Sample Chapter of FULLY INVOLVED FIRE

"Excellent! Thank you! I am looking forward to checking out more of Sherry Silver's work!"--Brenda Cothern  Fully Involved FireBy Sherry Silver
United States US eBook: Apple  ARe  Diesel Kindle  Kobo  Nook  Smashwords  SonyUnited States US Paperback: Amazon  Barnes and Noble  CreateSpace  Books A Million
Australia AU eBook:  AppleBrazil BR eBook:  Kindle Apple
Canada CA eBook: Sony Kindle  Apple
Canada CA Paperback:  Amazon 
German DE eBook:  Kindle Apple
Denmark DK eBook:  Apple
Spain ES eBook:  Kindle  Apple
France FR eBook:  Kindle  Apple
Italy IT eBook:  Kindle  Apple
Japan JP eBook:  Kindle
New Zealand eBook:  Apple
Sweden SE eBook:  Apple 
   United Kingdom UK eBook:  Nook  Kindle   Apple
United Kingdom UK Paperback:  Amazon

Story Summary:Have a tall drink of water handy to put out the fire when you read Fully Involved Fire, a poignant story of the after effects of September 11th.
Johnny Newman is one of New York City’s finest; the Fire Department's most eligible bachelor. He’s been in love with his best friend’s widow for years. Johnny feels he has given her enough time to get over Brandon, but will his playboy reputation ruin his chances?
Susan Cervini is caught up in trying to locate a missing cousin through a website for an aging pop star. When Susan begins to have irrational feelings for her best friend, Johnny, she is afraid she will ruin their friendship, but she can’t seem to stop feeling an overpowering need for his touch. Can they have a torrid affair and go back to being friends, or will the feelings they have for each other change Susan’s mind about love and marriage again?
Johnny Newman is a real American hero; strong in his beliefs, dedicated to helping others, and loyal to the woman he loves above all others. He is sexy but unaware of his appeal, chivalrous without being conscious of it, and a wonderful friend; the way he unselfishly dedicates himself to Susan’s needs. She is a very caring woman who is afraid of losing again. Her restoration of faith was a long and hard journey but was well worth the wait. Her love for Johnny is a beautiful thing to behold, culminating in a climactic coming together. 
Excerpt:Brooklyn, New York"I brought you a turkey with Swiss on white. From Vinnie’s.” Johnny Newman placed the sandwich and a half pint of skim milk on the rough granite tombstone. Squatting, he ran his soot-stained hand over the lettering.His eyes halted on the Maltese cross. He bowed his head and crossed himself.“Two years ago today, Brandon. We found you…your hand.” He cleared his throat as he fought the saline escaping from both eyes. “Susan’s okay now. Man, it was bad on her. She wanted to join you. We had to do an intervention. She spent a couple weeks in the hospital. Your mom and I, we took turns staying with her when she got back home.“Anyhow, I just wanted to bring you the sandwich. I haven’t eaten at Vinnie’s anymore since…” He exhaled.“And I wanted to let you know not to worry about Susan. She’s gonna make it all right. And, um, I’m gonna keep lookin’ out for her. What I’m tryin’ to say is, I love Susan. Well, of course you already knew that. But I mean…I’m in love with her. It’s not the September Eleventh widow syndrome thing either. I didn’t move in on her a couple weeks after…”An ambulance wailed by. Johnny sat back on his heels. He picked a thick blade of grass and entwined it in his fingers, pulling it so tight the tips turned red. “Did ya know eight guys left their wives and kids for the widows? Jesus. Shunned one family in favor of another. The psychologists they sent around tried to explain the phenomenon. They warned us there would be affairs. I swear I haven’t touched her. And I’ve kept the wolves away. Johnson and Caruthers. Friggin’ bastards. Can you believe it?” Johnny yanked a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. “She’s a beautiful woman and all, but they should’ve had more respect for you…and Susan, than that.” He stood up and unwrapped the sandwich, straightening it on top of the headstone. The white paper flapped under it.“Anyhow, I just wanted to have a talk with you first. I wanted to let you know my intentions. I’ve got no idea how Susan feels toward me. But I’ll tell you one thing, buddy. I plan on standing in Times Square, watching the ball drop and kissing my fiancée to ring in the New Year.” Johnny opened the milk container and placed it next to the sandwich. He crossed himself and walked down the path.A nun called out, “You can’t leave trash here. Remove it.”Johnny smiled and closed the gate behind him.~♥♥~“Here you go, a package from your dead cousin.” The bespectacled letter carrier leered at Susan as he talked to her breasts.Her stomach knotted. This better not be a trick. The wind whooshed in as Susan reached outside the glass storm door and snatched the battered brown box. “I’ve never believed she’s dead, Oliver, and here’s proof.” Please let Melody be alive and happy.