Will It Be Sunny Tomorrow?: A Reluctant White Knight, #1

By T.W. Anderson

Will It Be Sunny Tomorrow? - A Reluctant White Knight novel - Volume 1
Reviewed By: Editorial Board, The Columbia Review of Books & Films 1/13/2015
 

"Will It Be Sunny Tomorrow?" by T.W. Anderson is the first in the "A Reluctant White Knight" series. It combines the best ingredients of the "Texas Rangers" genre fiction, but with highly contemporary suspense, which is further enriched with themes of green energy, aviation and technology.

 

The lead character, Tom Rowter, is a solid anti-hero, a toned-down version of Clint Eastwood at his best. He tells the story in the first person, matter of fact, no hype or showoff (well, maybe a reserved touch of bravado…). He's cool, aggressive (or even deadly, when necessary), and delivers it all with humor. He clearly has a big heart, which carries a good chunk of pain and guilt, and he can handle a gun. In other words, he's a good character, someone you would definitely want to spend more time with, literarily speaking.

 

The story moves along at a fast pace with a good balance of action, dialogue, and internal thoughts and observations. The author, T.W. Anderson, clearly possesses a great deal of experience (or have done extensive research) on life in Texas, ranching, police work, green technology, nuclear energy, firearms, and—the most challenging to write about credibly—flying.

 

In summary, "Will It Be Sunny Tomorrow?" by T.W. Anderson is an intense story, never a dull moment, setting the stage for a promising series featuring the "Reluctant White Knight." The novel delivers on the promise to keep you entertained throughout. You'll feel the hero's frustrations and pains, as well as his triumphs and, last but not least, his love for Texas. In short, with plenty of action, suspense, and a hearty dose of good old romance, you'll definitely enjoy it.

We look forward to the next installment in the series.

 

"Action, suspense, and good old romance. You'll enjoy it!" Quoted by permission from The Columbia Review. The Editorial Board of The Columbia Review selects new books and films of interest, as well as paid submissions and sponsored reviews from authors, publishers, directors, agents and producers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: T.W. Anderson
• Release date: Mar 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215343098

T.W. Anderson

Terrance W Anderson, or “T.W.” as he prefers to be called, has over five decades of senior business management experience. When he can get away both he and his wife love to travel or idle around and fish the area’s surrounding lakes in their boat. T.W. has also been an avid pilot since youth and holds a number of advanced pilot ratings. T.W.’s writing was born out of a frustration with the lack, at the time, of Christian authors writing modern, relatable suspense and romance novels. It seemed like all the best selling books had language in them that not only offended him, but he was embarrassed that the person beside him glancing over his shoulder might also be offended by it. On one long business trip, while relaxing beside the inlet at Marina Del Rey he dug out his laptop and started typing out notes about his past aviation and life experiences. That led him to start adding a measure of “What if” to the writings. Before long he had a story line in mind and Tom Rowter came alive on the pages of the “A Reluctant White Knight” novel series. Being of retirement age himself, the author makes his books hero of a similar age thusly giving us an adventure and romance from a mature individual, and then couple’s point of view. Many readers, tired of reading about the limitless energy of some young stud and his vixen, will be able to relate to the aches, pains and limitations of this series' hero and heroine having a few years on them, yet being truly in love. T.W. tries to show his characters as true to real life as possible. His main characters may be courageous but they aren’t super heroes. They have their weaknesses and failures like we all do and they reflect his personal faith and Christian beliefs. The action and problems that come to life in the pages are right out of everyday events. And the romances are as complicated as life truly plays out. In story development he uses not only his own past experiences but the counsel of friends he’s developed in other fields of aviation, international business and real estate, journalism as well as various local, state and federal law enforcement organizations.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

A Tuesday in mid-May around noon somewhere in Central Texas.

