Laura Trentham, the author of The Military Wife, is back with an emotionally charged novel about redemption and second chances. In the vein of Josie Silverโs One Day in December, AN EVERYDAY HEROย explores the challenges of a relationship and ultimately discovering that loveโฆand joy is worth fighting for.ย
*****
An Everyday Hero
Heart of a Hero series
by Laura Trentham
Blurb:
At thirty, Greer Hadley never expected to be forced home to Madison, Tennessee with her life and dreams of being a songwriter up in flames. To make matters worse, a series of bad decisions and even crappier luck lands her community service hours at a nonprofit organization that aids veterans and their families. Greer cannot fathom how sheโs supposed to use music to help anyone deal with their trauma and loss when the one thing that brought her joy has failed her.
Then there’s Emmett Lawson, the golden boy who followed his familyโs legacy. Greer shows up one day with his old guitar, and meets Emmettโs rage head on with her stubbornness. A dire situation pushes these two into a team to save a young teenager, but maybe they will save themselves too. . .ย
Macmillan: https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250145550ย
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1250145554?tag=macmillan-20
Books-A-Million: https://www.booksamillion.com/product/9781250145550?AID=42121&PID=7992675&cjevent=1101dd10476711ea83cc00ae0a240614
Indie Bound: https://www.indiebound.org/book/9781250145550?aff=macmillan
Powellโs: https://www.powells.com/book/an-everyday-hero-9781250145550?partnerid=33241
*****
Excerpt:
Chapter 1
โDisorderly conduct. Public intoxication. Resisting arrest.โ Judge Duckett put down the paper, linked his hands, and stared over his reading glasses from his perch behind the bench with a combination of exasperation and fatherly disapproval.
Greer Hadley shifted in her sensible heels and smoothed the skirt of the light pink suit sheโd borrowed from her mama for the occasion. โIโll give you the first two, Uncle Billโโ The judge cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes. โExcuse meโJudge Duckettโbut I did not resist arrest.โ
โThat you recall.โ Deputy Wayne Peeler drawled the words out in the most sarcastic, unprofessional manner possible.
She fisted her hands and took a deep breath. The impulse to punch Wayne in the face simmered below the surface like a volcano no longer at rest. But ten oโclock on a Monday morning during her arraignment was not the smartest time to lose her temper, and sheโd promised herself not to add to her string of bad decisions.
She sweetened her voice and bared her teeth at Wayne in the facsimile of a smile. โI recall plenty, thank you very much.โ
Truth was she didnโt recall the minute details, but the shock of Wayneโs whispered offer on Saturday night to make her troubles go away for a price had done more to sober her up than the couple of hours spent in lockup waiting for her parents.
Dressed in his tan uniform, Wayne adjusted his heavy gun belt so often she imagined he got off every night by rubbing his gun. Giving him a badge had only empowered the part of him desperate for respect and approval. His nickname in high school, โthe Weasel,โ had been well earned.
Unfortunately, she was the unreliable narrator of her life at the moment and no one would trust her recollections. Judge Duckett, her uncle Bill by marriage until he and her aunt Tonya had divorced, rustled papers from his desk.
The ethics of her former uncle acting as her judge were questionable, especially considering they had remained close even after heโd remarried, but if nepotism is what it took to make this nightmare go away, then she wouldnโt be the one to lodge a complaint.
โA witness claimed you were sitting quietly at the end of the bar until a song played on the jukebox. What was the song?โ Her uncle glanced at her over his glasses again, which made him look like a stern teacher.
โโBefore He Cheatsโ by Carrie Underwood.โ She forced her chin up.
His mouth opened, closed, and he dropped his gaze back to the paper. A murmur broke out behind her.
She would not cry. She wouldnโt. She blinked like her life depended on a tear not falling. Later, in the privacy of her childhood bedroom, she would bury her face in the eyelet-covered pillow and let loose.
Beau Williams, her cheating ex-boyfriend, was only partially to blame for her embarrassing behavior. It was a confluence of setbacks that had had her holding down the end of the bar. Hearing Carrieโs revenge anthem had hit a nerve exposed by the shots of Jack. Rage had quickened the effects of the alcohol, and thatโs when things got fuzzy.
