Fog as thick as honey blanketed the road ahead. The last thing Fawn wanted was to end up dead in a crumpled late-model, four-wheel drive. It would be bad enough to die in a car accident in a strange place, but to die in a gas-guzzling tank of a vehicle was unthinkable.

Taking her mom’s car was the only concession she made. She’d spent a week arguing the merits of self-discovery and living green. Mom had spent the week warning her against claiming her estranged father’s property.

“It’s a different place,” she said. “The people in Grayslake aren’t like us.” She begged and pleaded, but in the end, Fawn did what she always did.

She did what she wanted.

In the rearview mirror, the last glimpse of sunshine flashed before a wall of black clouds snuffed out its flame. The trip to Grayslake was different than she had imagined. Visions of sunshine and flowers paraded through her thoughts. In her fantasy, eagles swooped overhead like welcoming sentinels and bunnies and ground squirrels dotted the landscape, entertaining her with their silly animal antics.

Pa-pling. Pa-pling. Pa-pling. Boom. The sky opened, and sheets of rain poured down making the drive treacherous. By the sound of the thunder, the gods were angry.

She took one last look at the deed. Fawn Blackly was handwritten across the top of the page. Seventy-six Grays Lane would be her home. She had no expectations—no preconceived notions—just a hope and a dream she might find the missing pieces she had always been searching for

A flash of lightening nearly blinded her just as something large ran from the woods onto the road. Why do things happen in slow motion in your head, and in fast forward in your life? Reflex action had her slamming on the brakes, turning the steering wheel, and missing the big, brown bear that stood in the center of her lane. Her heart stopped at the same time the car did. She threw it into park and exhaled. They were at a stand still—a stare down.

With a slow and steady hand, she reached behind the seat to grab her camera. Wasn’t this what she was after? No more Vegas weddings or stripper parties to photograph. She wanted to experience something real. She’d dreamed of having a National Geographic moment but never thought it would happen on a country road in Georgia.

Through the rain dotted window, she focused the lens on the wet majestic creature and snapped several pictures of the enormous brown bear. Call her crazy, but he shifted to face her full on, and she would have sworn he posed for her. Then, he shook his head and lumbered into the forest.

With her heart beating a thousand miles a minute, she scrolled through the pictures she just shot. He was amazing. He was massive in stature, and yet so fluid and graceful.

On the side of the road, she watched the woods where he disappeared and willed him to return. When her heart reached a near-normal rate, she shifted the SUV into drive and pressed forward. It had been a long journey from Las Vegas. Three ten-hour days had taken their toll, and she was ready to claim her future.

Ten minutes later, the town of Grayslake came into view. She pulled into the parking lot of Miller Grocery and waited for a lull in the rain. A joke her mom used to tell her when she was little replayed in her mind: “What do you call a wet bear?” She’d shake her head and begin to laugh because her Mom broke out the same joke every time it rained. “A drizzly bear.” Mom would bust out laughing at her own bad joke. Fawn never thought the joke was particularly funny. Mom’s laugh was the reason for her own. She laughed so infrequently; it was a sight to behold and embrace.

With no relief from the rain in sight, she grabbed her bag and made a run for it. To say she was drenched before she hit the door was an understatement. Her white T-shirt stuck to her skin like tissue to glue.

When she pushed through the door, the bell above announced her presence. A young man who was crouched behind the counter bolted upright when she entered. “Can I help you?”

“Just picking up a few supplies. Can you tell me anything about the old Blackly cabin on Grays Lane?”

The young man jumped over the counter and handed Fawn a basket. “You mean Brody’s place?” He looked her up and down.

Fawn’s nipples were pressing forward like headlights on a dark road. No missing those suckers. She should have been embarrassed, but she was too wet and too tired to care. She pulled her shirt away from her skin and let it fall loosely down her front, camouflaging the fact that she was also too cold.

“I don’t know what they call it now, but that’s where I’m headed. Do you know if there’s electricity? Running water?”

“We may be a small town, but we have all the bells and whistles.” He rolled his eyes and leaned against the counter. “Are you visiting?”

She started down the aisles throwing supplies into her basket. Matches. Water. Cheese. Yes, cheese was a staple in her life. She got to the fish section and lost her breath. There were big cities that didn’t have a selection this comprehensive. Right then, she knew she was going to love Grayslake.

