The Outlaw's Secret. Stacy Henrie
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of safekeeping that offers no growth because there is no opportunity to learn from trial and error.”
Her impassioned speech was met with stony silence. Essie fiddled with the edge of the blanket, embarrassed. Not for what she’d said but because she’d spoken it to a man she hardly knew.
“You are rather wise for someone so young.”
At that, she laughed outright, then clapped a hand to her mouth, afraid she’d wake the others. She was enjoying their open conversation and suspected it would come to an abrupt end if anyone stirred. “My sisters would be the first to point out that I am far from young. I turned twenty-three this summer.”
Even in the dim light, she caught sight of the full smile he threw her way. And it left her a bit breathless. “Twenty-three sounds young to someone who’s twenty-nine.”
She chuckled. “I’ll remember that.” A breeze swept over the camp, swirling the ash around the fire and shooting a chill up Essie’s spine. Pulling the blanket tighter around her, she lay back down on her makeshift pillow.
“Cold?”
“A little. But it’ll pass soon enough.”
A jacket dropped onto her shoulders and back, bringing welcome warmth. “How are you going to keep out the cold?” she asked, peering up at him.
He settled on the ground once more and hoisted his blanket for her to see. “I’ve got this, when I need it.”
“Thank you.” Essie burrowed into the thick material. No longer as chilled or as uncomfortable as before, sleepiness began to creep over her, but she hoped to keep it at bay. At least for another minute or two. “Can I ask you one more question?”
“Just one?” The teasing note in his deep voice made her smile. “For the rest of the trip?”
“No,” she said emphatically. “One more tonight.”
He pushed out a sigh, though he didn’t sound nearly as irritated as she’d expected. “All right, Miss Vanderfair. One more.”
“This is purely out of curiosity. Your answer won’t go into my book.”
She thought she heard him mutter, “That’s a relief.”
“They call you the Texas Titan, but what’s your real name?”
Tension, heavy and silent, radiated from him, erasing the companionship of moments ago. Essie gripped the edge of the blanket tighter, waiting. Would he answer her or not? She didn’t need the information, but for some inexplicable reason, she very much wanted to know.
The scraping of his heel against the dirt preceded his soft answer. “You can call me Tate.”
“Tate,” she whispered.
“But only out of earshot of the others. Understand?”
“Yes,” she said with a nod. “Good night, then...Tate.”
“Good night, Miss Vanderfair.”
Her heart beat faster as she opened her mouth and said, “Call me Essie. It’s only fair.”
A low chuckle sounded in her ears. “Try to get some sleep, Essie. We’ve got another long ride tomorrow.”
Smiling in triumph, she closed her eyes, but it was still some time later before she could turn her thoughts from the silent figure guarding the camp. And from the memory of her name on those nice, masculine lips.
According to his pocket watch, a gift from his mother years ago, Tate had been awake off and on the past four hours. Jude had taken over guard duty at the appointed time, but Tate had kept his spot near Essie. Though he felt sure no harm would come to her while he slept, the possibility had him waking every hour and unable to get back to sleep the last thirty minutes. It was going to be another long day.
When Clem rose, Tate sloughed off his blanket and got up, too. Essie appeared to still be sleeping, judging by her even breathing and occasional soft snores. He found himself smiling as he went in search of wood for a fire.
His thoughts soon returned to what Essie had said about the danger of overprotecting one’s family. Was that what he’d done with Tex after their mother had died? Or when he’d tried to intervene between his brother and Ravena?
A frown replaced his earlier smile. He’d done and said what he had out of love and concern—for both Tex and Ravena. And yet had he unknowingly stifled his brother’s potential instead of letting consequences play out naturally?
The question drudged up memories and emotions he preferred to keep buried. Chief among them was guilt, even though he wasn’t the brother living on the wrong side of the law. Maybe when this was all over, he would track Tex down. Find out why his brother had disappeared four months ago. Despite the mile-wide canyon of disagreement and bruised pride between them, Tate hated to think of his twin hurt, or worse.
After finding a few decent-size sticks, he headed back to camp. Essie was awake, wearing the jacket he’d loaned her last night. The thing dwarfed her, but she’d rolled the cuffs back so she could brush her hair. Unlike yesterday, after the rainstorm, the unbound blond waves looked smooth and glossy this morning. Tate had the strangest urge to run the ends through his fingers.
“Thank you again for your jacket, Ta—Mr. Tex,” she quickly amended, her eyes widening at her mistake. But Clem didn’t seem to be paying attention, and Jude, now relieved of guard duty, was dozing on one side of the camp. Fletcher and Silas were off by the horses.
Not for the first time, Tate questioned what had possessed him to give Essie his real name last night. He was certain no one knew the Texas Titan had a brother, let alone a twin. Disclosing such a personal detail, though, had the potential to get him in loads of trouble. Especially if Essie slipped up in front of Fletcher. But, after hearing her talk about her own brother before she’d fallen asleep, Tate had felt compelled to share something real in return.
“Here’s your jacket.”
Tate belatedly realized she’d been sitting there, holding the jacket out for him. “Keep it. At least until the day warms up.” He rather liked how she looked in the oversize garment, her hair flowing around her shoulders and her small but capable hands peeking out from the cuffs.
He tried to push aside the thought as he dumped the wood next to the cold ashes. But he couldn’t deny the fact that Essie was far more attractive than he’d given her credit for on the train yesterday. Not that it mattered. He was on a mission and she believed him to be an outlaw—and that was the way he needed it.
“What’s for breakfast, Clem?” Essie asked in a cheery tone as she put away her brush and folded her blanket up neat and tidy.
Clem exchanged a look with Tate. “Uh...that’d be beans and biscuits again, ma’am.”
A slight frown appeared between her brows, but it vanished the next moment. Tate was beginning to realize her smiles and optimism weren’t a show or a cover for fear—her cheerful disposition was apparently as real as her knowledge of guns and tracking and family relationships.
“That sounds good and hearty.” She smiled at Clem. “May I help? It’s been some time since I cooked, but I used to make decent biscuits at home.”
The outlaw cook glanced around as if fearing her help might cause him trouble. “All right,” he finally said with a shrug. “I ’spose you can do the biscuits.”
A full smile curved her mouth, reminding Tate once again that she was as pretty as she was intriguing. “I’ll try not to disappoint.”
Tate coughed to cover a laugh—anything would be an improvement over Clem’s clumsy cooking. Essie shot him a disapproving look, as if she could somehow read his thoughts and didn’t want him wounding Clem’s