Fox Crossing

Book 1: Fox Crossing, Maine Novel

by Melinda Metz

Genres: Siblings; Small Town & Rural

Synopsis

Crossing paths with a black cat is said to bring bad luck.
But crossing paths with The Fox is a whole other story...
SOME SAY THE FOX IS GOOD LUCK
In the mountain village of Fox Crossing, Maine, everyone knows the story of The Fox. According to local legend, one of the town's founders crossed paths with a curious-looking fox with a distinctive white ear and paw. The unusual fox sighting not only inspired the town's name, it sparked a fantastical piece of folklore that's been passed down for generations. Some people say that whoever sees The Fox will be rewarded with good fortune, love, and happiness. Others say it's just a silly folk tale...
WHAT DOES THE FOX SAY?
Annie Hatherley doesn't believe The Fox legend--even though it was her great-great-great-grandmother who spotted the critter centuries ago. But now it's part of Annie's legacy, along with her family business, Hatherley's Outfitters. For years, Annie's been selling gear to hikers on the Appalachian Trail. But she's never seen The Fox--until now. Out of nowhere, this little white-eared vixen leads her to Nick Ferrone, a woefully unprepared hiker who needs her help. The Shoo Fly Bakery owner also spots the sly creature--who takes him to a homeless dog that needs his love. Annie can't deny that something magical is happening--because she's starting to fall for a certain foxy hiker named Nick...

Release date: November 24, 2020

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 256

Sample

One look was all it took. He’s not gonna make it, Annie Hatherley thought. She watched the lanky man cross the street toward the store, the sun bringing out glints of auburn in his curly brown hair. He wasn’t the worst noob hiker she’d ever seen. That would be the guy last year wearing jeans, flip-flops, and an aloha shirt, cotton of course, his pack filled with three more of the gaudy shirts, a carton of Clif Bars, and a large bottle of water. And nothing else.

This guy wasn’t that guy, but his backpack probably weighed close to seventy pounds. Nope, he wasn’t gonna make it.

Forget the pack and the boots, his calves showed her that he hadn’t been doing the kind of training he needed to take on the 100-Mile Wilderness. They weren’t scrawny. They were, in fact, nicely muscled, with just the right amount of hair, at least in Annie’s opinion. She had a friend who liked her men to look half-bear. Took all kinds to make a world.

But this guy’s calves, nice as they were, were the calves of a casual day-hiker. A serious hiker’s calves usually expanded a half inch in circumference, thighs about two inches. Sadly, Annie couldn’t see the man’s thighs. His prAna Stretch Zion shorts hit him a couple inches above the knee. He’d made a smart choice there, the shorts stretchy and cool, with a wicking finish. And only two pockets. A lot of noobs thought they needed way more pockets than they actually did. But, despite the sensible shorts, he wasn’t gonna make it. He—He was coming through the door. “Okay if I bring this in?” he asked, holding up the paper cup he carried.

“Sure.” Annie watched him take in the store, her store, since her mother had gotten herself elected first selectman, basically CEO of the town, about four and a half years earlier. He took his time, looking at everything.

“These hardwood floors are amazing.”

“They’re juniper maple.” The hardwood floors were the first change Annie had made when she took over. Her mother hadn’t bothered much with aesthetics. Hatherley’s Outfitters was the only game in town, the only place to buy gear in Fox Crossing, and Fox Crossing was the last town before the 100-Mile Wilderness, the wildest, and in Annie’s opinion, most beautiful stretch of the Appalachian Trail. But just because the store had no competition didn’t mean it shouldn’t be inviting. Fox Crossing had changed over the years since her great-great-great-great-great-grandmother opened the store. An antiques store was a few doors down from Hatherley’s, the Wit’s Beginning Brewery was included in one of the Brew Ha-Ha Bus tours out of Bangor, and Foxy Loxy Books had just been selected as one of Maine’s best used-book stores.

“Perfect with the slate.” The man appreciatively ran his fingers over the smooth slate counter Annie stood behind. For a crazy second, Annie flashed on those fingers running over her skin with that same—Inappropriate thought! He was a customer. Also, a complete stranger.

“Slate from Fox Crossing is in high demand,” she said, as crisply as a new schoolteacher being observed by the principal. “There are several political graves in Arlington Cemetery made by the black slate from the local quarry. Although I preferred gray for—”

“Political graves?” he repeated, raising one eyebrow. Annie had been trying to learn to raise one eyebrow since she was about seven. Still couldn’t do it.

“Don’t be pedantic.” Had she actually just used the word pedantic? People who used the word pedantic were pedantic. “You know I meant graves of people in politics, including Jackie and John F. Kennedy’s,” she continued, unable to shake the lecturing tone. At least it was keeping her brain from creating more inappropriate thoughts.

