Finding Serenity: The Stantons, #1

FINDING

SERENITY

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( The Stantons - Book One )

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~  Lita  Locke  ~

FINDING  SERENITY

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Some things are just not suited to the countryside.  Take Jake Stanton, for example...

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Forced on a holiday for his health, Jake finds himself stuck in the middle of middle England.  Nature is all well and good as long as it’s nowhere near him!  And if that’s not punishment enough, there’s always the seriously tempting and possibly slightly deranged Serenity Ryan.  Why is she camped out in his cottage?  What’s with all the pumpkins?  And why does her crazy cat have it in for him?

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Swiftly concluding that small town life in a small town burgh is not something for him, citified Jake must fight his growing attraction to that country woman.  It hardly helps that he’s killing time by pretending to be Serenity’s lover; their mission to fool her scheming relatives and trick the gossiping village grapevine.

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Can Jake do all that, squeeze in a few rounds of golf and still manage to find his serenity?

Finding Serenity

Copyright © Lita Locke 2013

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Cover design by Design for Writers

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Cover credit:

Little Play House on a Field © Val Lawless via Shutterstock

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All rights reserved.

This e-book is under a limited electronic license.

Not to be resold, relicensed, reproduced, redistributed or transferred.

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This is a work of fiction.  All characters, names, businesses, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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Contains mature / romantic themes, humor and language.

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~  www.litalocke.com  ~

AUTHOR  NOTE:

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Woadswold is a fictional village of my own invention,

tucked away in the heart of the English Cotswolds.

CONTENTS

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- 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 -

Book  List

- Chapter 1 -

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What kind of person lived in Woadswold?

And what kind of name was that anyway?

Woadswold?

Woads!  Wold!

Whoaaaaa-ds.  Wold.

Yeah, that!

Actually, what kind of person chose to live in the countryside in the first place?

Jake Stanton, one hundred percent dyed-in-the-wool London born and bred, shuddered at the thought.  And once again cursed his bad luck.

Oh why couldn’t he have been sent to Manchester?  Or Leeds?

The people there might graphically and in no uncertain terms tell a Southerner like himself where to go, but at least he’d see a human face and be among other like-minded company.

Out here, with the endless rolling Cotswold fields, the quaint stone walls and the winding little lanes, all he’d seen so far were cows, more cows and heaven’s above, black-faced sheep!  Jake had already concluded that the problem with the scenic route was that there was just too much damn scenery for his liking.

The fact that a place called Woadswold even existed on a map and in the real world was startling.  All Jake could do was hope it wasn’t one of those ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ type sleepy burghs and boroughs he’d sped through on his way to his ultimate destination.

Then, suddenly around the next bend, Jake Stanton arrived at his destination—and had his answer.

A decent sized village.

The ubiquitous parish church.

A semi-busy high street.

Various shops.

A bed and breakfast.

And a pub.

Also, and probably the most important of the lot, the staple of Jake’s diet.  A fish and chip joint.  And a pizza place that had seen better days, if not years.

Okay, so not exactly great—there weren’t any curry or kebabs after all—but not as bad as he’d been dreading.  The setting was actually rather cosmopolitan for such a tiny speck of humanity.

His digs weren’t that awful either, Jake noted five minutes later, as he pulled up in front of a charming Cotswold stone cottage, and the place he’d call home for the next few weeks.

Stepping out of his car, he stretched his travel weary body before glancing around at the twilight view.

The cottage nestled in a landscape of hedgerow and wood stretching as far as the eye could see.  Evening shadows darkened the open plains and farm fields beyond the garden, while the last roses of summer bloomed, scenting the air with their heavy perfume.

Juggling the keys to the rented cottage while shouldering his golf bag and fighting his wonky-wheeled suitcase along the gravel path, Jake decided the first thing he’d do on his forced vacation was ditch his recalcitrant baggage.  He’d always hated the damned thing, and it had been the cause of so much grief in train stations and overseas airports, sticking shut or springing open at the most humiliating of times.

He’d never live down that time when he’d been in charge of his advertising firm’s lingerie account, no matter how hard he tried to scour the event from his memory.  Having to explain the sudden presence of twenty pairs of silk knickers and matching garters to a smirking, sniggering airport security detail had not been his finest hour!

Unlocking the cottage door, Jake gave it a kick before backing into the tiny foyer, dragging his luggage inside.  Dumping his golf clubs and suitcase at the front door, he once again glanced outside, grudgingly admiring the view.

It was kind of pretty, in a sickly sweet country way, but there sure was a heck of a lot of work to be done on the garden.  The lawn was buried in weeds and needed a clip.  Hedges cried out for shaping, bushes needed trimming.  A bunch of hard manual labor would be necessary to restore the garden to chocolate box country cottage status, but Jake Stanton was up for the task.

He’d do anything to get his mind off the fact that he was unavoidably stuck here for the next few weeks!

Shoving that depressing thought out of his mind, Jake paused to listen to the surprisingly soothing sounds of tranquil countryside.

Crickets courting.

Insects humming.

The rustle of wings.

The screech of a night bird.

The sough of gentle breeze through the hedgerow.

And finally ... the wail of off-key song.

