The Need For Heroes
I don’t have to remind anyone, especially after the events that have occurred this month, that we need heroes. There is evil in the world. And, whether you believe in the devil, in dark angels or evil spirits, no one can doubt the existence of evil doers who must be stopped.
We romance writers often get a lot of criticism for writing “make believe” or endings with a “happily ever after.” Often “serious” writers thumb their noses at our story arcs, where things turn out the way we wish they could be, citing the fact that serious work of fiction must be realistic. ‘Life is not a fairy tale’ they remind us.
My defense of romance writing is growing stronger the more books I write. As a writer of hot Navy SEAL romances, I not only do get to bring brave characters to life, who overcome obstacles heroically to “save the day” but write about the women who love and are loved by these wonderful men. Often these women are heroes too, overcoming great odds or performing huge sacrifices for their mates.
If we wanted reality, we would watch reality TV, or watch the news. Some say you can spend too much time in fantasyland. But, can’t we also have too much reality?
I say absolutely, yes.
In my new release, Fallen SEAL Legacy, Navy SEAL Calvin Cooper has just learned his family has been lost in a tornado. His carefree world is about to change. Content to live at the beach in a tricked-out motor home filled with special equipment and gadgets, he encounters the world of the affluent when he meets the family of a fallen SEAL.
Each in their own way finds in the other something they are missing, as they heal each other.
I want a world where true love heals in all ways possible. I want a world where men come home from battle, to the loving arms of their women and children. Give me a happily ever after,
One lucky commenter will receive my new book, Fallen SEAL Legacy, on Kindle. Please leave your email address in your comments. Hope you will join me in helping to repair the reality of our real world in stories of fantasy and an ending that satisfies.
A tall shadow fell through the glass and ornate metal front doors of the Brownlee house. The melodic doorbell chime came all the way from an abandoned abbey in the South of France. Whoever he was, Libby Brownlee thought, he’d not be able to get through the doorway without ducking, or smacking himself in the forehead.
“Yes?” She didn’t remove the brass chain connecting the door to the doorframe. It couldn’t really stop anyone, especially someone of his size. What she saw scared her, but not in the way she expected. He was a handsome, very, very tall and fair-haired young man about her age. His piercing blue eyes didn’t stray from hers as he coolly nodded his head, and took inventory of her character, without peeling his gaze from hers.
She felt undressed, yet powerless to cover up. But she didn’t look away.
“Ma’am, I’m looking for the Brownlee family.” He said this as he ducked his head and leaned forward. She observed he was trying to make himself smaller. The effort made him look huge.
“This is the Brownlee residence.” Her response was worthy of a domestic. No need to let him know she was a relative.
“My name is Special Operator Calvin Cooper. I’m…”
“I know what a Special Operator is.”
He smiled but continued, “—currently serving in the Navy. I’ve been asked to reach out to the family of Special Operator William Brownlee.”
“Uncle Will.” She bit her tongue. Too late to take it back. “My father’s brother. I never met him. He’s been dead for many years, before I was born.” Libby looked at the ground, but was soon distracted by the size of the young man’s canvas slip-ons. The light brown hair on his ankles and lower legs, punctuated by light purple scars, blazed in the afternoon sun.
“Yes, ma’am. That’s the reason I’m here.”
“It’s a little late for a color guard. He get awarded a medal posthumously or something?”
The sailor stepped back and put his eyelids at half-mast after a flash of anger. He appeared way calmer than she knew he really was. The control was impressive. No matter how hard she looked, the anger did not surface again. He licked his lips and began to speak, softer this time.
“Look. I don’t want to be here any more than you want me, so let’s just get this over with, so I can tell my Chief I tried to reach out and you guys slammed the door in my face, okay?”
Well, this wasn’t the wrinkle she’d expected. “Fine.” She removed the chain, opened the door and the lumbering giant walked in. He smelled like he’d just figured out how to wear aftershave. Something told her he didn’t do it very often.
He scanned the large two-story living room with the carved wood ceiling done in Spanish florets. His eyes lit on the three-foot tall bouquet of fresh flowers her mother put on the coffee table every day—bounty from her extensive flower garden. Behind the table, a bright red velvet couch was covered with lime and fuchsia-colored silk flowered pillows. No one ever sat there, Libby mused. If they did, they’d be buried in the pillows, and hidden from view by the bouquet.
Rest in Peace.
“My mother takes pride in her flower garden.” She said. He had been staring at the blooms.
He tore his eyes off the display, and, without saying a word, continued to scan the archway that led to the kitchen, then back around to the walls of the foyer and a view of the grand metal staircase leading upstairs to the bedrooms.
His silence made her nervous. She crossed her arms over her chest and waited for him to say something.
“This is about a hundred times the size of my place.” He regarded her with a crooked smile she couldn’t read. “Kinda like living in a church, although not like a church I ever attended.”
Our house looks like a church?
“Where do you live? On base?” she asked.
“No ma’am. I have a motor home I keep parked at the Silverdale Beach.”
“Wow.” A homeless Navy SEAL?
“Exactly. Got the whole ocean as my back yard.”
“It’s all I need.”
“Okay. Well, what’s this about? Your visit, I mean.”
“Did he have a family, or someone close, other than your family?”
“He is our family. I just never knew him.” She realized she was being short. “My grandparents are both gone, and my father was his only brother, perhaps he would know.” Libby started tracing the grout line of the marble floor with her toe. “Look, I’m going to need some answers here. You have to kind of spell it out for me. We don’t speak military in this house.”
“I can tell.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You don’t speak military, and I didn’t bring an interpreter.”
“I think you should speak to my father.”
“That would be good.”
“Except he isn’t here. Maybe another time?”
She caught him eyeing the front of her cotton shirt, like he could see right through it without unbuttoning it. With an involuntary jerk, he was focused on her eyes again. It was very odd she didn’t feel afraid of him, like she had every other man who showed interest in her lately. Her heartbeat elevated and her breathing became shallow.
“When will he be here?” His voice sent a tingle down her spine.
“He gets home about four-thirty. But I wouldn’t waste your time unless you can tell me what you want.” She started for the door and he followed behind her. At the front, she stopped, and turned around. “I’m waiting.” She tapped her foot to an invisible drummer.
The giant nodded, but faced his own shoes as he responded to her command, “I’ve been asked to do a little research on S.O. Brownlee. It’s an order from my Chief.”
“And why would the Navy want to contact my family? What purpose would it serve?”
“It’s just what we do. I was given his name when I got my Trident. I’m supposed to know about him. I’m a SEAL as well.”
“After all these years? Why now? Why not let the dead remain dead? Why bother my father?”
The sailor shrugged, looked up at the ceiling, adjusting his stance. With a sigh, he turned his gaze back on Libby. She felt herself melt under the press of his intense study.
Cooper took a deep breath, and continued, “Because, I’ve just lost mine.”
Wow, thanks so much, Sharon! We're with you on the happy ending thing, by the way.
If you're the lucky commenter who wins the giveaway and you'd prefer the dog tags in this picture rather than a copy of her book (but I know you'd rather have the book, right?), let Sharon know. You can find Sharon's website here.