by Karen Kirst
Someone screamed, jerking Essie’s thoughts back to reality. A man stood in the doorway at the front of the car. But instead of the tall, handsome hero of her imagination, the man blocking the doorway stood at five feet tall and sported what must be a bulbous nose beneath his bandanna. Essie smirked. Real life was never as interesting as fiction.
“Sorry to keep ya, folks,” the man said in a tone that implied anything but regret. “We’ll get you movin’ on in a short lick. But for now, just sit tight while we work.”
“What does that mean?” an older woman across the aisle whispered loudly to her husband.
He glared at the robber. “It means they’re likely going to blow up the train’s safe.”
Several gasps followed the man’s pronouncement, but Essie let out a sigh of relief. If their focus was the safe then the robbers would probably leave the passengers alone. Essie patted the sleeve of her seatmate in reassurance. “We’ll be on our way soon.” If the conductor wasn’t harmed.
“Has any injury come to the train conductor?” she bravely asked the robber.
He chuckled. “The conductor and that guard’ll be right as rain once they come to. The Texas Titan don’t like roughin’ people up too much.”
The Texas Titan was here? On her train? Essie had read plenty of newspaper articles about the man and his legendary outlaw career. He usually worked alone, though. Why had he joined this gang? She wished she could ask him. An interview with a real-live outlaw, or five, would provide any novelist with a gold mine of research.
And give her a leg up on the competition.
Essie’s eyes widened at her own bold idea. The men weren’t likely to talk to her on the train, where she’d be slowing down their getaway. Would she be able to convince them to take her with them? More important, did she dare attempt such a harebrained scheme?
Her publisher’s dire prediction ran through her head again: “We can’t afford to publish more of your stories...”
But her next story was sure to be a success if she included firsthand accounts from these men.
“I’m going to do it,” she whispered to herself. She had her gun and the Texas Titan was known for his benevolent treatment of women and children. She’d be safe with him.
“I’m going to get off here,” she told the woman beside her. “But you and your baby will be fine.”
“You’re going to what?” The woman’s eyes bulged with shock.
Essie didn’t bother answering, afraid her seatmate would try to talk her out of her plan. Instead she shot to her feet and walked toward the robber manning the door.
“Excuse me, might I have a word?”
He blinked in confusion then scowled. “Get back to your seat, ma’am.”
“First, I have a request.”
“We ain’t gonna take no hostages, if that’s what you’re frettin’ about. So sit back down.” His hand rose to touch the Colt revolver sticking out of the holster at his waist. Essie fought a smile. A little distraction and his gun would be in her hand before he’d even noticed she’d moved. She’d learned that trick from a lawman while writing The Deputy’s Destiny. But she would only attempt it if necessary. She would try reasoning and friendliness first.
“Very kind about the hostages, but I’m in need of a different act of generosity.”
His bushy eyebrows rose. “I don’t know what you’re playin’ at...”
“I’m not playacting.” Essie sniffed. “I’m a writer.”
The man choked on a laugh. “A writer? What’s a woman doing writin’?”
She ignored the insult, though it echoed the question she’d been asked over and over again by well-meaning friends and family for the last three years. “I’ve decided I would like to go with you and your gang. For research purposes.”
“Research?” He scratched at his forehead beneath his cowboy hat. “What’re ya gonna research?”
“Your lives, your motivations, your goals.” She smiled fully, the last of her hesitation melting away. “I want to know why you do what you do and how you do it.”
He shook his head, his eyes clouding with confusion. “I gotta talk to Fletcher first. He’s the bo—”
A thunderous boom shook the car. Essie gripped the nearest seatback to stay upright as cries of horror split the air. Clearly, the robbers had blasted open the safe. The robbery was almost over. If she didn’t finish convincing one of these men to let her come along, they’d leave without her. And her chance to keep publishing would surely disappear with them.