โYes, well. That is a rather โฆ Letโs move on, shall we? The witness also claims after a heartfelt, albeit slurred speech about the vagaries of relationships and how the moral fiber of the Junior League of Madison was frayed, you fed five dollars into the jukebox and played the same song for over an hour. โCrazyโ by Patsy Cline, was it?โ
Ugh. She didnโt recall how much money sheโd fed the machine, but it sounded like something she would do. โCrazyโ was one of her favorite songs. A master class in conveying emotion through simple lyrics. She was just sorry sheโd wasted five dollars on Beau. He didnโt deserve her money, her heart, or Patsy.
โNo one can fault my taste in the classics.โ Greer tried a smile, but her lips quivered and she pressed them together.
Her uncle continued to read from the witness statement, โYou proceeded to throw two glasses on the floor, shattering them, and attempted to break a chair across the jukebox.โ
She swallowed hard. A vague picture of a frustratingly sturdy chair surfaced. The fact the chair remained intact while she was falling apart had sent her anger soaring higher and hotter. A glance from her uncle Bill over the paper had her giving him a nod. She couldnโt deny it.
He continued, โA patron called 911. When Deputy Peeler arrived, he pulled you away from the jukebox and forced you outside. Thatโs where, he claims, you kicked him โฆ well, you know where.โ
โWayne dragged me down the stairsโโ
โDeputy Peeler, if you please.โ Wayne sniffed loudly.
โAs Deputy Peeler escorted me down the stairs, I lost my balance and fell. The heel of my shoe jabbed into his crotch. Sorry.โ Greer didnโt make an attempt to mask her not-sorry voice with fake respect.
If she accused Wayne of misbehavior on the job, he would deny it and spin it somehow to make her look even more irresponsible. Lord knows, sheโd embarrassed her parents enough for a lifetime. Anyway, seeing him rolling on the ground and cupping his crotch had been sweet payback.
โI sustained an injury where that spike you call a heel caught me.โ Wayne half turned toward her.
Instead of playing it smart and soothing his delicate male ego, she batted her eyes at him. โIโm sure thatโs left the ladies of Madison real upset.โ
Wayne took a step toward her. โYou are such aโโ
The gavel knocked against the bench and her uncle stood, looming over them. โIโve heard enough, Deputy. Sit down.โ
Wayne turned on his heel and left Greer to face her uncle Bill. This was where she would promise such a thing would never happen again, and he would give her a stern warning before dismissing all charges.
โIโm striking the resisting arrest charge. It was an accident.โ
Greer forced herself not to look over her shoulder and stick her tongue out at Wayne. That left only two misdemeanors, which her uncle could expunge with a swipe of his pen.
He settled behind the bench and picked up his pen, his gaze on the papers. โYou will pay for any damages.โ
โIโve already reimbursed Becky.โ Technically, sheโd had to use her parentsโ money, considering sheโd crawled home from Nashville broke. โAnd apologized profusely. You can be assured there will not be a repeat performance. Iโve learned my lesson.โ
โGood. As for the other chargesโฆโ
Her deep breath cleansed a portion of the tension across her shoulders, and a smile born of relief appeared.
โYou will perform fifty hours of community service.โ
Her smile froze on her face. It sounded like a lot, but sheโd been stupid and immature and deserved punishment. โI understand. Clean roads are important.โ
โLitter pickup? Goodness no.โ He took his glasses off and smiled at her for the first time, but it wasnโt the jolly-uncle smile she was familiar with. โYou have talents that would be wasted on the side of the road picking up trash, Ms. Hadley. You will spend your fifty hours working at the Music Tree Foundation.โ
โIโm not familiar with it.โ She swallowed. The mention of music set her stomach roiling. โHighway 45 was in terrible shape on my drive in last week.โ
โThe foundation is a nonprofit music program that focuses on helping military veterans and their families cope with the trauma theyโve endured serving our country. Theyโre in need of volunteer songwriters and musicians.โ
โI canโt write or play anymore.โ Her dream of hearing one of her songs on the radio had died. Not in a blaze of glory but from a slow, torturous starvation of hope. At thirty, she was resigned to finding a real job and cobbling together a normal life in the place sheโd tried to leave behind.
โMy decision is final. As far as I can determine, your brainโdespite this lapse in judgmentโis in fine working order. You can and will help these men and women heal through your gift of music. Unless youโd rather spend thirty days in county lockup?โ
Would her uncle actually throw her in jail? For a month? โNo, Your Honor, I donโt want to go to county lockup.โ
โGood. Once you turn in your log with all your hours signed off by the foundationโs manager, your record with this court will be cleared.โ He handed her file to a clerk. โCase closed. Next up is docket number fourteen.โ
She stood there until he met her gaze with his unflinching one. โGo home, Greer.โ
Her parents were waiting at the door to the courtroom. While theyโd faced the horror of having to bail their only child out of jail stoically, her motherโs embarrassment and disappointment were ripe and all-encompassing. Greer wilted and trailed her parents out of the courthouse.
