Rogue Gunslinger
B.J. Daniels
A deadly homecoming…Author TJ Clementine thought she'd be safe with her sisters during the holidays. She was wrong. Dead wrong. Now her ‘biggest fan’ has followed TJ to Whitehorse, Montana. The only person who can help is ruggedly handsome loner Silas Walker—if she can trust him…
A deadly homecoming in Whitehorse, Montana.
Bestselling author TJ Clementine thought she’d be safe with her sisters during the holidays. She was wrong. Dead wrong. Now her “biggest fan” has followed TJ to Whitehorse, Montana, with visions of murder in mind. The only person who can help TJ is ruggedly handsome loner Silas Walker—if she can trust him. Because this mountain man knows just how to hunt deadly shadows...and win.
Whitehorse, Montana: The Clementine Sisters
B. J. DANIELS is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author. She wrote her first book after a career as an award-winning newspaper journalist and author of thirty-seven published short stories. She lives in Montana with her husband, Parker, and three springer spaniels. When not writing, she quilts, boats and plays tennis. Contact her at bjdaniels.com, on Facebook or on Twitter, @bjdanielsauthor (http://twitter.com/@bjdanielsauthor).
Also by B. J. Daniels (#u7888e162-b2a0-5645-95ed-ca226ffea76e)
Hard RustlerCowboy’s RedemptionDark HorseDead RingerRough RiderRenegade’s PrideOutlaw’s HonorHero’s ReturnRancher’s Dream
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Rogue Gunslinger
B.J. Daniels
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07934-1
ROGUE GUNSLINGER
© 2018 Barbara Heinlein
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This book is for Gale Simonson, part of the Simonson
duo, who keeps our lives interesting in the Quilting by
the Border group. You are always like a breath of fresh
air. Thanks for keeping me smiling.
Contents
Cover (#u66faf102-e9d2-53eb-bae0-cf8e1e4a979d)
Back Cover Text (#ud675f41c-46f2-58d3-9dd0-06ac46915cdc)
About the Author (#u90aabe68-f532-51c9-87d9-ed5ad28f6834)
Booklist (#uc9cce7b7-1268-5fd4-b487-ce1a7d38f7a6)
Title Page (#ufd0a12ca-7268-5c6d-b9f6-626ab5df8a98)
Copyright (#ud9c449f5-4e8d-5123-a037-3c4f49039f03)
Dedication (#udba43dbd-c912-55b8-a5ea-32160dd39606)
Chapter One (#uf853fd8b-07a7-530a-a5bc-2ca611f6641d)
Chapter Two (#ueeae06da-2eed-51a7-88ab-09993cfd58cf)
Chapter Three (#uf222bbb1-86ce-5092-9a26-d79f4b182400)
Chapter Four (#udd4331df-f5be-587c-8801-220a0ae361b6)
Chapter Five (#ubcb0929f-6753-554f-bdc8-f599a453f3d4)
Chapter Six (#ud3877613-79c7-5641-9de4-ae0584b03aa3)
Chapter Seven (#u5eebd65e-004c-5b16-83cf-a4ed708fc9d6)
Chapter Eight (#u8345e18f-d32b-522a-be90-7dd572acf356)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u7888e162-b2a0-5645-95ed-ca226ffea76e)
The old antique Royal typewriter clacked with each angry stroke of the keys. Shaking fingers pounded out livid words onto the old discolored paper. As the fury built, the fingers moved faster and faster until the keys all tangled together in a metal knot that lay suspended over the paper.
With a curse of frustration, the metal arms were tugged apart and the sound of the typewriter resumed in the small room. Angry words burst across the page, some letters darker than others as the keystrokes hit like a hammer. Other letters appeared lighter, some dropping down a half line as the fingers slipped from the worn keys. A bell sounded at the end of each line as the carriage was returned with a clang, until the paper was ripped from the typewriter.
Read in a cold, dark rage, the paper was folded hurriedly, the edges uneven, and stuffed into the envelope already addressed in the black typewritten letters:
Author TJ St. Clair
Whitehorse, Montana
The stamp slapped on, the envelope sealed, the fingers still shaking with expectation for when the novelist opened it. The fan rose and smiled. Wouldn’t Ms. St. Clair, aka Tessa Jane Clementine, love this one.
* * *
TJ ST. CLAIR hated conference calls. Especially this conference call.
“I know it’s tough with your book coming out before Christmas,” said Rachel, the marketing coordinator, the woman’s voice sounding hollow on speakerphone in TJ’s small New York City apartment.
“But I don’t have to tell you how important it is to do as much promo as you can this week to get those sales where you want them,” Sherry from Publicity and Events added.
TJ held her head and said nothing for a moment. “I’m going home for the holidays to be with my sisters, who I haven’t seen in months.” She started to say she knew how important promoting her book was, but in truth she often questioned if a lot of the events really made that much difference—let alone all the social media. If readers spent as much time as TJ had to on social media, she questioned how they could have time to read books.
“It’s the threatening letters you’ve been getting, isn’t it?” her agent Clara said.
She glanced toward the window, hating to admit that the letters had more than spooked her. “That is definitely part of it. They have been getting more...detailed and more threatening.”
“I’m so sorry, TJ,” Clara said and everyone added in words of sympathy.
“You’ve spoken to the police?” her editor, Dan French, asked.
“There is nothing they can do until...until the fan acts on the threats. That’s another reason I want to go to Montana.”
For a few beats there was silence. “All right. I can speak to Marketing,” Dan said. “We’ll do what we can from this end.”
“I hate to request this, but is there any chance you could do a couple of book signings while you’re at home before Christmas, right before the book comes out?” Rachel asked. “I wouldn’t push, but TJ, we hate to see you lose the momentum you’ve picked up with your last book.”
“That would be at least something,” Dan agreed.
“If you don’t make the list, it won’t be the end of the world,” her editor added. “But we’d hoped to see you advance up the list with this one. I love this book. I think it’s the best one you’ve ever written.”
The first week a book came out was the most important and they all knew it. If she didn’t make the list—the New York Times list—it would mean losing the bonus she usually got for ranking in the top ten. It would also hurt her on her next contract, not to mention the publisher might back off on promotional money for her.
“We don’t mean to pressure you,” Dan said. “But I’m sure if the police thought this fan was really dangerous—”
“I think going to Montana is smart,” her agent cut in. “You’ll be safe there with your family over the holidays. We can regroup when you get back.”
She rubbed her temples. “I could do one book signing in my hometown since there is only one bookstore there. Whitehorse is tiny and in the middle of nowhere. The roads can be closed off and on this time of year, so there won’t be much of a turnout though.”
“Isn’t the Billings Gazette doing a story on you as well?” Trish from Marketing asked.
“Yes.” She groaned inwardly, having forgotten she’d agreed to that months ago.
“That will have to do, then,” her agent said, coming to her defense. “Her next book will be out in the spring. Let’s plan on doing something special for that.”
“We have ads coming out in six major magazines as well as a social media blitz for this one,” Rachel said. “You should be fine. You have a lot of loyal fans who’ve been waiting patiently for this book. Your presales are good.”
“Are you all right with this?” her agent asked.
She nodded and then realized she had to speak. Her throat was dry, her stomach roiling. Just the thought of any kind of public event had her terrified. But before she could answer, the call was over. Everyone wished each other a happy and safe holiday and hung up, except for her agent.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I will be once I get home,” she told her and herself. She couldn’t wait to get on the plane. She hadn’t been back to Montana for years except for her grandmother’s funeral.
“Keep in touch. And if you need anything...”
TJ smiled. She loved her agent. “I know. Thank you.” She disconnected. Every book release she worried it wouldn’t make the list or wouldn’t be high enough on the list—which meant better than the last book had done. Not this time.
“You have bigger things to worry about at the moment,” she said to herself as she walked to her apartment window and looked out.
I know where you live. You think you can sit in your big-city apartment and ignore me? Think again.
That ominous threat was added at the bottom of the last written attack she’d received from True Fan. What was different this time was that her fan had included a photograph taken from the outside of her New York City apartment. She’d recognized the curtains covering the window of her third-floor unit. There’d been a light behind them, which meant she’d been home when her “fan” had taken the photo from the sidewalk outside.