“Nothin’ to fret about, folks,” the robber said, yelling over the chaos erupting inside the train car. “We’re nearly done.”
Hoping she might have more success speaking with a different robber, Essie took advantage of the man’s diverted attention and dashed through the door behind him. She hadn’t gotten more than a foot, though, when she crashed into a solid body exiting the opposite car.
“What are you doing out of your seat?” a deep voice growled in her ear.
“I’m sorry.” She clung to the railing to steady herself. “I’m trying to...”
Her voice faded into silence as she lifted her chin and found herself peering into piercing blue eyes. She’d always been rather tall for a girl, and yet her head only came to this man’s nose. He wore a hat like his companion, but his bandanna had slipped off his face, allowing her a clear view of his chiseled features. Features she knew at once. This was the Texas Titan.
She was already imagining the handsome train robber she would pattern after him for her new story, the one who would sweep the heroine into his arms and carry her away...
Except he didn’t seem intent on carrying anyone away, let alone sweeping a woman into his arms. Instead he gripped Essie’s elbow, hard, and spun her back toward the door she’d burst through. “You need to return to your seat. Now!”
Essie dug her heels in. “I’m afraid you don’t understand. I’m coming with you.”
“What?” he choked out, his dark eyebrows arching.
“Yes. I explained everything to your companion there...”
“Clem,” he supplied, his firm expression unwavering.
“Yes, Clem. And he said—”
Clem hurried to join them, pulling his own bandanna away from his mouth. “Sorry, Tex. She wanted to talk to Fletcher.”
“So you really are the Texas Titan?” Her cheeks heated when she heard the breathless awe in her voice.
The Texan dropped her arm and gave a curt nod. “One and the same.”
“Have you given up working alone?” No time like the present to get her first few questions in.
His eyes narrowed as he scowled. “For the time being. Now, let’s get you back to your seat.” He resumed his clasp on her elbow.
“But I’m not going back to my seat. As I said, I’m going with you.”
“And I say you aren’t.” He maneuvered her past his troubled-looking partner. “This isn’t some parlor game, young lady,” he hissed. “All of these men are armed and dangerous.”
She furrowed her brow, annoyed. As if she didn’t know who or what she was dealing with. “Including yourself?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You are also armed and dangerous, are you not? You said ‘these men’ as if you aren’t a part of them.”
The Texan shook his head, annoyance rippling off him like heat waves. “I can’t waste any more of my time arguing with you. Will you please—”
His entreaty disappeared beneath the commotion of approaching horses. The other three robbers rode up to the train, leading two riderless mounts behind them. “What’s the holdup?” one of them hollered. “We gotta go before that guard recovers.”
Essie seized the opportunity. “Which of you gentlemen is called Fletcher?”
“Who’s
askin’?” The tallest of the three stared hard at her, his gray-blue eyes cold and calculating. She’d have to keep an extra watch on him.
“I’m a writer,” she answered, drawing herself up to full height and maintaining her own level gaze. “I would like to interview you. All of you. I would like to immortalize your lives in fiction.”
Fletcher gave a smirk. “Very flattering, lady, but we’re on a schedule.” He wheeled his horse around. “Clem? Tex? You comin’ or not?”
“Wait.” She moved to the railing, her valise clutched tightly against her chest. “My name is Essie. Essie Vanderfair.”
The name stopped the gang leader at once, as she’d known it would. “Vanderfair?” He looked her over with blatant interest. “You related to Henry Vanderfair? The railway tycoon?”
Essie dipped a nod. “He’s my great-grandfather.” It was the truth, though she hadn’t ever met the man or spoken with him.
“Fletcher,” the Texan interjected from behind, “let’s go. Leave her be.”
The man pushed up the brim of his hat. “Hold on a minute there, cowboy. We might be lookin’ at a real nice ransom if we bring her along. I heard the Vanderfairs have more money than Rockefeller. And I’m sure they’d pay handsomely for the safe return of one of their own.” He turned to Essie as he added, “But only after you get your interviews.”
