Misted Pines Series by Kristen Ashley

Misted Pines Series by Kristen Ashley – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com Wed, 13 May 2026 18:54:43 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.books2020.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Misted Pines Series by Kristen Ashley – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com 32 32 The Woman From Nowhere (Misted Pines #5) Read Online Kristen Ashley http://www.books2020.com/the-woman-from-nowhere-misted-pines-5-read-online-kristen-ashley Wed, 13 May 2026 18:54:43 +0000 https://www.books2020.com/the-woman-from-nowhere-misted-pines-5-read-online-kristen-ashley Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Suspense Authors: Kristen Ashley Series: Misted Pines Series by Kristen Ashley
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Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 131387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)

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After a heartbreaking betrayal, Mabel Adams reinvents herself for the fourth time. Regardless of the alarming reputation of the deceptively sleepy town of Misted Pines, she decides to move all the way across the country to start yet again.

Mabel has a one-night stand with a mountain man who rocks her world in bed but doesn't tell her his name.

The next day, after receiving a threatening note from her neighbors, she discovers she's living next to an extremist cult where the women go in and are never seen again.

After serving, former Navy SEAL Hutch Hutchison is living a peaceful life on his patch in the mountains outside Misted Pines. He's been burned so many times by women, he's happy to train his guard dogs, play his guitar, live remote, and most of all, quiet.

Until he hooks up with a beautiful woman who lives just down the way. And then he discovers she's been threatened by the cult next door.

Hutch's protective instinct sparks, and he decides his next mission is to keep Mabel safe at all costs.

But there's something even hinkier about that cult than Hutch or local law enforcement expect.

As Hutch executes the riskiest mission of his life—keeping Mabel safe at the same time keeping both of their hearts intact—Hutch and the Sheriff's Department try to unravel the mystery of The Lion and The Lamb before it's too late.

Because Mabel is in their crosshairs.

And Hutch is not about to allow her to disappear

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

ONE

“Pink Moon”

Mabel

The bar probably had the capacity to fit twenty-five people.

It was the closest thing to an actual hole-in-the-wall that I’d ever seen.

Outside, it looked like a big shack.

Inside was no different.

There was no stone, brick or drywall to be seen. It was all rough wood, even the planks on the floor.

There were three taps for beer, one for cider, and a single shelf behind the bar displaying bottles of alcohol, the closest thing they had to top shelf being Jack Daniels Old No. 7.

Providing heat on this chilly night were a small, cast-iron fireplace in a back corner, walls that kept the wind out (just barely) and bodies.

There were four bar stools in front of the short bar, an entry space that was big enough to allow a few people to stand, four tables with four chairs each (yes, all wood), two-by-twos along the walls with an aisle between, which led up to a miniscule stage mostly taken up with two humungous speakers that were absolutely not needed in this small space.

There was a threadbare rug covering the tiny stage, so big it dipped off the sides, along with a stool.

On which, currently, a man was sitting with his guitar perched on his knee, singing into a microphone.

As far as I could tell, every slow, mellow, bittersweet song he sang was original.

Further to that, he had a silken, smooth baritone voice, and long, graceful musician’s fingers on strong, veined man’s hands.

If you had no imagination and a limited vocabulary, you’d call him blond.

But the rich complexity of his thick, overlong hair, to me, didn’t know whether to be blond, brown or auburn, could not be described by one simple word.

Nor could anything about him.

Well, I guessed one thing could.

He was tall. I could tell that even if I hadn’t seen him standing, considering how long his broad torso was even bent over that guitar, and the length of his meaty thighs and shins.

And he was muscular.

But it wasn’t lean muscle. Nor was it bulky. However, you couldn’t miss the man packed some power.

He had some russet-brown scruff on his cheeks, jaw and chin. It was full, not patchy, but it also wasn’t a beard.

He had a chiseled jaw, sun lines radiating from his dark-brown eyes, and high cheekbones.

He was beautiful.

Simply beautiful.

Robert Redford as Jeremiah Johnson beautiful (obviously without the true blond hair and bushy beard).

And perhaps part of that was why the house was packed, and not just that they came to listen to the moody, broody, sublime music he was playing.

