Artist Daniel Chase moves into the house he inherited from his grandfather -- with the proviso he must live there or lose it. Soon after, he begins to get premonitions that something isn't right. Then he meets Griffin Pryce, a handsome man who lives off the grid. They become friends when Griffin agrees to become the subject for one of Daniel's paintings.
Before that can happen, Daniel's ex Ray arrives, wanting to partner with Daniel to turn the house into a fancy restaurant. When Daniel says no, Ray sends a man to threaten him if he doesn't sign the contract Ray has drawn up. Daniel refuses and things go from bad to worse.
With Griffin's help, can Daniel stop Ray's machinations? As the attraction between Daniel and Griffin grows stronger, will it -- and they -- survive what Ray does next?
Daniel shivered, looking up from the book he was reading.
There it is again. The feeling that something is off. Mellie’s ghosties and goblins? As if. But still ...
With a hard shake of his head, he returned to his reading, but he couldn’t rid himself of the notion that something wasn’t right. Probably because I’m still not used to being out here in the wilderness, so to speak, even after having been here for the last two weeks. “Get used to it,” he said aloud. “This is my home now and it’s exactly what I want. Peace and quiet.” He snapped his fingers. “Maybe. Yeah, that’s got to be it. No city noises. No horns blaring, no sirens, no noisy neighbors at eleven at night.”
Closing the book, he went to turn down the thermostat and then took the book with him up to his bedroom and set it on the nightstand. He walked to the window, pulling back the sheers to look out at the moonlit side yard and the trees that lined its edge. For a second he thought he saw something moving between the trees and his pulse spiked. Then he laughed softly. “A deer, perhaps? Or one of the bears Griffin mentioned, looking for an open trashcan? I guess that’s why Gramps kept it in the garage rather than by the back porch. Good thing I didn’t move it.”
He watched for a moment longer, looking for what he thought he’d seen, but to no avail. Whatever it was, it was gone now. Giving up, he undressed and went to take a shower. When he finished, he put on flannel pajamas and a robe and went downstairs to make certain all the doors and windows were securely closed and locked. Then he made a cup of tea to ward off the slight chill he was feeling and returned with it to his bedroom. Turning on the bedside lamp, he shut off the overhead light and, impulsively, went to the window again.
The moon had shifted and it was almost too dark to see anything other than the vague outline of the trees at the edge of the lawn. Once again he thought he saw something move, this time along the outer boundary of the yard, before disappearing into the forest a few seconds later. He shook his head, letting the curtain drop back into place, telling himself, “It was only my mind playing tricks on me. Nothing more.”
He got into bed, leaning against the backboard so he could drink his tea and read. About halfway through one of the short stories, he realized something that he should have figured out much earlier. It could be this book that’s setting me off. It was one that he’d found on the bookshelves in the living room -- an old anthology of short fantasy tales. Not his usual type of reading, but the cover had caught his fancy. With that thought, he closed the book, finished the last of his tea, and turned off the light. Curling up under the covers, he reminded himself to check out what other books were in his grandfather’s library and pick something less likely to stimulate his imagination—like a good mystery or some hard sci-fi, both of which were much more to his liking anyway.