The House At Sunset Beach
Sunset SEALs Book 5
Sharon Hamilton
Sharon Hamilton’s Book List
SEAL BROTHERHOOD BOOKS
SEAL BROTHERHOOD SERIES
Accidental SEAL Book 1
Fallen SEAL Legacy Book 2
SEAL Under Covers Book 3
SEAL The Deal Book 4
Cruisin’ For A SEAL Book 5
SEAL My Destiny Book 6
SEAL of My Heart Book 7
Fredo’s Dream Book 8
SEAL My Love Book 9
SEAL Encounter Prequel to Book 1
SEAL Endeavor Prequel to Book 2
Ultimate SEAL Collection Vol. 1 Books 1-4 /2 Prequels
Ultimate SEAL Collection Vol. 2 Books 5-7
BAD BOYS OF SEAL TEAM 3 SERIES
SEAL’s Promise Book 1
SEAL My Home Book 2
SEAL’s Code Book 3
Big Bad Boys Bundle Books 1-3
BAND OF BACHELORS SERIES
Lucas Book 1
Alex Book 2
Jake Book 3
Jake 2 Book 4
Big Band of Bachelors Bundle
BONE FROG BROTHERHOOD SERIES
New Year’s SEAL Dream Book 1
SEALed At The Altar Book 2
SEALed Forever Book 3
SEAL’s Rescue Book 4
SEALed Protection Book 5
SUNSET SEALS SERIES
SEALed at Sunset
Second Chance SEAL
Treasure Island SEAL
Escape to Sunset
The House at Sunset Beach
SILVER SEALS SERIES
SEAL Love’s Legacy
SLEEPER SEALS SERIES
Bachelor SEAL
BONE FROG BACHELOR SERIES
Bone Frog Bachelor
STAND ALONE BOOKS & SERIES
SEAL’s Goal: The Beautiful Game
Nashville SEAL: Jameson
True Blue SEALS Zak
Paradise: In Search of Love
Love Me Tender, Love You Hard
NOVELLAS
SEAL You In My Dreams Magnolias and Moonshine
PARANORMALS
GOLDEN VAMPIRES OF TUSCANY SERIES
Honeymoon Bite Book 1
Mortal Bite Book 2
Christmas Bite Book 3
Midnight Bite Book 4
THE GUARDIANS
Heavenly Lover Book 1
Underworld Lover Book 2
Underworld Queen Book 3
Redemption Book 4
FALL FROM GRACE SERIES
Gideon: Heavenly Fall
NOVELLAS
SEAL Of Time Trident Legacy
All of Sharon’s books are available on Audible, narrated by the talented J.D. Hart.
About the Book
SEAL Team 3 member Andy Carr is liking his Florida digs – the call of the seabirds and the roaring of the ocean at his back door. Sunset Beach is also the place where he found his soulmate, Aimee, rescuing her from an abusive relationship with another teammate – a sticky situation that nearly lost him his Trident.
But they’ve embarked on renovating the little house at Sunset she found while they were falling in love, and this house means more to them than just glass, wood and sheetrock.
Andy begins to reconsider his membership in the Trident Club and is called in another direction as Aimee also searches the bars and halfway houses for her long lost brother after her ghost sighting of him.
He vows to protect her until his last day on earth, but Aimee can run into trouble all her own, especially when he’s gone overseas.
Now that they’ve found the perfect love, the perfect house to consider laying down roots and raising a family, will echoes from their past destroy the harmony of their romance? Andy always fights to win, but what if he loses?
Begin Reading
Dedication
About the Author
Table of Contents
Copyright © 2020 by Sharon Hamilton
Kindle Edition
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. In many cases, liberties and intentional inaccuracies have been taken with rank, description of duties, locations and aspects of the SEAL community.
License Notes
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Author’s Note
I always dedicate my SEAL Brotherhood books to the brave men and women who defend our shores and keep us safe. Without their sacrifice, and that of their families—because a warrior’s fight always includes his or her family—I wouldn’t have the freedom and opportunity to make a living writing these stories. They sometimes pay the ultimate price so we can debate, argue, go have coffee with friends, raise our children and see them have children of their own.
One of my favorite tributes to warriors resides on many memorials, including one I saw honoring the fallen of WWII on an island in the Pacific:
“When you go home
Tell them of us, and say
For your tomorrow,
We gave our today.”
These are my stories created out of my own imagination. Anything that is inaccurately portrayed is either my mistake, or done intentionally to disguise something I might have overheard over a beer or in the corner of one of the hangouts along the Coronado Strand.