Not that it could get too packed out here in the middle of nowhere, but it was standing room only.

And I knew the hulking lumberjack of a bartender didn’t tend to this many people every night.

Truth, this place seemed like it existed just to be a local gathering hole for those of us who lived up in the mountains on the west side of Misted Pines—a good twenty-minute haul just to get groceries and seriously sparsely populated.

But no one would want to drive that drive into town to have a few drinks and commune.

Though that hulking lumberjack wanted his neighbors safe and sound, and he didn’t make any bones about it. I knew this because there was a sign on the shelf with the liquor that said, I’ll serve you as much as you want, but I’ll also take your fucking keys.

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Advertisement The Woman Left Behind (Misted Pines #4) Read Online Kristen Ashley http://www.books2020.com/the-woman-left-behind-misted-pines-4-read-online-kristen-ashley Mon, 21 Apr 2025 22:20:18 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/the-woman-left-behind-misted-pines-4-read-online-kristen-ashley Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Drama, New Adult, Suspense Authors: Kristen Ashley Series: Misted Pines Series by Kristen Ashley
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Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 127715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)

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There are two dead bodies in Idaho, and the gun used to kill them has been traced back to a sixteen-year-old robbery in Misted Pines.

Sheriff Harry Moran has a broken heart and a stack of case files on his desk that the corrupt sheriff who came before him might have bungled.

Or he may have framed innocent people.

The first case Harry dives into, the woman left behind lives just a block away from his office.

When Lillian Rainier opens the door to the sheriff, Harry, who’s been a dead man walking since his wife died, comes back to life.

As for Lillian, she’s had a crush on Harry for forever, Harry showing at her door, and how he is when he does only makes her fall deeper.

As Harry and his team dive into these suspicious cases, Harry and Lillian have to figure out what to do with all they feel for each other, how hard it hits them, and how deep it goes.

But as a voice from the past becomes a witness in the present, and Harry and his crew dig deeper, they sense something sinister happened years ago.

As they weave together the threads of a cold case, they realize how messy it is.

Worse, the man behind the mess is desperately cleaning it up …

And no one in Misted Pines is safe.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Prologue

GUT

Harry

Shitty police work was one of the ugliest stains on society.

This was the thought Sheriff Harry Moran had as he sat in his ergonomic chair behind his desk at the sheriff’s department.

He was staring at the two files in front of him trying to ignore the email that was up on the monitor of his computer.

Those files were two of fifteen stacked on his desk.

Each of those files had one thing in common: the shoddy, lazy or corrupt investigation overseen by Fret County’s last sheriff, Leland Dern.

Dern was the man who came before Harry.

Which meant Harry was the man who had to clean up Dern’s mess.

Due to recent circumstances—the latest being a double murder that wasn’t properly investigated and an innocent man served prison time—a full and exhaustive, time-consuming and resource-heavy audit of every investigation under Dern’s tenure had been done.

There were shambolic cases they’d had no choice but to file away. The police work hadn’t been up to Harry’s expectations of his department, but there was nothing that pointed to an injustice being done.

Now, he and his team had to go back over those fifteen cases and hope what Harry expected—Dern playing favorites, taking bribes, looking the other way or preferring to go hunting rather than working—wouldn’t land them in lawsuits.

He was starting with these two.

He glanced at his monitor and felt his neck muscles tighten, which meant he again looked to the files and refocused.

They were the two cases that intrigued Harry the most, because the woman who had connections with both lived a block away from his department, only a five-minute walk from where he sat right there at his desk.

Lillian Rainier.

He’d lived in the town of Misted Pines his entire life, and because of his job, he knew or knew of a great many people in all of Fret County, and he’d never heard of her.

But Dern suspected, and investigated, her parents of a robbery sixteen years ago.

The investigation stalled, because Sonny and Avery Rainier had disappeared. And then, the case had simply died. Nothing else had been done. Not an interview, not a single follow-up of a lead.

A year later, Lillian married Willie Zowkower, a man Harry did know well.

Willie was a low-level gentleman dealer and a high-level charming asshole who currently had three outstanding arrest warrants in Fret County.

Recently, Willie had also disappeared.

And Lillian hadn’t reported her parents, or her husband, missing.

