Free Handcuffs and Haints by Thalia Frost

Chapter One
    Zoe Scott pulled up in front of the farmhouse. The long drive down the dirt road had seemed never ending, and dust assailed her as she climbed out of the rented pickup truck. She patted the door as she got out, glad she had chosen this vehicle after the journey over ruts and potholes she’d just endured.
    “It’s perfect.” She clapped her hands together with a kind of glee and started unloading the truck. Her laptop and books weighed her down before she even got to her bags. The cloying heat made her groan. She had never felt anything like it.
    A summer here, in seclusion, in rural Georgia promised a sort of heaven most wouldn’t understand, at least according to a website for the nearest town to the tiny speck on the map which was Applehill. Zoe had closed her eyes and swirled her finger around a map of Georgia. When she opened her eyes, her finger rested on a town too small to be called one. She had wanted to curse Angie for suggesting she choose her getaway that way, but a deal was a deal.
    Angie’s finger had landed safely on Boston, Massachusetts. Zoe had known her chances of that were slim since Angie needed to go to the Northeast for inspiration on her chapbook of poems in progress while she needed the Deep South if she could get it.
    Zoe sighed, a smile spreading across her face in spite of a twinge of misgivings. The sprawling farmhouse was all hers for three months, and there was plenty of time to get her novel finished. It had plagued her over long nights of tossing and turning in Pittsburgh, and she just couldn’t get the heroine right.
    “It’s because I’ve never spent any time in the South.” The thought made her giggle as she hefted the bags through the creaking door.
    Zoe caught her breath in wonder at the rustic charm of the place. The modern amenities were there, but they didn’t take away from the feeling of substance, or the age of the place. Tiny flowers dotted the entryway, and muted tones covered the other walls. A pie safe stood in the kitchen, and Zoe oohed and ahhed over the other touches which testified to a time gone by.
    She climbed the steps up to the second floor, holding her breath in anticipation of the bedroom. Its turn of the twentieth century furniture made her hiss with delight. “It’s perfect.”
    Zoe fell on the bed and yawned. Her eyelids drooped after the long trip down, more than fifteen hours by pickup truck, but she didn’t want to rest.
    Scooping up her laptop, she set it up on the desk near the window. The realtor had sent her pictures of the place and this room had sold her with its view of dirt roads and trees.
    “It’s so quaint and rustic. And no phone.” She remembered the last bit from the realtor’s speech.
    Dusk shadowed the trees, outlining them in purple. Zoe shivered for a moment, realizing how remote the place was. She had passed a few houses and trailers, some ramshackle enough to make her wonder if they were inhabited. Her breath hitched as she raced to the bed, fumbling for her purse. She muttered under her breath as she groped for her cell phone.
    One bar flickered and returned. “Lousy reception.” She laughed, trying to still her galloping heart. “I am so unprepared for this.”
    Squaring her shoulders, she set up her work space and launched into writing. It never failed to soothe her, and tonight was no different.
    A loud knock made Zoe jump. She sat still, not wanting to go downstairs in the dark to figure out who it was.
    Sighing, she got up, making her way through the lighted hallway and rooms below. She had left every light in the house blazing to her relief.
    The old fashioned door with its small window panes offered her a look at the stranger outside. Liquid blue eyes—or were they green—stared back at her from a handsome face complete with a firm jawline. The lock and deadbolt were engaged, and Zoe didn’t make a move to unlock them.
    “Who are you? It’s after nine.” She made her voice loud on purpose, not