SHE WAS A WOMAN OF THE '90S . . .
The 1890s, that is. At least Frances Moon was convinced she'd have been more comfortable back then. She had everything she needed in the wilds of Vermont: her friends, her cat, her sheep, her goats. And, she thought, if she needed a man, she could always create one. It was one of the perks of being a novelist.
Then Jack Neillands showed up. Inch-for-masculine-inch Jack embodied Frances's perfect man. He was everything she'd ever imagined. But fantasy heroes were safe and predictable. Controllable.
It didn't take Frances long to discover that Jack was anything but!