He couldn't afford to take the risk of revealing his true identity to Gretchen. If the gang did catch up with him and Gretchen, doing so might put her in jeopardy. And he wasn't going to let that happen.
Realizing Gretchen was still waiting for his reply, Tate shrugged casually, as if admitting defeat. "We should rest a while before hitting the trail. If we're going to make the mountains before sundown, we'll have to move at a steady pace for the rest of the day."
Gretchen's mouth dropped open in response to Tate's offhand manner. "Aren't you going to tell me?"
"Tell you what?"
Gretchen moved closer and peered at him. "Who you really are."
Tate shook his head slowly. "I told you who I am. A cowboy from Laramie. That's all you need to know."
Gretchen stared at Tate for a long moment. Then, suddenly, she scoffed. Shaking her head, she turned and started toward the flat area of grass in the shade of the cottonwood. Dropping down onto the grass, Gretchen lay back, cradling her head in her hands. Then she closed her eyes.
Tate sighed quietly and told himself that by the time they reached the safety of Inspiration he'd probably have to tell her who he really was.
CHAPTER TWENTY
They reached the mountain range just before sundown. The early evening air was already beginning to cool. Gretchen recalled her first night outside and felt a a chill of worry sweep through her body. The memory of her brief illness was still fresh.
A mile or so away, the high peaks rose up sharply from the tree line on the lower slopes. The entire range of hills, chaotic jumbles of gray stone rock, rising in twisted clusters, forming many gullies and peaks, seemingly impenetrable and impossible to navigate, was like a high wall standing between her and Inspiration. It stretched as far as her eyes could see from north to south. As they rode toward the range of hills, she wondered if Tate would be able to locate the pass which led through the range.
As if reading her mind, Tate pointed in a southerly direction. A few hundred yards ahead, the trail split in two. "We can take that road south," he explained. "It runs parallel to the hills for a mile and then there's a cut that leads to the pass."
"How do you know all this?" she asked.
Tate shrugged. "I've spent time in these parts." He smiled at her. "That's how I knew I could get you through to Inspiration." Then in a low voice, filled with assurance, he added: "I know my way around this part of Montana."
Gretchen nodded, accepting the explanation, even though she could sense that there was some details of it which were missing.
They took the southerly trail. As they made their way along the base of the range, Gretchen gazed up at the hills, awestruck at how imposing they were. If they'd had to take the trail up through the steep hills, she knew it might have proven impossible for her. Briefly, she was secretly glad she had an expert guide like Tate.
Gretchen hadn't realized just how much of a barrier this range of hills was to the successful completion of her journey. Once or twice, during the ride this afternoon, Tate had tried to describe what they were about to encounter. But, she hadn't really been listening. Her mind had been consumed by thoughts about the argument she'd had with Tate. It had been a foolish disagreement, she'd told herself. Almost childish, really. They'd behaved like two schoolchildren arguing over a stolen kiss.
It was clear to Gretchen that the kiss had meant a lot to Tate. He'd told her so, straight to her face. And then, instead of telling Tate how much the kiss had meant to her, she'd done exactly the opposite. For some reason she couldn't understand, she'd found it impossible to tell him how the kiss had made her feel. How it had tormented her all morning as they'd made their way westward along the trail.
The simple truth was that Tate had opened up to her and she had failed to do the same in return.
Had she been cowardly? Owning up to her feelings for the handsome cowboy could create even bigger problems. Like the ones Anna had talked about. Revealing her true feelings to Tate created the risk that her world would be turned upside down.
Her growing affection for the mysterious cowboy was fast becoming a real problem.
They rode a while until they came to a break in the solid mass of rocks. A fissure cut through the range of hills. Halting at the opening, Tate looked at Gretchen. "That's the way through." He gazed up at the darkening sky. "We won't make it through the pass in time before dark." He scanned a nearby ridge. "Stay here while I take a look for some place we can use for the night."
