Page 1 of Untouchable

CHAPTER1

Jossilyn

Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I pinch my cheeks to bring some color into my face. My hair has always been so light it’s nearly white, my skin pale and almost translucent, but today, I want to look…alive.

With my best friend Magnolia back in South Africa, I’m doing my first solo signing all alone. It’s too soon after the baby, and I’m not sure her husband Cage would allow her even if it weren’t. The man is obsessed with my friend, and as much as I think it’s incredibly sweet, I miss her too.

“Joss, are you ready?” My agent, Ena, enters the small dressing room I’m hiding out in.

“Not really, no.” If I can’t have Mags with me, I’m happy that Ena is willing to come along on this signing tour.

An understanding look crosses her face, and I know she has sympathy for me. I found her a few years ago and sent her my first manuscript on a whim—a memoir of my life in Colorado before my little sister Sage’s husband blew it all to hell and back. Not that I blame him. His love for her was and still is all-encompassing, and he would do anything for her.

“I can cancel everything,” Ena says as she grips one of my hands in both of hers. “It’s not too late to head back home and just worry about writing the romance we all love.” Her smile is genuine. I’ve never met a more amazing woman in my life.

“I’m okay. Just pre-signing jitters.” I’ve been to a couple of multi-author signings, but I always had Mags with me; plus, there were dozens of other authors present, and I didn’t have to worry so much if no one came to see me.

“Just to warn you, there’s a large crowd out there. They’re very excited to meet you.” It helps in some ways, knowing I’m not a flop on my own, but it also makes it more nerve-racking that they’re here solely for me.

“Let’s do this.” I squeeze her hand and grab my water as she leads the way out to the banquet room that we’ve rented for this.

As the doors open and I spot my older brothers, Porter and Trusen—who insisted on handling my security for the tour—I relax some. After we all left Colorado, I worried about them. I didn’t know if they’d figure out their lives without our father telling them what to do, but they found their home in personal security, working for a company out of Texas called Maxwell Secures.

A loud cheer erupts as I step into the room, a smile of pure delight on my face at seeing everyone waiting for me. Most were seated, but now, I think everyone is on their feet. This is a ticket-holder-only event like most of the others, so this way, I can ensure I have a few personal minutes with every reader who has shown up for the eight-hour session.

My brothers thought I was nuts until I told them they’d be able to run background checks on everyone coming because they had to give their full name, date of birth, and mailing address in order to attend. There was some grumbling online about how intrusive it was until Ena and her publishing house made the announcement that I have an online stalker who has been harassing me for more than six months. Most were okay with it afterwards; some still complained.

Once Porter and Trusen went through the list, they declined and refunded four people who’d raised red flags. I don’t know how they reacted because I’m kept sheltered when it comes to receiving social media or email messages. Ena has an entire team that vets everything. If criticism gets too personal and strays away from my books, the person is entered into a problematic database, and I rarely see those.

Waving as we walk to the table supporting my books, I blow out a deep breath before reaching for the microphone. “Hi, everyone! Thanks so much for coming today.”

Ena takes her seat next to me and talks a bit about how today’s session will go, the time limit each reader will have with me to ask anything they’d like, take pictures, and have me sign their books. It’s a little daunting, but I’ve always been good at multitasking. They’re asked for patience and understanding if the time goes over or if they’re prompted to wrap up their interaction.

With having only four books published as of now, I don’t anticipate there being any problems, and excitement flows through me as the first reader approaches and introduces herself, telling me about her love of romance and how she can relate to my characters. As we take pictures and I sign the books she’s brought, she leaves me with a gift…something I described in my memoir as being sad about leaving behind—a lavender and black shawl I had hand-crafted myself.

“I didn’t make it,” she says, “my granny did. She loved your memoir, too, but she’s too sick to travel.”

Standing up, I pull her in for a hug. “This is so special; you and Granny have made my entire year. Please tell her it’s perfect and thoughtful. I’ll think of you both often.” We part tearfully before another reader comes up, sharing laughter over how nervous we both are.

* * *

Three Weeks Later.

Exhaustion weighs me down as I drop onto the pillow-covered bed, wrapped in only a towel. I spend more time traveling by plane or a decked-out SUV than I do in any one spot because, for some crazy reason, I agreed to Ena’s plan of hitting as many states as possible for this tour. I have a larger fan base than I ever imagined. It’s wild to me that it all started with a tale about my life in Colorado and the cult my father ran.

I hated growing up there. I hated our life and how we were treated more like cattle than people. My younger sister Sage had it the worst because she had a fire in her.

When I’d told her I was thinking of writing about our lives, I thought she’d tell me no, that she’d beg me to forget about it and move on. Instead, she and her husband, Loch, encouraged and supported me.

After the release, my life was chaotic. There were press tours and interviews, and I occasionally appeared on TV shows to talk about my experience. The fanfare never seemed to die down.

When I got the idea to write a love story, a story that could have been real if I hadn’t been so afraid and so broken, the words flowed with ease. Writing mine and Braxton Hughes’ love story, even if only a dream, allowed a piece of my heart to heal.

When I met Braxton, my entire life had just exploded, and I was so afraid of the outside world that I could hardly breathe when I left the house I’d been placed in for protection. My father’s reach was long, and his vindictiveness would have been deadly for me.

I pushed Braxton away until, finally, he left. It was a year before I was able to control the tears when I thought about him. It was another year after that that I felt like I could breathe when Sage or her sisters-in-law, Hayes and Sophia, would mention him in passing. Now, my heart merely cramps when I think about the man who stole my soul from the first touch.

It’s nights like tonight when I allow myself to think about him again—what it would have been like if we’d had the chance to be together…if I hadn’t blown up in his face and sent him away. He may not have been part of my old life, and he’ll never be part of my present one, but those few days we had together will forever be tattooed on my heart and soul.

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