“So you’d kidnap her?” The Texan crossed his arms and glared at their leader.
Fletcher glowered right back. “What are you, the law? Besides, it ain’t kidnapping. Not if she comes of her own volition.”
“And I do.” Essie traversed the train steps with purpose, her chin high. “I assure you, gentlemen, I will not be a burden.”
She heard a snort above her, but she ignored the Texan. Her appeals were best directed toward the group’s true leader.
“I will make your robberies famous, Mr. Fletcher. I’ll share your tales of danger and riches to the world. Without using your actual names, of course.”
He tipped his hat in acquiescence. “Of course,” he echoed, his smile more sly than affable. He thought he had the upper hand, but he’d underestimated the skills she’d picked up over the years, both on the ranch and as a novelist. Which was fine by her—she preferred to be underestimated by everyone except her publisher.
“Does that mean I may come along?”
“Don’t see why not.”
“Fletcher,” the Texan said, the name a warning.
But the robber leader waved Essie toward the horses. “We need to meet up at camp by dark.”
She pushed out the breath she’d been holding and hugged her valise. She’d done it—she’d convinced them, and now she would be the victor instead of Victor Daley. An astonished laugh bubbled out of her. “What is our final destination, Mr. Fletcher?”
“Our hideout. And that’s where you can interview me, Miss Vanderfair.”
* * *
Tate Beckett’s jaw was clenched so tight he thought it might snap. Of all the rotten misfortune. He had to run into a nosy busybody like Miss Essie Vanderfair on his first job with Fletcher’s gang. If he wasn’t careful, this woman, with all her probing questions, would figure out he wasn’t the Texas Titan after all. Then his covert work, posing as his outlaw twin brother, would be finished.
No, he thought, his teeth grinding in resolve. He wouldn’t let her ruin his plans. Not when he was on the most important case of his career as a Pinkerton detective.
“If she comes,” Tate announced, stalking down the steps, “she rides with me.”
Fletcher shrugged. “Fine. Jude and I will head east, then cut back west to the campsite. The three of you will head in the opposite direction and then veer east. Silas and Clem know the way to the camp.”
Without a backward glance, Fletcher and Jude charged off at a gallop.
“Why are you splitting up?” Essie asked him, her gaze following the other two men.
Releasing a soft grunt of impatience, Tate climbed into the saddle of his horse. “Because no one will suspect two or three men riding together, when they’re looking for five.”
“Ah. Very clever.”
He reached a hand down to help her up. The wide-eyed look she gave him as she placed her palm in his resurrected the churning frustration in his gut. Now his focus would have to be divided between paying attention to the trail on the way to the gang’s hideout and playing nursemaid to this young lady so she didn’t get hurt.
“Thank you,” she said brightly as he pulled her onto the horse. As if he were taking her for a Sunday buggy ride instead of bringing her to the hideout of a gang of wanted outlaws.
Tate rolled his eyes. As she situated herself behind him, she managed to jab him in the back with the handle of her valise—twice. It was going to be a long ride.
Urging his horse forward, he allowed Silas and Clem to take the lead as the three of them rode across the Wyoming plain. Low hills were visible in the distance.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” The question escaped Tate’s mouth before he’d even finished thinking it.
“Riding a horse? Yes.” She joined her hands around his waist as if to prove her point. “I’ve done this countless times.”
He shook his head. Not just at her words but to dismiss how nice it felt to ride with a woman again—something he hadn’t done in years. Not since Ravena. Tate pushed thoughts of the dark-haired girl back to the deepest recesses of his mind, a place where they’d stayed put for the last eight years. Right beside the regret and guilt he still harbored for Tex, his twin brother.
“I mean coming with us, Miss Vanderfair.” He didn’t bother disguising the irritation in his voice.
“As I said earlier, I want to interview you.” She shifted her weight, poking him with her valise again. He ground his teeth over a growl.