Watching him ride off quickly, Gretchen felt the cool evening air wrap itself around her like an uncomfortable cloak. It would be dark in a short while. She heard a distant cry of an animal and shivered. Searching for Tate, she saw him guide his horse up a steep incline to a ridge. He paused for a few moments and then turned to her, gesturing for her to follow the same path he'd just taken. Then he rode out of view.
She felt suddenly alone. Gretchen kicked her heels against the pinto's side and followed the narrow trail up the incline until she found Tate. Following his gaze she saw a cave entrance in the wall of rock. A broad, flat area in front of the cave provided easy access to the entrance which was no more than a few feet in height.
"I've looked inside," Tate told her. "It'll do for one night. At least it means we won't be out in the open. And I can get a fire going in front of the entrance. We should be fine for the night."
She admired his optimism. They both rode their horses to the cave and dismounted. Gretchen went to the entrance and, bending low, peered inside. The cave's dirt floor was flat with only a few rocks which she was sure could be easily cleared. The roof of the cave was maybe head height for Tate. It stretched back into darkness. By the faint evening light she guessed it was about twenty feet in length and about six feet wide. Tate was right. It would suffice for one night.
Tate spent the next while setting up one bedroll with saddle for a makeshift pillow inside the cave. When he laid out his own bedroll outside the cave, Gretchen didn't even make a comment. Tate knew what he was doing. He built a small fire just outside the entrance. Soon they were both drinking coffee and eating some warm food. Tate gave Gretchen his saddle to sit on, while he squatted on the other side of the fire he'd built.
By the time she'd finished eating, Gretchen felt tiredness take hold of her. Darkness had fallen. From the great distances all around her, Gretchen heard a cacophony of insects mingled with the occasional shrieks of coyotes. She saw Tate peer across the open fire as the animal sounds echoed in the night air. Gretchen schooled her features, determined not to show her unease at the night sounds. But she was sure Tate wasn't fooled.
"Maybe you should turn in," he suggested.
Gretchen stood and stretched. Having ridden for most of the day, every muscle in Gretchen's body was aching. Glancing at Tate, she saw the calm, focused way in which he was staring into the fire. He seemed lost in thought. She gazed up at the star-filled sky and felt a momentary melancholy take hold of her. She recalled the way she and Tate had enjoyed looking up at the stars on their first night together. There'd be none of that tonight. Tate was making it clear that things had changed between them.
Wrapping her arms around herself, Gretchen smiled. "Goodnight, Tate," she murmured.
Tate looked up at Gretchen. "Sleep well, Gretchen," he said quietly.
Gretchen made her way back into the cave. She snuggled down onto her bedroll. A short while later sleep claimed her. The dreams which came to her were filled with images of Tate and the homestead and the wild Montana lands.
Sometime during the night Gretchen awoke abruptly. It was dark inside the cave and, for a moment, she struggled to recall where she was. Then she remembered that Tate was outside the cave, sleeping near the campfire. She lay on her bedroll for a while, struggling to go back to sleep. Finally, she gave up. So much had happened these last few days. Her nerves were alive with the expectation of her arrival in Inspiration. Also, her mind was filled with thoughts of Tate. Gretchen rose from her bedroll and stepped careful
ly outside the cave.
Tate was asleep on his own bedroll. His head resting against the saddle, he looked at peace. Even by the soft light of the half-moon, Gretchen could see Tate's handsome features. Seeing his calm expression made her smile.
Then, suddenly a noise caught her attention. At first she wasn't sure what it could be. Perhaps the shuffling of movement in the darkness beyond the camp. A soft sound, vaguely familiar.
Gretchen frowned and peered around the enclosure. Straining her eyes, she tried to make out the details of the rocks, anxious to find any confirmation of what she'd heard.
Nothing.
Glancing down at Tate she thought about waking him, but dismissed that idea. Instead she ventured out beyond the campfire, walking carefully across the flat ground. Eyes wide, she ran her gaze around the entire perimeter. Once again, she saw nothing.