“Well, you see, the thing is, the postmark and return address are smudged, so this one’s probably been around quite awhile, at the dead letter office.”She glared at him. “Are those letters for me, too?”He handed his former schoolmate her junk mail. “So, what are your plans for Christmas? You know, it really is time you started dating again.”She couldn’t believe he would suggest such a thing. She would never date again. No way.He launched into his baritone version of “What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve?”Susan let go of the storm door. It slammed in Oliver’s pock-marked face. After dropping the letters onto the foyer bench, Susan attempted to peel the clear tape off of the box as she carried the package down the hallway and into the kitchen.Her pulse raced as she rifled through her junk drawer, settling on a pen to pry the tape loose. She inhaled deeply while plopping down in a chair at the table. Staring at the box, Susan remembered…In July, she mailed her cousin Melody a birthday card. It came back at the end of August. Someone had scribbled on the envelope Deceased: Return To Sender. She called Melody’s home in Nevada, right away.Melody’s husband Zander answered, “Yellow.”“Zander, it’s Susan Cervini. I just got Melody’s birthday card returned to me. Someone wrote on the envelope that Melody was deceased!”“Yep.”“What? She’s not dead!”“Ah jeeze, I’m sorry, hon. I thought the police contacted you. They said they would. I gave them your address. Jeeze, it was terrible, they made me take a lie detector test, two of ‘em. Always suspect the poor grieving husband. I should sue ‘em. Um…uh…I didn’t have a memorial service ‘cause there’s no body yet. I can’t even collect on her insurance policy. I tried calling you, but I just got your answering machine, for about four days in a row.”“When?” Susan demanded.“Let’s see now…Melody disappeared on the fourth of July, so it must have been on the eighth that I started calling you. She went out to pick up some Chinese food and never came back. Vanished without a trace.”“What do you mean by Melody ‘vanished without a trace’?”“I called the police and reported her missing. They found nothing. I went down to the daycare center and they said she hadn’t come in to work. Her car was in the parking lot at the strip mall where the Chinese restaurant is. I’m a young widower, Susan—hey, I have another call. Good to hear from ya.” Zander had hung up on her.After quite a bit of work with the pen, the box popped open. Susan scooped and brushed a layer of peanut shaped foam packing material out, dropping it into the chrome trashcan. She gingerly removed an asymmetric object. Peeling back the bubble wrap encircling it, she smiled, marveling at the charming penguins made from black seashells and delicate white eggs, perched on a granite rock. Susan gently ran her finger along the diminutive work of art. Strolling into the living room, she walked over to the curio cabinet and added the exquisite piece to the center of her collection.Her cousin Melody had always spoiled Susan with her beloved feathered creatures, penguins. She still had the stuffed penguin pillow that Melody had sewn for her in seventh grade home economics class. She slept with it every night.Tucking her hair behind her ears, Susan walked back into the kitchen and removed the remaining bubble wrap from the box. Nestled in the bottom was a compact disc. Susan peeled the shrink wrap off the CD, huffing as she picked at the stubborn tape sealing the top edge. Returning to the living room, she pulled her lite jazz CD out of the stereo system and inserted the one from Melody. She glanced over the track listing. It was the latest release from Mister Wright.God, this brings back memories, Susan thought. Melody had posters of him all over the bedroom they shared as teenagers. He was so cute…well, if you like the tall, muscular type with better hair than most women and a killer grin. She wondered what ever happened to good old Mister Wright? But more importantly, what had happened to Melody?Susan had prayed every night, that wherever Melody was and whomever she was with, that she was at peace and happy. And now, this package was proof, Melody was alive and reaching out to her.Unsettled but comforted, Susan commenced tidying her kitchen. Her yellow Labrador retriever, Bob, whimpered. Wiping her fresh teardrops away, she let the seventy-pound puppy out through the sliding glass door in the kitchen that led to the fenced back yard. The fence that she and Brandon had built. It was a four foot tall, Mount Vernon style picket fence. Susan had loved watching him drape a chain between the posts and mark it with a pencil. Then he cut off the top of the boards, making a scalloped pattern. He could do anything.Broom in hand, sweeping the crumbs and golden-white fur from the black and white checkerboard vinyl floor, Susan found herself swaying to the infectious melodies. She’d always loved listening to someone who could really play guitar—someone who could make love with it. Mister Wright’s voice was so sexy. Her whole mood was lifted. So Melody never did get over her teenaged infatuation with good old Mister Wright. His new songs are excellent, right on par with the finest of