“Why?” he countered, eager to riddle out her true motives. After all, that was his job as a detective.
“Because I’m an authoress of dime novels. I pen stories of romance and adventure.” Her tone held a touch of pride.
“A fine occupation but—”
An amused sniff sounded at his back and interrupted his interrogation. “I’m perfectly aware of what others, especially men, think of my profession, Mr. Tex. You don’t have to feign interest. I can assure you I’ve heard every ill sentiment there is regarding dime novels and their creators. Nothing you can say would surprise me.”
A bit of a smile worked at his mouth at her challenge. He was never one to back down from a challenge. “I’m not feigning anything, Miss Vanderfair. I think writing novels would be hard, whether you’re a man or a woman.” He cleared his throat before adding, though he wasn’t sure why, “My mother wrote poetry up until she died, and I would’ve been honored to see her work published.”
The ensuing silence proved that he’d been right about surprising her. Tate’s smile rose to a grin.
“Still,” he continued, “what does writing dime novels have to do with you accompanying us?”
Her answer came swiftly. “I’d like to write a novel about train robbers, and naturally the best research is firsthand.” He could easily imagine her chin tipped high as she spoke, her pert little nose in the air. “I saw an opportunity and I took it. I suspect that’s something you and I have in common.”
He couldn’t argue with that. But who courted trouble in the name of “research”? If nothing else, his job of the last eight years had shown him what happened when seemingly good people went looking for trouble. They always found it.
Removing his hat, he wiped his sweaty forehead with his sleeve. Though it was mid-September, temperatures the last few days had been overly warm. That, or it was his irritation toward the woman seated behind him.
“There’s a scar behind your ear.” A featherlight touch skated his marred skin. “How c
ome the Wanted posters don’t mention it?”
Icy panic drove any thoughts of heat from Tate’s mind. Clapping his hat back on, he gripped the reins tighter as he answered matter-of-factly, “Don’t know. Maybe whoever made up the poster didn’t know about it—I don’t usually have someone right behind me when my hat’s off.”
Inside, though, he was reeling. Essie Vanderfair, with her doe-eyed determination, had just identified the most prominent visible difference between him and his identical twin brother.
Thankfully, Essie didn’t seem to notice his now-rigid posture or tense shoulders. She began prattling about some of the more famous crimes of his brother’s. Tate tried to ignore her, concentrating instead on the hilly landscape. But with each tale she shared, her voice full of near admiration, his alarm grew. She wasn’t just overly curious; she apparently knew a great deal about Tex’s life of crime.
What if she caught on to more discrepancies between him and his brother? That could ruin everything.
At that moment, Silas called from up ahead, “We gotta keep this pace for another thirty minutes. Then we’ll be to the spot where we stowed those horses this morning.”
“That’s ingenious,” Essie murmured. “I’ll have to write that down in my notebook tonight.”
Tate swallowed a groan. If only Fletcher hadn’t agreed to let her come along. This assignment could not go wrong. Fletcher was merciless—if he caught on to Tate’s true identity too soon, Tate doubted he’d be able to get out of it alive.
It would be much easier, for him and his job, if Essie Vanderfair could wait to interview these men until he had them behind bars.
Now, there’s an idea.
A new plan began to take root inside him and he clung to it with all his might. If he could somehow give Essie the slip when they changed horses, both of them would be better off for it. She wouldn’t get hurt riding across the country with a notorious outlaw gang and he wouldn’t have to watch his carefully orchestrated mission fail.
It wasn’t like he’d be leaving her stranded, either. With one of three tired but workable mounts to choose from, she’d eventually encounter a train or a town on her ride back to civilization. Of course, with her keen perceptiveness, he’d have to be smart in how he managed to leave her behind. But it shouldn’t be too hard a task. After all, he was one of the best Pinkerton agents out there. And no one was going to take away his chance to see justice served.