Then, she heard it. Sudden movement. The shuffling of footsteps. Panic seized Gretchen as she turned her head and saw, out of the corner of her eye, a figure rushing toward her. She opened her mouth, the need to cry out urgent and imperative. But it was too late.
The figure, shrouded in darkness, descended upon her so quickly she had no chance. A hand was thrust against Gretchen's open mouth. She gagged and tried to scream out loud, but it was too late. She was pulled firmly against a hard body. Struggling, Gretchen tried desperately to loosen the figure's grasp upon her. Her panic rose to gargantuan proportions. Arms encircled her and she kicked out, but to no avail. The scent of alcohol and sweat filled her nostrils. Twisting her head she caught sight of dark, masculine features. Recognition seized her mind. The man's wide eyes were filled with vicious desire. She knew this man. But how could that be?
The only thing left to her was to make as much noise as she could. Even with the man's hand over her mouth, she knew her muffled protests might wake Tate. He would come to her rescue.
Again.
Gretchen moaned as loudly as she could. The sound angered the man who held her and he wrenched her body around to face him.
It was then that she recognized the man.
Billy. The thief who had stolen her money back at Refuge.
Billy's mouth stretched wide into a yellow-toothed smile. Gretchen stamped down on Billy's foot. Instantly, his expression changed. He yelled out, and that was when he let Gretchen go. Grasping the loose fabric of her riding pants, Gretchen started to run for the safety of the cave entrance And Tate.
"Tate!" she screamed.
Reaching the campfire she was astonished to find Tate already standing. Gretchen slid to a halt and stared at Tate in disbelief. "We're being attacked," Gretchen screamed.
But, inexplicably, Tate did not react as she expected he would. Instead, she saw him peer over her shoulder. His gaze was steady and grim. Turning, Gretchen saw why.
It wasn't only Billy who was standing there. Emerging out of the darkness she saw a group of about a dozen men. They were all roughly dressed in dirty clothes and they were all holding a pistol in their hands. Each of the men were peering at Gretchen and Tate with an expression that sent dread rippling through her.
And, in front of the men stood a tall figure wearing a dark Stetson. He was unshaven and had venom in his eyes. The man was broad-shouldered and thick around the waist, but he possessed an obvious strength and authority. The man walked steadily toward Gretchen and Tate. He held a pistol and it was pointed straight at Tate.
The man halted a few feet from Gretchen. Tate came to Gretchen and slid an arm around her waist. As he did so, the tall man's eyes widened. Fear gripped Gretchen. She looked at Tate and was surprised to see a steady expression in his eyes. He seemed almost unconcerned.
Gretchen frowned. How could that be? She would have expected Tate to react with fury at the arrival of the strangers. Instead, he was peering expectantly at them.
Finally, Gretchen couldn't contain her anxiety any longer. "Tate. What are we going to do?" she gasped.
Tate drew in a deep breath. She felt his body become tense as he leaned closer to her. He looked from Gretchen to the tall man. "There's nothing we can do, Gretchen," Tate said evenly.
"What do you mean?"
The tall man strode forward. Still pointing his pistol at her and Tate, the man grinned. Then he said the last thing Gretchen would ever have expected to hear him say. "Tate Campbell. We finally found you."
Gretchen felt her breath ease out of her lungs. Disbelief crashed into her. Staring at Tate, she cried out: "Do you know these men?" She could hardly believe what she'd just heard.
Tate's features hardened. Then he let Gretchen go and strode forward toward the tall man. When Tate reached out and shook the tall man's hand, Gretchen felt the ground shift beneath her feet.
Tate knew this man!
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
"Frank," Tate said and shook the other man's hand. "It's good to see you again."
Gretchen's heart began to race furiously. She saw Billy frown as Tate shook hands with the man called Frank. The other men in the group exchanged looks as if they'd expected another outcome. Possibly a violent one, Gretchen told herself. These men looked like the kind for whom violence and hardship were a regular part of their lives, Gretchen reflected.
