Where have all the gentlemen gone?

I've been accused of writing men who are "not at all heroic." Men who cheat on their wives or girlfriends. Men who are egotistical and self-centered. Men who are hungry for sex, yet light on the commitment.

Yeah, yeah. I know we all want the fantasy, but sometimes, I feel it's necessary to write a character who's...how can I put this...um...human.

All right. Lucas K. Jackson (of Rolling In Clover) cheated on his wife. Romantic Times BOOKclub warned readers of this fact, in the event this might "bother" them. Let me let you in on a little secret: It's supposed to bother them. Shhhh. Don't tell anyone I did it on purpose.

What RT failed to mention is that Luke's life is a little less than desirable right now. His high school sweetheart-turned-wife, Diane, has been having an affair with a guy she met while he was busy serving our country in Desert Storm. She had this man's child, and Luke, for the sake of his marriage and their older son, claims and loves Rachael as his own. Although he's trying to be a stand-up guy, he's also been criticized for not leaving his wife. (Actually, I take the brunt of this criticism, but I'll do anything for one of my heroes. Wink, wink.)

Rolling In Clover is a bit more of a mainstream story than a romance, but I've always been surprised at the strong reactions this book garners. I've been told this tale grips and squeezes, stays with readers long after they close the book, yet it also offends them. Readers want Luke to be happy, but they don't want him to find happiness through the single venue he sees--which happens to be winning Kimberley Roderick's heart. True, he could tell Diane to stick it, move out, see his kids on the weekends, and brave it alone for a while. But he's been feeling alone ever since he climbed into that tank, and, Lord, if he doesn't deserve a warm shoulder to cry on...

I've spent a ton of time pondering this emotional tug-of-war. Gentlemen don't cheat. Gentlemen don't drop their ladies in mud puddles. Gentlemen don't keep secrets, put up with s**t, or woo only for the sake of the almighty orgasm.

But men do, and women fall in love with men every day. Ergo, occasionally, you're going to get a hero from me who's a little less than perfect. Maybe his rock-hard abs, gorgeous brown eyes, and desire to be a great man will magnetize you, regardless.

An excerpt follows:

"This is an emotional tale touching on several weighty issues, including addiction and the everyday choices people make. This is not your average romance..."--Kristi Ahlers, Romantic Times Reviews

Rolling In Clover by Penny Dawn
ISBN: 1-59279-529-3 (Electronic)
ISBN: 1-59279-736-9 (Paperback)

Kimberley Roderick has it all—a healthy daughter, a beautiful home, hired help…and a husband with addictions. Too bad his compulsions don’t include family life. He spends his weeks on the road and his weekends in the fast lane, leaving Kimberley to play the dangerous game of “What-if?” and wallow in regret for choices made long ago. Materialistically, she has everything a woman could ever want, but her husband is incapable of giving the one thing she needs—unwavering devotion.

Luke Jackson has problems of his own. His roof leaks, his faithful dog’s seen better days, and the only woman he’s ever loved can’t stand to look at him, let alone sleep with him. Five years ago, she had another man’s child, but Luke holds it together for the sake of their eight-year-old son…and the memory of his wife’s desire. With the help of a therapist, he strives to forgive her and win back her affection. Until he meets a beautiful woman severely in need of attention herself.

What begins as a chance meeting between Kimberley and Luke blossoms into attraction and skyrockets into temptation. Luke anticipated guilt. Kimberley predicted emotional chaos. But neither expected powerful and undeniable love.

They weren’t looking to find each other, but the best gifts in life are surprises, bestowed upon the lucky.

Genres: Contemporary
Heat Level: 1
Length: Novel (59k words)

In the dim light of dawn, Lucas Jackson opened a door in his modest hallway and peered into a bedroom decorated with purple butterflies. Rachael’s five-year-old fingers mindlessly twirled a shredded piece of white satin, the only remnant of a cherished baby blanket, in her sleep. He’d grown to love her. It wasn’t her fault she wasn’t his.

He’d named her and cut her umbilical cord, for God’s sake, and that’s all that mattered. Well, that and forgiveness, his constant challenge. With the help of a snot-nosed therapist, whom Luke doubted knew much about women, and much less about marriage, he would work through the anger, let go of the hurt.

As quietly as possible, he closed his would-be daughter’s door and walked along a worn path in the carpeting to the next room, where Caleb, his eldest, still slept. Luke sat on the edge of the bed and placed a hand on his son’s back. The dinosaur pajamas were far too small, but they were Caleb’s favorites.