It was recent too. One of the wings of Mrs. Gunderson’s Christmas angel was in the photograph. Her elderly neighbor had put it up only two days ago. TJ had helped her.
Just the thought of how recent the photo had been taken made her shudder. She glanced at her phone. Her flight was still hours away but she preferred sitting at the airport surrounded by security screened people to staying another minute in this apartment.
Sticking her phone into a side pocket of her purse, she grabbed the handle of her suitcase and headed for the door.
Nowadays she always checked the hallway before she left her apartment. She did this time as well. It was empty. She could hear holiday music playing in one of the apartments down the hall. The song brought tears to her eyes. She was a mess, way too emotional to spend the holidays with her sisters—especially since the three of them had been estranged for months.
She hesitated. Maybe she should change her flight. Go to some warm resort. But just the thought turned her stomach. She was going back to Whitehorse. Going home for Christmas.
She rolled her suitcase down to the elevator and pushed the button.
When it clanged its way up from what sounded like the basement, she waited for the door to open. If anyone she didn’t recognize happened to be on the elevator, she would make an excuse about forgetting something she needed in her apartment and turn back until the elevator left again.
She knew it was silly, but she couldn’t help it. No one was taking the threats seriously. But she had watched the tone of the letters degenerate into angry, hateful words that were more than threatening. This person wasn’t done with her. Far from it. She couldn’t shake the feeling that her “True Fan” was coming for her.
The elevator stopped and the door began to open. Empty. She let out the breath she’d been holding. Stepping in, she pulled her suitcase close and pushed the button for the ground floor.
The fan writing her the threatening letters could be anyone. That was what was so frightening. It could even be someone who lived in this apartment complex. Or someone she’d met at a conference. She met so many fans, she couldn’t possibly remember them all. It embarrassed her when they complimented her books. She wanted to hug them all. She doubted she would ever get used to this. Writing had been her dream since she was a girl. Getting published? Well, that was like a miracle to her. She couldn’t believe her good luck.
Until she’d begun getting the letters from her True Fan.
Outside the apartment building, the sidewalk was filled with people hurrying past. Shoppers laden with packages, others rushing off to work... The city was bustling more than usual. She glanced at the faces of people as they passed, not sure what she was looking for. Would she recognize her rabid fan if she saw him or her?
She couldn’t help studying their faces, looking for one that might be familiar. She didn’t even know if her “fan” was male or female. She also didn’t know if the person was watching her right now.
After a while, everyone began to look familiar to her. If anyone made eye contact, she quickly dropped her gaze as she made her way to the curb to signal for a cab. She wrote about crazed homicidal people. Wouldn’t she recognize something in True Fan’s eyes that would give the person away?
With a screech of brakes, a yellow cab came to a stop on the other side of the street. The driver motioned for her to hurry. But a large delivery truck was coming too fast for her to cross before it passed.
She felt something hit her in the back. Letting out a cry, she found herself falling into the street in front of the large speeding truck.
Chapter Two (#u7888e162-b2a0-5645-95ed-ca226ffea76e)
It happened so fast. One minute she was standing on the curb waiting for the large delivery truck to pass before crossing the street to the waiting taxi.
The next she was falling forward into the street and the truck bearing down on her. Her arms windmilled as she tried to catch herself, but there was nothing to grab. She could hear the deafening roar of the truck’s engine, smelled diesel fuel turning the air gray and closed her eyes as she realized she was about to die.
The hand that closed over her arm was large and viselike. One minute she was falling headlong into the street in front of the truck and the next she was snatched from the crushing metal bumper as the truck roared on past.
Pulled by the hand gripping her arm, her body whipped back. She slammed into something so solid it could have been a lamppost. She turned just quickly enough that her face came in contact with the chest of a large male body as she tried to get her feet under her. He steadied her for a moment before the fingers on her arm released.
She looked up in time to see the man who’d saved her turn and walk away as if rescuing women was something he did every day. Trembling all over, she was still reeling from her near death.
“Wait!” she called after him. He’d just saved her life. But if he’d heard her, he didn’t turn. All she got was a brief glimpse of granite features, collar-length dark, curly hair beneath a baseball cap above wide shoulders clad in a tan suede sheepskin coat before he disappeared into the crowd.
She turned to find her suitcase and purse had fallen to the ground at the edge of the curb. Still shaken, she reached for them. The taxi that had stopped for her was long gone. No one seemed to have noticed what had almost happened to her.
Why had the man taken off the way he had? A Good Samaritan who didn’t like taking credit for his deeds? Or, she thought with a shudder, the person who’d pushed her in front of the speeding truck—and then saved her.
Was it possible the man had been her True Fan?
She remembered being hit from behind and then the viselike grip of his large hand as his fingers bit into her arm. He hadn’t even taken the time to see if she was all right. A shudder rattled through her. Had this been a warning?
A cab pulled to a stop in front of her. Tears burned her eyes as she stepped toward it. After all this time of being away, she couldn’t wait to go home to Whitehorse.
* * *
SILAS WALKER SWORE. He’d lost the man he’d been following in the crowd of Christmas shoppers. Now he leaned against the front of a building, watching the street. His leg hurt like hell. He realized he was limping badly and cursed. If it wasn’t for his injury, he wouldn’t have lost the man.
Or if he hadn’t stopped just long enough to grab that woman who’d been jostled by the crowd and almost fallen in front of a delivery truck. He shook his head. She should have known better than to stand that close to the street, especially with the sidewalk this crowded. He hated to think what could have happened if he hadn’t been right behind her.
His cell phone vibrated. He checked the screen. A text from his boss that he wanted to see him ASAP. That couldn’t be good. He quickly texted back that he was on his way.
One look at the way he was limping and he knew exactly what his boss was going to say. He’d come back to work too soon. That he knew his boss was right didn’t make it any easier to accept.
But after today, after messing up an easy tail, Silas had to accept that he wasn’t up to the job yet. That alone would force him to lay off his leg for a while. Just over the holidays, not that he was happy about it.
A taxi pulled past. He spotted the woman in the back seat. She wore a bright red long coat with a multicolored scarf—the same woman he’d grabbed out of the way of the truck.
But that wasn’t the surprising part. He recognized her. He’d studied that face on the back cover of her book more times than he wanted to admit. He couldn’t believe his luck. TJ St. Clair. The thriller writer. Her photo hadn’t done her justice.
As the taxi drove on past, he realized she was probably headed for the airport given that he now recalled seeing a suitcase next to her. Somewhere for the holidays?
Smiling, he told himself she might be headed home to Montana. If he was right... Well, what were the chances they might cross paths again?
* * *
TJ HAD WONDERED what it would be like seeing her sisters again. The last time they’d been together they’d argued. Well, that is, she and Chloe had argued with their younger sister Annabelle over their grandmother’s house.
Grandmother Frannie Clementine had died a few months ago. In her will, she’d left everything she had—basically her house in Whitehorse—to Annabelle.
“Did you know she was going to do that?” they’d demanded.
“No, I swear I didn’t,” Annabelle had said on the phone since she hadn’t attended the funeral or seen the will.
“Why would she do that?” Chloe had demanded.
“I have no idea,” their sister had said. “Except...well, I always got the impression that she liked me the best.” She’d tried to pass that off as a joke, but they’d all hung up angry.
Now as TJ stepped off the plane, she felt bad about the argument. The house had turned out to be a whole lot of work—and had held some surprises that neither TJ nor Chloe would have wanted to handle. It had been clear why Grandma Frannie had left the house to Annabelle, who they all agreed was more like Frannie than either TJ or Chloe.
The Billings, Montana, airport was small by most airport standards and sat on rimrocks overlooking the state’s largest city. She hadn’t gone far when she saw her sisters waving at her from the bottom of the escalator.
TJ couldn’t help but grin. They were both wearing elf hats. She groaned. “This has to have been Annabelle’s idea,” she said under her breath. But the sight of them in those hats had definitely broken the ice.
She laughed as she reached them, hugging one and then the other. As she pulled back, she felt such a surge of love for her sisters that it brought tears to her eyes.
