Dear Reader,
I’m embarrassed to say this story began with one simple idea. I wanted a love scene under a waterfall.
I mentioned this to my Romance Book Club members and one of them, who’d just returned from a trip, said, “There are plenty of waterfalls in Hawaii.”
At the time, I’d just finished writing Primal Calling, set in the coldest part of Alaska, and I was ready for some sunny tropical weather. How simple, right? But, I hope I made up for it with my characters. A discussion at Book Club around that time was about a breast cancer survivor, and immediately a character started forming in my mind.
The heroine—a breast cancer survivor—and the hero, an Army Captain with PTSD, are definitely dark subjects, and not necessarily conducive to romance. But then, if there’s anything I believe in, it’s the power of love. Love for self, love for family members, and even love for a lonely man haunted by guilt. Love can make you a better person, love can give you the strength to overcome adversity, and love can heal a scarred soul. I hope you enjoy Kristen’s and Luke’s struggle to love each other and let that love heal what was once broken.
I so enjoy hearing from readers. You can reach me through my website www.jillianburns.com and while you’re there check out my latest news and future releases.
Jillian Burns
About the Author
JILLIAN BURNS has always read romance, and spent her teens immersed in the worlds of Jane Eyre and Elizabeth Bennet. She lives in Texas with her husband of twenty years and their three active kids. Jillian likes to think her emotional nature—sometimes referred to as moodiness—has found the perfect outlet in writing stories filled with passion and romance. She believes romance novels have the power to change lives with their message of eternal love and hope.
Once a Hero …
Jillian Burns
MILLS & BOON
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Dedication
This book is dedicated to all US service members
with Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome. You are not
alone and your country owes you a debt of gratitude.
Acknowledgements
This story wouldn’t have happened without my
wonderful Romance Book Club friends
Deb, Kelley, and Arline!
I owe my SCUBA information to my god-daughter,
Jennifer, my sanity to my two critique partners
extraordinaire, Pam and Linda, and my clean
laundry to my heroic husband, who never complains
about my deadline craziness. I also need to express
deep gratitude to my editor, Kathryn.
1
“CALL 9-1-1!” KRISTEN TURNER yelled at the gathering crowd.
A piercing scream wasn’t all that unusual at the Tradewinds Bar and Grill late at night, except this scream had come from a gray-haired woman in a flowered muumuu, and the paunchy older gentleman beside her was flailing about, his face as red-and-purple-mottled as a Maui sunset.
The man was choking.
Kristen knew how to do the Heimlich—in theory—but getting her arms around this nice, but rather barrel-chested man, might be tough.
Before she could move behind him, a tall, dark-haired man swooped in, wrapped his long, muscular arms around the man and administered the Heimlich so perfectly, the chunk of BBQ chicken wing flew out of the older man’s throat and landed on the table.
The crowd applauded and whistled, but the mystery hero slowly lowered the older man to the floor and put his ear to the man’s chest.
The older man’s eyes were closed and the mystery man began performing CPR on him. He gave four harsh pumps to the man’s chest, and then held the man’s nose shut and breathed into his mouth a couple of times. Another four strong pushes on the chest, and another set of mouth-to-mouths.
Oblivious to the crowd around him, the guy worked tirelessly. Kristen could see beads of sweat rolling down his temple as he put everything he had into saving the other man’s life.
The wail of sirens approached and then paramedics elbowed their way through the crowd and knelt beside the fallen man. But just as they got out their equipment, the mystery hero stopped pumping and the older man drew in a quick breath and opened his eyes. The wife was hysterical as she hugged her husband. One of the paramedics eased her away while the other examined her husband.
They put on a blood-pressure cuff and stuck some round pads, attached to wires, on his chest and started an IV, but … the old man was already conscious and talking. If it hadn’t been for the mystery man this night might have turned out quite differently.
Hairs on Kristen’s arms stood up and the goose bumps made her shiver.
The wife asked about the mystery man, wanted to thank him, and everyone looked around, but he’d disappeared.
The older gentleman was rolled away on a gurney, his wife trotting alongside him, holding his hand, and the rest of the customers went back to their tables and drinks. The Beach Boys’ “Surfin’ Safari” boomed through the speakers, and some tables raised their glasses in a toast to the “stranger who saved the day.”
Rubbing her arms, Kristen leaned in the doorway and stared after the ambulance as it drove away. Then she scanned the road both ways and the area all around the Tradewinds. But there was no sign of the mystery man, as she’d begun thinking of him. Who did that kind of thing in this day and