Jake stiffened, holding his breath, listening closer.

Had he just imagined it?  No, wait!

There it came again.

Definitely singing!

Or what was supposed to pass for it, at any rate!

Spinning around, Jake searched for the source.  Creeping deeper into the bowels of the darkened cottage, through a sitting room, a corridor, past a flight of stairs, right down the back, and there he found the culprit.

A candlelit kitchen housed the noisemaker.  Human apparently!  And, on closer inspection, female.

Dark hair tied back in a ponytail.  White shirt.  Blue jeans.  Sneakers.

Rather a petite thing, Jake noted, and much shorter than his six foot frame.  She also appeared to be deliciously curvy, the kind of dips and furrows you wanted to run your hands and your lips over.  As if to accentuate his point, the woman’s hips swayed to an invisible beat and Jake caught himself staring, entranced by the hypnotic view.

Pity then that her singing was garbage!

She leaned over the kitchen island, intent on some task, her front hidden from Jake’s view.  But he wasn’t all that upset because her jean-clad backside garnered his full and immediate attention, as did those wiggling hips.

Who was she?

And what was she doing here?

Slightly miffed, Jake stepped toward her.  Whoever the woman was, she had no business being in his kitchen, in his cottage, in his vacation!

He’d been forced in to the countryside for solitude and peace.  Her presence would offer him neither.  As it was, her singing—and Jake used that word rather loosely—was boring into his skull with the force of a misplaced jackhammer.

Ugh!

Squaring his shoulders, Jake readied himself for a showdown.  He was the one who’d grudgingly paid for this cottage.  And he was the one to send her packing.  Freeloaders, no matter how enticing and curvy, were definitely not welcome here!

Cut out his eyes, chop off his nose, the woman warbled.

Jake froze, as heart pounding, blood chilling, throat closing panic welled up inside him.

Spill his guts, on to his toes, she finished gleefully.

What the hell was going on here?

Urgent questions darted like shot fire through Jake’s head.

Who was this woman?

Was she some blood and guts lusting maniac?

How many people had she already slaughtered?

And more to the scary immediate point, would he be her next victim?

Man’s ancient dilemma of fight or flight warred within him.  Escape, screamed logic.  Run far.  Run fast.  Call for the constable back at the village, then get the heck out of this place and back to sane civilization where murders didn’t happen to him personally.

Having recently rediscovered getting a life, Jake Stanton was in no particular hurry to die now.  Haunting some run-down cottage in the middle of nowhere was not his ideal way of spending eternity.

With wary eyes glued on the feminine fiend, Jake edged away.

Slowly ...

Stealthily ...

Triumphantly ...

... until something bolted out of the shadows, a furry beast that attacked his legs, twining itself around him in a vice-like grip.

Jake hollered as fright got the best of him, stumbled against the kitchen table, then watched in escalating horror as the lit candles on it crashed to the floor.  The ball of vicious fur streaked between his unsteady legs, hissing and spitting as it went.

Trying to right himself but failing miserably, Jake slipped on the hot candle wax then felt his knee wrench before being unceremoniously dumped on his bum.

The woman whipped around, saw him and screamed.  Jake’s eyes flew to the carving knife in her hand, its glittering blade covered with so much blood.  Blood stained the front of her shirt too, the random splatters making a macabre pattern.

Shit!

She was butchering a poor, hapless victim right now and without a doubt, Jake knew he’d be next.

Acting on animal instinct, ready to fight for his life, Jake lunged, tackling her legs, bringing the woman down.  The knife skittered out of her hand as they landed in a heap on the floor, Jake on top, her beneath.  Pinning her wrists and straddling her thighs, he effectively subdued her while she was dazed enough to allow it.

Don’t move, Jake ordered, his voice rough and thankfully with barely a tremble.

The woman jerked at her hands but Jake held fast.  There was no way in hell he was letting this little murderess loose.

I’ll scream, she whimpered.

"Don’t scream and for cripes sake, don’t sing.  My ears can’t take that again."

She watched him, her eyes wide and wary in the wavering light, her body soft beneath his.  Jake frowned as he got his first good look at the lady.

Dark eyes, a full mouth, sable hair, a couple of freckles scattered across her pert nose.  She appeared innocent and sweet, not at all what he expected of a seasoned killer.  But that was probably what her other victims had thought too, before they were slashed to death with that wicked knife.

Jake cursed.  Now that he had her pinned down, what exactly was he supposed to do?

I’m calling the coppers, he told her.  Your murdering days are over, lady.

What murder? she quavered, sounding genuinely confused.

Jake barked a laugh, almost fooled by her convincing act.  Next she’d con him in to letting her go.  Fat chance of that happening though.

Don’t play dumb.  The murder you were just committing.  I saw everything!

The woman’s lips twitched into a smile which lit up her entire face.  Jake’s breath caught and his heart leapt, but this time it had nothing at all to do with fear and fright.  The woman was a stunner all right, but boy, did she have some nerve!  Laughing as if she’d done nothing wrong at all.

She laughed with her whole body too, Jake noted.  Her movements exposed her bellybutton and those glorious hips again.  Her breasts stretched