“We didn’t want you to feel left out,” Annabelle said, and whipped an elf hat from her bag and settled it on TJ’s blonde head. She grinned and put her arm around them. “We look like triplets.”
“Heaven forbid,” Chloe said.
“I’m starving,” Annabelle said, surprising no one. Since she’d quit modeling for a living, she was always hungry. “Ray J’s barbecue when we get home, eat here or just get snacks like we used to for the ride home?”
“Snacks!” TJ and Chloe said together.
“Did I mention I bought your favorite bottles of wine?” Annabelle asked. “Or we can go out and party tonight.”
TJ and Chloe groaned in unison and then laughed. It felt good being around them again, TJ thought, and felt her eyes burn again with tears. Coming home for the holidays had been the right choice. She realized this was the best she’d felt in a very long time.
Annabelle chattered as they walked through the terminal toward the exit. TJ half listened, thankful that the trouble between them had blown over. They were all three back in Montana just like when they were growing up. They were sisters and she couldn’t have been more delighted to be with them, even though people stared.
She laughed. She’d forgotten they were all now wearing elf hats. For a few minutes, she’d completely forgotten her near-death experience this morning in the city and True Fan’s threats.
But as she and her sisters passed a group waiting in one of the departure lines, she saw a woman raise her phone and take a photo of the three of them. Glancing back, TJ saw the woman quickly begin texting someone.
Chapter Three (#u7888e162-b2a0-5645-95ed-ca226ffea76e)
“Wow,” Chloe cried from the front seat of the SUV as she showed TJ her phone. “It’s already all over social media.” There was the photograph of the three of them in their elf hats. Just as she’d feared, the woman had recognized her, tagging the photo with her pen name. “Ah the life of the rich and famous.”
TJ groaned. “Now everyone will know that I’ve come home to Whitehorse for Christmas.”
“It isn’t like it was a secret, right?” Annabelle asked as she drove. “Everyone knows you’re from Whitehorse, Montana. Not much of a leap that you would be going home for Christmas.” She glanced in the rearview mirror. “Seriously, is it a problem?”
“No,” TJ lied. “It’s fine. Sometimes it would be nice to be anonymous though, but I don’t have to tell you about that.”
Annabelle sighed. “Yep, but when now faced with being anonymous the rest of my life... Well, it’s an adjustment. I have to admit, it was fun seeing my photo on the front of magazines—even if it was a doctored photo of me. Nothing is all that real with modeling.”
“So you’re not going back to it?” Chloe asked their baby sister. “You’re just going to marry Dawson Rogers, become a ranchwoman—”
“And live happily ever after,” Annabelle said with a giggle. “Yep, that’s the plan.”
They began discussing people they knew in Whitehorse and how things had or hadn’t changed.
TJ only half listened to their conversation. She hadn’t told either sister about the threatening letters—let alone what had happened in the city only hours ago. The more she’d thought about it on the plane ride back to Montana, the more unsure she was that she’d been pushed in front of that truck. Could it have been an accident? Or had it been deliberate? Either way, if that man hadn’t grabbed her...
She shivered and looked out at the snowy landscape. If that man was her True Fan, he’d been watching her apartment. When the light had gone off in her living room, he would have known she would be coming downstairs. Or he might have been a stranger passing by.
TJ shook her head, determined not to think about it. She was safe now. At least for a while.
“So we’re talking wedding bells,” Chloe was saying.
“Wait, I must have missed something,” TJ said, sitting forward to hear. “You and Dawson? When?”
“We haven’t set a date yet. I know it’s quick, but I would love a Christmas wedding, something small and intimate,” Annabelle said, sounding dreamy. Both Chloe and TJ groaned and then laughed.
“Love,” Chloe said with a shake of her head.
“Actually,” TJ said, settling back into her seat, “I always thought you and Dawson were a good match.”
They talked about weddings, growing up in Whitehorse, people they knew who’d left—and those who had stayed. The time passed quickly on the drive to their hometown.
As they pulled up in front of the house they’d grown up in after their parents had died, Annabelle cut the engine. Conversation died. They all looked in the direction of Grandmother Frannie’s house. Even though Frannie had left the house to Annabelle, TJ would always think of it as their grandmother’s. None of them spoke. The only sound was the tick, tick, tick as the motor cooled.
“Are you two all right?” Annabelle asked.
TJ hadn’t realized it when they’d met her at the airport, but Chloe had flown in only thirty minutes before she had. Which meant that like her, she hadn’t been to the house where they were raised since the funeral.
“It’s like it was when we were kids,” Annabelle said, as if trying to reassure them.
From the back seat, TJ glanced at her sister in the rearview mirror. All three of them knew the house would never be like that again. Not after their grandmother’s secrets had been unearthed, so to speak.
“If you don’t want to stay here, we can go out to Dawson’s ranch,” Annabelle said. “We have a standing invitation.”
TJ smiled at that, seeing how happy her sister was to be back together with her high school sweetheart. “I’m good with staying in the house.”
“Of course you are,” Chloe said. “You write murder mysteries.” She sighed. “I am good with staying here too. I think it’s what Grandmother would have wanted. But it’s still weird. I can’t believe the secrets our grandmother kept from us.”
TJ chuckled. Frannie had been a tiny, sweet little woman who everyone said wouldn’t hurt a fly. “Seems all those wild stories we thought she made up to entertain us had some truth in them.”
“Imagine if she hadn’t toned them down to PG,” Annabelle said.
They all laughed and opened their car doors, the earlier tension gone. Getting the luggage out, they made their way up the shoveled path through the deep snow. Christmas in Whitehorse, TJ thought. The last time she’d left here, she’d been pretty sure she’d never be back. But as she breathed in the icy evening air, she knew she was exactly where she wanted to be right now.
Annabelle scooped up a handful of snow in her mitten and tossed it into the air over them before running toward the door, fearing payback. Both TJ and Chloe let out cries as ice crystals glittered in the silver evening before covering them from head to toe.
TJ shook the light snow from her long blond hair and laughed. It was good to see Annabelle like this. It had been a long time. Now, she was again that adventurous young girl who’d gotten stuck in the neighbor boy’s tree house.
“I thought you’d want your old rooms,” Annabelle was saying as they crossed the porch and she unlocked the door.
TJ hadn’t known what to expect as the door swung open. Her grandmother had been a hoarder in her old age. The last time she’d seen this place—when she and Chloe had come up for the funeral—it had been so full of newspapers, magazines, knickknacks, old furniture and so much junk there were only paths through the house. Little had they known what was buried in there.
She stopped in the doorway, dumbstruck. The junk was gone. The walls were painted a nice pale gray, and the place looked warm and welcoming, complete with new furniture.
“Annabelle, you shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble. We aren’t staying that long,” TJ said, shocked.
“It wasn’t all me. Willie insisted on helping and I wasn’t about to say no,” Annabelle said. “You remember Dawson’s mom. When she takes on a project... You have to see the kitchen. Dawson completely remodeled it.”
TJ could only nod and follow her sister into the kitchen where their grandmother used to attempt to cook. She stopped in the doorway. This was the room where Annabelle had discovered her grandmother’s biggest secret. It looked like any other kitchen in an older remodeled house.
“Remember the cookie jar where Frannie kept her grocery money?” her sister was saying. “I saved it.”
Chloe had stepped in and was looking around, wide-eyed. “It’s amazing.” She met TJ’s gaze. “Ghosts?”
“Gone,” Annabelle said, and crossed her heart with her index finger. “No ghosts.”
TJ thought ghosts were the least of her problems. “Did Willie help you with our rooms as well?”
“She did. Come on, I’ll show you.” Annabelle ran up the stairs. TJ and Chloe followed, whispering among themselves.
“She did a great job,” Chloe was saying. “Remember what it was like?”
“Unfortunately, I do,” TJ said. “Like a horror story.”
“Or a thriller,” Chloe whispered back. “Like the kind you write.”
TJ didn’t need the reminder.
Annabelle had stopped at Chloe’s old room. They joined her. The room had been painted her favorite color, pale purple, and decorated to fit their investigative reporter sister’s style.
