True Love

by Millie Criswell

Overview

WHEN A COWBOY AND A CITY GIRL MEET, IT'S A SHOWDOWN

New Yorker Emily Jean Barlett, author of dime novels about the Wild West frontier, is determined to save her career with a ripsnorting book based on Jess Murdock, "Legend of the West". But the lanky, sexy cowboy living in True Love, Montana, refuses...unless Emily proves she can handle the hardships of real ranch life. Now, between marauding rustlers, Jess's long hot kisses, and one tragic lie, true love might break Emily's spirit -- or give her a man and a dream to fight for with all her heart.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9780446604994
Publisher:	Grand Central Publishing
Publication date:	06/01/1999
Pages:	352
Product dimensions:	5.00(w) x 8.00(h) x 0.79(d)

Read an Excerpt

Chapter One

New York City, Summer 1889

"WE'RE IN A WORLD OF TROUBLE, EMILY JEAN." Maxwell Wise paused before Emily Jean Bartlett's desk, waiting impatiently for her to finish writing her sentence.

When Max cleared his throat for the third time, Emily finally looked up, and the chastisement teetering on the tip of her tongue died suddenly at the ashen look on her publisher's face. Max was not a man given to hysteria or theatrics, so it was obvious that something was terribly wrong.

After setting down her ink pen, she gathered up the sheets of her latest dime novel, The Montana Kid, and pushed them aside, intending to transcribe them later on the typewriting machine, as was her practice.

She hadn't decided yet whether or not the Kid was going to kill off the determined sheriff anyway, so it was probably just as well that she had more time to think the scene through. Fight scenes were always the most difficult for her to write; she absolutely abhorred violence. That was a bit ironic, considering the type of lurid novels she wrote.

"What's wrong? You look like you've lost your last friend."

"More like my business." He waved a piece of paper at her. "I've just received another dunning notice. The third in as many days." Heaving a dispirited sigh, he eased himself into the oak chair fronting her desk, looking far older than his fifty-eight years. His kind gray eyes were troubled, and the deep frown he wore only added to the numerous wrinkles etched across his forehead.

"Wise Publishing is failing, Emily Jean. I don't know what we're going to do. I've gotstacks of bills and little money to pay them."

His words were leaden and laced with defeat, alarming the young novelist. Max Wise had excellent business instincts. He was not one to turn tail and run from a problem. He thrived on a good fight. In the three years Emily had worked for him, he had waged many a battle on behalf of his publishing house, and her.

Unlike novelists who wrote a completed manuscript, then sold it to a publisher for a sum of money, Emily was a work-for-hire writer. Max planned the books he wanted written, hired authors to pen them, then packaged them up and sold them to the public.

The job didn't pay a great deal, but what she'd learned from Max about writing and the publishing business in the last three years couldn't be measured monetarily.

"I've got a little money put aside— "

"No!" Insulted by the offer, Max shook his head. "You should know me better than that by now. I would never take your money."

Emily did know better, but she had to try just the same. Max was like a father to her. He had hired her to work for him when no one else would, had saved her from becoming destitute after her own parents had cut her off both financially and emotionally. She owed him. And if her meager savings could help him out of his present predicament, then she wanted him to have it.

"Don't be so proud and stubborn," she scolded gently. "You helped me when I needed it. I want you to take the money. It's the least I can do to repay you for your many kindnesses."

His affectionate smile held a great deal of sadness. "You have a good heart, Emily, and it's always in the right place. But I'm afraid that your hard-earned funds won't be enough to pay off my creditors."

"But I thought you said that my last book had sold very well." Though Blood on the Moon had received some rather scathing reviews, it had sold nearly sixty-four thousand copies. Not bad for a book that was said to have "set the publishing world back a hundred years with its lurid prose and insipid characters." Emily still had the newspaper clipping. She kept it tucked in the bottom of her reticule and read it aloud whenever her determination to succeed began to waver. The New York Times's reviewer might not have believed that E. J. Bartlett had any talent, but she knew better. And one day the world would know it, too.

"We've been losing money these past two years, despite the modest success of your dime novels." Max's admission made Emily's eyes widen in surprise. "But even the works of E. J. Bartlett can't help me compete with the larger publishing houses like Beadles and Adams or Frank Leslie, who are putting out these books in much greater quantities and have far more authors than I to crank out the stories."

Emily frowned at the mention of the two publishers who had turned down her repeated requests for employment. They hadn't wanted to take a chance on a woman writing pulp fiction. Even if that woman had ability. They were shortsighted men with no eye for competence and talent, both possessing a definite lack of taste, in her humble opinion.

"There must be something we can do to turn things around. Wise Publishing has been part of the New York literary scene for years. You've a wonderful reputation for honesty and integrity. Surely a bank or private lender will— "

"Your naiveté is showing, Emily Jean." Max hated to poison the young woman's optimistic attitude with a heavy dose of reality. Emily's unfailing optimism was one of the many things he loved about her. There was nothing that Emily Jean Bartlett thought she couldn't accomplish if she put her mind to it. Her eager, fearless determination to succeed was one of the reasons he'd hired her. In her he'd glimpsed a small piece of himself thirty years before.

"I've already been that route, and they all say the same thing: Wise Publishing needs a commercial or literary success to get back on top, to become a viable risk. And we're not cranking out literary masterpieces, if you get my meaning."

"But— "

"The way it stands now, I figure we've got six months, eight tops, to get the house back on firm financial footing before creditors shut us down for good. In that time I've got to figure out a way to sell more books."

Emily drummed ink-stained fingers on the desktop, contemplating the situation. Six months didn't afford her a great deal of time to implement a plan whereby she could write a commercially appealing book.

