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.
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.
“Who would you like me to sign it to?” she asked, her voice breaking.
He knelt down, realizing he was towering over her, although he suspected that wasn’t the problem. “Silas.” He spelled his name and watched her write it out in her neat penmanship. “I can’t tell you what a thrill this is. From the first time I picked up one of your books, I wanted to meet the woman behind them.”
He saw her pen falter on the page. Those sea green eyes came up to meet his. He smiled and saw her shiver. She quickly looked down and hurriedly signed “Enjoy” and her name. Well, not her name exactly. TJ St. Clair he’d learned was her pen name. Her legal name was Tessa Jane Clementine.
She handed him the book. “I hope you like it.” Her voice was throaty, almost a whisper.
He saw that there was no one behind him since he’d caught her at the end of the signing. “I have enjoyed your books so much. I just had to tell you that.” He started to rise, but stopped. “I know this is probably out of line, but is there some reason I make you so nervous?”
She parted her lips as if to speak. She had a great mouth, he noticed. She quickly closed it for a moment before she spoke. “Is there a reason you should make me nervous?”
“Not that I know of,” he said. “When I saw that you were going to be signing books here, I had hoped...” He shook his head. “You probably don’t accept dates from your readers. I don’t blame you. It’s just that reading your books...well, I feel I know you. That must sound crazy. But you’re why I ended up building a cabin here.” He shrugged. “I’m sorry, you’re probably anxious to leave.” He smiled as he rose. “Maybe we’ll see each other around town. Thank you so much for this,” he said, looking
