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I was going to write something lighthearted and fun for this posting. I was going to crack some jokes and post some eye candy and hope I’d make your day a little brighter. Instead, I’m hoping I can ease some pain and inspire a better world…

I’d like to talk about Heroes today. Honor, self-sacrifice, courage, and selflessness. The men in our stories in this book are all examples of this, as well as being drool-worthy. But what about real life Heroes? Any person who goes into public service and is willing to lay down his/her life for others is a Hero in my opinion. They are willing to risk their life for people they have never met, and will probably never see again. Some travel hundreds, if not thousands of miles to help in a time of need, to countries where they may not even speak the language. Dedication, honor and commitment.

But even bigger Heroes? Those who love the front-line Heroes. Those who love their Hero enough to let them be who they are, knowing as they walk away that their Hero might not come back.

Due to recent events, these are the Heroes that are in my thoughts and prayers. Those who have lost their beloved Hero in the line of duty. Those who now have a deep aching hole in their hearts. I know it’s small consolation in your time of despair, but know that the world mourns with you. My best advice? Keep their memories alive, for yourself, your family, your kids, but continue to live. Your Hero died so others may live, and that includes you. Remember the good times, remember the love, and continue to live.

For those of us who haven’t experienced that loss? Find a way to help in your own communities. Attend fundraisers for Fire/Police/Volunteer Services, arrange fundraisers. If nothing else, donate your time, talent or money. Who knows when you may be the one in need of help.

Love to all, and spread the love.

Kalissa

From “The Fireman’s Rescue” by Kalissa Wayne

Drew really didn’t need the extra stress at work. Being fire chief was stressful enough, but he’d been dealing with an aggravating new employee for the past three months.

True, the sheriff also had to deal with her, but his best friend Jonas Quinn seemed to get along fine with the new dispatcher, Heather Titsworth.

Drew snorted. Titsworth. What kind of name was that? If he’d been a woman with that last name, he’d have legally changed it as soon as he’d turned eighteen.

He stopped at the one red light in town and sighed as he looked around the intersection, noting how few windows were bright. The combination police station/firehouse/dispatch center was the only building in the downtown area still lit up.

Glancing at the time, he realized that Heather would be off work by now. The meeting had ended on time, but council members had wanted to talk to him about his hair. Again. He refused to cut his hair just because they thought it didn’t look professional. It was his one vanity and a last remnant of his heritage, a deep bluish-black that reached to his waist and had never been cut.

Drew smirked. It didn’t hurt that women loved his hair. Women had always fallen all over themselves vying for his attention. Until her. Drew glared at the station.

What was it about her that irritated him? Was it because she didn’t fawn over him? But why wouldn’t she? She wasn’t beautiful. “Just Call Me Heather” Titsworth was about five foot eight and chunky, wore glasses, and had plain brown hair pulled back into an even plainer ponytail. He couldn’t even remember if her eyes were green or blue. Unremarkable in every way.

Although just this morning, when he had walked in the door connecting the firehouse to the dispatch center, he’d gotten quite an eyeful as she stretched across her desk to hand one of the deputies some paperwork. Heather had been wearing her usual baggy jeans and overly large shirt, but when she reached out, her jeans had hugged her ass and her shirt had ridden up.

Three things had shocked Drew: those jeans were hugging a beautiful ass; she had a tattoo; and he’d wanted to lick it. Across the small of Heather’s back was a pair of Celtic angel wings. “Just Call Me Heather” had a tramp stamp, and he’d gotten as hard as a steel bat looking at it.

“You going to sit here all night blocking traffic, or do I need to give you a ticket?” Jonas pulled up next to him, chuckling. “Still stewing over the council’s hair phobia?” Jonas was also full-blooded Native American, his black hair every bit as long as Drew’s. Jonas also refused to cut his hair.

“Nah. They can go jump in the lake about my hair. I was just sitting here trying to figure out some problems. As for blocking traffic…” Drew looked around. The sheriff’s truck and his were the only two vehicles on the road. “I don’t think I’ll block traffic until about six-thirty in the morning.”

“Come on back to the station and I’ll buy you a cup of—” Jonas was interrupted when the radio crackled.

“Calling all officers. House fire reported at 902 New York Street. Possible trapped residents. Freddie, that’s the Gueterbergs’ house! Hey, calling all officers. House fire at the Gueterbergs’.”