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A Home in Cranberry Cove

By June Foster

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Chapter One


Madison Mitchell climbed the wooden stairs to Sloan's Fishing Supplies. Why not check out the store where her long, lost boyfriend used to work? Ha, who was she kidding? Ryder Langston had never been hers.
She passed the military museum and paused at the next window—an exclusive gift shop where the least expensive item would cost too much for her budget. Her budget strained by her recent circumstances—single and living on a teacher's salary.
A stained-glass piece hanging in the window caught her eye. The picture depicted a summer woodland scene with rock stairs leading into a forest of Douglas fir and then fading into the distance.
She took a few steps closer as a tingle tickled her skin. Where did the stairs lead? Perhaps to a life better than the one she led now. A life where a husband valued her instead of divorcing her and leaving for another woman. Somehow, she knew the answer was important.
She meandered on to the last store. Since the first day Ryder had hired the assistant manager, the window displays had become more appealing, more professionally designed than some she'd seen in Seattle.
In the window, a display with a mannequin dressed in green chest waders stood next to fishing nets, colorful lures, and a variety of reels. The model raised a fly rod over his head, ready to cast. A ferocious bear on two hind legs hovered over the man as if ready to attack. Replicas of miniature, stately firs shaded a sparkling, blue pond.
The bell dinged as Madison walked through the door.
"Be right with you," a person called from the back.
She strolled toward the display. The fly rod in the model's hand didn't look much different than the rod her father used the times he took her fishing when she was a child.
A rack of fly rods sat next to the window. She reached for one, lifted out the pole, and took several steps back into the aisle. Yep, she'd used one of these before, and she had plenty of room. With a flick of her wrist, she waved the rod backward over her head as her father had taught her. The handle slipped out of her grip and flew through the air behind her.
Whack.
"Ow."
"Oh, no." Madison whirled around.
A man held his head and grimaced.
She pressed her hands on either side of her cheeks. "Oh, dear."
The guy swept his dark hair off his forehead and rubbed a red spot on his jaw. "The end of your fly rod caught me on the side of my face."
Madison glanced at the rod lying on the floor and then up to the man again. "I'm so sorry." She took a few steps toward him to examine his cheek. "I, er, I don't know what got into me." How could she tell him she'd relived her childhood memory of going fishing with her father?
The man's nametag read Micah Collins, General Manager. His dark eyes twinkled with mischief as he reached down to pick up the rod. "Will this be cash or card?"
She drew her hand to her chest. "I hadn't planned on purchasing the rod. Was it damaged?"
"Nope. But I figured you might want to get out on the stream and practice casting."
"I suppose you're right." But going fishing was the last thing on her mind right now.
"With a purchase, we have individual and group fishing lessons available if you're interested. I'd suggest you take a couple."
Warmth heated Madison's cheek. Now this guy was teasing her. Or maybe he wanted to make light of the awkward situation. "Yes, I'm sure you're right. But I don't get much time off."
"No, problem. We teach at your convenience." The store manager replaced the rod on the rack. "Are you interested in stream or ocean fishing?"
"I think stream would suit me better. Who are the instructors?"
Micah smiled. "I'm one. But I think I'll assign another of our fishing guides to you." He laughed. "Not sure I can survive any more wallops from your rod."
"I'll definitely not do that again." Madison glanced around the well-stocked store. "So, you took Ryder Langston's place when he left?"
"Yes. I was assistant manager for nine months until Ryder married." Micah handed her a rod. "Try this one out for size. Did you know Ryder?"
"Yes." No need to explain more. Madison turned toward the counter. The least she could do would be to buy a rod and sign up. "This one seems good to me. I think I better get my name on the list for fishing lessons."
Micah chuckled. "You think?" He pulled a clipboard from the checkout desk. "Here we go. Give me your name, phone number, and the type of fishing you'd like to do. We'll get back to you and arrange a convenient time." He rang up her purchase. "Unless you plan to use it before the lesson, I can keep it here and bring it with me on the day of the lesson."
Madison filled out the information and returned the form to Micah. "I'd appreciate it if you could hold on to it."
Micah glanced at the notebook. "Madison Mitchell. I've lived here almost a year and haven't met you."
She swallowed hard. No way she'd tell him six months ago she was trying to teach school and make her marriage work. She restrained the sigh that begged to escape her lips.
"Besides shopping in fishing supply stores, what do you do?"
She twirled a strand of hair around her finger. "I'm a teacher at the high school, but I'm off for the summer."
"Must be nice to have the time off to travel."
Travel? No such luck. "Actually, I'm working at the inn this summer helping my best friend, Ashton Atwood." And trying to forget about how things turned out with Josh.
The uncomfortable thought coiled in her stomach like the timber rattlesnake she'd encountered on a trek through the forest. She shook off the memory. "Well, I need to go." She stepped toward the door.
Micah waved. "I'll give you a call when we organize the next fishing excursion."
"Thanks." In the parking lot, Madison clicked the key to open her car. Ryder's replacement at the store ranked high on her list of nice-looking men. But what difference did it make? She wasn't interested in Micah Collins, or any guy for that matter—not until the pieces of her heart mended.
The fairy-dust ringtone sounded on her phone. A text. Probably Ashton asking her to pick up something for the inn. She paused to read it.
Babe. Just checking on you. Hope you're okay. I'm sorry for the way things turned out. How can I make it up to you? Josh.
Madison firmed her lips. How dare Josh text her? She clicked off her phone and deleted the text. You can make it up to me by not texting me anymore.
Her stomach knotted into a tight ball. She didn't trust him. What was her ex-husband up to?

*****

Micah watched the attractive woman as she walked out the door and trekked down the walkway as if she'd remembered a pending appointment. Her light brown hair swayed with her steps, and her soft blue eyes fascinated him. The flyrod incident had obviously been an embarrassment, and he felt a little sorry for her.
He wrote her name on a tag, attached the label, and placed the rod in the stockroom. Then he straightened the rest of the rods on the rack. Madison Mitchell. Now he remembered. Ryder had mentioned her a couple of times last fall. Said he had a blind date with her once, and then they'd attended church together. But no more mention of Madison after Ryder began seeing Juliette.
He ran a hand through his hair. He needed to get back to work. Those new fishing vests weren't going to stock themselves. Yet, he thanked God every day for this job. His employment provided a roof over his head and food on the table. He couldn't live on his savings forever.
In the storeroom, Karina Soriano, Micah's assistant manager, unpacked a box of fishing lines and set the spools on the shelf.
"How ya doing today, Karina?" Micah set two large boxes on his cart.
"Muy bien, gracias. I'm fine."
"That's good to hear." The petite Hispanic woman had proven to be a good hire so far.
He rolled the two-wheeled cart to the clothing section in front.
On the next aisle, two women browsed through the display of sun visors. The first, dressed in tattered jeans and an old shirt that fit tightly around her belly, was around five months pregnant. She leaned closer to the second woman. "I don't care what my doctor says, I'm eating for two. Let's go grab a hamburger and fries in town. I can't afford any of these high-priced restaurants on the wharf."
The second lady grinned. "You've got another mouth to feed. My grandmother always said the same thing, and she had seven kids. After the burger, let's stop at the ice cream shop on Main. My treat."
Micah pinched his lips together. Eating for two. Misinformation that could prove harmful to a woman's health. Gestational diabetes wasn't worth the risk.
He shook his head and sliced open the box of vests with a boxcutter. He gave himself a mental kick in the pants and slid a vest onto a hanger. His work was here at Blake's store. The woman's health and the conversation between the two were none of his business.
 

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