“You do realize that this visit is temporary, right?” TJ asked. Annabelle didn’t seem to hear her. Stepping down the hall, TJ stopped at a room she knew at once was hers. It was painted a pale yellow. A quilt of yellow-and-blue fabric lay on the antique white iron bed. There was a small white desk and chair to one side of the bed with a lamp and spot for her laptop. On the wall above it was a framed collage of her book covers.
“Do you like it?” Annabelle said behind her, sounding anxious.
“Oh, Annabelle.” She turned to hug her sister, hoping to hide her discomfort. The last thing she wanted to see were her book covers right now. They reminded her of the threats from her True Fan, who had found fault with all of her latest plots—and even her covers.
“It’s perfect.”
Her sister seemed to relax. “Is this going to be all right?” she asked.
“It is, Belle,” she said using a nickname for her littlest sister that she hadn’t used in years. “I’m glad you kept Frannie’s house.”
“It was Dawson’s idea. He bought it for a rental but he thought it would be nice for us to have it for when the two of you visit. After we’re married, we’ll build a house with guest rooms for you and Chloe when you come home. Then we’ll either rent this house or sell it. But I like the idea of keeping it. At least for a while.”
She loved her sister’s enthusiasm, but she couldn’t imagine visiting Whitehorse often. So she said nothing, just smiled and hugged her again.
Chloe came out of her room holding a framed photo of the three of them.
“Check this out,” she said, wiping tears as she showed TJ a photo of the them when they were girls. “We were so cute.”
“We are still cute,” Annabelle said. “Let’s go to Ray J’s and get some barbecue. Then I’m thinking we should go to the Mint and celebrate.”
“Whoa,” Chloe said. “Barbecue, yes. Our old bar, no.” She looked to TJ to back her up.
“How about we come back here, open the wine and make it a fairly early night,” TJ said. “At least for today. It’s been kind of a long day. But could we stop by the bookstore before it closes on the way to supper? I need to see if they have everything they need for my book signing.”
“You’re doing a book signing this close to Christmas?” Chloe said.
“Don’t ask.”
* * *
THE BOOKSTORE WAS actually a gift shop that carried her books because she was considered a local author. TJ stopped inside the door. It had been so long since she’d had her very first signing here. She remembered her excitement from the acceptance of her book to actually seeing her words in print. She’d been over the moon. She hadn’t been able to quit staring at her book. The memory made her smile. Her dream had come true.
Her first book signing under this roof had been good. She’d known most everyone who’d waited in line to talk to her, wish her well, say they knew her when, and then get their book signed.
TJ hung on to that feeling for a moment before stepping in to look for the owner. Her sisters scattered throughout the store, oohing and aahing over this or that as she made her way to the books.
There were a dozen piled up next to an older image of her along with some articles about her on poster board. She’d been interviewed so many times and freely told stories about her life, her dreams, her process.
She couldn’t help but grimace at the memory of the tongue-lashing the New York City police officer had given her when she’d taken the threatening letters in to him.
“Look, there’s nothing we can do,” the cop said. “These aren’t the first threats you’ve gotten, nor will they be the last. You writers,” he said with a shake of his head. “I checked out your web page, your social media. Your whole life, everything about you from what you ate for dinner last night to your favorite color, is out there for public consumption. You put your life out there to promote yourself and your books. So...” He shrugged. “What do you expect?”
Not seeing the owner, TJ stepped away from the book display and the poster of her as she heard more people come into the store on a gust of cold air. She hadn’t gone far when she heard a deep male voice ask if they had TJ St. Clair’s latest book.
She turned and froze. The man was a good six foot five, shoulders as wide as an ax handle and arms bulging with muscle. But it was the dark curly hair at his collar, the baseball cap and the sheepskin coat that sliced into her heart like a knife.
The owner of the store was telling him about the book signing the following day and how TJ had grown up right here in Whitehorse. “Here, you’ll want a bookmark. The signing is at 10 a.m. Best come early because it will fill up fast. Tessa Jane hasn’t done a signing here in years so we’re all very excited.”
“Yes, I don’t want to miss that,” he said, his voice a low rumble.
TJ felt glued to the floor. This was the man who’d pulled her back from the speeding truck—and possibly pushed her to start with—early this morning in New York City and was now here in Whitehorse? Even as she told herself it couldn’t possibly be the same man, she knew in her heart it was. The only way he could have gotten here this quickly was if he’d already had a flight out of the city. As if he’d already known where she was going.
Just then he turned and she saw the dark beard on his granite jaw. A pair of piercing blue eyes pinned her to the spot. What she saw, what she felt, it came in a jumble of emotions so strong and unsettling that she turned and ran.
Chapter Four (#u7888e162-b2a0-5645-95ed-ca226ffea76e)
TJ stumbled blindly out the door and around the corner. She leaned against the brick wall and tried to catch her breath. Her life felt out of control. She felt out of control. She’d never had a reaction like that and now, shivering out in the cold, she wondered what had possessed her.
She couldn’t even explain her response to the man. What had she sensed that had her running out into the cold? She shivered, hugging herself as she thought of those blue eyes and the look in them. It was as if he could see into her soul. She knew that was pure foolishness, but how else could she explain her reaction?
“What in the world!” cried her sister Annabelle as she found her leaning against the outside of the building. Chloe came running up a moment later. “What happened?”
TJ couldn’t speak. She shook her head and fought tears. But it was useless. She began to cry, letting out all the frustration and fear that she’d been holding in the past six months.
Her sisters rushed to her, drawing her to them as they exchanged looks of concern. “Let’s get her over to the coffee shop,” she heard Annabelle say.
TJ tried to pull herself together. At the sound of a truck engine, she looked up. To her horror, she saw that it was the man she’d just seen in the gift store driving by slowly. She couldn’t see those blue eyes, but she could feel them on her.
“Who is that man?” TJ asked on a ragged breath before the truck disappeared down the street.
Her sisters turned to look.
“I saw him in the gift shop.” Chloe shook her head. “I have never seen him before that,” she said with a shrug.
TJ had expected Annabelle to say the same thing and was surprised when her sister said, “The mountain man?”
“You know him?” TJ asked as the pickup continued down the street. The truck, she saw with surprise, had a local license plate on it. How was that possible? It was the same man she’d seen in New York City earlier today. But how could that be? She was losing her mind.
“His name is Silas Walker. He moved here about six months ago,” Annabelle was saying. He’d moved here six months ago? That was about the time TJ started getting the letters from True Fan. “He keeps to himself. Has a place in the Little Rockies.”
“You can bet he’s running from something,” Chloe said. “Probably has a rap sheet as long as his muscled arm.”
“Do you always have to be so suspicious?” Annabelle said with a sigh.
“Seriously, he’s either a criminal or an ex-cop.”
“One extreme or the other?” Annabelle grumbled. “Sweetie,” she said, turning back to TJ. “You’re shivering. Let’s get you into the coffee shop.”
It wasn’t until they were seated, cups of hot coffee in their hands, that her sisters asked what was going on.
She wished she knew. Fearing that she was letting her paranoia get to her, she didn’t know what to say.
“TJ?” Chloe prompted.
“She’s finally getting some color back into her face,” Annabelle said. “Just give her a minute.”
She took a sip of the hot coffee. It burned all the way down, but began to warm her ice-cold center.
“Tell us what’s going on,” Chloe said. “Tessa Jane, you looked like you saw a ghost back there. Do you know that man?”
Looking up at them, she knew she couldn’t keep it from them any longer.
It all came pouring out about the fan that at first was so complimentary but soon became more critical, making suggestions that when she didn’t take them became angry.
“Who do you think it is? Probably some aspiring writer with too many rejections who’s angry at you because you got published and she didn’t?” Annabelle asked.
“Or maybe another writer who’s jealous of your success?” Chloe added.
TJ shook her head. “That’s just it. I have no idea. It could be just a reader who doesn’t like the direction my books have taken. I’m not even sure if it is a man or a woman. I’m not the first writer to run into this problem. Readers bond with an author. They have expectations when they pick up one of your books. If you don’t meet those expectations...”
“What? They threaten to kill you?” Chloe cried. “Have you gone to the police?”
She told them what had happened. “The officer was right. My entire life is out there in the cloud. When I was starting out, I hadn’t realized that everything I said to the press or online would be available online forever. At first I was just so excited to be published. I never dreamed...” She shook her head.
