Joanna Sims - The Sergeant's Christmas Mission

A Brand-new life.

Former army sergeant Shane Brand is struggling to find a new normal. And his lovely new landlady sure is giving Shane a reason to strive for change. If Shane can overcome his inner demons, he may be worthy of Rebecca’s trust. Now it’s his new mission to be the man the single mom deserves, in time to give them all a dose of Christmas joy.

JOANNA SIMS is proud to pen contemporary romance for Mills & Boon True Love. Joanna’s series, The Brands of Montana, features hardworking characters with hometown values. You are cordially invited to join the Brands of Montana as they wrangle their own happily-ever-afters. And, as always, Joanna welcomes you to visit her at her website, joannasimsromance.com.

Also by Joanna Sims

The Brands of Montana

High Country Cowgirl

A Bride for Liam Brand

A Wedding to Remember

Thankful for You

Meet Me at the Chapel

High Country Baby

High Country Christmas

A Match Made in Montana

Marry Me, Mackenzie!

The One He’s Been Looking For

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

The Sergeant’s Christmas Mission

Joanna Sims

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07839-9

THE SERGEANT’S CHRISTMAS MISSION

© 2018 Joanna Sims

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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Dedicated to Tia and Alex…

Thank you for blessing our family

with my great-nephew, Shane Alexander.

I love you both.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

A loud, urgent knock at the door and the barking response of his black German shepherd, Recon, awakened Shane Brand. He had passed out on the couch, as he always seemed to do, with a pile of crumpled, empty beer cans littering the coffee table and floor.

“Quiet.” Shane ordered his canine companion to stop barking. Without any protest, the dog stopped barking and sat at attention, waiting for his next order.

“Man. Chill out !” the ex-sergeant hollered in a scratchy voice when the knocks kept on coming.

His tongue felt like sandpaper in his mouth and his eyes felt like they were glued shut. Damn, he felt lousier than usual.

Shane sat up, his head throbbing, wondering if he had any beer left over from the night before. After a couple of seconds of sitting on the edge of the couch, trying to assess the situation, trying to figure out whether or not he could stand without falling down, Shane stood up. He cringed at the ache in his back and neck, the stiffness in his left shoulder, from a night spent on his thrift-store couch.

“God bless,” he muttered as he stretched his back. He felt like a bag of broken pieces hung together by rusty nails and screws.

More knocking.

“I’m coming, damn it!”

He kicked a couple of beer cans out of his path and shuffled his way from the small living room, through the galley kitchen, to the front door of his garage apartment. No one bothered to knock on his door—not his friends and certainly not his family. They’d all learned their lesson over time to let him come to them on his own terms, in his own time. Feeling annoyed and grouchy, Shane yanked open the door to give the person on the other side the death-stare. He was, unexpectedly, greeted by the loveliest wide-set, hazel eyes he’d ever seen in his life. He stared into those eyes, unable to look away, and something unexpected—something he couldn’t explain—rocked him at his core.

“Hi,” the woman at his door said.

Beyond her large hazel eyes, which were bright and clear, the woman’s face was rounded, a little on the plump side, and the full lips were unsmiling. She looked tired and tense, and her eyes, now wary, were on Recon.

Shane took note of the two boys kneeling in the grassy courtyard between the main house and his garage apartment. This must be his new landlady; he heard the moving truck pull up, so he knew she had moved in. But he slept most days and played gigs in bars at night, which had allowed him, until now, to avoid her.

“He’s friendly,” he said of Recon as he leaned against the doorway, feeling light-headed and craving a beer.

The woman’s curly light brown hair was pulled back into a haphazard bun at the nape of her neck, and she was petite, with a full bust and rounded hips. She was dressed for comfort in a faded Manchester Yankees baseball T-shirt, threadbare jeans and aqua-blue Chuck Taylors. Several ringlets of hair weren’t long enough to be swept into the bun that framed her face; one ringlet had a Cheerio stuck in it. He almost reached out and plucked that Cheerio out of her hair but resisted the urge to do something so familiar with a stranger.

“You have a...” He nodded toward her hair. “A Cheerio in your hair.”

“What?” With a half-frustrated, half-humored expression on her face, she reached up and felt around until she found the round piece of dry cereal and tossed it on the ground. “Thank you for telling me. It’s been one of those mornings.”