style="font-size:15px;"> Pain lodged inside her chest at the question. “My brother Nils. He’s a year older.”
“Where is he now?”
She turned her gaze to the stars overhead as bittersweet memories filled her thoughts. “He, um, died. Four years ago. He was thrown from his horse.” Her father had wanted to shoot the skittish animal, but Essie had pleaded with him not to exact revenge on the innocent creature. Even while her heart had ripped in two at the loss of her brother.
“I’m very sorry, Miss Vanderfair.”
“Thank you.” She glanced at him, but with his chin lowered, his face was shadowed by his hat. “You lost your mother. I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”
While her parents and the rest of her siblings hadn’t championed her dreams of writing as Nils always had, they were still alive and seemed concerned about her welfare. Letters came from the ranch nearly once a week, asking how she fared and when she might return home.
The Texan cleared his throat, though he didn’t lift his head. “It was a great loss. But we pulled through it. At least, one of us did.”
“Your brother didn’t feel her passing as keenly?”
“He did.” His chin rose and he leveled her with a look both intense and regretful. “But he felt like he had to...to...overcompensate. To be father and mother, even if there wasn’t much difference in our ages.”
Essie rose onto her elbow and rested her head in her palm. “I suppose most families have someone like that. Wanting so desperately to protect and care for the others, even if it stifles those they love.”
He frowned. “How does wanting to protect and care for someone stifle them?”
“It does so in many ways.” She sat up and faced him, eager to help him understand what she’d come to see the last three years on her own. “If one is never allowed to stumble about or tread down uncertain paths, that person will likely never reach his or her true potential. They’ll be perpetually stuck in a web 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.
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