Читать книгу Rogue Gunslinger - B.J. Daniels - Страница 12

Chapter Three

“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.