Tate slid from the saddle, casting a glance over his shoulder at Essie to see her doing the same. The smell of burned beans and smoke permeating the air around the camp wasn’t exactly appetizing, but he didn’t mind. He was starving and tired—and he couldn’t shake the wariness in his gut regarding Miss Vanderfair.
She’d remained surprisingly silent during the last thirty minutes or so of their ride. But Tate had the sense he’d awakened a sleeping bear with his vague answers earlier. Essie wouldn’t be thrown off easily, but then, neither would he.
“Welcome back, Miss Vanderfair,” Fletcher said, rising from his choice spot by the fire. “My apologies for the earlier misfortune. You can be assured if you’d been with me that you wouldn’t have been left behind.”
Essie looked at Tate, but he couldn’t read her expression. Was she still angry? He, for one, was glad she hadn’t ridden with Fletcher. He didn’t trust that man any further than he could throw him. And, anyway, it was easier to keep an eye on her when she was close by.
“As you can see,” she said, “no harm was done.”
She went to stand by the fire, her hands outstretched to the flames. While the day had been warm, the evening had brought a drop in temperature. He could see that she shivered beneath her dress jacket, but she still maintained a smile.
Annoyance rippled through him. Why couldn’t she just ask for a blanket if she needed one? No one was going to cater to her needs out here. Stalking to the edge of the camp where the saddlebags had been stowed, he yanked out a blanket.
Returning to the fire, he plopped the blanket around her shoulders. Her gaze jumped to his, her eyes wide. They weren’t dark green anymore, as they’d been at the end of her interview. Now they shone more brown. “Thank you.”
He nodded once then turned to Clem. “Any supper left?”
The outlaw dropped a helping of beans onto two tin plates along with some biscuits that looked anything but light and fluffy. He passed the food to Essie and Tate.
Graciously accepting hers, Essie took a seat on the ground. Tate selected a spot nearby. Fletcher and Jude wandered over to where Silas was seeing to the two horses. The three outlaws appeared to be in deep conversation, though they kept their voices low enough that Tate couldn’t discern their words. He’d have to learn at some point what they were discussing, but right now, he needed to satisfy his empty stomach.
The first mouthful of beans, with its scorched flavor, made him grimace, and yet he was too hungry to quit eating. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Essie take a bite. The moment the food hit her tongue a startled expression crossed her face, though, to her credit, she didn’t gag or cough. Instead she visibly swallowed and scooped up another spoonful.
“This is my first time having camp fare, Clem. Is this your usual cuisine?”
Tate stuffed a piece of tough biscuit into his mouth to keep from laughing. Especially when Clem scratched his head and looked confused. “What do you mean by...cuisine, ma’am?”
“She means is this the food you usually eat on the run,” Tate explained.
“Oh, that.” Clem rubbed a hand over the salt and pepper hairs covering his chin. “We have beans and biscuits, like this here meal, a fair amount of time. But also small game. Once we reach the hideout, the eatin’s better.”
Essie murmured acknowledgment. “And where is your hideout?”
Tate tensed at the question, though he forced himself to appear as if he wasn’t paying attention. So far Fletcher had dodged or outright refused to reveal the hideout’s location to Tate. But if Clem talked...
“It’s in Hole-in-the-Wall country, ma’am. But that’s still a long ride from here. At least a week.”
The desire to holler with victory nearly overpowered Tate. He’d suspected the gang of hiding out in northern Wyoming, somewhere quite remote. Now he knew the name. And over the next seven days he’d know exactly how to get there, too.
“What’s this hideout like?” Essie asked as she broke her biscuit into two and dipped one half into her beans.
Tate held his breath. Any minute now Clem would surely stop talking or Fletcher would march over and demand he shut up. But the outlaw didn’t even pause or look the least bit uncomfortable.
“It’s real rough country, ma’am.” He rested his arms on his knees and leaned slightly forward. “But there’s plenty of grass for the horses and a creek for water. There’s even some cabins for wintering over.”
Tate’s jaw went slack as he studied Essie and Clem in turn. What had made the man disclose so much to a complete stranger? He’d been trying to siphon information about their hideout ever since he’d joined up with Fletcher’s gang a few weeks ago. And yet, in the matter of a few minutes, Essie had drawn out details he hadn’t even come close to discovering for himself. Maybe having her along would actually prove helpful to his investigation.
The thought had barely registered in his head when she turned and smiled at him. Something in the smile obliterated his good mood. “Had you heard of the Texas Titan before you met him, Clem?” She posed the question to the other outlaw but kept her gaze locked on Tate.
“Well, sure, ma’am. I ’spect everybody has.”
“Tell me, then...” She cocked her head to one side as if in deep thought. “Does he fit the picture you imagined of him?”
Tate shifted on the hard ground, the meal in his stomach turning as ashy as it tasted. What was she doing?
“Don’t rightly know, ma’am. He looks like them Wanted posters all right.”
Essie finally returned her attention to her plate. Only then did Tate dare suck in a breath. “He does very much resemble his description in the posters and newspapers,” she agreed. “But no one has yet mentioned—”
“Food’s sure good tonight, Clem,” Tate interrupted, smacking his lips in an exaggerated fashion. He cringed at the way his voice carried loudly across the camp. “I’ll take another helping. What about you, Miss Vanderfair? Care for more food?” He leveled a hard look her way, though he didn’t miss Clem’s puzzled expression as the outlaw refilled his plate.
Essie pursed her mouth to the side, her eyes narrowed. If only he could decipher the thoughts inside that wily head of hers. “No, thank you. I find I’m quite done.” Tate sensed she was talking about more than just the meal.
Sure enough, after setting aside her empty plate, she swiveled to face him. “Remind me, Mr. Tex. What was the first crime you committed?”
“It was a bank robbery in Texas.” Tate shoved another spoonful of beans into his mouth, though he didn’t taste a thing this time.
The memory of seeing that first mention of his brother’s name and description in the newspaper still burned his gut with guilt every time he recalled it. He’d known Tex was angry and vengeful the last time they’d seen each other, but he hadn’t thought his twin would turn to a life of crime in retaliation. That first robbery led to others, each more daring than the last—more banks, then trains. All performed single-handedly and pulled off without a hitch.
Sometime around the fourth robbery, Tate had had enough. He’d sold the family farm and applied for a job with the Pinkertons. If he couldn’t help his brother, he could at least help others by bringing down other criminals.
“What was your last solo job?” Essie’s question cut into his thoughts.
He glanced at her and found that hard, emerald look in her eyes. Did she suspect something? “That would be a train robbery in Utah Territory.”
She nodded, though she didn’t drop the shrewd look. “How much did you take?”
“Six thousand dollars,” Tate said with a forced note of pride. In reality, disgust