Notes
and Roses
Stanford Creek, #1
by Rozenn Scott
Date of
Publication: June 1st 2016
Publisher:
All Romance eBooks
Cover
Artist: Erin Dameron-Hill
Genre:
Contemporary Romance
It’s time to stop
running and take a stand…for love.
From The Book Junkie Reads . . . Notes
and Roses (Stanford Creek, #1) . . .
Megan and Cody learn new things
together as life seems to put them together and life is what you make of it.
Megan was not so sure this stranger was what she needed in her life. Cody just
wanted to stay out of the spotlight and write his music. He thought moving to a
small town in Vermont would make things a bit easier. That was until he ran
into all he could want in life but all he had no desire to have.
Life has a way of showing you that
you are not the one in charge. As quite small town Vermont because a place that
Cody can truly settle in. Someone else has plans to make sure that does not happen.
There are twist and turns. Things that make you push to the next page just so
you know what was coming around the corner.
Scott has done the job and done it
well. Here was a cozy romance that gave a bit of suspense, mystery, and even a
sweet romance. I have to say there were points that I found both Cody and Megan
to feel young, but then they felt like true adults. I would classify this as more YA -NA Romance.
**This ARC was provided via Bewitching Book
Tours in exchange for an honest review.**
BLURB
Former boy-band singer CJ Taylor is
starting a new life. His stalker is behind bars, he’s taken back his birth
name, and he’s bought a house in a small Vermont town. As Cody Brennan, he finally
feels safe and wants to write new music and forget about his tragic past, but
an accident nearly ruins everything.
Florist Megan Campbell is horrified
when a stranger, covered in blood, collapses in her shop. Cody’s erratic
behavior startles her at first, but as he recovers she becomes very attracted
to him. Her family thinks she should curb her feelings, and worries about her
safety—she worries about her heart.
From her amber eyes to her tempting
smile, Megan is everything Cody promised himself to avoid. The more he gets to
know her, the more he wants to stay. When his past begins to catch up to him in
the form of violent threats, will they stay safe long enough to fall in love?
Megan Campbell
stepped away from the cash register of Notes & Roses and leaned against the
back counter. She put her right hand in her jeans pocket and, as carefully and
unobtrusively as possible, removed her cell phone and scrolled to Justin’s
name. What should she text her brother? Help sounded like a good start. Or
possibly, there’s a man in my shop and I think he’s drunk or stoned.
Yep, text something
like that to Justin, and he would come in guns blazing. Then he’d pin the weird
guy to the floor and read him his rights. And the man currently staring at a
wall didn’t look dangerous, just lost. Homeless, maybe?
Something more
specific then, like, there is a vagrant in here, and he needs help, what should
I do? The man moved a little. Away from her side of the store, the “roses” part
of the setup, and over to the “notes” side. He was peering at the shelves, a
collection of stationery and household bits and pieces like cushions and local
crafts. He stumbled a little, turned to the side, and looked up at the posters
displayed on the far wall. Landscapes of Vermont: rivers, small towns and red
high-sided barns with gently rolling hills of emerald green.
“That’s wrong,” he
said.
“Sorry?” Megan
asked—but he didn’t reply.
He’s talking to the
wall now. Should she add that to the text as well? This was going to end up being
a hell of a lot of typing to explain what he was doing. Despite how odd it all
looked, the visitor wasn’t threatening her. Also, Rachel would be back soon.
Maybe between them they could sort this out?
He hadn’t even spoken
to her, but something wasn’t right. Maybe it was the way he’d been standing,
his hands fisted at his sides, staring now at the new Valentine’s wall display
of flowers and hearts. Maybe it was the way he was dressed; dark jeans caked in
mud, heavy boots that had tracked in the same mud. Not to mention the black
hoodie with the hood partially hiding his face from her view.
Or maybe it was the
despair in his hunched shoulders, the utter defeat in the way he had to support
himself to stand.
Whatever it was,
Megan was faced with two options. Talk to the strange man in her shop while she
was alone in here, or call in reinforcements in case things went south.
Her visitor moved,
not his feet but his fists, unclenching and bringing his hands up to knuckle
his eyes and then cover them. Megan’s cop brother liked to explain these things
to her, but she didn’t need his help to recognize when despair in someone
turned to anger.
She sent the standard
911 text, startled when she looked up and saw the stranger had stepped closer
to her while she’d been distracted.
“Where am I?” he
asked, his voice very soft.
“You’re in my shop.”
He shook his head. “I
need the music. Someone took it, and I need it.”
Okay, this was so not
going the way she wanted it to go. He was incoherent. Maybe he was homeless and
needed a place to get out of the persistent snow that had plagued Stanford
Creek the last few days. He’d evidently been somewhere slushy and muddy, if his
clothes were anything to go by.
“I don’t understand,
sir; what music do you need?” she asked, and waited for him to acknowledge her
question. Instead, he took another, shaky, step forward, and covered his eyes
again. “Hello? Can I help you?” she repeated when he didn’t look at her.
