Soldier's Honor: Honor Valley Holidays, #7

By Shanae Johnson

Two hearts under command—will love be their ultimate mission?

 

Colonel Larry Sharp is a man of discipline and duty. Newly assigned to the Honor Valley military base, he's devoted to modernizing operations and mentoring the next generation of military leaders. But despite his best efforts, he struggles to connect with his younger subordinates.

 

Andrea Madden is the colonel's new assistant. Andrea has a past that has left her yearning for stability. She dreams of putting down roots in this tight-knit community. Professional and poised, she expertly manages Larry's life—so efficiently, in fact, that she begins to break through the walls around his heart.

 

But when a stolen kiss between the stoic colonel and his young secretary threatens to dismantle the trust and respect, they've both painstakingly built with the team, the budding relationship is tested. Rumors swirl, jeopardizing not just Larry's career, but Andrea's newly formed ties to the community she's come to love. 

 

In a world where duty reigns supreme, can love find a way to salute? As old wounds and new affections collide, Larry and Andrea must decide what they're willing to risk for a love that could set them both free.

Soldier's Honor is a heartwarming small town military romance that explores the power of love, growth, and healing. With the age gap, office romance, and opposites attract tropes at its core, this story will sweep you away and leave you rooting for Andrea and Larry's happily ever after.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Those Johnson Girls
• Release date: Jan 9, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223610304

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Andrea Madden's heart raced as she stood at the entrance of the Honor Valley military base, taking in the enormity of her new surroundings. The morning sun cast a warm glow over the impeccably maintained grounds. The air buzzed with an intensity that was almost palpable. As the sweet scent of fresh-cut grass filled her nostrils, Andrea felt the perfect blend of nervousness and excitement coursing through her veins. She knew that this new role as an assistant was more than just a job; it was a chance to find the stability and community she had been craving for so long.

Adjusting the strap of her purse on her shoulder, she mustered up the courage to take the first step toward her new life. As she crossed the threshold, she felt awestruck by the hustle and bustle that unfolded before her. Soldiers marched in unison along the paved pathways, their boots clicking in time like a well-oiled machine. Officers barked orders in voices that carried across the wind, bringing with them an undeniable sense of purpose and devotion. The American flag flew high and proud above it all, a symbol of unity and strength for everyone who called this place home.

Excuse me, miss? a voice called out, pulling Andrea from her reverie. A young soldier, barely older than herself, approached her with a friendly smile. Are you Ms. Madden?

Yes, that's me.

The soldier extended his hand for a handshake. I'm Private Jameson. I'm here to escort you to your office, ma'am.

Andrea accepted the greeting with a firm grip. As they began walking to her new office, she marveled at the sense of camaraderie that seemed to permeate through every interaction.

As they passed by a group of officers engaged in animated conversation, Andrea's gaze fell upon one individual in particular. His cropped dark hair and athletic build exuded confidence, even from a distance. The touch of gray at his temples made him look distinguished. It wasn't that she had a thing for older men. But she could admit that there was something about the wisdom and certainty that came with age.

The man must have sensed her staring because his gaze turned her way. She gasped, feeling like prey caught in a predator's snare. Swallowing, she turned a corner, and the man was out of sight. That was the only way she broke his gaze. And just as well.

Here's your office, Private Jameson announced, opening the door to reveal a small, cluttered space that had clearly seen better days.

Andrea stepped inside, taking in the stacks of disorganized paperwork, scattered pens, and dusty old computer. Her desk was far from welcoming, but she refused to be discouraged.

Colonel Sharp's office is just next door, Private Jameson said, nodding in the direction of a closed door with a brass nameplate. He's in charge of base operations, and I should warn you–he can be quite strict and demanding. He expects nothing less than the best from his personnel.

Thank you for the heads-up, Andrea replied, her eyes focused on Colonel Sharp's door.

Good luck, Ms. Madden, Private Jameson said, giving her an encouraging smile before excusing himself and leaving her to face her new responsibilities.

Surveying the room once more, Andrea rolled up her sleeves and began to tackle the disarray. She felt a sense of responsibility to not only prove herself to Colonel Sharp but also to contribute meaningfully to the vital work being done at the Honor Valley military base.

As she busied herself with organizing the desk, Andrea's mind raced with plans and ideas for how to improve her office and make it a reflection of her own dedication to the job. She envisioned a space that was functional, yet warm; a sanctuary where she could focus on her tasks and contribute to the base's success.

Colonel Sharp may be strict, Andrea mused, carefully arranging pens in a cup, but if I can prove myself as a valuable asset to his team, perhaps we can develop a strong working relationship.

Five minutes later, her resolve was shaken when she pulled open the first drawer of the filing cabinet and had to back away. Inside the drawer was a jumble of folders and loose papers, their contents seemingly unrelated. Memories of her childhood began to surface–visions of her mother's cluttered home and the constant struggle to find order amid the chaos.

Order wasn't just a preference for Andrea; it was a need. Order, cleanliness, everything in its right place; that's what kept her grounded. The thought of disorganization made her skin crawl, a hangover from her childhood. Her mother had been the epitome of disorder, a woman whose concept of cleanliness was an oxymoron. Andrea recalled the dread she’d felt as a kid, making the short trek from her obsessively neat bedroom to the cluttered, obstacle-ridden living room. It was like navigating a minefield.

The kitchen was worse. Andrea's stomach churned at the memory of her mother's eating habits of pulling a dirty dish from the sink, giving it a perfunctory rinse, and piling food onto it. It was stomach-turning, a blatant disrespect for the dignity that food, and the act of eating it, deserved.

She remembered the sense of relief she’d felt when she was young and realized that school breakfasts and lunches adhered to her idea of culinary order. School lunch trays were her sanctuary, compartmentalized havens where mashed potatoes never invaded the green beans and gravy never seeped into the peaches. Each section of the tray was like a separate room in a house, where every item had