today’s pop.She let Bob in, then sat at her desk in the kitchen and checked her e-mail. There were only two posts. The first one was an offer for mortgage refinancing. It made her think about the local charity for fallen police officers and firefighters. Those benevolent folks had insisted on paying off Susan’s mortgage and car loan. They also gave her carte blanche for tuition, if she wanted to go back to college for her Master’s degree. They were so generous, offering anything money could buy. For a while, they telephoned or stopped by every week asking, “Just tell us what we can do for you, Missus Cervini. What do you need?”The worst was the day before Thanksgiving last year, when two uniformed police officers showed up with a turkey and all the trimmings. As if she had anyone to cook it for, let alone eat with.With a knot in her stomach, Susan deleted the spam.The second post was an advertisement for penile enlargement. Well, the virtual meanies just had to rub it in today. As if she’d ever see another one of those. She deleted the e-mail and emptied her e-garbage. The last song on the CD ended.Susan clicked on the search box and typed in Mister Wright. Surfing through some fan webpages, she was surprised to learn that he was still writing and recording. Wow, he actually wrote all of his own songs. She was impressed. And the gorgeous photos, the guy didn’t have a bad side. She ogled one picture in particular: he was screaming into a microphone, red guitar in the air, moisture on his tanned, shirtless skin. Oh, look at those arms. Perfectly developed. His chest was covered in dark hair, just the right amount. And those leather pants.Holding her face in her hands, feeling the heat, she shook her head and scrolled down the page. His wife was the most gorgeously glamorous woman she’d ever seen. A living, breathing, thinking Malibu Barbie doll. The kids all took after her. She focused on the lovely doctor, Missus Wright. Susan lamented she wasn’t even half as pretty. She laughed at herself for feeling jealous pangs at the wife of a fallen superstar she didn’t even know.She surfed through a few more sites, hoping to find a concert schedule. No such luck, so she subscribed to his fan e-mailing list at Gobbledygroups.com. Maybe she’d find Melody at a concert. It was certainly worth trying.The doorbell rang. Her eyes grew large as she jumped up and yanked the belt tight on her pink and powder blue chenille robe. She finger combed her hair as she passed by the foyer mirror. She peeked through the peephole. Johnny Newman. Good old Johnny. Susan opened the front door and the storm door.“Hi Johnny. Excuse my appearance, I was reading my e-mail and the morning got away from me.”The tall and buff auburn haired hunk handed her a bouquet of white lilies. “Not a problem. How’d it go at the soup kitchen yesterday?”Susan smiled. “These are for me?”He nodded.“Thank you. What’s the occasion?” As soon as she’d asked the question, she realized it was two years ago today that they’d found Brandon’s remains in the smoldering rubble of Tower One. “Oh—that’s right.” She swallowed hard and pushed the bouquet to her nose, inhaling the sweet scent.He hugged her. She noticed the smoke. A familiar sensory memory of her late husband.As Johnny wiped orange pollen off her nose with his finger, he stared into her eyes, trying to make a connection.Susan looked down and said, “Last Thanksgiving was much easier. It was good being around the other volunteers. But I never want to see another yam ever again.”“What happened?”“I was carrying one of those big aluminum trays and I tripped. I looked like one of the bag ladies myself, with marshmallow matted hair for the rest of the day.”He touched her shoulder. “Sorry.”“It’s okay. It’s kind of funny now. How was work?”“Thanksgiving is always an interesting watch. A couple fire calls for food on the stove. And you get there and everyone is drunk. Grandma and all.” Johnny leaned down to scratch Bob. “So, who’s this guy you’re sending dirty messages to?”“What?” Susan tugged her robe closed at the neck.“Why so much Internet lately?”Embarrassed but enthusiastic about her new found addiction, Susan confessed, “Well, I was hooked on the auction sites, but my credit card statement snapped me out of that nonsense. Then I found Gobbledy Groups and I love chatting with people from all over the world. I’m on a romance readers e-mailing loop, but I just joined a music fan group.”Johnny hung his brown leather bomber jacket on a wall hook built into the mirror over the foyer bench. “What’s the topic?”“Oh, it’s a fan website for Mister Wright.”“I thought he OD’ed.”“No! He’s not a druggie. He’s a good family man. His wife’s a doctor. He takes the kids on tour with him. They’ve got three children.”Johnny did an Elvis smile, out of one side of his mouth. “What happened to the classy Susan who only listened to jazz?”“Would you like some coffee?” she asked, “I don’t make it just for myself, but I can brew a fresh pot for us.”“No, thanks, I’ve had too much. I want to try to get the framing done today.” He turned on the basement light.