I support two main charities. Navy SEAL/UDT Museum operates in Ft. Pierce, Florida. Please learn about this wonderful museum, all run by active and former SEALs and their friends and families, and who rely on public support, not that of the U.S. Government.
www.navysealmuseum.org
I also support Wounded Warriors, who tirelessly bring together the warrior as well as the family members who are just learning to deal with their soldier’s condition and have nowhere to turn. It is a long path to becoming well, but I’ve seen first-hand what this organization does for its warriors and the families who love them. Please give what your heart tells you is right. If you cannot give, volunteer at one of the many service centers all over the United States. Get involved. Do something meaningful for someone who gave so much of themselves, to families who have paid the price for your freedom. You’ll find a family there unlike any other on the planet.
www.woundedwarriorproject.org
Table of Contents
Title Page
Sharon Hamilton’s Book List
About the Book
Copyright Page
Author’s Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
About the Author
Reviews
SEAL Prayer
Chapter 1
Christmas Week 1980
Hank Borges scanned his living room at the house he’d rented at Sunset Beach on the Florida Gulf Coast. It didn’t feel like Christmas. The sun was too bright, the weather too warm. He didn’t even have a Christmas tree. It felt like the middle of the summer in New York City.
There were more crumpled pieces of paper lying all around him, making him into a human hamster, than acceptable pages of his manuscript stacked neatly in a box on his right. It might’ve made him chuckle except for the fact that with this sea of rejected words scattered all over the floor meant he was failing. Failing to get this book out on time.
Christmas didn’t have anything to do with it.
Ba Humbug.
As a successful science fiction author of some thirty widely acclaimed bestselling novels, he had a reputation and following much to be envied by the literary world. He was lucky enough to have fans and fans of fans—sons and daughters, grandson of fans—who had read him over his nearly twenty-year career, which was ignited as a struggling psychology major his sophomore year in college.
He’d taken an elective creative writing course and fell in love with his sensual teacher, Miss Cohn, a child Holocaust survivor whose shapely legs and beautiful lips were so oddly mismatched to the numbers tattooed into her forearm. Most of Hank’s friends were going to sock hops and dance parties, learning the Twist and the Mashed Potatoes, screaming over Elvis Pressley. Hank’s passions lay elsewhere, between the pages of his favorite futuristic fantasy novels.
She couldn’t have been more than ten years his senior. He almost stalked her, finding places he could run into her until she agreed to talk to him about his writing—without scaring her, of course. She was a beautiful, fragile creature and Hank’s heart was completely enchanted. The rest of the world disappeared when he thought about her.
“Aliens? You wish to write about aliens?” she’d said in her slight German accent. Her honey-brown hair drifted across her face as she lifted it back behind her ear. Her smile set his heart on fire.
Did she know?
“I love reading science fiction,” he’d stammered.
He watched her brown eyes widen, was distracted with the crease at the right side of her upper lip. She waited for him to elaborate.
“What is most important I think is if you think I have any talent. I have this—” he hesitated to speak the words but did anyhow—“this passion for writing now. You’ve inspired me, Miss Cohn.”
She actually blushed, her long dark lashes caressing the top of her cheeks as she looked down demurely. He’d always wondered how something so horrible could happen to such a delicate creature. He wondered how God could be so cruel. And was it wrong that he was attracted to her? Maybe he’d burn in hell for his crime of sitting in front of her presence, the strength of her womanhood and her resiliency infusing him with something more than admiration. It was a genuine major young man’s first crush. His father would beat the crap out of him if he ever found out.
She was forbidden fruit. She was not only his teacher, but she was also Jewish, something his Italian Catholic father would never tolerate.
But when had Hank ever done what he was supposed to do? He was always skirting the edge of something naughty. He never laid a hand on her that summer. But he loved her nonetheless, as she edited his first fledgling pages and made story suggestions that made him dive into lost weekends with his typewriter. She was a part of every book heroine he wrote after that. They all had brown eyes and big lips. They all had a deep crease at the side of those lips where her flesh mated in a half-smile.
His agent said it was a fluke. But fluke or no, Hank never went back to college. He never found out what became of her and it filled him with regret.
Now there were two motion pictures based on his book series, and three others optioned and in the works. He was contracted for at least two and hopefully three books for his publisher this year, but due to an editorial dust-up late last year, he’d canceled one publishing date, bought out his contract, costing him nearly thirty thousand dollars, and had rescheduled with a new imprint. That set him back a good two books, yet, he was still behind for the new publisher. He told himself he was too good—too experienced—to be dealing with this, but that was the truth.
This is rookie madness. He gave himself a quick imaginary kick in the seat of the pants and shouted internally, “Get over it!”