Children became attached to things quickly and unpredictably. Luke had become attached to their mother in much the same way, when he fell head first in love at the age of sixteen. A long time ago, she’d loved him, and God overcame the birth control pill, giving them the greatest gift in the world—his son.

Just outside Caleb’s door, an ancient retriever awaited him, a golden tail wagging its own version of joy. Luke had adopted Derby in high school, and over the years, the dog had been a faithful companion. More faithful than his wife. And although every step likely challenged the dog, he accompanied his master down the stairs to the foyer.

Luke yanked a sweatshirt off the halltree he’d built last spring. He’d assembled the piece with painstaking care, routing the edges with an ogee bit, carefully rubbing the maple grain with a henna stain. At an antique hardware store in downtown Chicago, he’d found four wrought iron coat hooks and a vintage cup-pull for the mitten drawer under the seat.

When he’d completed the labor of love, Diane didn’t thank him. “After years of dirt across my floor,” she’d said, “it’s about time you gave the kids a place to take off their shoes.”

She now scuttled in the kitchen, slamming cabinet doors, slapping a towel against the countertop. “Do you think just once you can find the fucking dishwasher?”

Satan incarnate. The Discovery Channel had recently reported on the phenomenon early psychologists coined “hysteria.” Premenstrual Syndrome transformed an ordinarily level-headed woman into a crazy person. Diane’s PMS was constant, unrelenting.

“Look at this, will you?” She whipped a sponge into the sink, piled with his dinner dishes. “It isn’t enough for me to clean up after the kids? I have to wipe your nose, too?”

He neglected to respond, simply slipped his arms into his jacket.

“If you can put some time aside,” she said, “I’ll explain the concept to you once again: dishes on the racks, soap in this convenient little compartment, turn the knob to on.”

He’d like to turn a knob all right. Maybe he’d help out around the house if she’d sweeten the deal in the bedroom.

“Are you listening to me?” Six months older than he, she’d recently turned thirty-two. But the scowl in her eyes was that of an old, crotchety woman.

Over the years, her once-blonde hair had become dry and brassy, her complexion, sallow. She lost far too much weight after Rachael was born, making her bony and breastless. However, it was not her physical attributes—or lack thereof—that he’d found unattractive. When she rested in peaceful sleep, she was as beautiful as the day they’d met. In her continuous state of tirade, however, she might as well be adorned with green horns and a spiked tail.

“I said, are you listening to me?”

“Yes, Diane, I’m listening to you.”

“Are you taking the dog out?”

“I’m going to work out,” Luke said. “And then I have my session with Dr. Schaeffer.”

“He’s your damn dog.”

Yeah, well, half of Rachael is some idiot’s sperm, but I love her anyway. He turned toward the staircase, where Derby rested, filling the entire landing. He whistled a low tone. “Come on, boy.”

The old pup lifted his head and meandered toward him. Diane had once loved Derby, too, had walked him up to Luke’s football games, proudly displaying number eleven on her back. For six years after graduation, only the field and the game changed. Furlan’s Field at the Fort Sheridan Reserve Base, where he played working man’s softball. A peaceful, if not predictable life…until Uncle Sam had beckoned Luke to exotic Saudi Arabia.

And shortly after he’d returned, he and Diane learned that ninety-nine percent effective meant exactly what it sounded like. No time for games of any sort with his boy on the way.

“All right,” Luke said, massaging Derby’s ears when the dog perched at his feet. “You can wait in the truck. I’ll leave it running with the heat on.”

“That’s all we need.” Diane slammed the dishwasher shut. “Another through-the-roof bill on the gas card. It’s not that cold out there, you know.”

With a deep, tired sigh, Luke shoved his hands through his hair. He had to get out. Out of the house, out of this marriage, out of this life. But unlike a previous, monumental exit, in which he’d carried everything he owned out the door, this absence would encompass only an hour or two.

He’d have to make the most of it. He couldn’t live without his children.

Once Derby settled into the cab, taking up much of the bench seat, Luke twisted his wedding ring, and, for a fleeting second, he considered hiding it among the coins in the ashtray. He’d put it back on after his workout, in time for Dr. Know-It-All to pick his brain and place every blame in the world on his shoulders.

Halfway over his knuckle, he shoved the ring back on. Damn it, she was his wife. And as much as he wished he didn’t, he loved her.

To gather more information about or to purchase Rolling In Clover, click here: http://www.amberquill.com/AmberHeat/RollingClover.html

Penny Dawn
www.pennydawn.com
Romance...with a Passion!