That finally got his
attention. His hands came down, and she got her first clear look at his eyes
and face. What she saw had her reaching to send another text. He had blood on
him, smeared down from his temple into his wild beard, and his blue eyes were
bright with something. Drugs maybe? Long, dark hair hid some of his features,
and he looked like he was about to keel over.
“Where’s the music?”
he mumbled, his voice low and urgent. He gripped his temples hard and stumbled
back, knocking a display of greeting cards to the floor. The sound was a loud
clatter in the otherwise quiet room. “Shit… I didn’t…”
“Sir?” This time she
was within reaching distance as he rounded on her, his lips pulled back in a
snarl—or a grimace of pain, she couldn’t be entirely sure. Whatever, it wasn’t
the look of someone who wanted to be spoken to. Time to leave. She glanced at
the front door, imagining the steps between here and there and whether or not
he would lurch her way. When she focused back on him, all she saw was a
situation that could get out of hand. He was a good six inches taller than her
five-nine, broad and built, with tattoos curling around his wrist, disappearing
up under the sleeve of the hoodie.
Everything about him
looked wrong. He didn’t move again, or even acknowledge her; all he did was
stare with bright sapphire eyes, focused on a point behind her, scary and
intense and so damned fixated with his expression in that scowl.
“What happened?” He
groaned and covered his eyes again. “Call… Zee…”
She texted without
looking, only glancing at the screen briefly to make sure she was sending
another text to her brother and not some random person on her list. 911. Again.
The standard sibling instruction for help me right the hell now, reserved for
having one of her brothers rescue her from one of her many dreadful first
dates. Garrett wasn’t even in town, so there was little point texting him, and
Justin may not even be in the sheriff’s office. She hoped to hell he was,
though, and had read her message. She’d know soon enough because the small
sheriff’s office was close.
And still the
stranger stood there, staring at her. At least he hadn’t moved any closer.
He closed his eyes
and wiped the blood that was trickling down his face, looking down at his hand
and staring at the red that streaked his skin. Megan thought she heard a sob,
but couldn’t be sure. Compassion welled inside her. Vagrant or not, dressed in
soiled clothes and with the hood up, he didn’t have to be a criminal.
“Sir? Do you need
help?” She held out her hand, but he stepped closer to her and damn it, she may
have had self-defense training but she wasn’t stupid. If the man was hopped up
on drugs, she had to stay out of reach. The door opened and Justin stepped in,
all uniform and pissed-off attitude.
“Two 911s? This had
better be good, Megs.”
Megan inclined her head
to the man Justin evidently hadn’t seen in his dramatic entrance. Justin could
handle himself, and he had a gun; he’d know what to do.
“What the hell?”
Justin said as he assessed the situation, his hand automatically resting on his
holstered weapon.
“I think it’s drugs,”
she said loud enough for Justin to hear. The man looked at Justin and then to
her, before shaking his head a little.
“No.” The voice was
raspy, little more than a growl. “Not those.” He appeared to be struggling to
talk, and he pressed his hands to each side of his head. “Just the music; Zee
will know,” he added, but his voice slurred, and he coughed and doubled over.
Justin pulled his
weapon and held it to one side, his other hand held in front of him as he
stepped closer. “Sir? Are you hurt?”
Megan saw her
brother’s hand on the sidearm, the other placating and suggesting and warning
at the same time. She’d seen him stand like this when he broke up the fight at
the drugstore. Not that he’d drawn his weapon then; he’d dealt with it by
intimidation alone, because everyone involved lived in the town and no one
messed with the sheriff. Megan looked at her brother, who teased her, who’d
hidden her dolls and pulled her pigtails as a kid, but who was now in a
situation that was serious. He was all business.
“What’s your name,
sir?” Justin asked.
The stranger stepped
back from him, straight into a pile of notebooks this time. The shelf shuddered
and some of the display tilted. The movement translated into Justin grabbing
the man’s hoodie to stop him falling as he flailed and attempted to stay
upright.
He took a swing at
Justin, who ducked and swerved. The attempted hit missed Justin by a mile, and
the man followed the momentum he had begun, smacked his fist against a shelf
edge, and collapsed in a heap on the floor. Then he didn’t move, was absolutely
still. Justin holstered his weapon and crouched next to the prone form of the
hooded man, checking for a pulse and then talking into his radio.
“Dispatch, 390D,
medical assistance required at Notes & Roses.”
Author
Info
RJ Scott is the bestselling author of
over ninety romance novels and novellas. From cowboys to millionaires, SEALS to
cops, her stories are passionate, sexy, and always come with a guaranteed happy
ever after. RJ also writes as Rozenn Scott for her new line of strong men and
women who find that it’s always worth overcoming obstacles to find a forever
love.
RJ lives just outside of London, and
has never met a bottle of wine she can’t defeat.
Author Links:
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