Chapter Thirteen
Near Medicine Bow, Wyoming, 1892
The squeal of the train wheels jerked Essie Vanderfair’s attention from the doodles and half-formed thoughts scribbled inside her notebook to the window beside her. Nothing but hills of sagebrush and late-morning sunshine met her curious gaze. They shouldn’t be stopping yet. But even as the thought entered her mind, the locomotive shuddered to a halt.
Impatience brought a frown to her lips. She still had hours to go before she reached her room at the boardinghouse in Evanston, where she planned to stay sequestered until her next brilliant dime-novel idea presented itself. Most of what she had in her notebook wouldn’t create the successful novel her publisher wanted.
“I wonder why we’ve stopped,” her seatmate remarked, bouncing her drooling baby on her lap.
The little boy was every bit as handsome as his mother was beautiful. Her lovely chestnut hair and sky-colored eyes reminded Essie of her three older sisters. She looked nothing like them with her blond hair and muddy-green eyes.
A twinge of envy wound its way around her heart at the lovely picture the mother and babe made. That might have been her, if Harrison hadn’t decided she wasn’t serious enough or committed enough to make a suitable wife.
Not serious enough about life. How many times had she heard those words? Not just from Harrison but from her own family, too. But Essie had gotten revenge as far as her old beau was concerned. The villain in her last dime novel had sported the name Harris and the same pointy nose and mustache as the man she’d once fancied herself in love with.
Movement out the window caught her eye and she leaned closer to the glass. Five riders with bandannas over their mouths and noses rode toward the stalled train.
Her heart galloped as she realized who they must be. “It appears...” She wet her dry lips. “That we are being accosted by train robbers.”
She hadn’t spoken loudly, but the man in front of them clearly heard her anyway. “Train robbers,” he bellowed. Panicked murmurs swept through the passenger car.
“Oh, my,” the babe’s mother cried, her face draining of color. She clutched her child to her bosom. “Whatever do they want?”
“Money, most likely.” Essie stuffed her notebook into her valise, anxious to be ready for whatever lay ahead. “Although they might wish to take a few women along as hostages, as well.”
Like in The Train Robber’s Bride, the latest dime novel from her professional nemesis Victor Daley. It seemed whatever story line Essie pursued, Mr. Daley came up with a similar one but achieved much greater success. If only she could think of an idea that would scoop his...
The woman’s face had grown even paler. “At least I have a child,” she murmured. “They won’t take a woman with a baby.”
“Either way—” Essie snapped her valise shut “—I won’t let them hurt you or your child.” Lowering her voice, she explained. “I have a derringer in my boot.” She wiggled her shoe for emphasis. Not that one gun would be a match against five, but at least it was something.
Her seatmate looked askance. “Whatever do you own a gun for? Do you know how to use it?”
Essie couldn’t help laughing, in spite of the tense situation. “Ma’am, I was raised on a ranch and now live on my own in a city. I know my way around a great many weapons. Now switch me seats.”
Speechless, the woman rose and sank into the vacated spot as Essie slid toward the aisle. Please watch over us, Lord, in this most unorthodox situation. Or could this be the Lord’s working in her life already? Maybe this was an answer to her prayer to help her write a more exciting tale than Mr. Daley. But would it be good enough to erase the troubled frown she’d seen on her publisher’s face during her recent visit to Ohio?
“Look, Miss Vanderfair,” he’d said, peering over the top of his glasses at her. “You have talent, more so than any other female whose work I’ve read. But we can’t afford to publish more of your stories. Not unless your next one can outsell the likes of Mr. Daley.”
The remembrance of those ominous words set her pulse kicking faster with dread than seeing the train robbers. She needed a new story that would be a guaranteed success—and soon. Otherwise she’d have to go back to the ranch and admit defeat. Wouldn’t her siblings crow over that one?
Just one little idea, Lord. That’s all I ask.
A train robbery wasn’t a bad place to start. The door to the passenger car opened with a clatter, she mused, composing in her head. She’d pen it down in her notebook later. The devastatingly handsome train robber stepped inside, his black gaze keen as it swept the passengers, finally alighting on the beautiful, demure heroine. Her heart beat wildly in her throat as their eyes locked. What did he—
Someone screamed, jerking Essie’s thoughts back to reality. A man stood in the doorway at the front of the car. But instead of the tall, handsome hero of her imagination, the man blocking the doorway stood at five feet tall and sported what must be a bulbous nose beneath his bandanna. Essie smirked. Real life was never as interesting as fiction.
“Sorry to keep ya, folks,” the man said in a tone that implied anything but regret. “We’ll get you movin’ on in a short lick. But for now, just sit tight while we work.”
“What does that mean?” an older woman across the aisle whispered loudly to her husband.
He glared at the robber. “It means they’re likely going to blow up the train’s safe.”
Several gasps followed the man’s pronouncement, but Essie let out a sigh of relief. If their focus was the safe then the robbers would probably leave the passengers alone. Essie patted the sleeve of her seatmate in reassurance. “We’ll be on our way soon.” If the conductor wasn’t harmed.
“Has any injury come to the train conductor?” she bravely asked the robber.
He chuckled. “The conductor and that guard’ll be right as rain once they come to. The Texas Titan don’t like roughin’ people up too much.”
The Texas Titan was here? On her train? Essie had read plenty of newspaper articles about the man and his legendary outlaw career. He usually worked alone, though. Why had he joined this gang? She wished she could ask him. An interview with a real-live outlaw, or five, would provide any novelist with a gold mine of research.
And give her a leg up on the competition.
Essie’s eyes widened at her own bold idea. The men weren’t likely to talk to her on the train, where she’d be slowing down their getaway. Would she be able to convince them to take her with them? More important, did she dare attempt such a harebrained scheme?
Her publisher’s dire prediction ran through her head again: “We can’t afford to publish more of your stories...”
But her next story was sure to be a success if she included firsthand accounts from these men.
“I’m going to do