“You’re a ways off from any kind of town,” he called good-naturedly as he approached.
Instead of relief at seeing another human being way out here, she fixed him with a thorny glare. “I wasn’t trying to find a town. I was tracking you.” A bit of color flooded her cheeks. “At least until it started to rain.”
Tate stopped his horse beside hers. He’d ridden through the rain, too, but his hat had helped keep his head and face mostly dry. Essie looked drenched, her hair hanging limp against her back.
“You remind me of a cat I once rescued who nearly met his end in a swollen stream.” He couldn’t help a chuckle, which only narrowed her gaze even further.
“And you remind me of a...a...” She closed her lips.
“A what?” he prompted, more curious than offended. “Can’t think of a good rejoinder, Miss Vanderfair?”
The corners of her mouth quirked upward. “I’m full of good rejoinders, Mr. Tex. But I prefer to give my comeuppance in fiction.”
That wiped the smile from his face. He didn’t need her writing about him—or rather, his outlaw brother—in some sensationalized story. “My apologies. Your hair—” he motioned to the long wet mane “—looks...nice like that.”
One eyebrow rose in silent question. His neck felt warm, despite riding through the cool rain earlier. It wasn’t a lie, though. He liked it when a woman left her hair long instead of pinning it up. Ravena had always worn it long and flowing.
He couldn’t help comparing her to Essie, even as he fought memories from his youth. Ravena and Tex wove through nearly every one, and thinking back on the happiness they’d once shared left a bitter taste in his mouth. While not as stunning a beauty as Ravena had been, Miss Vanderfair had nice hazel eyes. Ones that apparently turned more green than brown when she was either determined or amused. With her hair down and her cheeks still pink, she made a rather lovely picture. Not that he’d noticed.
Clearing his throat, he turned his horse around. “Let’s get going.” He nudged the animal forward, but they hadn’t gone more than a couple of feet when he realized she wasn’t following.
Tate twisted in the saddle. “What’s the problem now?”
Her eyes maintained their emerald color. “I’m not going anywhere with you. The man who deliberately left me out here—alone.”
“You had some water,” he offered lamely, “and a horse.” But the paltry excuse only brought her chin up in a greater show of annoyance. So much for hoping she hadn’t realized he’d left her behind on purpose.
She prodded her horse forward. “Good day, Mr. Tex.”
He’d underestimated her pluck, and her anger; that was for sure. She wasn’t weeping all over him in gratitude at finding her, either. Instead she was going to stubbornly wander around Wyoming until she happened onto Fletcher and his gang. Or so she thought.
“Where are you going?” he called after her, leaning on the saddle horn as if he had all the time in the world.
Essie turned. “To find Mr. Fletcher and conduct my interviews.” Her chin hadn’t lowered one inch. “And I’ll do it without your help, thank you very much.”
“You might be able to follow my trail for a few minutes, but the rain washed most of it away.”
As he’d suspected, his words brought her and her horse to a full stop.
“You need me,” he added.
And he needed her, too, though he wasn’t about to reveal that information. It might make her overconfident, and that could mean serious trouble for him. Tate blew out a sigh, hating that his covert mission was now squarely tied to the woman glaring at him.
She didn’t bother to hide her emotions, which meant he could easily read the thoughts on her face. Frustration, dejection and, finally, acceptance. He had her and she knew it.
“Shall we continue, Miss Vanderfair?” He guided his horse alongside hers. “I don’t know about you, but I’m famished, and even Clem’s cooking is better than no cooking at all.”
But she didn’t humbly nod in acquiescence or make a move to follow him. No. She smiled at him instead. A smile that set fresh uneasiness churning in his stomach.
“I’ll come with you, Mr. Tex, if you allow me to interview you first.”
He sat back, feeling as if he’d been punched. The little imp had overthrown his plan with a cleverer one of her own.
The last thing he wanted, or needed, was to answer her nosy questions while still pretending to be his brother. He’d foolishly hoped they’d already be at Fletcher’s hideout before Essie could attempt to corner him into talking about the past. But that door had closed. He was caught, and he suspected she knew it, too.
“Fine. Just know I may not answer every question.”
A tiny furrow creased the space between her brows. “How am I to get the information I need—”
He shook his head. “Don’t know, but that’s my offer. Take it or leave it, Miss Vanderfair.”
She sized him up in a way that made him wonder what she saw. For one tiny moment he had the strangest wish to tell her that he wasn’t really an outlaw and she was riding straight into possible peril. But he couldn’t say a thing that might persuade her to turn around and ride hard in the opposite direction.
A small seed of protectiveness, one born out of something deeper than simply keeping the innocent safe, sprouted in him as he regarded her, too. Tate tried to eradicate it. After all, he hadn’t been able to protect Tex or the people his brother had wronged as part of his illustrious outlaw career. But something about Essie tugged at the locked handle of his heart, even before she gave him her answer.
“Very well, Mr. Tex.” Her eyes shone dark green again. “I accept your terms.”
* * *
“Were you born and raised in Texas?” Essie asked, a thrill pulsing through her at interviewing her very first outlaw. “Is that how you came by your name?”
The Texan shook his head. “I was born in Idaho. Lived there until eight years ago.” He paused before adding, “My mother and her family were from Texas.”
Essie kept her horse in pace with his, so she wouldn’t miss hearing his answers. Though her hands weren’t free to write down his responses, she wouldn’t soon forget them. Like the stories she penned in her head, her interview would be stored in her memory for a few hours and easily retrieved once she was able to write it in her notebook.
“You mentioned your mother passed away.” She gentled her tone so he wouldn’t feel as if she were prying. “When was that?”
“Ten years ago.” His shoulders stiffened, a clear indication he didn’t like the topic.
“And your father?” she prodded.
“He up and left us when I was nine. Next question.”
