Crazy like a Fox by Melinda Metz

Crazy like a Fox by Melinda Metz

Author:Melinda Metz [Metz, Melinda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2021-08-30T00:00:00+00:00


CHAPTER 9

Gavin biked across the bridge, enjoying the bump-bump as he rode over the wooden planks, then it was back to the gravel path running between what was almost a tunnel of trees. Getting paid for this? Ridiculous. He should be paying Nick and Annie.

He rounded a curve and saw a horse and rider coming toward him. He slowed his speed and gave them a wide berth. The trail was getting a lot of use today. He’d already seen three ATVs and lots of people out for hikes. The tree tunnel opened up to farmland, and he could see the spire of the Dover-Foxcroft Congregational Church. He led his convoy of Booters into town and over to Dottie’s.

“The great thing about Boots Camp,” Gavin called when everyone in the group had come to a stop, “is you burn massive amounts of calories, which means you need massive amounts of fuel. Have at it. I’ll stand watch over the bikes.” He flung one arm toward the bakery. “Don’t miss the whoopie pies. The town has a whoopie festival every year, and the ones at this place shouldn’t be missed,” he added as the group headed past him.

Lillian returned about ten minutes later with two iced teas and two of the whoopies. “I got chocolate. I hope that’s okay. I could go in and trade yours if you’d rather have pumpkin or—”

“Anything but chocolate is practically sacrilegious. Thanks, Twinkle.” She really was a sweetie. For probably the hundredth time, he wondered why any man would break up with a woman like her. “You know the story about how these got their name?”

She shook her head. He’d just discovered the story when he was doing his due diligence for today’s outing. “It’s supposedly Amish women who invented them. They didn’t like wasting cake batter, so they’d make little mounds with whatever was leftover and bake them, then cut them in half and stick ’em together with frosting. Supposedly, when one of the Amish farmers would find one in his lunch box, he’d shout, ‘whoopie.’ ”

Lillian laughed, that husky laugh, then took a bite. “Whoopie!”

“Now, I can’t be mad at you, since you just brought me this.” He held up his whoopie. “But you told me you were a woman of your word and—”

She didn’t let him finish. “I didn’t put in a note. I didn’t say who it was from.”

“Yeah, but you knew exactly what I was talkin’ about, now didn’t you?”

“How did you even find out?”

“You know Hatherley’s is owned by Annie and her family, don’t you?”

“I didn’t really think about it.”

“We needed a couple more hydration packs at the Boots Barn, and Hatherley’s had extra, so I stopped by to pick them up. Jason, the kid who works behind the counter, asked if we needed any protein bars, jerky, that kind of stuff. I told him no, and he said he thought we might, because one of the Booters was in there buying food. I asked him for a description, although I was already pretty sure it was you.



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