Harry’s gut was telling him something was up with Lillian Rainier.

And what was on Harry’s computer monitor was telling him whatever that was, it was something bad.

So, no. His gut wasn’t telling him anything. It was practically screaming at him to get off his ass, walk to her house and have a word.

Since Harry wasn’t lazy, and he thought of law enforcement not as a job but as a calling, he got off his ass in order to walk to her house and have a word.

It would be a good bet Harry had passed Lillian Rainier’s house thousands of times in his life, and he never noticed it.

Standing outside it now, he wondered why.

A small cracker box painted a pale yellow with white trim, sporting a green roof and a shocking-red door, there were profuse plantings of bronze, butterscotch and yellow button mums in appealing but mismatched terracotta pots dotted up the front steps and all over porch. An attractive fall wreath of leaves, berries and pinecones was on the door. A white picket fence rounded the property, and he could see the numerous rose bushes that likely ornamented that fence in the summer had been cut back in preparation for winter.

There were two Adirondack chairs on the porch. They were painted white and had yellow, brown and green plaid lumbar pillows upstanding against the back of the seats, a wooden table with a lantern resting on top between them.

No kitschy Sweater Weather! Or Happy Fall Y’all or Fall in Love! signs marred the neat, well-kept property.

As he opened the gate on the fence and stepped foot on her front walk, that feeling in Harry’s gut intensified.

Something was up.

Something was about to happen.

Something big.

He walked up the steps to that bright-red door.

He knocked.

He stood in his uniform and looked through the box of six square-paned windows at the top of the door, when he sensed movement inside.

And then there she was.

She opened the door.

The instant she did, the moment his eyes caught hers, Harry’s chest caved in, and his stomach curled up.

Yeah.

Something was about to happen.

Something big.

And he wasn’t ready for it.

ONE

Fresh-Cut Flowers

Lillian

I stared up and into the chocolate brown eyes of Sheriff Harry Moran, my heart in my throat, even though, when he’d made the announcement at the town council meeting that they were auditing Leland Dern’s files, I knew this day would come.

I had answers to his questions.

I doubted he had any answers to mine.

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Advertisement The Woman by the Lake (Misted Pines #3) Read Online Kristen Ashley http://www.books2020.com/the-woman-read-online-the-lake-misted-pines-3-read-online-kristen-ashley Sat, 22 Jun 2024 18:38:04 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-woman-read-online-the-lake-misted-pines-3-read-online-kristen-ashley Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Suspense Authors: Kristen Ashley Series: Misted Pines Series by Kristen Ashley
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Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 135696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)

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Nadia Williams needs somewhere peaceful to sort through her grief after her mother is brutally murdered. She finds a cozy cabin at the side of a tranquil lake in the quaint town of Misted Pines in the Pacific Northwest.

The minute she arrives, she knows it’s perfect.

The very night of her arrival, however, someone—or something—is scratching at her window.

The next morning, she meets her one and only neighbor, Doc Riggs. He’s a rough, good-time guy who rubs Nadia wrong immediately. They clash, and neither of them are happy to be sharing their lake.

But soon, Nadia learns the lore around her cabin, and how the townsfolk are certain it’s haunted by the ghost of the man who was murdered there fifteen years before.

Riggs and Nadia are suddenly thrown into a tangled web of history, betrayal, grief, secrets, with only one thing certain.

Someone—or something—wants them off that lake.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

ONE

Weaver Cabin

Nadia

The mailbox I was told to look out for, as suspected from the description, was hard to miss.

There were four huge planters surrounding it frothing with peach, pink and orange impatiens. The mailbox itself was a shiny stainless steel with the words Weaver Cabin painted on the side. It was held aloft by a twisted branch, which, only when I turned in and got close, could I see was actually burnished steel with fake, metal leaves on it.

Last, it was unique and incredibly pretty.

And seeing it made some of the anxiety I had about the decision I’d made start to ebb away.

The lane to the cabin meandered with gentle curves and was edged in small boulders, many of which had bright-green moss growing on them.

The lane was also longer than I expected.

It’d be quite a hike to get my mail in the morning.

And it meant my home for the next year was seriously secluded.