She felt like a child. An incompetent, needy child living in her old bedroom and dependent on her parents for emotional and financial support. She thought sheโd hit rock bottom many times over the years, but her situation now had revealed new lows.
The silence in the car built into a painful crescendo.
โThe tiger lilies are lovely this year, donโt you think?โ Her motherโs attempt at normalcy was strained but welcome.
Her fatherโs hands squeaked along the steering wheel as an answer.
Greer huddled in the backseat and stared out the window, the clumps of flowers on the side of the road an orange blur. As a teenager, sheโd chafed at her parentsโ protectiveness and had wanted nothing more than to escape to Nashville, where sheโd been convinced glory and fame awaited. Now she was home and a disappointment not only to her parents but to herself. Even worse, she hadnโt come up with a plan to turn her life around.
โIra Jenkins is back in the hospital. I thought Iโd run by and check on him. Since Sarah passed, he seems a shell of the man he once was.โ Her mother turned to face the backseat. โWould you like to come with me? Iโm sure heโd be happy to see you.โ
โHe wonโt remember me, Mama.โ
โIโm sure he will.โ
Greer scrunched farther down in the seat. The last thing she wanted was to make small talk with a man she hadnโt seen in years.
โYouโll have to get out eventually and face the music.โ Her motherโs smile wavered and threatened to turn into tears. โSo to speak.โ
Her mother was trying, which was more than could be said for Greer at the moment. Her parents deserved a better daughter. Someone successful they could brag on at the Wednesday-night potlucks at church. Not a daughter they had to bail out of jail.
โI will. I promise. Just not to see Mr. Jenkins.โ Greer leaned forward and squeezed her motherโs hand over the seat, needing to give her something to hope for even if Greer wasnโt sure what that might be.
Her father cleared his throat. โYou need to think about the future.โ
He ignored her motherโs whispered, โNot now, Frank.โ
โA job. Or back to school. Weโll put you through nursing or accounting or something useful.โ He shifted to meet her gaze in the rearview mirror. โBut you canโt keep on like youโre doing. You need a purpose.โ
โIโll start looking for a job tomorrow.โ School had never been her wheelhouse. Sheโd been sure sheโd make it in Nashville and had never formulated a backup plan.
They pulled up to her childhood home, a two-story brick Colonial on the main street of Madison, Tennessee. Oaks had been planted down a middle island like a line of soldiers at attention. They had grown to shade both sides of the street. It was picturesque and cast the imagination back to a time when ladies lounged on porches with their iced tea and gossiped with their neighbors to escape the heat of summer. Air-conditioning had altered that way of life.
At one time, as a kid, sheโd known every family up and down the street well enough to knock on their door for help or run through their backyard in epic games of tag. Now, though, the houses were being bought up by people who used Madison to escape the bustle of an expanding Nashville. They built pools in the backyards and fences and werenโt outside except to walk their trendy dogs.
The march of progress through Madison added to her melancholy sadness. There was a reason not being able to go home again was a recurring theme in books and songs.
โWe love you, Greer. You know that, donโt you?โ Her motherโs voice was tight with emotion, but she didnโt turn around, thank goodness.
Her mother never cried and if Greer witnessed tears, she would burst into sobs herself and embarrass everyone.
โI know. Thanks for everything. Iโm going to do better. Be better.โ It seemed a wholly inadequate promise she wasnโt even sure she could keep, but it was all she could manage. She ducked out of the car and skipped around to a side door of the house that was always unlocked.
Her room was both a haven and a mocking reminder of the state of her life. Posters of album covers papered the wall behind her bed, the colors faded from the sun and the edges curling with age.
In high school, sheโd gravitated toward indie folk artists and away from the commercially driven country-music machine located a few miles south. Joan Baez was flanked by Patty Griffin and Dolly Parton. Even though Dolly veered more country than Greer, no one could deny the legendโs songwriting chops. The guitar Greer had hocked for rent money had borne Dollyโs signature like a talisman. Sometimes Greer ached for her guitar like a missing limb.
The flashing glimpse of a woman in a pale pink suit stopped her in the middle of the floor. She turned to face the full-length mirror glued to the back of the closet door. God, it was like glimpsing her mom through a time warp.