“I can’t believe the police blame you,” Chloe said.
Annabelle agreed. “Though I have to admit, it goes with the business. I ran into this with modeling. Once you’re out there, you become public property.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Chloe said.
“Don’t tell me that you haven’t run into this as a reporter,” TJ said.
“People storming in angry about something I’ve written? Of course,” Chloe said. “It’s part of the job. You can’t please everyone. But if you’re being threatened...”
“What are you going to do?” Annabelle asked.
She shook her head. “The police officer I talked to said I should ride it out. That the fan would get tired of harassing me. But I’m worried with this new book that True Fan isn’t going to like it at all. After seeing that man...”
“You think it’s him, your True Fan,” Chloe said. “The one who looks like a mountain man?”
TJ sighed and told them what had happened only that morning on the street in front of her apartment. “He saved me, but did he? I felt someone push me in front of that truck. If he hadn’t grabbed me...” She saw her sisters exchange a doubtful look. “I know it doesn’t seem likely that they are the same person, but...” She halted for a moment. “I swear it’s the same man. I...feel it.”
“Okay, it’s a stretch,” Chloe said. “But I suppose it’s possible. You were in New York this morning and now you’re here. Why couldn’t it be the same for him?”
“He could have even been on the same flight,” Annabelle said. “You flew first class, right? He probably flew coach. And since you didn’t have any luggage to claim...”
“Okay, it’s not that much of a coincidence if he is the same man,” Chloe said. “It doesn’t make him True Fan though.”
“Right, it isn’t like he followed you here,” Annabelle said. “He’s been living here for the past six months.”
“Six months,” TJ said in a whisper. “That’s how long I’ve been getting the letters from True Fan.”
* * *
SILAS DROVE TOWARD the Little Rockies, anxious to get to his cabin. As he drove, he contemplated what had happened back at the gift shop. It didn’t make a lot of sense and he was a man who prided himself on making sense out of situations.
At least he’d been right about one thing. TJ St. Clair had been headed home for the holidays. When he’d realized that, he’d been looking forward to meeting her. But after what had happened back there...
She’d run out of the shop in tears. Because of him? Or someone else she saw in the store? Odd behavior. He considered that it might have something to do with what had happened this morning in New York. A scare like that would make anyone jumpy. He frowned to himself, wondering again about her near accident this morning.
Was she merely jostled? Had someone purposely pushed her?
He shook his head, reprimanding himself for not leaving his job behind along with the suspicions that went with it. He was in Montana now. He’d bought this place outside of Whitehorse in the Little Rockies so he could get away from his stressful, dangerous, always unpredictable job.
Here, he did so much physical labor that all of that ugliness was forgotten—at least for a while. Here, he’d put that world as far away from him as he could.
And yet you still read thrillers. Not just anyone’s. You read her books.
He laughed as he drove toward the mountains. That’s because she was the reason he’d moved here. After reading TJ’s books, he’d been curious about Montana, curious about the wild prairie, the endless sky, the wide-open places that she talked about in her books. Once he saw the area, he was hooked. She had always mentioned the Little Rockies so of course that’s where he went when he was looking for land. While he loved the prairie, he also wanted a hideaway like the lawless days when Kid Curry and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid roamed this area.
He’d bought into the mystique because of TJ St. Clair and because of her books, but he’d never dreamed he’d get a chance to meet her here in her home state. Which was why he couldn’t miss her book signing tomorrow. He knew even before he turned onto the snow-packed road that led up into the mountains to his cabin that nothing was going to keep him away. He realized that he’d been wanting to meet her for far too long.
* * *
TJ LISTENED TO her sisters chatting, knowing they were trying to get her mind off True Fan and her book signing tomorrow. She smiled and nodded and added a word or two when required as she tried to enjoy her barbecued pulled pork. It was delicious and she was hungry after a long day with little real food.
But she couldn’t keep her mind off the man she’d seen at the gift shop. The mountain man. Her True Fan?
She thought back to the first letter. It had been so complimentary. The writer had loved the book, sounding surprised as if not a thriller reader. She tried to reconcile that first letter with the more recent bitter, hateful ones she’d been getting. She couldn’t square them anymore than she could the man she’d seen first in New York and now in her local gift shop asking about her book.
The first letter had been like so many of the others that she had hardly noticed it.
“You really need to hire someone to answer these,” her friend Mica had said when she’d seen the stack TJ had been working her way through on that day six months ago.
“I’ve thought about it, but I’d rather not answer them than have someone else do it for me. I know that sounds crazy.”
“No, I get it.” Mica had opened a couple of the letters and begun to read them. “Aww, these are so sweet. They love you. This one is from a woman who is almost ninety. She wants you to write faster.” Her friend had laughed. “Oh and this one is long.” She’d watched Mica skim it. “Good heavens, do people often tell you their entire life histories?”
TJ had nodded. “They want to share their lives with me because they feel they know me from my books. You can see why I try to answer as many of the fan letters as I can. Unfortunately I can’t answer them all. I just hope they understand.”
After her friend left, TJ had answered as many of the letters as she’d had time for since she had a book deadline looming. She always had a deadline looming.
That part she didn’t mind. She loved writing the stories. It was the other things that ate up her time that she hated. There were always art forms that needed to be filled out describing her story, her characters, suggesting scenes for the cover.
Then there were the many edits and proposals that needed to be written. Add to that the blogs and promotion requests. It was a wonder she ever had time to write the books.
She had been thinking about that when she’d picked up one more fan letter to possibly answer. The first thing she had noticed was that there was no return address on the envelope. She hadn’t thought too much about it since often the readers would put their addresses inside their letters.
Slicing open the envelope, she’d pulled out the folded unlined discolored paper. She remembered holding it up to the light, wondering how old it was to have turned this color. The letter had been typed on what appeared to be a manual typewriter. TJ had an old heavy Royal she’d picked up and kept in her office only as decoration. She’d always been impressed that Ernest Hemingway had written on a manual typewriter, since she doubted she would be writing books if it weren’t for the ease of computers.
Dear Ms. St. Clair
I’ve never written an author before. I guess there is a first time for everything.
I recently checked out your first book from the local library. It was quite pleasurable to read. You clearly have talent. I was surprised when I started reading and couldn’t put it down. I definitely enjoyed your descriptions of Montana and the country around your “fictitious” small town.
I’m actually looking forward to your next book,
Your True Fan so far
TJ had laughed. The reader certainly hadn’t thought he or she was going to like it. It had pleased her that her True Fan had been surprised and willing to try another one of her books. Maybe next time the person would purchase one rather than wait to get it at the library.
She had looked to see if there was a name or an address. Apparently the reader didn’t require an answer. She’d tossed the letter in the trash since long ago she’d given up keeping all the fan mail. She’d thought nothing more of it.
That, she realized now, had been her first mistake. There might have been fingerprints on that first letter before things went south.
Chapter Five (#u7888e162-b2a0-5645-95ed-ca226ffea76e)
“I want to read the letters you got from this so-called fan of yours,” Chloe said once they were back at the house and alone. Their sister had gone to see her fiancé, Dawson Rogers, promising to come back before all the wine was gone. “Something tells me they are much more threatening than what you told Annabelle.”
“I didn’t bring them with me,” TJ said. “I didn’t even save the first few.” But she remembered them and often saw them in her sleep, waking in a cold sweat, her heart pounding.
Dear Ms. St. Clair
I was so disappointed with your last book. To think a tree was killed to make the paper that book was printed on... You should be ashamed.
I expect each book to be better than the last. I don’t think that’s unreasonable. In my last letter, I made some suggestions as far as the plot and character development.
Clearly, you dismissed those suggestions. Maybe you think you know more about writing than I do. Since my opinion doesn’t count, you won’t be surprised to hear that I don’t trust you as a narrator.
I’m your only honest fan. If this is the way you treat a true fan, I hate to think how you treat your other readers.
You have really let me down. We might have to do something about that, don’t you think?
