Rebecca McKeehan
Bio
At 59, I'm still a Navy brat with a whole lifetime of interesting experiences that provide rich inspiration for my writing. I write short stories, of which my romances are best known, poetry, and the occasional article/essay.
Stories (20/0)
A Shining Example
Dear Grand-Aunt Wanda~ For as far back as I can remember, you've been my hero. You've unknowingly inspired the girl I was with your example and later by repeatedly encouraging me in many ways. Your response to my first letter, what actually amounted to a fan letter, after being told repeatedly that you would never reply, was thrilling. Did you have any idea what it meant to receive that letter? I felt as if a hand had been offered with a promise of lifting me up and in the years since you have certainly done just that.
By Rebecca McKeehan2 years ago in Families
Finding You Again
The O'Toole's were a large, gregarious bunch. Well over a hundred members of the extended family were gathered on the grounds of Weeping Widow State Park for their bi-annual reunion around picnic tables laden with food and smoking grills barbecuing a wide assortment of meat. Elder members sat on lawn chairs alongside young mothers holding babies, sharing stories from their own youth, while men congregated in groups, laughing as they shared their recent hunting and fishing successes, or indulging in the good natured trash talk of fans for opposing sports teams. In the field alongside the gathering area a rowdy game of football was underway. No touch football here. It was full body contact with rules that were ambiguous at best. Anyone looking on from outside would have been surprised to see young women amongst the players, every bit as fierce as their male relatives, and they were neither asking nor giving any semblance of quarter. In pockets throughout the gathering, musicians played guitars, harmonicas, and the occasional banjo in a variety of musical genres, adding a lively soundtrack to the occasion.
By Rebecca McKeehan2 years ago in Fiction
Reunited
“You're a real bitch, Jessie!” “Yeah, I know. But you love me anyway. Now, can you give me five more?” Jessica Tremayne smiled encouragingly as she watched the big, burly Marine finish the last of his workout. He had come a long way in four months, from being barely able to move to now being able to do a good portion of the upper body workout that had been his regimen before the IED, improvised explosive device, had robbed him of the use of his legs. The workouts had been key to his ability to maneuver himself in and out of the wheelchair, thus giving him the independence to continue living a productive and rewarding life. His attitude had also improved as he had channeled his bitterness and anger into the kind of dogged determination to deny defeat the Corps was known for. His reward would be release from the VA hospital in two days time. Happily, he had a supportive wife and family waiting for him. Not all of them did.
By Rebecca McKeehan2 years ago in Fiction
Ignition
Melody Anderson paused after lifting the crate of bottled water onto the folding banquet table to gaze at the glow over the mountain. The fire had been burning for several days now and with the drought conditions as they were it didn't look like it was going to be contained any time soon. There was a steady stream of men and women coming in from the front lines to rest and recuperate as they can before going back. They were all so exhausted. Yet they doggedly fought on against a terrible foe that was eating everything in its path.
By Rebecca McKeehan2 years ago in Fiction
Out of the Wilderness
Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming, Summer 1944 The Canyon Hotel, imposing and man-made though it was, sat comfortably amidst the wilderness that was Yellowstone. The murmur of voices around him began to crescendo as his fellow travelers caught their first glimpse at what would be their home for however long they happened to be there. For Robert Rousselli it really was almost like coming home.
By Rebecca McKeehan2 years ago in Fiction
Strawberries in the Spring
The old woman sat before the tall window with the lacy curtains pulled gently aside, slowly rocking in a Boston rocker. The house was silent but for the soft creaking of the chair and the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. Outside an early February snow was falling gently through the old oaks that surrounded her small house, while inside a coal burning stove kept the air stifling hot. Yet, still she chilled.
By Rebecca McKeehan2 years ago in Fiction
Worth Waiting For
The Arizona sun beat down unmercifully, creating shimmers of heat that rose from the asphalt highway that stretched forever in both directions. Debbie Williams, her gray eyes shielded behind dark sunglasses, looked out from where she sat sideways behind the steering wheel of her car, with its hood up, windows down and doors open, and sipped her third bottle of water. Triple A had promised someone would be in here within an hour. An hour had come and gone. She sighed as she watched a coyote traipse through scrub among the saguaro cactus not too far away. She wasn't worried about the coyote. She was more afraid of snakes. But at this time of day they would most likely be holed up under a rock somewhere.
By Rebecca McKeehan2 years ago in Fiction
Sky High
Five years ago today, at almost one o'clock in the afternoon, 28-year-old Jonah Makes Peace grew up. On that day he had been sitting casually with his partner on an iron beam some twelve stories up, eating his lunch and talking about the rowdy weekend they were planning with their girlfriends, when he had been ordered to the site office. He remembered his surprise and the feeling of unease as he and his partner had made their way down. Instinctively he had known this wasn't going to be good. They would never have hauled him down without there being a serious reason.
By Rebecca McKeehan2 years ago in Fiction
Sweet Heaven
“Oh, God!” Megan's prayer was heartfelt as she stared into the mirror, pinching her already pink cheeks with trembling fingers and debating feverishly if a few swipes of mascara wouldn't be appropriate. Should she change into a clean pair of slacks, or a skirt, or stay in her old jeans and t-shirt? Should she put her hair up or leave it down? A part of her mind, the more mature part, was wondering exasperatedly what in the name of heaven was wrong with her. Here she was, a woman grown, still acting like a swooning girl over someone who should be like a brother to her.
By Rebecca McKeehan2 years ago in Fiction
As He's Written
"Write me." The words whispered through Bethany's mind, separate from the strange, disjointed dreams of deep slumber. The voice was familiar, if indistinct. It touched something deeply held, a wish, a longing, an urgency that tugged at her and drew her to the surface of consciousness.
By Rebecca McKeehan3 years ago in Fiction
Cabin in the Dawn
Eastern Tennessee, 1924 Lucas sat exhausted, leaning back against the trunk of an old growth hemlock tree. Feeling along his side, he found the improvised bandage that held moss in place over the bullet hole from a small caliber weapon and was relieved to find no evidence of further blood loss. The bullet had entered the fleshy part of his body, missing vital organs and was still in there. And it hurt like hell. But right now that was the least of his worries.
By Rebecca McKeehan3 years ago in Fiction