Greer touched the delicate pearls that had been passed down to her on her eighteenth birthday. They were old-fashioned and traditional and stereotypical of a Southern โgood girl.โ Not her style. Sheโd left them in her dresser drawer when sheโd left home the day after high school graduation.
A tug of recognition of the women who had come before her had her clutching the strand in her hand as if something lost were now found. Was it her circumstances or her age growing her nostalgia like a tree setting roots?
She turned around to break the connection with the stranger in the mirror, stripped off the pink suit, and pulled on jeans and a cotton oxford. Her mother would appreciate seeing her in something besides the frayed shorts and grungy concert T-shirts sheโd lounged around in the last week. She reached behind her neck for the clasp of the necklace, but her hands stilled, then dropped to her sides, leaving the pearls in place.
She stepped out of her room and was enveloped in silence. Her father had returned to his insurance office and her mother must have set off for her hospital visit. The house took on an expectant quality, as if waiting for its true owners to return. She was no longer a fundamental part of this world. Not unwelcome, perhaps, but a loose cog in her parentsโ lives.
She tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen and made herself a ham sandwich. May was too early for fresh tomatoes, but in another month or two her motherโs garden would make tomato sandwiches an everyday treat.
Craving an escape, Greer grabbed a book and settled in her favorite window seat. The rest of the afternoon passed in the same expectant silence. The chime of the doorbell made her start and drop her book. If she pretended no one was home, maybe whoever was on the front porch would go away. The last thing she wanted was to face one of Madisonโs gossips masquerading as a do-gooder.
The creak of the door opening had her bolting to her feet.
โGreer? I know youโre home. Are you decent?โ Her uncle Billโs booming voice echoed in the two-story foyer.
She propped her shoulder in the doorway of the sunroom. โLetting yourself in peopleโs houses is a good way of getting shot around here.โ
โWhile your mama would have liked to have shot me during the divorce with her sister, I hope weโve made our peace.โ He closed the door behind him and Greer did what sheโd wanted to do in the courtroomโshe threw herself at him for a hug.
He lifted her off her feet and spun her once around. Her laugh hit her ears like a foreign language. It had been too long since sheโd laughed from a place of happiness.
โYou could have just come out to the house. You didnโt have to get arrested to see me.โ Bill let her go, and she led him into the sunroom.
โDo you want something to drink?โ Greer asked, already turning for the kitchen and the fresh brewed pitcher of sweet iced tea.
โNo, thanks. Mary has fried chicken ready to go in the pan, so I canโt stay long.โ
Bill had divorced her aunt Tonya more than a decade earlier and married the choir director of the biggest black church in town. A scandal had ensued not because heโd married a black woman, but because he, a long-standing deacon in the Church of Christ, had converted to a heathen Methodist.
โHow is Mary?โ
โAlways singing.โ He shook his head, an indulgent smile on his face, as they settled into their seats.
His comment sprinkled salt on an open wound. Sheโd begged off going to church with her parents because of the questions she was sure to face and the hymns she couldnโt bring herself to sing. Some of her earlier happiness at seeing him leaked out. โGood for her.โ
โI came to make sure you werenโt mad at me.โ
โWhy would I be mad?โ
โI got the impression you expected me to dismiss the charges.โ His smile turned into a wince.
โI wouldnโt have been upset if you had, but I get it. I was an idiot and deserve punishment.โ She picked at the fringe on a decades-old needlepoint pillow and cast him a pleading glance. โIโd rather pick up trash, though, if itโs all the same to you.โ
โItโs not the same to me.โ He crossed his long legs and tapped a finger on the cherry armrest of the antique chair that looked ready to surrender at any moment to his bulk. โDo you remember Amelia Shelton?โ
โMaryโs daughter? She was a couple of years ahead of me in school. We didnโt hang out or anything, but she seemed nice.โ Greer couldnโt remember the last time sheโd seen Amelia. Greerโs side of the family had skipped Bill and Maryโs small wedding ceremony; the acrimony between him and her aunt Tonya hadnโt faded at that point.
