B.J. Daniels - Rogue Gunslinger

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

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.