“Guilty. License to be pedantic comes with the glasses.” He pushed his slightly geeky, definitely stylish tortoiseshell specs higher on his nose. “The girl—woman—who sold them to me said they gave me a ‘modern intellectual look.’ ”

He laughed and Annie joined in. Even though he was a noob who shouldn’t be within a hundred miles of the 100-Mile Wilderness, she was starting to like this guy, dammit. And not just for his perfect-amount-of-hair-and-muscles calves. And not just for his warm chestnut eyes, which she couldn’t help noticing when she was looking at his glasses. He was kind of funny, and kind of smart, and had good taste in flooring and countertops.

You have to find, at the very least, a new friend-with-benefits, Annie told herself. It had been a little more than a year since Seth had decided to head west to hike the PCT, and she hadn’t even started feeling lonely. Truth? Seth had been starting to get on her nerves, and she was more than kinda glad he was gone. But her zero-to-sixty attraction to this guy showed her she was getting itchy.

“So, what can I help you with?” she asked, all professional-like.

“Wait. First you have to tell me your name. I don’t allow myself to be mocked by strangers.”

“Annie Hatherley.”

“Of Hatherley’s Outfitters.” She nodded. “Nick Ferrone.” He held out his hand, and she shook it. His grip was also just right. Not you’re-a-delicate-lady-and-I-must-not-squash-your-fingers soft, but not I-must-show-dominance-to-all hard. Also, it sent a little tingle from her fingers to low in her stomach. Dammit.

When he let go, Annie caught sight of the tattoo on his forearm, and she could feel a wide grin, the kind that gave her chipmunk cheeks, stretching across her face. The tat was of what was clearly supposed to be a fox since it had the words I’M FOXY underneath. Nick noticed the direction of her gaze and flushed. “I—”

“You had an encounter with Noah and Logan, otherwise known as Nogan,” Annie finished for him. “I’m quite familiar with their hand-drawn temporary tattoos, as well as their strong-arm sales techniques. What else did you buy?”

He took a swallow of what Annie knew was Nogan’s drink of the day—blackberry lemonade sweetened with local honey. She’d had one herself at lunch.

“Just a piece of the Canine Candy,” he admitted.

He had a dog? Bad idea. She opened her mouth to give Nick a list of all the reasons he should absolutely not bring a dog on his hike, starting with how it would greatly lower his odds of completing the hike, and those odds were pathetic to start out with. She forced herself to take a beat. Find a way to say it nicely, she told herself. Be professional. Last hiking season she’d gotten a bunch of negative social-media reviews about her attitude. One had even called her surly. Surly! Not that it mattered. You wanted to buy gear in Fox Crossing, you bought from her.

“You’re planning to hike the Wilderness?” she asked. Even though she already knew the answer.

“Yep.” Those chestnut-brown eyes of his gleamed with enthusiasm.

Nick was clueless about what he was in for. Annie felt prickles of irritation run down the back of her neck. The irritation prickles were stronger than the attraction tingles. A license should be needed to hike the Wilderness, and a test—written and practical—to get one. Don’t go there, she told herself. “Then I’m assuming you want to go up Katahdin when you get to the end.” She managed to keep her tone pleasant. No surly to be heard.

“I couldn’t say I’d hiked the whole thing if I didn’t.”

Couldn’t say he’d hiked it. Was he doing it for bragging rights? Who was he trying to impress? What was he trying to prove? None of your business, she told herself. You’re here to sell him stuff.

“Just so you know, dogs aren’t allowed in Baxter State Park, which is where the mountain is.” Yeah, that was a good approach. Nothing personal about his hiking skills. “You’ll need to board your beastie before that last stretch. There are kennels in Millinocket, but that’s twenty-five miles east. It’s not easy. You’ll only have logging tr—”

“No dog. Just me.”

“Oh. Good.” She let out a breath. “Then why the Canine Candy?”

“The boys convinced me it tasted just as good to humans and that there was nothing in it that would hurt me, so . . .” Nick shrugged. “Wasn’t too bad.”

“Wait. You actually ate a piece!”

“Well, yeah. They were watching. It tasted like an extremely healthy, very dry, mostly flavorless cookie, if you want to know.”

He’s nice, too, Annie realized. Dammit. He wasn’t just smartish and funnyish, with excellent taste, plus the calves, and the eyes. He’d humored two nine-year-old boys by buying a dog treat when he didn’t have a dog. And he’d eaten it! That was exceptionally nice.