Finally, the cabin came into view, and the instant I saw it, the reservations that had recently sprung up about the seclusion of Weaver Cabin vanished.

One story, smallish, with a carport attached that would protect my SUV from the elements on all sides but the front. The roof of the timber house was blue tin, and a porch ran the length of the face of the structure.

On the porch was an arrangement of two rocking chairs—one yellow, one red, both with cute pillows on them—sharing what appeared to be an old whisky barrel as a table, which was topped with an arrangement of fresh wildflowers in a mason jar. At the other side of the veranda, there was a porch swing with a fluffy pad and more sweet pillows.

Yes, a porch swing.

There were lanterns scattered about, along with a plethora of different sized pots and hanging baskets, these filled with more impatiens, plus petunias, begonias, pansies and fuchsias.

It was colorful and charming. A hundred times better than the pictures I saw of it when I was deciding where to go, and those pictures had captivated me, so that seemed impossible.

But there it was, right before me.

Colorful and charming also pertained to the man standing on the porch, not to mention his beat-up, old, faded-white Ford pickup parked off to the side.

He had white hair pulled back, probably in a ponytail, a farmer’s cap on his head. Scruffy white beard. Weathered skin. Plaid shirt.

And faded denim overalls.

Overalls!

Yes, that anxiety was fading fast.

I swung around the front, switched off the ignition and exited my vehicle with a small smile on my face.

“You Miz Williams?” he called.

I didn’t wince at the name I’d never changed and tried not to use, but it was the name on all legal documents.

Including rental contracts.

“Yes. But I’m Nadia. Are you Dave Weaver?” I called back, moving across the gravel path to the wooden front steps (all lined with pots of flowers, including parts of the gravel).

He held up a hand, palm out, to stop my progress.

I halted.

“I get how it is, gel.”

The “g” in “gel” was hard, and I had a feeling he meant the word as “girl.”

He kept talking.

“These days, heck, all through history, you gotta be careful. My Brenda was supposed to meet you so you’d feel comfortable during the walk-through. She got to feelin’ bad, so, my apologies, but it has to be me.”

Before I could fully process what he said, he unexpectedly tossed a set of keys toward me, and fortunately, I moved fast enough and caught them.

He continued speaking.

“I’ll keep my distance as I show you around.”

Ah.

He meant me being in the middle of nowhere with a strange man.

It was lovely he thought of that, because, considering his Green Acres Santa look, I hadn’t.

He swept a hand around to indicate the entirety of the space.

“Brenda told me to put the pillows out so you’ll get the full effect. And you can do it if you want, but she said she’d come and water the plants, but she won’t come unless you know she’s comin’.”

Considering I had little else to do, taking care of all these flowers sounded like a good meditative task to have.

A responsibility.

Something that counted on me.

Yes, that seemed a good thing to do.

“If she tells me how much water they need and how frequently they need it, I can take care of it,” I told him and shot him another smile. “I’m not known for my gardening chops, but I can learn.”

He nodded. “I’ll give her that heads up.” He hooked his thumbs in the straps of his overalls and carried on, “As a welcome home, we got the essentials in there for you, so you don’t have to head back out and grab yourself some groceries. Not like the market is close.”

That was nice, though my trunk was filled with about fifteen bags of groceries because I’d had that same thought.

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Advertisement The Girl in the Woods (Misted Pines #2) Read Online Kristen Ashley http://www.books2020.com/the-girl-in-the-woods-misted-pines-2-read-online-kristen-ashley Thu, 30 Mar 2023 14:03:35 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-girl-in-the-woods-misted-pines-2-read-online-kristen-ashley Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Suspense, Thriller Authors: Kristen Ashley Series: Misted Pines Series by Kristen Ashley
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Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 114820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)

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This body would be the last for Zachariah Lazarus…
The Crystal Killer’s latest casualty was discovered in a sleepy town in the Pacific Northwest, Misted Pines.
His years in the FBI, and tracking the Crystal Killer, have taken their toll on Rus. He lost his marriage to the job. And the burdens he carries for the victims was crushing him.

