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