As I paid for the soda and prepackaged sandwich, a pickup came sliding to a stop in the parking lot just outside the convenience store door. I could clearly see the Arkansas license plate barely hanging onto the front bumper as the truck jumped the curb with a bounce but then luckily settled back on the parking lot side of the curb. A big guy unfolded himself from the driver’s side swaggering and laughing with a string of expletives and slammed the truck door with much more force than should have been necessary. His straw cowboy hat was one of those crushed to the extreme to make him look tougher. It wasn’t necessary. The massive biceps on the guy, readily apparent from his shirt with the sleeves torn off, told me that he wasn’t used to losing fights. His beer belly might trick others into thinking otherwise but I pity anyone who’d get within swinging distance of those arms.

The passenger was almost as tall, but thin. Perhaps too thin. Kind of wiry. He wore his shirt with torn off sleeves too but that only revealed his thin arms. Either he was wearing his dirty ball cap backwards or he had his head on backwards, one of the two. The passenger was laughing and cussing as much as the driver as they came through the stores front door. These two looked like a couple of hillbillies playing make believe cowboy.

I took comfort in the weight of my .45 in the shoulder holster covered by my short-sleeved safari vest. But any comfort was lost to me when the two red necks gave me a threatening smile as they passed me on the way to the cooler in back, still cussing and laughing. Before I could exit the store and return to where the Jeep was parked at the pumps, I caught a glimpse of the two troublemakers pulling six packs of beer from the cooler. They each drained a beer from the fresh six packs before even approaching the cashier’s stand.

Looking around I could see there were a half dozen farmers and ranchers in the store in addition to the cashier. I decided to let those locals handle any trouble that might come up. The town wasn’t much more than a combination implements dealer and hardware store in addition to the gas stop convenience store but it seemed like one of the local stops where everyone knew everyone else. Southwest Texas is known for people looking out for one another and so I figured the woman behind the counter was safe enough without me sticking around to stir up trouble with the two loud mouths.

As I walked past the red necks pickup it occurred to me that it was strange for a couple of guys as rough as those to be driving an almost new pickup with all the trappings of a gentleman’s truck. At one time it was a good-looking truck with loads of options and plenty of chrome. But now it sat there with the entire right side bent and showing paint from something it had evidently scraped hard against. From the empty cans and trash in the interior and pickup bed it was apparent the loud mouth duo could care less about what use to be a pretty expensive machine.

CHAPTER 2

I left any cares about those seedy characters behind as I pulled out onto the two-lane highway continuing West bound. I had picked this road specifically because it was off the interstate and provided an opportunity to cross this great state at my pace and not that of the traffic on the four lane.

It was just a little past noon and the sunshine through the sun roof felt good on my aching muscles. The strain wasn’t the day and a half I’d already put behind me on these two-lane roads. I could tell it was the lingering after effects of the car wreck. It occurred to me that it was almost a year now since the ordeal but it was apparent those aches and pains were going to last a life time. And, so it seemed, would the nightmares.

I shook off the dark thoughts and marveled at the rolling hills that seemed to stretch endlessly before me to the West. The two-lane highway threaded through the hills and valleys almost as straight as a line on an engineer’s drawing. Nothing but miles of pasture filled with long horns on the one side of the road and Angus cattle on the other side. The tunes coming over the satellite radio and the idyllic pasture scenes helped me to keep the big powerful Jeep Grand Cherokee at a sedate 55 mph as posted. That and not knowing if a local speed trap or a wandering steer might be just over the crest of the next hill.

The hills were wide apart and made the ride a constant slow undulating roller coaster. At the top of each hill you could see for what seemed like fifty or even one hundred miles. Over the crest and down the long smooth slope you settled into a peaceful valley with views as far left as the distant horizon. On my right were the foot hills of a low mountain range.

After topping a hill and cruising down the next slope I was startled to see a bright red sports car in my rear-view mirror. It was as though it came out of nowhere yet it wasn’t crowding me. It kept a safe distance as it judged, rightly so, that there was no way to pass me before putting us both in danger of meeting a car the other direction coming over the next hill.

