Wexit, would you like to go to a party tonight?”
“A party?” She gave him a quizzical look.
“At a friend’s home. Sort of a celebration for the book. You can meet me there if that’s more comfortable for you.”
She hesitated half a second. “That sounds lovely.”
Jeremy wrote down the time and address on one of his cards and handed it to her. “I’ll look forward to seeing you there.”
She took the card and let her fingers briefly touch his. “Me, too.” Then she took the book he signed for her and left the store.
Jeremy saw Ellie staring at him, and knew he’d earned her disapproval. She was a tyrant when it came to his writing. And though her obsessiveness could be a little irritating, she was the best friend a man could have. He turned his attention back to the line. It was going to be a long afternoon.
The bell jangled as another customer entered. Jeremy didn’t bother to look up. He only did so when the woman in front of his table drew in a sharp breath and stepped away from him. The sight that met his eyes made him put down his pen and close the book he had been autographing.
“You sign your name to that book of lies as if you’re proud of it,” the woman said. She had a long knife hung at her side. He recognized the bone handle design as Apache. It was a ceremonial knife, one used to send an enemy’s spirit into the land of his ancestors. His gaze moved from the knife to the rapid movement of her chest as she breathed and a long, dark braid that fell across one shoulder.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” Jeremy asked slowly, staring directly into her angry chocolate-brown eyes. It was a writer’s worst nightmare—a fan who was disappointed in a book—and armed. It would require kid gloves to get her placated and out of the store.
“Yes, you can,” she said, stepping to the table and leaning down. “Withdraw that book and write history like it really happened.” She swept her arm around the room. Everyone who’d been in line backed away from the table. “All of these people believe what you write. They don’t understand that fiction is a place where a writer can lie, distort the truth and change history.”
Jeremy took another moment to better observe his accuser. She was a beautiful woman, with a willowy grace belying the steel strength he could see beneath her jeans and shirt. Shining black hair, neatly parted, hung in two long braids as thick as ropes. Her complexion was flawless, a burnished tan that spoke of her heritage as well as her love of the outdoors. Had it not been for the fury on her features, she might have been mistaken for a fashion model on a shoot.
“Let me finish this signing, and we can talk about this,” he said. The accusation that he’d distorted history stung him more than a little. He’d worked hard, done months of research, to be sure he got his historical facts correct. First Henry, now this woman!
“I have nothing to say to you, except that you’re a liar and an impostor. You pretend to write the story of Texas. You pretend to capture the past. What you do is spread old, tired lies about my grandfather.” She drew the knife and brought it down in a sharp, clean movement. The blade pierced the wooden table and stuck.
The knife quivered between them, a symbol of her heritage and a statement that she’d come to make a point, not commit an act of violence.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ellie picked up the telephone. He turned his head toward her, meeting her gaze. He knew she was going to call 9-1-1, and he shook his head, signaling Ellie to hold off. If at all possible, he wanted to handle this quietly. He touched the knife handle to show he wasn’t afraid. “You’re not helping your case, coming here with a weapon,” he said.
“If my grandfather was the kind of man you portrayed him as, I wouldn’t hesitate to follow in his footsteps and cut out your heart.”
The bookstore audience quickly began to move to the exit, but Jeremy didn’t care. He stared at the woman who was both a figure of history and incredibly real. He knew instantly who she was talking about. He knew it and he felt a chill. “Thunder Horse,” he said softly. He’d never expected to meet a living relative of the great Apache chief.
“My grandfather,” she answered, standing so straight and tall that he recognized it was pride, not anger, that had driven her to make this public display.
“Is there a problem?” Ellie took her cue from Jeremy and came out from behind the counter. “Put the knife away and come in my office. Have a cup of coffee. I’m sure Jeremy can straighten this out when he finishes with the signing. Some of these people have been waiting better than an hour. I know you understand.”
Ellie’s cool attempts to move the woman away from Jeremy failed miserably. She held her ground, never even acknowledging Ellie’s presence. Her dark eyes held Jeremy’s blue ones.
“Tell these people that the man you portray in your book as Thunder Horse is someone you made up. He bears no relationship to the real man, my grandfather.”
Jeremy put his hands on the table and cleared his throat. “I can’t do that, ma’am. I did my research for this book. What I put in it are the facts as recorded in the Texas Historical Archives.” He felt his own anger begin to build. “I was very careful. Even though this is a novel, I made sure I had everything right.”
“Lies!” she cried. “I am Anna Red Shoes, daughter of Painted Horse, granddaughter of Thunder Horse. My grandfather was not a savage who killed for pleasure. He killed only after he was forced to do so to protect his people.”
Jeremy knew that refuting her version of history would get them nowhere. “I can only offer to talk with you,” he said. “I’ll be glad to listen to—”
“So that you can steal more stories, and twist and distort them to suit your purposes?” She leaned forward. “There is no talking. I’m camping out with my horses under the sky that was once my grandfather’s roof. You have until tomorrow. Either you make a public statement that your portrayal of Thunder Horse is wrong, or—” she was only inches from his face “— I will make sure that you pay the price.”
“Young woman,” Ellie said in the sharpest tone Jeremy had ever heard her use. “I hope you’re not making a threat.”
Anna Red Shoes did not seem to be in the least intimidated. She never shifted her gaze from Jeremy as she spoke. “A threat both legal and physical.” Her hand clenched only inches above the knife handle. “I make this solemn vow. If you don’t correct the lies you’ve printed, you will suffer. You will suffer greatly, and at my hands.”
In a whirl of braids, she was gone.
ANNA FOUND THAT building a fire soothed her nerves. As soon as the flames were leaping in the gathering twilight, she felt her body begin to calm, and then her mind. She’d allowed her emotions to get the better of her. She’d been so angry in the bookstore that she’d lost control. That was unacceptable.
She’d also stormed off and left her knife. She’d called the bookstore, and the woman who answered had frostily told her she’d track it down, and Anna could pick it up in the morning. Well, that was better treatment than she deserved, Anna knew, after her emotional display in the store. But at least she’d get her grandfather’s knife back. Unless Jeremy Masterson had it…
She poured a cup of the camp coffee that she loved and settled back against the old cedar stump she’d chosen for that purpose.