But he’s also exceptionally ill prepared, she reminded herself. He wasn’t gonna make it out there. The only question was, How badly was he gonna get hurt?

Not at all, if Annie could help it. She’d try to be nice herself, but if that didn’t work, well, she could deal with another “she’s so surly” review. Surly sometimes saved lives. “So how long have you been training?” Annie asked nicely.

“Almost three months. Every weekend, and I usually got in a few weeknights. And I carry my pack whenever I can, like now.”

“Not enough.” It felt like the two words hit the ground with a thud.

“What?”

“That’s just not enough time to get in shape. I can tell by looking at you you’re not up for the Wilderness.” Was that surly? No, Annie decided. She hadn’t raised her voice. She hadn’t called Nick an idiot. She’d just given him the truth, plainly spoken, and he needed to hear it.

“Just by looking at me?” His eyes weren’t warm anymore.

“Yep. I’ve been working here since I was a kid. I can tell when a hiker’s not ready, and you, my friend, are not ready.”

Nick snorted. “ ‘My friend,’ ” he muttered.

The prickles of irritation were back, but they were more like ice-pick stabs now. He was already shutting down. He didn’t want to hear her. Well, too bad. “Look, you could die out there. Do you get that? This slate”—Annie slapped the counter—“it’s what a lot of the rock out there is made out of. And it gets slippery as shit.” She managed not to say my friend again, but it was truth time, and she was giving him all of it. “Which makes falling and bashing your head in a definite possibility. Also, there’s snow melt. We’ve got snow melt this time of year, and it can turn streams into white-water deathtraps. And there are swamps—”

“I read about all of this.” Nick planted his hands on the counter and leaned toward her.

Annie mimicked his position, leaning in, getting right in his face, glaring at him. “Oh, you read about it. My bad. So, you know it all. Happy trails then.”

“Have I interrupted something interesting?”

Annie’s grandmother had come in. Of course. Why not make this situation a little worse by having her as a witness?

“Just giving a customer the rundown on what to expect out on the trail.” Annie pushed herself away from her side of the counter.

Nick took a step back from his and planted a smile on his face. He turned to Annie’s grandmother. “Hi. I’m Nick. The customer.”

“I’m Ruth Allis. But you can call me Honey.” She fluffed up her blond curls and straightened the pair of cloth fox ears attached to her hairband.

“I’m honored.” The fake, being-polite smile—because, of course, he had to be polite, too—became genuine.

“Don’t be too honored,” Annie snapped. “Everyone calls her Honey, including me, and I’m her granddaughter. You’d think I’d call her Grandma or Grammy or Nana or the like, but, no, I’m forbidden from using any appellation that makes her sound over twenty-one.” Annie knew she was taking out her frustration on the wrong person, but kept on going. “That’s actually what she puts on forms, even medical ones, twenty-one-plus.”

“All anybody needs to know.” Honey shot Annie a reproving glance. It didn’t work. Annie was way too riled to be reproved.

Nick laughed. “I agree completely. I’m going to start using that myself. Twenty-one-plus.”

Honey gave Nick’s arm a pat. She was such a flirt. “I hope Annie’s told you how beautiful the Wilderness is.”

“She was just about to tell me about the swamps,” Nick answered, keeping all his attention on Honey.

“There are sections of trail that were blazed straight through bogs,” Honey began.

Annie had to interrupt her. “Just so you know, you’re not going to find much resembling an actual trail out there. Don’t be expecting a nice dirt path.”

“You’ll get muddy, but you’ll also see pitcher plants.” Honey went on as if Annie hadn’t spoken. “You’re not going to get a look at those too many other places.”

“I read about them!” Nick exclaimed. “Definitely going to make sure I see some of those bug eaters in the wild.”

He was trail-struck. Nothing Annie was going to say would make a difference. Suddenly, she felt tired. This happened way too many times. “Was there something particular you were looking for today?” She wanted him out of there.

“I was thinking about a bug net.”

“This time of year? Absolutely necessary,” Annie answered. “I have several types.”

“Around now, the blackflies and mosquitoes can get so thick you can’t see your hand in front of your face,” Honey added, finally giving Annie some backup. “The man who owns the bakery? He was found standing on a bog log shouting, ‘Shoo, fly,’ over and over, tears streaming down his face. And he was a marine. He got his trail name that day and has been called Shoo Fly ever since.”

“Bug net it is,” Nick said.

He’s probably hoping for a cool trail name, like Thoreau or Seeker, Annie thought. He’s one of the ones who imagines he’s going to be transformed by the journey. She didn’t bother telling him to get over it.

“Looking at your pack, I’d say you should have Annie do a shakedown for you,” Honey told Nick.

