target="_blank" rel="nofollow" href="#u0523d802-633e-58af-9b41-ada9c1230cc7">Chapter Two
Chapter One
Jeremy Masterson leaned back in his chair and made eye contact with the pretty little brunette who was smiling at him from the back of the audience. She looked to be about thirty and ripe for the picking. And she was hanging on every word he spoke. Yes indeed, life was good.
He closed the book he’d read a brief passage from and noticed Ellie Clark, the bookstore owner, giving him a look that signaled a large dose of warning. Ellie was no dummy, and she’d picked up on the little flirtation he’d started with the brunette. Ah, Ellie. She was his best friend and his conscience, but he was ready for a celebration. And he didn’t want to party alone.
Ellie came to stand beside him. She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Jeremy will sign books over at the table. Please help yourself to some wine and refreshments,” she said, putting an official end to the reading.
“I want to thank all of you for coming,” Jeremy added, taking Ellie’s cue. It was time to quit flirting and start signing. There were about a hundred people in the audience, and it would take some time to meet, greet and sign for each one. He couldn’t help a grin of self-satisfaction. Blood on the Moon, his novel about the settling of his home state of Texas, had finally put him on the way to fame and fortune. It had been a long, hard road.
Ellie leaned down. “Henry called from your ranch. He’s having some problems with the new book.”
Jeremy forgot about the book signing and the brunette as he looked up into Ellie’s worried blue eyes. “He said not to worry you. He was rechecking some of the facts about the Indian raids after 1875. Since Blood on the Moon has gotten so much notice, he said it was vital that there weren’t any mistakes in the sequel.”
“Did he want me to call him?” Jeremy rose. “I checked those facts six times each. You know that, Ellie. You helped me.” Ellie was his biggest fan and strongest supporter. When he’d sold his first three novels—for a pittance—she’d encouraged him to keep writing, to hone his talent. When he was about to starve to death, she’d bought him lunches and showed up at his door with casseroles. All because she believed in his writing. Now, here he was, in her store, signing his fourth book—and finally gaining national recognition. Blood on the Moon was a bestseller. And his editor, Henry Mills, had never had a problem with a single word of it. Jeremy knew the sequel was even better. So what was going on?
“Henry doesn’t want you to call. He said he’s going to continue working. He also said he wasn’t coming to the party tonight.” She shrugged her shoulders. “You told me he hated that kind of thing.”
“He deserves the party as much as I do,” Jeremy pointed out. “He’s a great editor.”
“Nonetheless, he isn’t coming. He said he was so involved in the book he wanted to continue with it. And—” she gave him a stern look “—he told me to tell you to leave the ladies alone.”
“These aren’t ladies,” Jeremy said, lowering his voice so that only Ellie could hear. “These are fans.”
“I’ve heard about your fan club,” Ellie said. “Be careful, Jeremy. There are a lot of desperate women out there, and some of them can read. I’ve been in the book business a long time, and I’ve seen it happen more than once. Handsome author stalked by fan. There was even a book about it. I remember something about a mallet.”
Jeremy winked at her. “I think I can handle a woman so taken with my writing that she wants me.”
“Don’t let that Texas-size ego overwhelm that Rhode Island-size brain,” Ellie warned him. “Now sign books. The crowd is about to stampede.”
Jeremy laughed and turned his attention to the first woman who stood in the queue at his table. As he scanned the crowd, he noticed that about seventy percent were of the female persuasion. And one of them was that very attractive brunette.
She caught his eye again, and he felt his body tingle. Yes indeed, it was going to be nice to ride the wave of stardom that his book had created.
After twenty years of barely being able to afford beans, he was getting the payoff for dedication and hard work. And he intended to enjoy it.
The line moved slowly, and Jeremy talked a moment with each person. His novel about the Texas territory that had once been part of Mexico and a lure for all types of renegades desperate to start a new life had touched his readers in a way he had yet to fully understand. The book had been taken, in part, from some of the stories that had been handed down in his family about his great-grandfather, the legendary Bat Masterson.
To Jeremy, it was a miracle that he’d connected so solidly with his readers. A miracle and one helluva grand experience— He looked up to find the beautiful brunette next in line.
“Mr. Masterson,” she said. “I loved your book. My great-great-grandmother was one of the original settlers of Texas. It brought back a lot of the stories my family told. But the book was better—it was almost like living the stories.”
“Thank you, Mrs.—” He waited.
“Ms. Gabriel Wexit, fifth-generation Texan.”
Jeremy liked the way she laughed. And he liked her brown eyes, and her body. Since his breakup with his last girlfriend,
