LITMIR.BIZ

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had also alerted him to the past four months of silence when it came to his brother’s criminal activities.

      Tex had seemingly disappeared. Of course, Tate hoped the stop in robberies meant his brother had decided to change his ways. But, whatever the truth, he’d recognized a golden opportunity to bring in the Fletcher gang. With Tex out of the criminal scene, Tate could impersonate him as the notorious outlaw. It wouldn’t be too far-fetched for the Texas Titan to have wandered as far north as Wyoming, either. Medicine Bow, the closest town to where they’d stopped the train, was well-known for falling victim to train robberies.

      So far Tate’s cover had worked, getting him closer to taking down Fletcher than any other detective had ever come. And it would continue to work as long as he kept his wits about him, especially around Essie Vanderfair.

      A flash of surprise—or was it disappointment?—crossed Essie’s face. Had she been trying to trap him with his own words? Then the emotion fled, replaced by a smile. “Thank you again for the supper, Clem. May I help with cleaning up?”

      Clem’s face flushed, but he shook his head. “Ain’t much to clean. I’ll do it.”

      “Very well. I believe I shall work some before turning in.”

      “Work?” Tate echoed, setting aside his plate. He still had a lot left of his second helping, but he no longer felt hungry.

      “Writing, Mr. Tex,” she said. She gathered her valise, while still holding the blanket around her shoulders, and retreated to a spot a little ways from the fire.

      Clem looked toward Tate and chuckled. “She’s an interestin’ little thing, huh?”

      “Something like that.” Tate eyed Essie as she began scribbling in a notebook. Satisfied she wasn’t going to engage Clem in any more conversation tonight, he stood and moved toward the others who were still in heated discussion. “Sounds serious over here,” he said as he joined the small group.

      Fletcher shot him a glare and crossed his arms in a defensive stance, the saddlebag of cash from the train draped over his shoulder. “It is, but I don’t know that it’s any of your business.”

      “Come on, Fletch,” Jude said. “Let’s see what Tex has to say.”

      The outlaw leader studied Tate and then sniffed. “All right. We’ve been debating the merits of taking one more job before heading to the hideout.”

      Tate struck a casual stance and kept a deadpan expression, trying to hide the alarm Fletcher’s words inspired. He’d been hoping the train robbery today would be his only criminal activity. “What’s the reason?”

      “A little more cash and supplies to see us through the winter,” Jude volunteered when Fletcher didn’t jump in with an answer. “Once the snow hits around here and the temperature dips real low, we don’t do much traveling, especially not in a hurry.”

      “So you’re wintering over now?” Again the news blindsided him. He’d hoped they’d leave for another job after they reached the hideout. Then he’d make up some excuse for staying behind before riding to the nearest town and rounding up the law. When Fletcher and the gang returned, it would be to a sheriff and his posse, all waiting eagerly for the outlaws’ arrest. But a decision to winter over now could jeopardize that plan.

      “Got a problem with that, cowboy?” Fletcher watched him closely. “You don’t have to join us for the winter.”

      And miss his chance at seeing them brought to justice? Not happening. Tate fought the urge to clench his jaw in determination; he had to appear affable. But he wasn’t going to waste this opportunity or leave Essie to fend for herself, either.

      He chose his next words carefully. “I told you in the beginning I’m done with doing things on my own. Too many close calls. If you’re wintering over, then I aim to, as well. If you have another job planned, I’m in on that, too.”

      For once Fletcher offered a smile that almost bordered on genuine. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

      “I still think that we ought to keep moving,” Silas said with surprising force. Tate had dubbed him “Silent Silas” in his head on account of the man’s quiet, non-talkative nature. “Today went well, but there’s nothing between here and Casper worth taking on. Besides, we got that girl’s ransom coming.”

      Uncrossing his arms, Fletcher gazed across the campsite toward Essie. A feeling of unease crept over Tate. Did Fletcher plan to keep Essie around until the spring? There was no telling what the outlaw would do—he was as fickle as a woman with two beaus. But Tate would do all in his power to get Essie back on her merry way sooner than later. At least the forthcoming ransom seemed to be holding Fletcher in check as far as mistreating her.

      “I get to say if we do another job or not,” Fletcher finally growled. “But since I ain’t made up my mind, we’ll continue on to the hideout as planned. Tex, you’re on guard duty tonight. Wake Jude up at two o’clock to switch places.” With that, he marched toward the fire.

      Jude and Silas threw tight looks at one another then followed after their leader. Tate remained by the horses another minute, doing his best to rein in the annoyance rippling through him. He didn’t like having Fletcher order him around, but it was a necessary part of infiltrating the gang and getting the man to trust him.

      Breathing out a heavy sigh, Tate collected his rifle from his saddle and returned to the campfire. The other four men had laid out their bedrolls. Fletcher was using the bag with the stolen money as a pillow. Essie, on the other hand, still sat with her blanket wrapped around her shoulders, writing.

      Tate grabbed the remaining blanket and sat beside her. She didn’t glance up. While guard duty meant little sleep, at least this way he could keep an eye on her during her first night with them. “Don’t you think you ought to get some rest?” he asked as he set his gun next to him on the ground. He left his revolver in the holster at his waist.

      “A Winchester Model 1886,” she murmured.

      “What?”

      She lifted her chin and pointed with her pencil at his gun. “Your rifle is a Winchester, the 1886 model, correct?”

      Tate nodded in disbelief. “How did you know that?”

      A small but lovely smile lifted her lips. “As the authoress of dime novels set in the West,” she said, her gaze returning to her notebook, “I would be remiss in my research if I didn’t know a Winchester from a Sharps.”

      He didn’t bother to swallow his startled laughter. There was clearly more to Miss Essie Vanderfair than he’d suspected. “Do you know how to shoot it?”

      She shot him an arch look. “I was raised on a ranch. I can shoot anything with a trigger.”

      Leaning back on his hands, Tate regarded her appreciatively. “Are you writing a story right now?”

      The glint of steel fell from her face as she shook her head. “Unfortunately, no. I’m merely getting down your answers from our interview earlier.”

      The recollection of her nosy questions and keen discernment made his stomach twist with apprehension. “It’s been a while since your interview. How do I know you’re remembering my answers correctly?”

      Essie shoved the notebook into his chest, making him wince. “Have a look yourself.”

      He studied the page before him and the two columns of neat, looping writing penned there. Above one column, Essie had written “Questions.” The other column she’d labeled “Answers.” Tate read through several of her questions. Were you desperate for money? What drove you to such a life? Then he glanced at the second column for the answers. No. Anger, mostly. My parents. God. My girl... My brother.

      Though he didn’t have a perfect memory, he remembered enough of his responses to know she’d penned them—word for word. “How did you remember these?” He handed her back the notebook but kept hold of his end when she reached

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