But as he stared at the grinning face of his IBM Selectric typewriter, he identified what was happening. He had a full-blown case of writer’s block. The word made his bowels churn.
Standing up to stretch, he walked to the sliding glass door, crunching on balls of wadded paper as he did so. This sweet little beach house was the refuge he rented every time he wrote a new book. This house at Sunset Beach, had always been his lucky charm. It was sort of his secret dose of kryptonite. Well, not kryptonite exactly, his secret dose of vitamins. His secret weapon. This little place at Sunset Beach overlooking the tiny waves and the sugary sand had always been inspirational to him. The words always seem to flow, and the stories just kept coming.
But this time it was different. As if he had a defective muffler, the words choked like chunks of carbon caught in a filter, causing pressure and an invisible black cloud. He told himself he was too talented to have writer’s block.
But that’s exactly where he was. He was blocked, tethered to this royal blue typewriter. The contract he was in danger of blowing off would cost him a lot more than the first one he’d bought back. It was money his soon-to-be ex-wife had already spent on God knows what. He was backing out on that contract with her, too, and at an even greater cost. His demanding wife back in New York City, his children and all his adoring fans were waiting with bated breath for his new release for all sorts of reasons.
Sadly, it was beginning to look like he was going to fail this time, again! And just like the grand schemes in his epic novels, his failure would sweep over his career like an epidemic. He had fears that he would never be able to write a book again. That no one would want to read him. Maybe no one wanted to read him now. Maybe that’s why it was so difficult for him to write.
“Christ! What the hell am I doing with my life?”
But not one of the menageries of characters in his head answered him. The sliding glass door fogged up, and then cleared, revealing a beautiful, sunny day at the beach. Life was perfect for everyone else in the world, even the imaginary world, except him.
How he wished he could play in the sand like the people he watched through the window. They didn’t seem to have a care in the world. There were children with family members parked under umbrellas and on lawn chairs. There were groups of young men spread out on towels viewing groups of young women also spread out on towels. There was generous sharing of suntan lotion. Everyone had sunglasses. Some had floppy hats, which Hank would have to wear, because he hadn’t been outside on the beach one day since he’d arrived a month ago.
Well, maybe it was time for him to venture outside, face the ocean, face the sand, face his would-be fans—as if they knew how famous he was. Maybe it was time to get baked like a lobster, wear Noxzema on his nose, a floppy hat. Or perhaps, like his main character, Captain Sampson and his alcoholic blue vampire android second-in-command, he should down a half a bottle of scotch, hit the warp speed and boomerang to another galaxy in his drunken stupor. Maybe then, as he ached in his sunburned state, he might be able to write again. It might take something like that for him to
be able to perform. It would be like lighting himself on fire.
He shuddered. This was bad. Very bad indeed.
Hank’s estranged wife was out shopping for townhouses in very expensive neighborhoods, anticipating a settlement that would put her up in style for the rest of her life. He didn’t mind paying child support, as he figured was owed, and he appreciated that his wife agreed to have full custody of the girls, so that he could visit on special holidays. After all, he was Hank Borges, the famous science fiction author. He felt uncomfortable being daddy, and always had.
He loved his girls, but he didn’t think he was very good for them, and, according to his wife, he wasn’t. It just seemed a lot easier to go along with the program she’d devised, albeit expensive. There were wars you could win and wars you never would win. This one was a war he would never be able to win. He’d take a chance that when the girls became young adults, began to raise families of their own, they would appreciate him more.
Hank shed his pajamas and donned a T-shirt and a pair of swimming trunks, along with a pair of zoris. He put on a red beach hat that he had found at the grocery store one year, flattened and floppy. He’d packed it in his suitcase every year he came to Sunset Beach, and although he never used it, did look well-worn. Just from the packing.
Like my writing career, he thought.
At the doorway, he stepped out as if he had complete snorkel gear, flippers and a mouthpiece stuck in his piehole. He felt ridiculous in this get up, but he proceeded to the beach anyway.
He was headed for a little slice of sugary white sand beach between a group of young men and a little group of pretty twenty-something girls working the sand on their knees. In their bikinis and ponytails, they were obviously college age girls, down for a weekend or a week during the holidays, shedding their family and traditions as well, just like Hank was.
It was a cliche just like so much of what he’d written this morning and tossed away, but the girls wore ice cream colors and all with different coloring. One girl was a brunette, with an equally bronzed light coffee mocha skin and complexion to go with it. One girl was red haired, another was a very light blonde. The young lady furthest away was a mahogany-colored young woman with pale peach skin with a long ponytail that extended all the way down her backside to her waist.
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