back,” Clem said as he pocketed his knife. “We oughta get started on supper.”

  Essie sniffed, grateful for the distraction from her confused thoughts. “I can help.” She stood and joined Clem at the spot he’d designated for a fire.

  Soon her hands were occupied with making biscuit dough and laying out the stiff, white spheres on the heated pan, but she wished she had something more to keep her thoughts busy. They kept alighting on Tate and then darting away.

  If only he would give up being an outlaw like the hero in the scenes she’d written. If Tate left Fletcher’s gang and committed himself to a life of honesty, then everything would be fine. She could fully give her heart to him and him to her. But would he agree to do such a thing?

  From her four interviews, including Tate’s, it wasn’t difficult for Essie to see what had driven these men to this sort of life and what kept them living it. And yet each of them still had a choice—whether to continue or not. Could she convince Tate to make a different choice this time?

  The sound of rapid horse hooves reached her ears. “Someone’s coming,” she and Clem said at the same time. She leaned back on her heels, her gaze pinned to the gap in the trees the men had ridden through earlier. Her heart launched into a faster tempo as a rider appeared. But it took only a moment to realize it wasn’t Tate. It was Fletcher.

  Clem stood as his boss ground to a halt and leaped from the saddle. “Where are the others?” Clem asked.

  Essie stayed by the fire, unsure of Fletcher’s current mood. If it was as mercurial as before, she wanted to keep her distance—and be relatively silent—until she felt sure he didn’t want another gun pointed at her.

  Removing his hat, Fletcher glanced around the camp, his mouth pulling downward. “They’re not back yet?”

  Something cold and slippery slid through Essie’s middle at the outlaw’s words. Had something happened to Tate and Silas?

  Clem grabbed the reins of Fletcher’s horse. “Did you get the money?”

  The leader nodded. “We did. T
hen we had to split up. The sheriff came after us with his gun, yellin’ and shootin’.” Essie covered her mouth with her hand as visions of Tate, shot and bleeding, filled her head. “Silas took a bullet in the leg, but said he could make it back here on his own.”

  Essie released the breath she’d been holding. Tate wasn’t hurt. Her relief was followed quickly by concern and fear for Silas. These men whom she’d come to know and interview weren’t supposed to get shot and hurt. That should only happen to other outlaws. The iciness in her gut increased.

  Pulling a sack from his saddlebag, which Essie assumed held the bank’s stolen money, Fletcher threw her a searching look and stepped closer to Clem. Clearly he had something to say that he didn’t want her overhearing. Essie feigned renewed interest in her already-finished biscuits.

  Fletcher kept his voice low but it still carried easily to her ears. “Apparently our friend Tex tried to rob the bank in Casper a few months back.” He snarled a few curse words. “The man didn’t say a thing, though, which meant we practically walked ourselves into a trap when some folks recognized him.”

  Tate had attempted to rob the bank before? Essie swallowed hard, feeling her hope over him changing begin to dwindle and die.

  “Least we got the money.” Clem’s bright tone sounded forced.

  Fletcher scowled. “Maybe, but I don’t trust him. I didn’t before and I ain’t startin’ now. He’s hidin’ something.”

  Essie had to agree, though she kept her opinion to herself. She’d suspected Tate of hiding something ever since they’d met four days ago. Tate had a secret, and seeing the dangerous glint in Fletcher’s eyes, she had to wonder who would be hurt more by the revelation. Fletcher and his men? Or Tate?

  The sounds of more riders drew her to her feet. Tate charged through the trees, leading Silas’s horse behind his. One look at the prone figure draped over the saddle horn sent fear pulsing through Essie again. This wasn’t one of her stories; this was reality.