“Shakedown?”

He couldn’t have done that much reading about the trail if he didn’t know what a shakedown was. “To let you know what’s unnecessary, noob,” Annie explained.

His eyes narrowed as he looked at her, and she could hear tension in his voice when he spoke. “Everything I brought is important. You’re the one who said I wasn’t prepared, but I have everything I’m going to need in this baby.” He patted his pack.

“Take it off and open it up,” Annie ordered. She wanted him out, but that didn’t mean she was willing to send him into the Wilderness carrying enough weight to blow out his knees, or end up with a rolled ankle, or a stress fracture. If he managed to avoid one of the dozens of possible injuries, he could still end up so fatigued that he’d take a fall.

When Nick hesitated, Annie insisted, “Do it.”

“Fine. But you’ll see I have everything I need and nothing more.” Nick yanked off his pack, put it on the floor, and unzipped it.

Annie crouched down and started checking out his supplies. She gave a snort of laughter when she got to a worn copy of Walden. Had she called it or had she called it? “Everything is necessary, huh?” She tossed it to the side.

“It’s one book,” Nick protested. “And it is necessary. I know a big part of the trail is mental preparation, and—”

Annie didn’t bother to listen. She pulled a solar phone charger from his pack. “Don’t need this. Cell service sucks out there.” Annie kept on going through his stuff. She pulled out a box of Band-Aids. “Don’t need this. If the injury is small enough for a Band-Aid, you don’t need a Band-Aid.” She pulled out a deodorant stick. “You’re gonna have to stink.” She pulled out three pairs of boxer briefs. “Nope.”

“Come on!” Nick yelped. He probably wouldn’t call it a yelp, but it definitely was.

“Bring those and you’ll have to bring Boudreaux’s Butt Paste for the chafing,” Annie explained.

“Fine.” She noticed a flush was creeping up his neck. She wasn’t sure if it was caused by anger or embarrassment or both. And she didn’t care. About ten minutes and fifty protests later, she had Nick’s pack at a manageable weight. It took her another five to convince him to trade in the boots for trail runners.

“Is that it?” Nick asked. She noticed a little muscle in his jaw twitching. Good. Why should she be the only one who was pissed off?

“That’s it.” She shoved herself to her feet.

“Except that we wish you a wonderful hike,” Honey said. “It’s the experience of a lifetime.”

“Thank you.” Nick smiled at her. “Hey, we match.” He held out his arm so she could see his fox tattoo.

“We’re twins!” Honey smoothed down the front of her T-shirt to show off her I’M FOXY fox.

Annie took a long breath, trying to calm down. “I assume you have an extraction plan.”

“I did. But the solar charger you nixed was part of the plan. I tried to tell you that.”

“And I told you, you can’t rely on cell service,” Annie shot back. “You need a tracker.”

“Yeah? And how much profit are you going to make off one of those?”

He thought this was about money? She was attempting to keep him alive, and he thought she was trying to make a profit. Not that she didn’t want the store to be successful, which it was, but that didn’t mean it was all she cared about. “I’ll rent you one. Hell, I’ll loan you one. For free. You can give it back tomorrow afternoon when you come back to town with your tail between your legs.”

“Annie!” Honey exclaimed.

Nick jumped in. “I don’t—”

“Shut up and take it.” Annie jerked open a display case and took out one of the satellite messengers, then thrust it into Nick’s hand. He stared at it, as if things were going too fast for him. “Call the number and they’ll get your profile set up. If you get in real trouble, send an SOS. It will go out to a rescue coordination center. You can also send your support person a link to an app. They’ll be able to watch your progress in almost real time.”

Nick’s forehead furrowed as he continued to look at the small device. Annie read his expression. “And you don’t have a support person, do you?”

“If I needed help, I planned to call for help.” He held the tracker out to her. When she folded her arms, refusing to take it, Nick set it on the counter. “I’ll take the solar charger and my phone.”

Annie pressed her fingers against the bridge of her nose. “Were you not listening? You might not get service and you might not always get sun for the solar. Which means”—she said the next words slowly, and deliberately—“you. Might. Not. Get. Help.”

He was close to walking out. She could see that. She pressed her lips together to stop herself from saying something that would push him out the door. He needed the tracker.

“Go ahead and take it, Fox Twin,” Honey told Nick. “It might come in handy.” She picked up the tracker and gave it to him. He slid it into his pocket.

“I want to pay for it,” he told Annie.

“Fine. How many days?”

“Ten.”

“It’s fifteen bucks for three days.”

“Fine.”