I could hear the driver smoothly down shift as we bottomed out in the valley and started climbing the next hill. It put a smile on my face to recognize that the car was, in fact, a vintage 1972 Corvette convertible. The bright red paint and bright white convertible top were a stark contrast to the deep green pasture scene surrounding it as I stole a glance in the mirror again. The Corvette appeared to be a high performance model. As we came closer and closer to the top of the next hill you could hear the engine roar as the driver smoothly shifted down yet another gear. Any moment now the car would be darting past me wildly as soon as the driver could see that it was clear ahead to pass.

As predicted the Corvette started to pass. With a clear view of the next valley, I expected a wild show but the driver signaled and accelerated smoothly as she pulled out and up beside me.

I say she because as the Corvette neared me to pass, I could clearly make out the silhouette of a woman driving the sports car. As she passed it was hard through the tinted glass to get a good look, but she seemed the size of a teenager or perhaps a college kid. It’s hard for me to judge kid’s ages anymore. The car was gorgeous and well restored. The long chrome lake pipes on the sides barked as the sleek car slowly passed me. It was a good-looking car alright. Almost as good looking as the silhouette behind the wheel.

After the Corvette pulled back into the West bound lane it smoothly but constantly built-up speed until it was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. At the crest of each following hill, I felt a little guilty as I’d try to catch a glimpse of the bright red flash but we were either out of sync with the rising and falling terrain, or she had sped ahead so quickly she was already out of sight.

CHAPTER 3

An hour or so passed after losing sight of the Corvette and not another single vehicle had been on the road with me in either direction. For that reason, I was startled to discover that coming over the last hill behind me was that same beat up luxury pickup that had careened into the convenience store parking lot. In a matter of moments, it was tailgating me and honking its horn. Before I could react, it pulled hard into the lane to the left of me even though we were climbing a hill. The Jeep was on cruise control and maintaining speed as it climbed the hill but I readied my foot over the power brake pedal just in case. If a car appeared before us, I’d employ the sophisticated anti-skid braking system to get me out of the collision path.

The passenger was half hanging out of the pickup’s right window yelling and laughing with a can of beer in his hand. It was apparent that the red neck duo was blitzed and I determined that after they got passed me, I’d call 911 and report them as drunks. As the pickup sped past the passenger hurled what must have been a full can of beer at the Jeep. I heard the windshield shatter as I slammed on the brakes. The adrenalin was pumping through me as I steered my car onto the wide shoulder thankful for a chance to stop and compose myself before I picked up the cell phone.

Calling 911 I was immediately in touch with a dispatcher with a heavy Texas drawl. The dispatcher asked the nature of my emergency and I reported the drunken duo and my smashed windshield. Luckily, I had a pretty detailed description of the two men, the pickup and even remembered the full Arkansas license plate number. I declined the offer of assistance and told them I’d go on to the next city big enough to get my windshield replaced. The dispatcher assured me that he would have his boys watch out for our Arkansas visitors and ended our conversation with the standard Y’all be careful out there now, ya hear?

Oh, I’ll be careful, I said.

As I pulled onto the road to continue the journey the shattered windshield was a pain to see through. The beer can could not have been more accurately aimed to shatter the area right in front of the driver’s view. I just hoped that I could get to a town with a windshield shop before the sun started sinking low enough on the horizon to make the prism effect of the windshield truly dangerous. But looking at the on board GPS navigation system I could tell I had at least another two hours until the next town or city of any size.

As I cruised on down the road, I got to thinking about the red neck duo and that they were some place down the road in front of me. I’m no coward but I’ve had enough conflict in my life lately to last a good while. I’m taking this trip to relieve stress, not add to it. I’d rather not run into those jerks again. I don’t think jackals like that have any qualms about drop kicking a busted up old tourist like me. And I’d hate to get myself in trouble for over reacting to those two mutts. With my luck it would be me that went to jail for using excessive force instead of those characters.

It was then that my mind drifted to the bright red Corvette. The thought of those hillbillies catching up with the woman in the sports car chilled my blood. I said a little prayer for the young lady in the sports car and felt only a tinge of guilt when I finished that prayer asking the Lord above to rain down his judgment on the pair of red necks.