Your only True Fan
She’d thought that would be the last time she’d hear from that reader. She didn’t remember a suggestion for a book that True Fan had claimed to have sent her. Readers often thought she should do books about various secondary characters from her novels. One even suggested getting a woman out of the criminally insane ward of a hospital so she could find her true love. What readers didn’t seem to realize was that those decisions weren’t always up to her—even if she was inclined to do a certain character’s story.
She’d thrown True Fan’s letter away—just as she had the first one—and moved on to a letter by a woman who would love a signed book sent to her sister for her birthday. Her sister loved TJ’s books and was laid up after a car wreck. The sister’s name was Rickey. The reader had said that the sister was a huge fan.
TJ had picked up one of her books and signed it: Rickey, Happy Birthday. Hope you’re well soon, Best, TJ St. Clair.
She put it with the letter in the pile to be mailed, only vaguely remembering that it went to a post office box in Laramie, Wyoming.
After that, she’d gone back to writing her book and forgotten both letters.
That had been her second mistake, though she’d had no way of knowing it at the time. It wasn’t until she received the next letter from True Fan:
Dear TJ St. Clair
You really aren’t as bright or as talented as I first thought. Actually, I’m amazed you make any money at this. A person you don’t know from Adam tells you a hard-luck story and you send them a book? You are so gullible. But “Rickey” thanks you. Tee Hee. I’m feeling so much better and I like having a book that you touched.
Unfortunately, your books are getting worse. I didn’t think that was possible. I told you what to do, but you just keep ignoring me. Because you think you’re so much smarter than me, more talented? You keep making this mistake and we’ll see who is smarter.
Your True Fan until The End
“Believe me,” TJ told her sister now. “I’ve read them numerous times. I can’t tell if they are from a man or a woman. They could be from anyone. Anyone who owns an old manual typewriter.”
“Well, they have you running scared, so you must believe the threats are real,” her sister said.
“The last one promised that True Fan would be seeing me soon and unless I apologized for ignoring the advice the person had been giving me, I was going to die like one of the characters in my book,” TJ said. “True Fan said I could pick which character and which death and kill myself because it would be less painful than if a fan had to stop me from writing by killing me.”
Chloe shivered. “That sounds like more than a threat. The police didn’t take that seriously?”
TJ poured herself a glass of wine, her hands shaking. “Even if True Fan had said he or she was going to kill me, there is no return address. The postmarks have been from all over the country. Where would they begin looking for this person? We don’t know if it’s a man or woman. So until True Fan actually makes good on these threats...” She got to her feet. “I hate talking about this.”
“This man we saw earlier, you realize it’s a long shot that he’s the same one from New York, but I could do some checking. Annabelle said his name is Silas Walker.” She ran upstairs, returned with her laptop and began to tap on the keys.
TJ was thinking how nice it was to have an investigative reporter in the family when Chloe let out a sharp breath and looked up. “What?”
“He was one of New York’s finest, but left a year ago after being caught in some kind of internal sting investigation.”
“What kind of investigation?” TJ asked around the lump in her throat.
Chloe shook her head. “Dirty cops. He apparently was never arrested. All they said was misconduct that betrayed the public’s trust. That could be anything from lying to cheating on overtime or much worse. Here’s the kicker: he was rehired a month later but then quit.” She looked up from her computer. “This guy could be dangerous.”
“What guy could be dangerous?” Annabelle asked as she came through the front door on a gust of winter wind. TJ and Chloe shared a look. “Are you talking about the Mountain Man?”
“He’s an ex-cop who was fired at one point,” Chloe said. “I was saying he could be dangerous.”
“Why was he fired?” their sister asked as she shrugged out of her coat, hung it up and joined them. She poured herself a glass of wine. Her cheeks were already flushed. From the cold? Or from her visit with Dawson Rogers?
“Let’s not talk about this,” TJ said. “Tell us about you and Dawson.”
Annabelle shook her head. “If you really think this man is dangerous then you need to cancel your book signing tomorrow.”
“Bad idea,” Chloe said. “She’ll be perfectly safe at the gift shop with us and half the town there. This is her chance to find out if he’s this True Fan who’s been sending her the threatening letters.”
“You really think it’s him?” Annabelle asked.
“First I’m shoved from behind in front of a speeding delivery truck, he saves me, then shows up in Whitehorse and I find out that he moved here six months ago—about the same time I started getting the threatening letters. What are the chances that he’s not True Fan?” She shuddered at the memory of those blue eyes. She’d felt strangely drawn to him at the same time she’d felt afraid.
“What does she do if he does show up at the book signing tomorrow?” Annabelle demanded of Chloe. “Just ask him if he’s her True Fan?”
Chloe groaned. “She’ll play it cool. We’ll be there. If he is this crazed fan, he won’t do anything at the signing, but he might say something that gives him away. Once we know for sure then we go to the sheriff.”
“TJ play it cool?” her youngest sister said with a laugh. “No offense, but if today was any indication—”
“I can do it.” TJ nodded with more enthusiasm than she felt. She had to. This had to end because she couldn’t take anymore. If it didn’t, she feared True Fan would end it the way the letters had promised. “Maybe he won’t even show.”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath,” Chloe said. “If it’s him, he’ll want to get as close to you as he can. He’s been taunting you. Now he’ll want you to know just how close he is.”
As if TJ didn’t already know the psychology behind a person like this. She wrote about them all the time. If this man was her True Fan, he didn’t just want her to know how close he was. He wanted her to know how easy it would be for him to get to her. For the past six months, this had been leading up to the moment when she faced her killer—just like in one of her books.
Chapter Six (#u7888e162-b2a0-5645-95ed-ca226ffea76e)
When TJ woke the next morning, she was shocked to see how late it was. She hurriedly showered and dressed. When she came downstairs, dressed for her signing, Annabelle handed her a cup of coffee and a donut.
She took the coffee, declined the donut and watched as Annabelle ate it.
“I love not being a model anymore,” her sister said, smiling with a little sugar glaze on her lips before she licked it away.
TJ couldn’t help smiling as well. Her sister looked great, not skinny and pale like she had when she’d been a top model. “I need to get to my signing.”
“We’re going with you,” Chloe said, coming out of the kitchen. “Are you nervous?”
What did she think? She’d never been good at book signings. Probably because she’d never wanted the attention. She’d only wanted to write the stories that were in her head. Little had she known the rest that was required of a published author. TJ knew she was naive to think that she could simply lock herself away in a room somewhere and do what she loved.
When her editor had told her that she needed to be more of a presence on social media, she’d actually thought about quitting the publishing business.
But she couldn’t quit writing. When she’d take a break, the longest she could go was three days before she started writing in her sleep. The characters would start talking and she’d have to get their stories out. She loved that part.
TJ remembered how surprised she’d been when she found out that not everyone had stories going in their heads. She’d asked the person, “Well, then what do you think about when you’re in the shower or driving?” The answer had been, “I’ve never thought about it. Something I’m sure, but not stories.”
It had also surprised her when other writers had told her that their characters didn’t talk to them. Well, hers certainly did. Soon the ones from her next book would be nagging at her to begin writing again.
“Come on,” Chloe said, “or we’re going to be late.”
TJ wished they could just get into Annabelle’s SUV—she’d traded her sports car for something more practical for Montana—and hit the road. She thought she could and not look back at this point in her life.
There was already a line at the gift shop when they arrived. TJ couldn’t help looking for the mountain man, but with a sigh of relief, she didn’t see him. Maybe after yesterday, he wouldn’t show up.
“Park in the back,” she’d instructed her sister.
“You aren’t getting cold feet, are you?” Chloe asked.
“I always do but nothing like I have right now.” They entered the back door. TJ dropped off her coat and purse in the stockroom and took a moment to compose herself. You’ve done this dozens of other times. You can do this.
But none of the other times were like this.
Stepping out of the back, she headed for the table that had been set up for her along with a chair and a huge stack of her books. The owner hustled over to see if she needed water, coffee, anything at all.
“A bottle of water would be wonderful,” TJ said, her throat already dry as she felt eyes on her from the line of people waiting a few yards away. She tried to smile as she slid into the chair and picked up one of the pens the store owner had thoughtfully left for her.
“Here’s your water,” said a familiar voice.