Misted Pines has recently survived a killer’s rampage and a town scandal that made global news. The media was primed to devour a new story. So Rus already has his work cut out for him.
But it’s more.
Something is just not right with this latest victim.
As Rus works with the local sheriff to unravel the mystery, the victim’s employer, Lucinda Bonner, decides she’s going to do everything she can to help.
To help Rus find the killer. To help Rus survive the hunt. To help Rus navigate the intricate, and sometimes sordid, history of the town of Misted Pines.
And to help Rus let go of his burdens.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

ONE

The Last One

Standing in the doorway staring at a dead woman, Zachariah Lazarus knew this case was going to be his last.

He’d lost his wife to this.

He couldn’t drop everything, fly five hours, drive for two and a half, stand in the doorway of a room and assume responsibility for another lost soul.

He’d see to her. If he caught a break, he’d find the twisted mess of a human being who was behind it, and he’d put him out of commission. If he didn’t, he’d uncover everything he could and leave it for the next guy to use when he stood in a door and stared at a life ended in a grim and tragic way, hoping like hell he’d catch a break.

But Rus was done.

He was heavy with this shit. Struggling to breathe under a boulder he carried, which grew bigger and bigger, threatening to crush him.

He took a single step into the room, fighting against that weight he’d carried for years but only started feeling the day he signed his divorce papers.

The room was cold, incredibly cold. They’d jacked the AC way up to take care of her. It was probably another reason the owner was impatient to get her out of there.

She was lying in a cradle of plastic sheeting, like the other seven had been.

Her back was to the door, just like the others.

She was arranged in a position of sleeping, on her side, one leg hitched and resting on the bunched plastic tucked around her, arms cocked, hands tucked under her cheek.

She’d been anally raped, he could tell by the blood. Rus knew from experience she’d likely also been vaginally raped.

The back of her head had been bludgeoned, her long blonde hair matted and mingled with the color of rust, the stained ivory of jagged pieces of skull and the gore of exposed brain matter showing through the strands.

He’d spoken to his team on the drive there. They’d come and gone and were queuing up evidence to process what they’d found.

At that moment, the local sheriff and two of his deputies were outside, the sheriff not three feet behind him, the deputies trying to calm an irate motel owner who wanted the body removed.

He was going to have to put up with crime scene tape, but cruisers and an active investigation fucked with his ability to rent rooms.

This was too bad, since the man needed the money so he could put some fucking cameras in his reception and parking lot. Perhaps he hadn’t already because their presence made his current clientele nervous, but this meant the zero evidence Rus knew his suspect left behind added to the zero video footage would leave Rus and this woman with less than zero to go on.

She’d been there since discovery by the motel’s maid yesterday morning. She was still there due to the fact the MO was highly publicized, and the call needed to be made that would put Rus on a plane.

This boded well for the start of the investigation. It said the locals weren’t going to mess around. They didn’t try to take lead. They didn’t start an investigation they weren’t going to be able to finish.

They made the call. Rus arranged for agents in the Seattle division to head out and process the scene, gave the locals his ETA and asked that the scene was secured, nothing disturbed, so he could see her as she was left.

Precisely as she was left.

Great emotion put a stamp on a space.

Stand in the doorway after a child’s birthday party, you could feel the joy even if you didn’t see the mess left behind or smell the residue of frosting.

Stand in the doorway of a crime scene, you could feel the suffering.

He normally let it wash over him like this, taking on the added weight of that despair, smelling the residue of misery.

He stood in that doorway longer, though, and not because she was going to be his last one.

He couldn’t put his finger on why, something was just…

Off.

When he couldn’t figure it out, he shook it off and moved farther into the room, down the near side of the bed, noting the coating of blood on her buttocks and thighs left from the violations she sustained, the bruising around her ankles, the smears and pooling on the plastic by her head.

She’d been raped here, and murdered here, tied to that bed.

Before that happened, the plastic sheeting had been spread across the mattress, down its sides, along the floor and up the wall. Once the perpetrator was finished, he’d tidied up, positioned her, but otherwise left no trace.

They’d find her blood and sweat and tears and hair on that sheeting.

Nothing from him.

The profilers had ideas about why she was positioned this way, with the worst of it facing the door.