She could tell he wanted out of her place as much as she wanted him gone. She quickly rang up the bug net, the trail runners, and the rental, ran his card, and gave it back to him. “Do you need me to go over how to send the SOS?”

“I’ll google it.” He hefted his pack back on his shoulders. “I’ll see you when I return the tracker. In ten days.”

“I’ll be here,” Annie said to his back. He was already heading to the door. She and her grandmother watched as he crossed the street, turned the corner, and disappeared from sight.

“You can call me Grandma if you really want to,” Honey said.

“I like calling you Honey.”

“I know you do.” Honey smiled. “That man had everything, and then some. You could have been sweeter to him. Then when he returned the tracker, he’d probably have asked you out for drinks. Or you could have asked him. Then who knows?”

Annie shook her head. “He’s way too impulsive for me. He’s one of those guys who thinks he’s going to change his life by hitting the trail. Walking around with his copy of Walden. Which, fine. But you can’t just go. You need to prep. You need to plan.”

“Looked like he’d done some of both to me.”

“Some. Not nearly enough. And did you see how he almost walked out of here without the tracker? Just because his pride got dinged a little? He should have thanked me for pointing out he needed the thing.” Annie took her phone out of her pocket. “I have the app that will let me see how he’s doing. I’m going to keep an eye on him. He clearly isn’t capable of taking care of himself out there.”

She acted like I wasn’t capable of taking care of myself out there, Nick thought as he spooned the last bite of cobbler into his mouth. He knew it was fantastic—the perfect combo of buttery crunch and sweet, tangy blueberries. But he might as well have been eating that Canine Candy. He’d made a dinner reservation at the Quarryman Inn as a treat before ten days of eating dehydrated meals, dehydrated fruit, jerky, protein bars, and instant oatmeal. Believe it or not, Annie Hatherley, he had researched, and he knew what he should be eating on the trail.

He’d also decided to splurge on a comfortable bed for his last night in civilization and promised himself he’d enjoy both again when he returned, scraggly bearded and stinking, since Annie Hatherley had taken away his deodorant. Probably, make that definitely, he should go upstairs and get into that comfy bed early, get a good night’s sleep, but he was too wound up. He decided on a walk. He thought about getting his pack from the room, but one more night of carrying it wasn’t going to make a difference on the trail. And he’d been training plenty, despite what Annie Hatherley thought she could tell by looking at him.

Annie Hatherley. Annie Hatherley. Enough with the thinking about Annie Hatherley, he told himself as he headed out of the Inn in his new, comfortable trail runners. He got that he might not make it all the way through the Wilderness. He knew people had to give up for all kinds of reasons. He wasn’t an idiot, even though Annie Hatherley clearly thought he was.

He was still doing it. He had to forget about all her negative bullshit. Haters gonna hate. Crap. Annie Hatherley had reduced him to thinking in Taylor Swift lyrics. “Shake it off,” he muttered.

You’re in a new place. You’re at the start of an adventure. Look around. Take it in, he thought. He slowed his pace, smiling as he noticed Honey in a lit store window across the street, putting a sundress with a frolicking-fox pattern on a mannequin. The sign, all flourishes and curlicues, read VIXEN’S. That explained the fox T-shirt and the cloth ears. He wondered how much business it did. Was there a market for all fox stuff? At a glance, it looked like that’s all the shop sold. Maybe people just went in to talk to Honey. She was a charmer. Unlike her granddaughter.

Nick gave a growl of annoyance. In another minute, he was going to have to take out the pocketknife he’d bought for the trip—an Opinel No 7—and excise the part of his brain that held the memory of those few minutes in the outfitter’s. At least Annie Hatherley had let him keep the knife. She’d actually said it was one of the best backpacking blades.

Crap. He was doing it again. He shoved his hands through his hair. Maybe it was because before Annie Hatherley had turned into a shrew, he’d thought he felt some mutual attraction between them, a click. He knew he’d felt it on his side. That hadn’t happened in a long time. Actually, not since Lisa. It’s like being happily married had switched off that part of his brain. Not that he hadn’t noticed attractive women, but he hadn’t noticed them in the same way. He’d have a flash of speculating what they looked like naked or what it would be like to have sex with them, your basic guy stuff. But not with any . . . intent.

But he wasn’t married anymore. And he hadn’t been happily married for a long time. He’d thought he was happily married, but how could he be if his wife was thinking divorce? How could he have been happily married if his wife—ex-wife—got married the day their divorce went through? Not even one day later. The same day.

Today, in those first few moments with Annie Hatherley, it’s like an old part of himself had woken up. He usually didn’t like short hair on women, but her short, dark brown hair let him focus on her face, on her clear blue. . .