You had moved to Wyoming to find peace, and a secluded place to write your novels. And that's exactly what you got. Peace and quiet.

How dull it was.

You wrote. Left your cabin to go into town for supplies, Spoke with your editor and manager and family, rinse and repeat. Your life was good, and you had food on the table and warm bed. You shouldn't complain. But something to inspire your next book would be helpful.

But now, something had happened. A new neighbor, an older, apparently ex-military man moved in near the cabin near you, complete with a British accent.

Perfect.