Other than Mr. Rochester of Jane Eyre, I can't think of one literary hero who is missing a limb! Oh, sure, you'll always have a battle-scarred Viking with a sexy scar on his face, or those deep "psychological" wounds are always a hit, but very few heroes exist where they end in the book the same way they began.
I don't know what compelled me to write a hero with one hand - but I'm glad I did. Maybe it's because there are so many veterans in my family and I wanted to honor their sacrifice. Or maybe it's because of one too many newscasts of young men and women coming home with their legs blown off from IED's. Whatever the reason, I hope you enjoy the story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Here's an excerpt to tickle your imagination!
“I pity Mr. Parker that his kiss was not more…inspiring and memorable.”
She didn’t know if he was teasing but laughed a little despite her remembered shame. “If his was the ideal of what a kiss ought to be, I don’t think I’ve missed much.”
He continued to hold her hand. The thrum of his pulse raced from his fingers to hers.
“And how was this infamous kiss performed?”
Evening was upon them, and the fading sunlight gave her cover from his gaze. “It was...all over the place. His lips felt like a scurrying mouse, and I was the cheese.”
His rich laugh filled the air. “Show me.”
Without hesitation, she lifted his hand to her lips and imitated the kiss as best she could, though the first touch of his skin against her mouth jolted her senses. Suddenly embarrassed, she released his hand and twisted her fingers in her skirt.
“It was like that.”
The amused look left his eyes.
“This is how it should have been,” he murmured.