Rogue Gunslinger

“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