“Oh, my God, how do you have so many different kinds of fish?” She pressed her nose against the glass and peered at the variety like a kid looking through a candy shop window.

“We cater to our population. Fish is a staple.”

“Heaven—I’m in Heaven,” she sang out and leaned down to look at the offerings. Being pescatarian was never a choice for her, it was just who she was. The only land animal products she could consume without tummy trouble were animal byproducts like cheese and milk.

“We don’t get a lot of strangers coming through town. What’s your name?”

“I’m Fawn Blackly, and I’m no longer a stranger. I’ll be living in the Brody cabin.”

The poor boy’s brows lifted to his hairline. “You can’t live there, it’s not safe.”

“Who are you?” Fawn never liked the word can’t. It felt foreign to her way of thinking. Can’t simply meant short-sighted.

“I’m Rick, the owner’s grandson.” He tripped over his feet and hurried toward the door. “Ring the bell on the counter and Emily will help you,” he called over his shoulder just before he exited the store like a bullet freshly discharged from its pistol.

She’d never understand teens. At twenty-seven, she felt a million years away from being anything but an adult. Was she ever that young and carefree? She exhaled the disappointment of a tragic past. Her fingertips traced over the raised scars on her shoulder that had destroyed her parents’ marriage. A silly fall under her dad’s watch and everything changed. She’d spent years trying to understand but always came up short. Fawn tapped the bell on the counter.

“What can I get you?” A young emerged from the back room. She pulled a piece of butcher paper from the box and placed it on the scale. “Salmon’s really fresh. So is the trout. It was brought in just before the storm broke loose. Mr. Byron catches the best trout.” She had a dreamy look in her eyes as she mentioned the man. Fawn would have to meet this “Mr. Byron.” If he could turn a girl’s insides out, she was game for an introduction.

The storm raged outside. The lights flickered on and off in the store. She hurried through the aisles to get whatever else she could throw in before the power failed. A bag of ice and a foam cooler were her last grabs before the lights fizzled and died a quick death. Thankfully, Emily had already tallied her totals.

Emily packed the cooler full and tossed in another bag of ice for free. “You better get to wherever you’re going. This storm is supposed to rage for days, and the roads are already getting impassable.”

Fawn paid her bill, hefted the cooler into her arms and inched toward the door. Sheets of rain created small rivers, which created bigger rivers, which in turn created small lakes in the intersection. It was now or never. She kicked open the door and ran in ankle-deep water to her car. She preferred her showers to be one hundred and five degrees, inside, with a warm fluffy towel waiting for her. This was awful.

One more look at the map and she was on the last leg of her journey. After the first right, she took the second left and then drove three miles along the lakefront. She hated this SUV, but when it floated across water two to three feet deep, she wanted to give her mother a great big hug. Mom knew something about Grayslake that she didn’t, and now she wished she’d demanded more answers.

In the distance, a cabin came into view. It wasn’t the abandoned rough-hewn log enclosure she had expected. Smoke rose from the chimney. Flower boxes full of trailing ivy and purple forget-me-nots hung below the windows.

Someone was living in her house.

She threw the car in park, muscled the door open, and marched to the door. Her frosted knuckles ached when she rapped on the wood. In her left hand, she gripped the deed, proof that whoever was in her cabin was a trespasser.

She pulled the key that had come with the deed from her pocket and slid it into the lock. Nothing happened. She twisted and turned but nothing budged.

She pounded on the door insistently. This was her house, and she wanted inside. Wet and cold, with fingers that had pruned an hour ago, she was miserable. “Let me in,” she screamed. Lifting on her tiptoes, she peeked into the window and saw the crackling of flames behind the metal screen of a fireplace. Overstuffed furniture with warm wooden accents decorated the space. It was such a cozy scene, and here she was, an outsider looking in. She’d felt that way all her life.

“Who the hell are you?”

From behind her, the sound of his roar had her stumbling off the porch, and down onto her knees in the mud.

“Who the hell are you?” She struggled to stand in the slippery mess, but gave up when she fell to the muck one more time. Her eyes followed his wet feet all the way up his naked body. His dark eyes devoured her. Tall and deadly looking, he was a predator wrapped in attitude and nothing else. Water dripped from his chiseled muscles as if he’d just emerged from the lake behind him. He looked like a warrior ready for battle, but even his large hands couldn’t shield the weapon between his legs.