God Bless This Hero

By Skye Eagleday

An inspirational Christian tale of romance and redemption
Clay Jose Sanchez was a decorated hero--and one of the many wounded warriors recovering from a road side explosion in Afghanistan. Curvy Kloe is a new physical therapist who has been assigned to work with Clay, a Latino patient who has managed to alienate every other provider at the hospital. But in looking through his medical records, Kloe discovers his girlfriend had been with him through over thirty surgeries, and then left a seven word handwritten note: "Can't take no more. I'm gone." His pain isn’t just physical.

As they continue to work together in his rehabilitation, they grow so close they begin to invade each other's dreams. It's a miracle that Clay's desire and manhood return. Perhaps it's only a matter of time before he can walk again as well. Kloe has learned to see past the scars and pain to see the true hero he is within.

(This very loving and Christian inspirational story of adult romance contains scenes of romantic love-making. All characters are over the age of 18.)

Excerpt:

I closed the door and listened a moment to the smooth jazz coming from the clock radio I had left on. When I put my head on my pillow I was gone before Fattburger had finished. In my dreams I was whole again. I could move without pain, and when I looked up, Kloe was there. It was a lucid dream again, and I was aware it was a dream because Honey should be here--not someone I had just met.

“You’re a hero,” dream Kloe told me. “You’re just the one I want to be the father of my children.” She smiled, flashing that little space between her teeth at me.

“I always wanted to be a father,” I told her honestly. There had been that slight fear when Honey thought she might be pregnant, but we weren’t ready for that. It was a false alarm, anyway. I tried to think of Honey, but she wouldn’t come. Dream Kloe reached out and traced my lips with her fingertip. She then leaned forward and kissed me lightly.

“See--now we have a goal,” she growled. “Let’s work on it together.” Dream Kloe slowly began to unbutton her white blouse and again I knew this was a dream because she wasn’t wearing the bra I had been staring at earlier, obvious beneath her top.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Skye Eagleday
• Release date: Mar 27, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310410673

Skye Eagleday

I am a Native American. I am also a Storyteller. Some stories are best told during the day. Some stories are best told during the night. I tell many different types of Stories. One of the favorite characters for many Native American Storytellers is Coyote. Coyote stories are also the ones most often censored by non-Natives.Did you know, for example, where I'm from it is said Coyote had two penises? You can visit my blog: www.SkyeEagleday.blogspot.com

Book preview

God Bless This Hero

Holly Van Pelt

Kloe

I sipped my freshly brewed coffee after touching it up with real cream and a dash of cinnamon. The smell was intoxicating and the taste was the best way to start off the day. I closed my eyes in satisfaction. Then I picked up my Iphone and pulled up the app that gave me a random Bible verse to think about. I watched things whirling about and then looked at Hebrews 13:3:

3 Remember those who are in prison, as though in prison with them, and those who are mistreated, since you also are in the body.

I sat there feeling the warmth of my coffee cup easing into my fingers. This was one of those mornings where the verse didn’t really seem to speak to me. It’s not like I had ever been to a prison. I was the type who would never do anything illegal. I had never even littered. If you Googled good girl you’d probably pull up a picture of me. My only sin was a few too many calories—but hey—I’m a healthy looking farm girl, right? I sighed and looked at my staff ID peeking out from beneath my purse on the counter.

I was a freshly minted physical therapist and newly hired by the Veteran’s Hospital. It’s a crazy time, where needs have never been greater for the wounded warriors—but the crazy Federal budget cuts mean the returning men and women have to wait so long for services. I know I was hired because several of the other staff had retired, which meant there were still fewer therapists overall for the military people who needed help. A decade into the Afghanistan combat, we now have over 16,000 severely injured from blast wounds. The hated initials IED stand for improvised explosive device. Such a small term for something that has caused such terrible damage to so many. I guess we’re all "in the body," if that meant the body of Christ, right? I put the phone back in my purse, wishing I could have gotten something more cheerful.

I walked past ward after ward of patients who had survived—but without legs, or with an arm missing. And oh, the scars—countless as stars. Working with the military was like living in a textbook. Some injuries and treatments were so new, we were the first to see what could be done. Our knowledge of treating individuals who were blown apart has grown so much, we’re able to keep people alive who would have never made it off the battlefield even eight years ago. But I had already met a lot of soldiers who told me that they wished we weren’t so good at helping them live. It’s such a chilling thing to hear a patient you’re working with tell you, I wish I had just been killed. I put my coffee down and glanced at the Bible verse on my Iphone. So maybe a lot of the ones I worked with felt they were prisoners of their persons—shackled to shattered bones and scarred skin. A prison term might end, but so many of them would never be healed and freed from their broken bodies until they were called to Heaven.

It was frustrating, but working here felt like the right thing to do. At the staff meeting I was handed a thick file and the Admin called me into her office. Look, she said, I know what it’s like to be the newest kid on the block. I have to give you this file, but he’s a trouble maker who has a lot of staff who refuse to work with him. I need you to see him for an initial assessment, but if you want to refer him out to someone else, I’ll completely understand.

Curious, I took a few minutes at my desk and flipped through his chart. Clayton Jose Sanchez. Originally from Arizona. Twenty-three years old. Purple Heart—oak cluster. I had to google that—I knew the Purple Heart was awarded for being wounded in action, but I had no idea what an oak cluster was. Apparently it was something that was added to the Purple Heart for each additional injury you have. Great. He was wounded and then wounded again. His legs had been badly damaged when the roadside bomb went off. He was the only survivor on board.

I kept plowing through the file, looking at notations and additional comments left by what seemed like a countless parade of doctors, nurses, and other therapists, both psychological and physical. Patient’s girlfriend had been present through most of his 38 surgeries, someone named Johnson had written. Then when I wheeled him back into his room, she was gone and there was only a seven word handwritten note: Can’t take it no more. I’m gone." I read it again. I couldn’t even imagine.

I thought about my asshole of an ex. I remembered the old joke—I miss my ex but my aim is improving. The memory was