Rogue Gunslinger

“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

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