Frank, who was obvious the leader of the group, thrust his pistol into his holster and embraced Tate. Both men hugged for a moment. Frank leaned back and examined Tate's features. There was a dangerous look in Frank's eyes. Gretchen noticed that Frank didn't let go of Tate. He was holding Tate's shoulders firmly, fingers digging into Tate's upper arms. Gretchen told herself that there was a hint of violence in the way Frank was holding onto Tate.
But Tate didn't flinch. Instead, he grinned at Frank. Then Frank let out a huge laugh and turned to the other men. "We got him back."
The other men roared with laughter. Tate smiled at them. One by one, the men came to Tate and shook his hand. Gretchen could scarcely believe what she was seeing. This was a criminal gang and Tate was a member of it! Shock made every nerve in her body quiver. Her breathing became tight and she felt suddenly light-headed. Tate turned to look at her. She saw his eyes narrow as Frank walked toward her.
"I assume you're the fine lady from Refuge we've been hearing about," Frank said and removed his Stetson. He ran a hand through thick, dark hair. The man's coarse features were darkened by the sun. But there was undoubted intelligence behind his eyes. Gretchen could see that in the way he was looking at her.
The man bowed his head slightly. "I'm Frank Wolfe, ma'am." He gestured toward the men greeting Tate. "And this here is what you might call my collection of renegades," He grinned. "Although you've already met one of my men. Tate's been with us for a while, now."
Gretchen gasped. So that had been what Tate had been hiding from her. He was a member of a criminal gang. An outlaw, just like all those other men. No better than a renegade. Indignation swept through Gretchen. How could Tate have done this to her? How could he have lied to her like this?
When Tate turned to look at her again, Gretchen scowled at him. Tate walked away from the other men and came to stand by Frank Wolfe's side. Tate peered at Gretchen and he said nothing.
Seized with an uncontrollable fury, Gretchen strode straight for Tate and jammed her face in front of his. "How could you do this?" she shrieked. "How could you lie to me, Tate?" Her voice echoed into the darkness.
Tate's gaze was unmoving and steady. "You didn't need to know," he murmured.
"What!" she exclaimed. "I didn't need to know that the man who was pretending to look after me was nothing but a common criminal?" Now she was breathless. She was shaking with anger.
Tate reached out, clearly intending to take her by the arm. She pulled her arm away from him. Tate glanced at Frank. "Let me deal with her," he said evenly.
Frank tilted his head as if he already understood what Tate wanted to do.
Then Tate stepped forward and did the most shocking thing imaginable. He bent down, thrust his arms around Gretchen's waist and hoisted her up on
to his shoulder. She screamed as he started to walk toward the cave. Pounding on his back and kicking her booted feet made no difference. Tate strode to the cave entrance. The sound of men's laughter filled the air. Gretchen felt herself shaking with fury. How dare Tate treat her like this!
Bending low, Tate entered the cave. Twisting, he set Gretchen down onto the floor of the cave. She thudded heavily onto the loose earth and sat there a moment, trying to understand what was happening. Her jaw tightening, her eyes wide with rage, she glared at Tate.
She was about to shriek her condemnation of him, when he sank down onto his knees and faced her. He grasped her by the arms. Struggling, she tried to free herself, but Tate held on tight. Then he really shocked her. Tate leaned forward, cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. A riot of confusing thoughts raged in her mind as tasted Tate's lips. She tried to free herself, but Tate held her in his tender grasp. She could only imagine what the men outside the cave were thinking. For a moment, her mind was filled with the memory of the kiss at the cabin. Inexplicably, she felt herself soften against Tate.
Then, the kiss over, Tate shifted his head closer to Gretchen's ear. She felt his breath against her skin. Nerves tingled with a mixture of confusion and delight. She couldn't make sense of any of this. She desperately wanted to understand.
From outside the cave, she heard Frank Wolfe's voice. "Tate. Get out here. We need to talk."
Just before he leaned his head away from her, Gretchen heard Tate quietly utter some simple words. "Wait until they all go to sleep. Stay awake for me, Gretchen. We're getting out of here. I'll come for you later."
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