Rogue Gunslinger

“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.