True, dime novels weren't literary masterpieces, but she ventured a guess that they outsold literary fiction two to one. At least one dime novel was listed in each issue of The Bookman literary magazine's "Books on Demand" column, which featured the country's best-selling books. The list was compiled from bookstore sales in sixteen cities across the nation. And if a book appeared on the list it usually sold even more copies.

The key to commercial success, aside from making The Bookman's best-seller list, was the subject matter. Something provocative and bold that would grab the public's attention, like the Buffalo Bill books that were currently so popular.

Legendary buffalo hunter and Indian scout William F. Cody had had numerous dime novels written about him. Readers couldn't get enough of his daring exploits. He, along with Wild Bill Hickock, had given rise to the success of the dime novel industry.

Aimed at the working class, the books were sold at newspaper stands, in retail establishments, and by mail order, their covers purposely provocative to entice the buying public to plunk down their hard-earned money. Though the books took a great deal of literary license with the truth, readers didn't seem to mind, for they were eager to gain insight into the West of the 1800s. They clamored for more thrills, more derring-do, insatiable in their appetite for western heroes and heroines.

Authors and publishers who wanted to succeed gave the readers what they wanted, often going to great lengths to get those stories written. Wise Publishing could do no less.

After a moment Emily said, "What we need isn't just one book, but a series of books on the same subject. A series that will enthrall the buying audience and have them clamoring for more." She ignored the older man's skeptical look and continued.

"I attended a production of Buffalo Bill Cody's Wild West Show some months back, and— "

"Writing a successful series is a feat easier said than done, I'm afraid," Max interrupted on a sigh. "Beadles and Adams have pretty much cornered the market on Buffalo Bill Cody and his escapades. The books are selling faster than hotcakes. I don't think— "

"I'm not talking about doing another series on Cody, Max. I'm talking about someone else— someone who's never been written about, but who's a legend in his own time. I saw the man perform when Cody's show came to New York last January. He was" — tall, handsome, and quite unforgettable— "larger than life."

She remembered the moment she had first laid eyes on Jess Murdock. In a blaze of gunfire, he had ridden his white stallion into the arena. It had been a glorious sight, theatrical in the extreme. The man was the stuff dashing heroes were made of, and she had not been unaffected. Even now when she thought of the handsome cowboy her palms started to sweat.

With a perplexed look, Max scratched his head. "Who is this so-called legend, then? And why haven't we written about him before now?"

"Because Jess Murdock has purposely chosen to keep a low profile." An incongruous idea, considering his present profession and the fact that he performed before thousands of people every year.

A shrill whistle flew from Max's lips. "Jess Murdock. I've heard of him. He was married for a time, but his wife deserted him. Big scandal. Nasty stuff. There was a child, I believe." The excitement in the astute publisher's eyes started to burn.

Emily couldn't comprehend why any mother would willingly give up her child, and she wondered what had prompted Jess Murdock's wife to run off. As intriguing as the mystery was, she dismissed it with a wave of her hand. "As interesting as that tidbit of news may be, that's not what's going to sell books. The fact that Jess Murdock's performed with the Wild West show, is rumored to have killed fifty-seven men while marshal of Abilene, busted broncs, distinguished himself at the Battle of the Little Big Horn, and led a hell-raising kind of life is what's going to sell books. He's done enough in his lifetime to warrant a whole series of books about his adventures, like the series done on Cody that's selling like there's no tomorrow."

Max rubbed his chin in contemplation. "What you say may be true. But I don't have many writers left on the payroll to do a series. Those who remain are already committed to other projects. Who am I going to get to write it?"

Emily smiled confidently and poked herself in the chest. "Me. I write fast. You know I'm good. And I already have a fairly large reading audience."

"Now, Emily..."

Before he could protest, she added quickly, "Normally we sell about sixty thousand copies of one of our dime novels. Isn't that right?"

"Yes, but— "

"I think we could double, even triple, that amount with the cowboy's story. By placing ads in large newspapers, printing handouts ahead of the publication date that could be distributed through the mail, in bookstores, public libraries, and elsewhere, we could reserve, even sell, copies of the book before it hits the street.

"If we garner enough enthusiasm, attract enough attention, the series on Jess Murdock could very well be the salvation of Wise Publishing."

Max tempered Emily's eagerness with a dose of common sense. "If the man doesn't seek the limelight, Emily Jean, what makes you think he'll agree to be interviewed? Jess Murdock's probably had lucrative offers before, and we cannot afford to pay him."

"Leave that to me," she replied, undaunted. "I can be very persuasive when I put my mind to it."

Still extremely skeptical, Max worried at the confidence shining brightly on the young woman's face. Impulsiveness was one of Emily's greatest faults. She tended to leap before she looked, and he couldn't afford any missteps at this time. Not when the future of Wise Publishing hung in the balance.

And though Emily's creative business plan to make money off of Jess Murdock's fame was tempting, Max had certain scruples about invading people's privacy. "I'm not a vulture, Emily Jean, so if the man doesn't want his story written— "

"Not want!" Astonishment touched her face, her eyes growing round as saucers, as if such a thing were totally incomprehensible. "Of course Jess Murdock will want his story written. The man's been in the public eye for years. Obviously he'll want the attention. Who wouldn't want to be glorified like Hickock or Cody? We're offering him the chance of a lifetime."

Max was still not convinced. "I don't know. . . ."

Reaching out, Emily squeezed his hand. "Trust me, Max. When Jess Murdock: Legend of the West hits the streets, it's going to be a sensation. The biggest thing since the invention of the telephone. You can fire me if that isn't so."

Rolling his eyes heavenward, he held up his hands in surrender. "And who will drive me nuts if I do?"

Smiling confidently, Emily reached for a fresh sheet of paper and proceeded to write Jess Murdock a letter.

Editorial Reviews

.[A] delightful, sweet, heartwarming story.

Romantic Times