TJ turned to see a dark-haired woman her age. “Joyce?” She couldn’t help her surprise. She hadn’t seen Joyce Mason since high school. Joyce had been voted the girl most likely to end up behind bars. It had been a play on words, since Joyce had been wild—and also a drinker who was known to make out with guys in the alley behind the Mint Bar.
“You work here now?” TJ asked, feeling the need to say something into the silence. Joyce was thinner than in high school, but wore the same shag hairdo and pretty much the same expression, one of boredom. The only thing different was that she sported a few more tattoos.
“Does it surprise you that I read?” Joyce asked.
“No.” She let out a nervous laugh. “As a writer, I’m delighted.”
“Yes, we all know you’re a writer.” Joyce put down the bottle of water and walked off.
TJ was still reeling a little from Joyce’s attitude when she heard a squeal and looked up to see another familiar face. Dorothy “Dot” Crest came running up to her all smiles.
“I can’t believe it!” Dot cried. “I just had to say hi. I’ll get in line,” she assured the waiting crowd. “I definitely want one of your books. I’ve read them all.” She leaned closer. “They are so scary and yet I can’t put them down.” She laughed. “This is so exciting.”
With that she rushed back toward the end of the line. As she did, she said hello to people she knew. Dot knew almost everyone it seemed.
“Ready?” the owner asked, coming up to tell her again how delighted they were to have her here.
Was she ready? She felt off-balance and the signing hadn’t even begun. Normally, TJ was more organized. She’d barely remembered to grab a few bookmarks as they’d left the house. She hadn’t even thought about a pen. That showed just how nervous she was.
She smiled up at the first woman in line. She looked familiar, but for a moment TJ couldn’t come up with her name. That was the problem at book signings. The names of people she knew even really well would slip her mind.
“Just sign it to me,” a person would say.
She often used the trick, “Would you mind spelling your name for me?”
That didn’t always work. One woman who was so excited, telling everyone how long she’d known TJ, made her draw a blank. When she’d asked her to spell her name, the woman recoiled and said, “It’s Pat.”
TJ had been so embarrassed, but there hadn’t been time to explain how often her mind went blank at these events, even with the names of her closest friends. So she never saw Pat again.
Now the older woman with the dyed-brown hair standing in front of the desk said, “You probably don’t remember me.”
For a moment, TJ didn’t. She looked familiar. Really familiar, but...
“I’m not surprised given how much you didn’t pay attention in class.”
Bingo. “Of course I remember you, Mrs. Brown. I had you for English in high school.” Annabelle had told her that the woman had only recently retired after having a minor stroke. “Would you like me to sign this to you?” she asked her former teacher.
“Of course. But you probably don’t know my first name. It’s Ester.”
She signed the book, stuck in a bookmark and handed it to the older woman.
Ester Brown hesitated. “Just the other day I told my husband I wasn’t the least bit surprised when I heard you were writing books.” She hugged the book to her. “You were never at a loss for words in my class.” With that she turned and walked away.
TJ frowned. Hadn’t Annabelle told her that Mrs. Brown’s husband had died?
One after another new and old readers stepped up and TJ signed their books, visited and moved on to the next one. She was surprised how many people had turned out. But the last time she had signed a book in her hometown had been her first one years ago.
“Hi, TJ,” said one of the men from the line. She’d seen him, but hadn’t paid much attention. She was looking for the mountain man. But if Silas Walker was planning to attend the signing, he hadn’t shown so far, and another five minutes and she would be done. The line had dwindled, she realized with relief.
Her hand hurt from signing books and smiling and trying to remember faces she hadn’t seen in years.
Now as she looked at this man, his name suddenly came to her. “Tommy Harwood.”
“Tom,” he corrected. He seemed surprised that she remembered him. He’d been one of those on the fringe. He’d been an average student, an outsider. He’d been invisible—just like TJ. While her sisters had been popular, TJ was a dreamer who preferred to be off by herself with her head in a book.
Now Tommy was getting a little bald. From the jacket he was wearing, she saw that he worked at the local auto shop.
“Do you want it signed to you?” she asked as she opened a book and lifted her pen expectantly.
“Sure, as long as it’s to Tom.”
She nodded and signed To Tom, Enjoy, TJ St. Clair. It was the best she could do given that she didn’t think she’d spoken more than a dozen words to Tommy over the years. No matter what Mrs. Brown said, she wasn’t the talkative one in English class. TJ realized she must have her confused with Annabelle. Great.
“Are you in town long?” Tommy asked quietly.
“Just for the holidays.” She handed him the book.
He continued to stare at her. “You’re probably busy, but if you ever want to get a cup of coffee...”
“Thank you. That’s sounds nice. I’ll let you know.”
He nodded. “I should let you get to your other fans.”
She watched him walk away for a moment, trying to shake off the odd feeling he’d given her.
“I love your books,” a woman said as she quickly took Tommy’s place and it continued.
As the line dwindled, she began to relax. She loved her readers and was reminded of the time before her first sale. She’d been writing short stories. That’s when she’d gotten her very first fan letter. The magazine reader had said she should be writing books. She’d framed that first letter and put in on her wall. It had given her hope each time she looked at it during the writing of her first book.
She could smile at the memory. There’d been so many days when she didn’t think she could finish an entire book. It had felt overwhelming. Add to that the fear that it wasn’t good enough, that everyone would hate it, that it would be rejected.
And it was. Her first book was still in the bottom of her closet where it would remain, never to be published. But that first book had given her hope not only that she could finish a book, but also that she could write a better one.
And she had. A book a year for the past seven years, all of them published, each doing better than the last. She remembered the thrill of her fourth book making the New York Times list.
She’d heard of authors who’d treated themselves with trips to Europe or purchased new cars after making the list. She’d gone for a walk, grinning the whole way, and on impulse had treated herself to a hot fudge sundae. It was as decadent as she ever got. Restraint in everything, that was TJ St. Clair, aka Tessa Jane Clementine. Those words could have been stitched and hung on her wall.
She’d always been like that. Holding back, never letting herself go. It drove her sister Annabelle crazy.
“Don’t you ever just want to let loose? Do something crazy? Take a chance?”
“I might want to, but I don’t,” had been her answer. The truth was she’d never been brave or daring. That huge hot fudge sundae? It had made her sick and had been a good reminder of why she used restraint in all things.
No, her heroine in her books, Constance Ryan, was the one who did crazy, brave and daring things. Constance loved defying the odds. And for so long, TJ had loved writing about her—living through her.
As she finished signing a young woman’s book, TJ saw him. The mountain man, Silas Walker, had just come in the door and was headed her way.
Chapter Seven (#u7888e162-b2a0-5645-95ed-ca226ffea76e)
Silas was a little concerned about what kind of reception he might get. Because of his size and the way he looked, especially during his time in Montana when he was “roughin’ it,” he tended to scare little children. Lately he’d been working undercover, so his beard was longer than usual. He’d let his hair grow as well.
But the woman who wrote these murder mysteries? Come on, TJ didn’t scare that easily, did she?
He guessed he was about to find out as he headed for the table where she had just finished signing a book. There were still several books left, he noticed with relief. He’d run late today because of the snowstorm in the mountains last night. He’d barely been able to get his pickup out. But he wasn’t about to miss purchasing a signed book from TJ St. Clair today.
When she spotted him approaching, he had to admit, she looked like a deer in headlights. It perplexed him. She couldn’t possibly have thought that he was the one who pushed her into the street yesterday. He’d been the one who’d saved her.
“Hello,” he said as he reached the table. “I can’t tell you how excited I am that I didn’t miss your signing.” His gaze locked with hers and he was shocked to see that her eyes weren’t blue, but a languid sea green that took his breath away for a moment. Her blond hair framed a face that he’d memorized, since he’d looked at the black-and-white photograph on the cover jacket so many times.
She’d intrigued him from the first time he’d picked up one of her books. He normally didn’t read thrillers. Hell, his life was one. No, he couldn’t remember what had possessed him.
He’d opened one of her books to the first page and started reading. Before he knew it, he was on page 30. By then, he was hooked and knew he wasn’t walking out of that bookstore without that book.
It wasn’t until he’d finished it that he saw TJ’s photo. He’d actually thought the book had been written by a man. He remembered smiling. He liked surprises and this woman had surprised him and intrigued him.
