Matt stared at the name written in his great-grandfather's journal. Frank had left a will that declared that Miss Abigail Louise Frasier would move into that house on September 20th in 2020. He had also given details of exactly how the house should look at that time. Furthermore, she would be the only one to ever rent it.

Matt had given this a lot of thought. How could he have known that Abigail Louise Frasier, spelled exactly this way, would arrive on the 20th of 2020, which was a date in the future he would never see? Hell, the entire thing was straight out of the Twilight Zone.

Regardless, this was happening, and he had no choice but to do as the will states. There was proof that his grandfather had knowledge of many things before it happened. In 1929, Frank began investing heavily into several businesses that were selling for pennies on the dollar. When the market came back up, Frank sold those stocks and became filthy rich. As the years went by, he continued to buy and sell on the market. Later, he instructed his sons what to purchase and when. This talent made them all rich.

Matt and his father had followed the same instructions, but the last investment ended this past month. He had yet to figure out how Frank had known anything about companies not yet created during his lifespan. Matt's father thought Frank could have been psychic, though he never admitted it. If he had been psychic, it would answer how he knew the date Abigail Frasier would come knocking.

Nevertheless, with America coming upon another financial crisis, he wished he still had his grandfather's advice.

* * *

The following morning Matt stopped at the store to buy a newspaper and a French Coffee Press along with a pound of fresh coffee beans. If she didn't drink coffee, this made it a cup at a time.

He didn't understand many things concerning his grandfather, yet he had managed to make them rich off the stock market. By the comments Abby made, he wondered if her connection to the house had to do with instinct. If so, she might know something about the market. He wasn't ready to stop seeing the money roll into his account.

After he arrived at the house, he ground some coffee and plugged up the electric kettle to heat the water. If he had a choice, that wood cookstove would have been replaced long ago with electric. He followed the instruction for the coffee maker and was soon sniffing the rich aroma of coffee.

Matt took a seat at the table and opened the paper to the financial section. Then, he deliberately placed it where she would see it. His gaze took in this aged room, the ridiculous mirrors everywhere, and wondered why anyone would want to rent this place. He stopped in as a place to stay when he had plans to go to the lake, but living here? He preferred the luxury of modern conveniences. Not to mention the stores nearby.

He hoped she didn't have a problem with them keeping the boat here, but he doubted she would mind. The woman didn't know it, but the will made sure she had what she wanted... other than ownership. When she left, the house remained with more rules.

Matt set out a teacup. A new box of tea sat on the table beside it. Not knowing what she would like, he bought a variety pack and opened it. At the sound of a car, he made his way to the front door and stepped onto the front porch. A petite woman, in her mid-twenties, stepped out of her car and waved. Her long, curly hair was light brown and looked extremely soft.

There was excitement on her pretty face, which boggled his mind. This cabin would be like living in a museum. When she walked towards him, he was instantly taken by the way she dressed. She wore a white peasant blouse with a colorful floral full skirt that reached her ankles. On her feet were canvas shoes in bright pink.

Last night, he went online to read a sample of one of her novels. The blurb promised it would be a murder mystery in the nineteenth century. Since she researched historical facts to write such books, it made better sense why she would desire to live here in this cabin.

Because the will had mysteriously foretold of the exact date of her arrival, he assumed she would be staying. With such old appliances, he'd have Charlie cut enough wood for her needs.

He took the steps down from the porch to meet her. Everything about her was dainty, and he knew that was why he felt a need to take care of her. Few women pulled that reaction from him.

"Abby, I'm Matt. It's a pleasure to meet you." He accepted her handshake and felt the softness. "I've put the kettle on for you to have some tea while we get acquainted." He swept his arm toward the porch for her to lead the way inside.

She stepped through the door and smiled at how the morning sun came through the windows in the living room and used the mirrors to brighten the entire room. "This home makes me feel as if I'm coming home after being away on a long trip."

He looked around trying to see it as she did. "If you feel that way about the house, it makes sense why you want to live here. The internet is fast so I'm confident that will be convenient for your needs as an author."

"That's wonderful. My profession brings up a subject I need to ask. You see, besides using the internet for research, I also have a collection of books for that purpose." Abby stepped to the arched entryway to the parlor and asked, "Would it be permissible to place a small bookcase against that wall for my books?" She pointed at a bare corner. "I have one in storage that will look fine in the room. If not, I can keep them under the bed in plastic storage bin."

"A bookcase is fine. I doubt that would break the will. I would rather Charlie helps you move inside. I can't take the risk of a mover breaking anything." She nodded understanding, and he ushered her into the kitchen. "I have the paperwork ready for you to read and sign."

Matt stepped to the table and pulled a chair out for Abby. The newspaper he'd placed there was close enough for her to notice. After she sat, he slid the box of tea towards her. "You can choose what tea you prefer," he said as he moved to get the kettle of hot water.

She chose one and put the bag into the flowered teacup. After she did, he poured the hot water and went back to the counter to make another cup of coffee for himself. "After your comment last night about Charlie drinking coffee, I went out and bought this coffee press today for the house. Nothing could be easier and the coffee is delicious. The best part is that it's small."

He saw she was watching him as he prepared it. At last, he poured the hot water into the cylinder, waited a moment, and then began to press a plate down that separated the grounds from the liquid. "I bought some of those little containers of cream and some sugar packets. Charlie likes both. My mother enjoys a little cream in her tea."

She smiled. "Thank you; cream would be nice."

He took the cream from the fridge and carried it and his cup of coffee to the table. "While I was awaiting your arrival, I was checking the stock report. Do you by chance play the market?"

He sat beside her and pulled up his briefcase for the paperwork.

"No. Though I have researched the movement and the effects on the economy. I keep a notebook of the rise and fall of stocks as well as the date. My purpose is for writing. Although I basically write historical books, I've been asked to write a time-travel novel. I plan to use the disaster in 2008."

"That one hurt. The economists are predicting another big crash. They say it's inevitable. The question is when and how bad. I've been tempted to sell my stocks."

She didn't respond. Instead, she blew into the tea and took a sip. "Ummm, this is delicious."

"Good. I'm glad you like it. How long have you been writing?"

"I assume you mean professionally. I wrote short stories in high school and sold them to a magazine. It wasn't for much money, but it helped with the cost of school. After I graduated, I finished a novel I'd been writing and found a publisher. I'm still with them."

"Where did you go to school?"

"OU. I moved to Tulsa after graduation and took a job editing, of all things. The pay was good, but over time, my books began selling well" She shrugged. "That's when I quit my job and spent more time writing. It's time-consuming to write and promote books."

"I'll have to read one, now that I've met you."

"Keep in mind that I write historical romance. However, I also give it a heavy plot. It is more than the story of romance. Many authors do that as well."

"I read the beginning of one last night that you wrote. It had a soft start, but the second chapter jumped right into a murder. I bought it."

She smiled and took a drink of her tea. "Perhaps, I should read that contract now."