Soldier's Guidance: Honor Valley Romances, #12

By Shanae Johnson

His quest for guidance directed him to her heart.

 

Jorge Mendendez, a devoted single father and former soldier, grapples with the complexities of raising his teenage son amidst the echoes of a failed marriage. When a fishing trip reels in a beautiful siren, father and son's world is turned upside down when Jorge's carefully guarded heart is challenged by the possibility of a new beginning.

 

Dakota Shiver is no stranger to feeling unnoticed. Yet, her past encounters with Jorge, the once unreachable star of their high school, have left an indelible mark on her heart. A turn of her ankle, lands Dakota in the strong arms of the crush she's never forgotten. But while Jorge doesn't remember their past, could Dakota convince him to consider a future together?

 

As they navigate the unpredictable waters of their growing connection, Jorge, scarred by love's past battles, must learn to lower his defenses and embrace vulnerability. Dakota, in turn, faces her own fears of invisibility, learning that to be seen, she must first see herself.

Soldier's Guidance is a heartwarming small town military romance that explores the power of love, growth, and healing. With the single dad and second chance at love tropes at its core, this story will sweep you away and leave you rooting for Dakota and Jorge's happily ever after.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Those Johnson Girls
• Release date: Mar 14, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224133338

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Jorge Mendendez sat idly at the stoplight. His mind was a chaotic swirl of thoughts that went from his teenaged son's latest antics at school and his ex-wife's upcoming nuptials. Jorge felt like he was a gong inside of a church bell. Only instead of ringing against first one side then the other every hour, the bell never stopped tolling.

The hum of the town around him faded into a low hum of honks and distant chatter, a soundtrack to his musings. He reached for the music console to turn on something more soothing to tune out the ringing in his ears. Only one singer's deep melodic voice would fit the bill.

He was stopped at a stop sign in a residential area. His car had been standing for three seconds. What was three more while he cued the song on the CD player? His index finger hovered over the play button as a car honked behind him.

Jorge rolled forward. His foot left the brake—only to slam back down when a sudden flash of red jumped out in front of him. On second glance, it wasn't a flash of red, but a woman's crimson hair in his peripheral vision.

The screech of tires against asphalt pierced the air, followed by a thud on the hood of his car. The woman halted, her hands braced on the hood. Her wide blue eyes locked with his through the windshield.

Time stuttered. Her gaze was a deep pool Jorge found himself inexplicably drowning in. His heart stumbled in his chest. His breath hitched in his throat as if the air around him had thickened. It had to be the shock of nearly hitting her that made him feel so discombobulated.

The redhead pressed her lips together, a quick dart of her tongue moistening them. Jorge's attention followed the fleeting gesture, an unexpected stir within him. When she spoke, her voice was drowned out by the sudden roaring silence in his ears, the world narrowing down to the space between them.

I'm sorry, she said. I'm sorry, she repeated, pulling out an earbud. I was distracted.

Jorge's heart thudded in a sudden rush of urgency as he killed the engine and climbed out of his car. The world slowed. Every step toward the woman felt like a journey across a chasm that had opened up out of nowhere. The air was thick with the town's breath, a mix of exhaust and the distant aroma of street food, but it was her scent that reached him—a fresh, invigorating blend of sweat and something floral that spoke of spring and new beginnings.

As he drew closer, her features became clearer. The fiery cascade of her hair framed a face that held a natural, effortless beauty. Her wide eyes, a striking shade of blue, held stories of their own, tales that Jorge found himself wanting to uncover. He caught himself staring, lost in the depths of her gaze, his heart skipping a beat as if tripping over itself in its haste to respond to her presence.

I'm sorry. Jorge's voice was rough around the edges, betraying his sudden nervousness. I was... distracted too. Messing around with my music.

His pulse quickened as he approached her, the remnants of adrenaline from the near-miss still coursing through his veins. As he neared, her figure became more distinct—the lean muscles in her calves flexing with each subtle movement, the gentle rise and fall of her chest with each breath.

What were you listening to? he asked.

She regarded him for a moment, the corners of her mouth twitching in what could have been the start of a smile. An old jazz singer. You probably haven't heard of her.

I might have, he said, a part of him wanting to prolong this unexpected encounter, to delve deeper into her world of hidden melodies and secret smiles.

But the moment passed, the town's rhythm reclaiming its pace. The car behind him honked again. Then its wheels screeched as the driver skirted around his vehicle. When he looked up, she was jogging away. Jorge watched her form retreating into the distance, a silhouette against the canvas of the waking town.

He climbed back into his car. The earlier chaos of his thoughts had settled into a quiet reflection, punctuated by the vivid image of her gaze, the sound of her voice. On impulse, he turned the music back on, his fingers scrolling until they found Nina Simone. The first notes of Sinnerman filled the space, the haunting melody a balm to the sudden ache of missed connections.

As he drove away, the music wrapped around him, a bridge between the fleeting encounter and the flow of his day. Each note carried a whisper of what had passed, a reminder of the brief interlude that had,