โAmelia is the founder and director of the Music Tree Foundation and is desperate for qualified volunteers. Youโve been playing and singing and writing music since you were knee high. It was meant to be.โ
โItโs not meant to be. Iโve got to get a real job.โ
Her uncle made a scoffing sound. โYouโre too much like my Mary. You could never leave music behind.โ
โMusic dumped me on the side of the road, gave me the finger, and peeled out.โ Greer shook her head and touched the string of pearls, her gaze on his polished black dress shoes. โIโm a mess, Uncle Bill. I have nothing to offer. In fact, Iโll probably make things worse for whatever poor soul I get paired with.โ
She expected him to argue, but he seemed to be weighing the truth in her words like the scales of justice. His shrug wasnโt in the least reassuring. โAmelia has done something really special with her foundation. It might do you a world of good to focus on someone besides yourself.โ
โDang, thatโs harsh.โ
He patted her knee. โIโve seen all kinds come through my courtroom. The ones who turn it around are the ones who quit feeling sorry for themselves.โ
โButโโ
โBut nothing. Beau is an asshole. Not the first or the last youโre likely to encounter. Donโt you deserve better than him?โ
โYes?โ She wished sheโd been able to put more conviction into the word.
Beau was successful, nice-lookingโeven though a bald spot was conquering his hair day by dayโand respected in their town. Theyโd known each other since high school, but had only started dating in the last year.
He was solid and steady and comfortable. Three things lacking from her life. Catching him cheating with the president of the Junior League had been another seismic shift in her world, leaving her unsure and off balance.
โIf you canโt believe in yourself yet, then believe me. You are talented, Greer, and you have the ability to help people find their voice.โ He slipped a card out of his wallet. When she didnโt reach for it, he waved it in her face until she took it.
A tree styled with musical symbols of all different colors decorated one side of the card. She ran her thumb over the raised black ink of Ameliaโs name and an address on the outskirts of Nashville. โI donโt have much choice, do I?โ
โNot if you want to stay in myโand the courtโsโgood graces. Sheโs expecting you tomorrow at three.โ
โNo rest for the wicked, huh?โ Her smile was born of sarcasm.
Bill rose and ruffled her hair like he had when she was little. โNot wicked. Lost.โ
Greer walked him out, brushed a kiss on his cheek, and murmured her thanks. She leaned on the porch rail and waved until he disappeared down the street.
I once was lost, and now Iโm found. Sheโd sung โAmazing Graceโ so many times that the lyrics had ceased to have an impact. But, standing on her childhood front porch, having come full circle, a shiver went down her spine, and goose bumps broke over her arms despite the heat that wavered over the pavement like a mirage. Her granny would have said that someone had walked over her grave. Maybe so. Or maybe change was a-coming whether she wanted to face up to it or not.
Copyright ยฉ 2020 by Laura Trentham
*****
Review:
While I absolutely AH-DORE Trentham’s small town romances, her women’s fiction books are some of the best reads out there. There’s so much believability in the characters, their situations, and the way they interact with one another. And whether it’s to make you laugh or to make you cry, she just knows how to get to the heart of things and drag the right emotions out of you without seeming to try.
I really enjoy Greer – she’s a little lost about what she’s going to do with the rest of her life. Her vision for her future is gone after it seems like her music abandons her and the last thing she wants to do is get involved in a music therapy group. Luckily, her first client is a young girl who just draws Greer to her … as does her second client, somewhat grumpy (but definitely sexy) Emmett.
Emmett is also at a loss for what to do with his own future up in the air. The loss of a leg means the loss of his career and with all he’s seen & done his feelings about himself as a good man is also in tatters. When a spitfire in a short skirt shows up at his door and doesn’t take much of his bull, Emmett slowly finds himself resurfacing from his pain and grief. And the more they go toe to toe, the more he finds himself feeling normal again … if only he can let go of the guilt.
The connections that Greer makes are so warming. I just felt myself pull for her as she slowly gets Ally to come out of her shell and start connecting to something other than anger & pain. And while it takes a different tone, her irreverent sense of humor and stubbornness also helps Emmett to start seeing more in the world than his front porch and the bottom of a bottle.
Exploring themes of healing, friendship, grief, and love,ย An Everyday Heroย is one of the best reads of 2020. Even if you aren’t a big romance reader, there is plenty here for you to enjoy.
(Part of a series, but stands on its own.)
*****
Author Info:
Laura Trentham is an award winning romance author. The Military Wife is her debut womenโs fiction novel. A chemical engineer by training and a lover of books by nature, she lives in South Carolina.
Twitter: https://twitter.com/LauraTrentham
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/LauraTrenthamAuthor
Author Website: http://www.lauratrentham.com/
Macmillan Author Page: https://us.macmillan.com/author/lauratrentham
*****