CHAPTER 4

No more than that thought crossed my mind, I crested a hill and as though it had been a prophecy I spotted the Corvette with its hood up and steam rising from the engine. It was parked on the side of the road at the bottom of the valley. The drunken duo’s pickup was parked in the road ditch just past the Corvette. I could see the woman was now outside the car struggling with the two jerks.

As I drove down the hill, I punched off the cruise control to start slowing down. Then I slipped my gun out of the shoulder holster. The gun had a small frame but its .45 caliber power was enough to stop most anything. It was black except its rosewood grips and I liked it that way because it helped camouflage the gun when I carried it in public under a coat or vest.

I chambered the first round of the seven shot magazine. I always carried the gun without a bullet up the snout of the high powered semi-automatic so that it wouldn’t accidently discharge. Besides, it gave me a distinct advantage in case someone got my gun away from me in a struggle. I’d know it was not yet ready to fire, but an assailant wouldn’t. I’d quarreled with more than one fire arms instructor who considered my carry stance to be dangerous. Each quarrel was settled when I demonstrated on the range that in the time they could draw, release the safety and fire a shot, I could draw, chamber the first round and snap off two shots to stop anything coming my way. It was a well-rehearsed action. But this time I knew I had to have the gun ready for close quarters, where I might get up close and personal with one or other of those two jackals. With the first round loaded I flipped the safety on and holstered the gun under my vest.

Slowly pulling to the side of the road behind the Corvette I calmly put on my four-way emergency flashers and took my time getting out of the Jeep. All the while the woman struggled with the two men. The one closest to me when I parked was the big guy. Of course. It had to be. This couldn’t be harder, could it?

As I came out of the Jeep, I slumped my shoulders and kind of shuffled a few steps to assume a non-threatening posture. Another well-rehearsed action that had diffused a number of tight situations for me in the past. I tried to imitate a Texas drawl as I said This woman bothering you boys?

My efforts to defuse the situation were wasted. The big guy spun around toward me revealing a chrome pistol in his hand. I wasn’t expecting that. And the small pistol looked silly in that big guy’s massive hand. His eyes were cold as he sized me up for a moment without saying a word. The woman even stopped struggling the wiry guy’s bear hug on her to watch the scene unfold.

The big guy laughed a laugh that made my blood run cold. Then he raised the pistol and simply said You picked the wrong day to be a white knight, grandpa.

Suddenly over the Western hill crest a black helicopter barely cleared the hill as it headed directly toward our position at the bottom of the valley. The rotor blades beating the ground into submission were enough racket to startle the big guy. He couldn’t help but turn his head toward the big black chopper bearing down on him. Most men would have cut and run then but this guy was evidently fearless, or stupid. Instead, he turned his head back toward me where he still had his pistol pointed.

My gun was out of the holster as soon as my executioner turned his head to look at the chopper. By the time he turned his head back toward me my aim was set and since he hadn’t had the brains to drop the gun and run, I felt I had no choice. I snapped off two shots to his center of mass.

The first shot was enough force to stop him twisting toward me. The second shot spun him back around to his left so that when he dropped, he laid flat face on the ground right in front of the woman and her wiry assailant.

I could feel the rotor wash as the black chopper pin wheeled above our position but I didn’t dare sneak a look at it. My concentration was now upon the woman’s remaining assailant. He held her with his right arm across her chest but only now did I notice he was holding a knife dangerously close to her neck. His left hand had a firm grasp on the woman’s long brunette pony tail forcing her head back to expose her throat.

Actually, it was a really stupid move on the remaining assailant’s part. Trying to use the woman as a shield was not working. The woman didn’t cover much of his chest as she couldn’t be much more than five feet tall and one hundred pounds dripping wet. But that knife had me worried.

I lowered my gun and slowly walked into the middle of the highway opposite where the assailant was backed up against the Corvette with the woman as a shield between us. Over the sound of the helicopter circling above I could barely hear the assailant yell with a stutter for me to stay put and to drop my gun or he’d cut her. I kept slowly moving as the assailant kept repeating his yell for me to drop my gun. I wanted to get as square a shot at this guy as I possibly could. The woman’s struggling worried me, however. She wasn’t moving him around much by all her twisting. And she couldn’t get his arm down from around her chest or the knife away from the left side of her throat.