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Advertisement The Girl in the Mist (Misted Pines #1) Read Online Kristen Ashley http://www.books2020.com/the-girl-in-the-mist-misted-pines-1-read-online-kristen-ashley Fri, 07 Jan 2022 21:37:26 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-girl-in-the-mist-misted-pines-1-read-online-kristen-ashley Genre: Romance, Suspense Authors: Kristen Ashley Series: Misted Pines Series by Kristen Ashley
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Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 129001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	(Misted Pines #1) The Girl in the Mist
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Kristen Ashley
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B09NRQBQYG
Book Information:
Renowned author Delphine Larue needs a haven. A crazed fan has gone over the deep end, and she's not safe. Her security team has suggested a house by a lake. Secluded. Private. Far away. In a beautiful area of the Northwest close to the sleepy town of Misted Pines. It's perfect. So perfect, Delphine has just moved in, and she's thinking she'll stay there forever. Until she sees the girl in the mist. After that, everything changes. Delphine quickly learns that Misted Pines isn't so sleepy. A little girl has gone missing, and the town is in the grips of terror and tragedy. The local sheriff isn't up for the job. The citizens are up in arms. And as the case unfolds, the seedy underbelly of a quiet community is exposed, layer by layer. But most importantly, girls are dying. There seems to be only one man they trust to find out what's happening. The mysterious Cade Bohannan.
Books in Series:	Misted Pines Series by Kristen Ashley
Books by Author:	Kristen Ashley

Prologue

The Lake House

There wasn’t time to do the renovations, outside the security system (obviously), but there was a list of vetted contractors who would take care of things.

This wasn’t an issue.

I could make do.

I had a plan.

Several of them.

Comprehensive.

Down to what was in my car right then.

Stuff that I myself had been carrying into the house while the movers took care of the boxes and furniture.

No, there were other issues with that lake house.

Many of them.

Starting with why I’d had to buy it.

Yes, had to.

Okay, not had to. I could have rented something, like the others did.

But still, I had to be there instead of home.

On expert advice, which sounded a good deal like orders, we all had to take significant precautions.

We’d had years of this kind of thing, specifically me. So many years, and so much of it, we’d all become inured to it.

But when the situation required the attention of the FBI and they had been fully apprised, they were even less happy about what was going on…

Well.

Cue me leaving LA and being…

Here.

In this house.

Which brought me to the next issue.

This house.

And no, it wasn’t that the closet was a mess and needed a custom one built, because yes, I was a diva. I’d earned that distinction and was proud of it. As I was proud that I’d worked hard and put up with a lot to earn my money.

I’d come up with nothing, from nothing.

Now I had nice things.

Quite a number of them.

And I did not apologize for that.

As such, I needed a nice closet in which to put my nice things.

I digress, which happened a lot when I thought about the state of my current closet.

Back on track…

Nor was the issue with the house that the kitchen was kind of a disaster (and it was, but for the time being I could work with it).

The bathrooms weren’t great either (really not great, and I’d be seeing to those…after the closet).

It was that the last owner died there.

Yes, he was old-ish, and what took him (I was told) was natural causes.

But he’d died there.

And I was discovering that put a stamp on the place.

Still, the view.

The quiet.

The peacefulness.

The fact that the lake was huge and there were only four houses at my end of it, and two of them were seasonal rentals.

Not only did that add to the serenity of the place, it also meant the road outside my house, which dead-ended at the rental home about half a mile from me, would hold little traffic. And the traffic it held would need for me or the residents of the house down below to buzz them in the rather daunting gate, or they’d need the gate code, or they’d need the sensor attached to their windshield (like I now had).

In other words, in the current situation, all of that that was a big bonus for the house.

There was also the wooden path down to the lake that led to an expansive dock, on which I intended to put an outdoor rug and Adirondack chairs and attractive outdoor lights on the poles.

And then there was the boathouse, which was delightfully large. As such, it was also where I was going to store a beverage fridge and (way down the list) add a small kitchenette, a wee living area, a three-quarter bath, a bedroom, all of this for guests to have privacy.

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Read Online Books/Novels:

(Misted Pines #1) The Girl in the Mist

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Kristen Ashley

English

B09NRQBQYG

Kristen Ashley