Now he watched her pick up one of the hardcover books at her elbow and open it with trembling fingers. That he made her nervous surprised him even given the way she’d acted yesterday. In her books, the characters were so gutsy. He liked to believe that TJ possessed—if not all of her character Constance’s gutsiness—then at least some of it. The last thing he’d expected to see in her eyes was fear.
“Who would you like me to sign it to?” she asked, her voice breaking.
He knelt down, realizing he was towering over her, although he suspected that wasn’t the problem. “Silas.” He spelled his name and watched her write it out in her neat penmanship. “I can’t tell you what a thrill this is. From the first time I picked up one of your books, I wanted to meet the woman behind them.”
He saw her pen falter on the page. Those sea green eyes came up to meet his. He smiled and saw her shiver. She quickly looked down and hurriedly signed “Enjoy” and her name. Well, not her name exactly. TJ St. Clair he’d learned was her pen name. Her legal name was Tessa Jane Clementine.
She handed him the book. “I hope you like it.” Her voice was throaty, almost a whisper.
He saw that there was no one behind him since he’d caught her at the end of the signing. “I have enjoyed your books so much. I just had to tell you that.” He started to rise, but stopped. “I know this is probably out of line, but is there some reason I make you so nervous?”
She parted her lips as if to speak. She had a great mouth, he noticed. She quickly closed it for a moment before she spoke. “Is there a reason you should make me nervous?”
“Not that I know of,” he said. “When I saw that you were going to be signing books here, I had hoped...” He shook his head. “You probably don’t accept dates from your readers. I don’t blame you. It’s just that reading your books...well, I feel I know you. That must sound crazy. But you’re why I ended up building a cabin here.” He shrugged. “I’m sorry, you’re probably anxious to leave.” He smiled as he rose. “Maybe we’ll see each other around town. Thank you so much for this,” he said, looking down at the book in his hands. “I’ll treasure it.” He met her gaze. “It was wonderful meeting you.”
* * *
TJ SAT STUNNED as she watched Silas Walker stride over to the checkout counter and pay for his book. She kept thinking about his intense blue eyes and his disarming smile. He knew that he made him nervous. Had he been enjoying that, or was he trying to make her less nervous?
“Well,” Chloe whispered as she rushed over to her. “Is it him?”
For a moment she couldn’t speak. “I have no idea. Apparently, he was going to ask me out but changed his mind.”
Annabelle appeared to hear the last part. She let out a laugh. “So he just wanted a date?”
“He gave you no indication that he might be True Fan?” Chloe demanded.
“None.” And yet... She remembered the way he’d looked into her eyes. What had he been looking for? She shuddered and let out a sigh. “I am so glad this book signing is over.”
“He was at your table for quite a while,” Chloe said, not letting it go. “What else did he say?”
“I don’t know,” TJ said. “My brain was on spin cycle. He said he felt as if he knew me from my books and that was probably crazy. Oh, and that I was the reason he built a cabin here. That is, my books were.”
Annabelle’s eyes went wide. “That doesn’t sound good, but you don’t live here anymore. You live in New York City, so...”
“He didn’t mention saving your life in the city yesterday morning?” Chloe asked.
“No,” TJ said with a shake of her head. “I should have asked him but my suspicions all seemed so ludicrous at the time. He kept looking at me as if...” She shook her head. As if he really just wanted to ask her out? Or something else? She had no idea.
“You knew your True Fan could be charming, right?” Chloe asked. “Maybe you should have accepted the date.”
“No!” Annabelle cried. “What if he is...True Fan?”
“Well, he changed his mind about asking me out, so the point is moot,” she pointed out. “Tommy Harwood asked me out though.” Her sisters gave her a blank look, which confirmed that Tommy had gone through high school as invisible as she had been.
When she described him, Chloe said, “I do remember him vaguely.”
“Kind of getting bald guy with the little potbelly?” Annabelle asked.
“That’s him. He works at the auto shop.”
They both quickly lost interest in him.
“I saw Dot. She hasn’t changed a bit,” Chloe said.
“Joyce Mason apparently works here,” TJ said, keeping her voice down. She thought Joyce might be hiding nearby listening. “She was a little strange.”
Chloe put an arm around her as she got to her feet to leave. “You survived it.”
She smiled. She had. But she was no closer to finding out if one of the people who’d come through the line was True Fan.
“I say we go have some lunch,” Annabelle said.
“It’s that or head straight to the Mint Bar,” Chloe said. “Up to you, Tessa Jane.”
“Didn’t someone say food?” Annabelle asked innocently. “I’m starved.”
Chloe looked to TJ and said, “Food. I’ve never seen you this thin.”
“Yes, we’ll get you some good Montana eats and fatten you right up,” Annabelle agreed. “How about some chicken-fried steak?”
TJ felt her stomach roil at the thought. “Yum.”
Her sisters laughed as they headed out the door. It was a wonderful sound that felt like a much-needed salve. She told herself that her True Fan hadn’t been in Whitehorse today, hadn’t come through the line, hadn’t gone home with her latest book.
And yet she couldn’t help but think about each and every one of the people who’d come through the line, including the young woman who’d been right before Silas Walker. TJ had been distracted, but now that she remembered...
“I signed a book for Nellie Doll,” she said as they started up the street.
Chloe stopped, coming up short. “Lanell? I didn’t see her in the line.”
“She sent her niece to get it for her,” TJ said. “The niece had me sign it ‘to Nellie, just like old times.’”
“That is kind of creepy, isn’t it?” Chloe said. “You and Nellie weren’t friends.”
“No,” TJ said. “Far from it.” She tried to shake off the memory.
“You aren’t thinking that Nellie...” Annabelle was walking backward in front of them, looking from TJ to Chloe and back again.
“That she’s True Fan?” Chloe shook her head. “Anyway, didn’t you say that the letters had been sent from all over the country? I’m betting Nellie’s never been out of the county.”
TJ nodded, remembering the girl Nellie had been in high school. She couldn’t imagine that she’d want to drop so much money on a hardcover book, especially TJ’s.
She tried not to think about True Fan. She had so many amazing readers. Why did one fan have to spoil it? What bothered her was that she really didn’t know whether True Fan was a man or a woman. She’d had several women murderers in her books. In fact, in the book she’d just signed, the antagonist was a woman.
Chapter Eight (#u7888e162-b2a0-5645-95ed-ca226ffea76e)
TJ woke with a headache after a night of weird dreams. She took a couple of OTC painkiller tablets after her shower. She was not looking forward to her interview with a reporter from the Billings Gazette later this morning.
As she dressed, she could hear her sisters already downstairs in the kitchen. Opening her bedroom door, she followed the rich, wonderful scent of coffee down the stairs.
She couldn’t help smiling to herself. There was something so comforting about being back in this house with her sisters. Just the sound of them lightened her step as well as her heart. As she walked into the kitchen, she headed straight for the cupboard where she knew she would find a mug.
“Good morning!” Annabelle called from the table, where she and Chloe were already sitting with their coffee. “It’s a beautiful day.”
TJ blinked as she looked outside to see the sun shining on the new snow, making it glitter blindingly. “Were you always this cheerful in the morning?” she asked her as she took a seat at the table.
“Don’t you hate morning people?” Chloe said, and grinned, since she was one as well.
“I thought we’d get a Christmas tree today,” Annabelle said with unusual jubilance. “Willie saved some of Grandma Frannie’s ornaments from the trip to the dump. We could decorate the tree later, and I need to do some Christmas shopping.”
TJ could see what her sister was trying to do—get her mind off True Fan and yesterday’s book signing.
“Is there a place to buy a tree in town?” Chloe asked.
“Don’t be silly,” Annabelle said with a laugh. “We’re going to take a picnic lunch and go up into the mountains and cut one. I found an ax in the garage.”
“Ax?” Chloe cried.
“The Little Rockies?” TJ said, and both sisters turned to look at her.
“Why do I detect a strange excitement in those three words?” Chloe asked. “You aren’t thinking what I think you’re thinking.”
“Of course not,” TJ said. “It’s just been so long since I’ve been up there.” Both sisters were studying her. “Come on, he isn’t True Fan.”
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