I slowly raised the .45 and aimed squarely at the assailant’s forehead. The woman’s motion and that of the assailant was enough that I didn’t feel one hundred percent sure I could nail the guy with my first shot. I knew I was in no danger of hitting the woman as her petite frame was well below my sights. But unless I stopped this guy’s brain function with my first shot, he would cut her even if he died doing it. I just knew it.

The assailant’s eyes darted to the knife in his hand, the woman in his grasp and my gun. I could see he was unsure what to do next. I sensed this guy is a follower, not a leader. He can’t think for himself or plan his next move. He reacts. And the black helicopter had stopped circling overhead and was setting down for a landing on the road about 50 yards beyond the parked vehicles.

Time slowed to a crawl as things started happening. The assailant’s eyes went wide open and stared at me as his panic started coming to a head. The woman grabbed the man’s elbow and thrust it toward her instead of away from her. The knife blade disappeared into the woman’s blouse at the shoulder and a dark red stain started emerging.  The woman then bit the inside of the man’s forearm and stomped her cowboy boot onto the man’s left instep.

The assailant’s reaction was quite predictable. Of course, he screamed in pain. He drew his knife arm away from the woman’s bite. He then raised the knife above his head so he could plunge it into her torso. When he did the woman dropped from my sights.

The sound was absolutely baffling. I know that I snapped off two rapid shots to the assailant’s head. The deafening report of a .45 can be heard for miles. But I didn’t expect an echo. And the echo didn’t sound like the .45. It was quieter and more of a crack instead of a boom. As my mind processed that puzzle a really loud boom sounded. But that wasn’t an echo, that sound came from behind me.

While my hearing was trying to decipher all of this confusion the sight picture brought confirmation that I didn’t have to worry about the last assailant’s continued threat.

With my shots the man’s head snapped back and he stood there both arms outstretched with his head cocked back for just a heartbeat. Then he kind of sucked in his wiry belly as if in some gruesome dance. I thought to myself, that can’t happen. He’s brain dead already. Then at the moment of the sound of the last big boom it was almost as though someone had spin kicked him in the gut and stuck his butt through the driver’s side window of the Corvette. He sat there half in and half out of the car slumped over like a rag doll with broken glass all around him.

It took only a couple of heartbeats for all the sequence of events to unfold and for me to come back into real time. When I lowered my gun, I saw the woman on her back on the ground laying facing the final assailant. Both of her hands were thrust out before her and in them was that shiny chrome pistol. Evidently when she bit her assailant and dropped to the ground she had rolled to where the first assailant had dropped the gun when I spun him around with my second kill shot.

Now that both assailants were dead the woman lowered her gun, rolled to her left and winced as she rolled onto the shoulder that had bloodied her white blouse. She then promptly emptied her stomach with one strong convulsion. The pilot and passenger from the black helicopter came running toward the scene of all the mayhem. I moved toward the woman to assist her but froze when I heard a man’s voice behind me clearly say Freeze where you are and drop the gun.

There is no way there was a third assailant. He wasn’t at the convenience store. He wasn’t in the pickup either in the parking lot or when it passed me. He wasn’t in sight when I pulled up behind the Corvette. I may be getting old, but I couldn’t be missing that many details. Now I had a choice to make. Drop my gun and be at the mercy of this threat. Or try to spin around and drop him before he drops me. Looking at the woman on the ground I knew what I had to do. I couldn’t leave her to a third jackal without at least trying to defend her.

CHAPTER 5

At the last moment before I spun around the pilot of the black helicopter yelled in my direction It’s okay Sheriff. He’s the good guy in all this mess.

I slowly lowered my gun again and cautiously turned around. There, not more than two feet behind me, was the muzzle of a 30.06 hunting rifle. It was held at the thigh of a tall, lanky, good looking man who appeared to be in his early thirties. He wore