“Okay, thanks, Johnny. You really don’t have to do this—”He placed a finger on her lips. “Shh…stop it. Brandon was my best buddy. I’m finishing what he started…”Susan wiped a tear from her eye and smiled, looking away. “Let me take a shower, then I’ll come down and give you a hand.”~♥♥~In the basement, Johnny measured and cut the studs for the final wall. He laid them out on the concrete floor, spacing the two-by-fours eighteen inches on center. His mind wandered to how attractive Susan looked this morning, standing in front of him in that robe with her long black hair all tousled. He’d never known anyone else with crayon blue eyes like Susan’s. He’d fallen hard for her the first time their eyes met, at the awards ceremony where Brandon received his medal. Brandon was the one who pulled her out of the apartment fire. Johnny couldn’t compete with her hero. The Lieutenant had Johnny up on the roof, ventilating. Damn it. It should have been him rescuing the goddess from the fire.She had occupied his mind for much of the last six years. The one woman he couldn’t have. In Johnny’s fantasies, he’d steal Susan away from his best friend—the man with whom fate had erroneously paired her. But now all of that had changed.Johnny put his finger on his lips, the one he shushed her with. He softly stroked his mouth. Water clunked through the pipes. Johnny Newman envisioned the chenille robe falling to the floor and Susan stepping into the hot spray. Oh, to be her pump bottle of foaming body wash…~♥♥~Susan inhaled fresh sawdust as she trotted down the unfinished pine stairs. Bob stumbled along in front. Johnny was lifting the last section of framing off the floor. He’d pre-assembled the studs in between the top and bottom boards. That way he didn’t have to toenail them in. Susan helped heave the framing upright. Johnny employed a sledgehammer to gently persuade the tight fitting wall section into place. He adjusted it level, plumb and square.Johnny put on ear protectors. “Cover your ears, sweetheart.”She did as he said and ran to the other side of the basement with Bob at her heels. Johnny used a concrete hammer and little loads of gunpowder to fasten it to the floor. Four loud pops and the wall wasn’t going anywhere.Susan and her puppy trotted back over to him. She took the ear protectors off of Johnny. He smiled.She shook his hand. “You did it!”“Tomorrow I’ll start on the wiring.”“Do you want to bring Jenna over tonight, I’ll cook a nice meal for us?”Johnny shook his head. “Jenna’s outta the picture.”Susan grinned. “The perpetual bachelor. Let me guess. She gave you the old ultimatum, ‘Marry me or we’re through.’ and you said, ‘It’s been fun.’““Somethin’ like that.”“Why don’t you ever settle down, Johnny?”He wanted so badly to blurt it out, but it was too soon. Or was it? He couldn’t blow this one. He shrugged his shoulders.“Well, the invite still stands. I’ll make Mediterranean garlic shrimp. Bring someone else if you’d like. Eight thirty-ish.”“I’ll be here, alone, and I’ll bring dessert.”“It’s a date.”Johnny couldn’t believe she’d said that. She had to mean it, didn’t she?Susan said, “Bob! No! No eating sawdust! Spit it out, now.” She leaned down and swept the yellow pine fluff out of his mouth. “You go get in your playpen, right now. Get in your playpen.” She chased him up the stairs.Johnny said, “Sorry, it’s my fault.” He wondered if she really had said the word date. He had to be reading into things. He shop-vacuumed up the sawdust before joining Susan and Bob upstairs. His pulse raced.Susan followed him to the door. “Thanks, Johnny.”He grabbed his coat and kissed her cheek, something he’d never done before. “Bye.” Johnny hurried to his fire engine red pick-up truck.Susan locked the door and trotted to the kitchen, where she sprawled on the floor, petting Bob. He nuzzled her face, sniffing. For the first time, she felt uncomfortable around Johnny. There was something different in that kiss. Could he be flirting with her? No way. FDNY’s most eligible bachelor wouldn’t be wasting his talents on her. He dated models and lawyers.Susan sucked a breath in all the way down to her stomach. Nobody would ever be interested in her again. Not romantically. She remembered the mailman and a couple jerk firemen hitting on her. They figured she was a horny widow. Well, they were right, but she wasn’t yearning for just a release. She’d been in love. True love. She couldn’t ever just have sex. Susan needed a man to make love to her. To be one with her. Fully Involved Fire:
United States US eBook: Apple  ARe  Diesel Kindle  Kobo  Nook  Smashwords  SonyUnited States US Paperback: Amazon  Barnes and Noble  CreateSpace  Books A Million
Australia AU eBook:  AppleBrazil BR eBook:  Kindle Apple
Canada CA eBook: Sony Kindle  Apple
Canada CA Paperback:  Amazon 
German DE eBook:  Kindle Apple
Denmark DK eBook:  Apple
Spain ES eBook:  Kindle  Apple
France FR eBook:  Kindle  Apple
Italy IT eBook:  Kindle  Apple
Japan JP eBook:  Kindle
New Zealand eBook:  Apple
Sweden SE eBook:  Apple 
   United Kingdom UK eBook:  Nook  Kindle   Apple
United Kingdom UK Paperback:  Amazon