Saving Her Bear: A Second Chances Romance (2 page)

“That’s the thing. See, she disappeared way off in this town called Falkirk’s Seat, but her whole family was down there in Blackrock – miles away from where she disappeared - scouring Parkhurst fucking Lake.”

Catherine stared out the window as they passed through a small town, watching as one of the only grocery stores for a half hour in every direction passed by in a blur.

“The cops thought they were lunatics, cause they’re were off searching the woods in Falkirk’s Seat, but wouldn’t you know it, they found her in that lake. Her fucking brother found her body in the damn lake.”

Jean gasped again. “Oh my god, that’s horrible. What happened to her?”

Bennett was relishing her rapt attention. Catherine was willing herself deaf. It was one of the worst memories of her childhood – the murder of Alison Fenn. She’d been a schoolteacher at Blackrock Elementary School, and one of the few truly sweet people Catherine had ever known. Sadly, the Calhoun family wasn’t known for their loving natures.

“She’d been shot. Cops tried to pin it on one of the Fenn family, given they knew where to find her body and all.”

“Did they figure out who did it?”

Catherine shook her head, answering before Bennett could. “No. Couldn’t find the rifle to match the bullet. No one was ever charged.”

Jean slumped back into her seat. “Jesus, that’s some harrowing shit.”

Bennett glanced into the rearview, swerving just so as he did. Catherine slapped his arm and he returned his attention to the road.

“Sorry,” he said. “Yeah, but you want to know the creepiest part?”

Jean was leaning forward again, instantly. “Yes!”

“Four years later? The body of Gregory Fenn washed up in Falkirk Seat Harbor.”

Jean and Bennett continued this conversation, but Catherine simply couldn’t listen anymore. These were stories she knew well. Everyone from Blackrock to Machias knew about the Fenn murders. No one was ever charged. They rattled the small towns in Downeast Maine, and were part of the reason why her family moved away from Blackrock, coming to settle in North Conway, New Hampshire. Catherine finished high school in New Hampshire, ended up attending UNH. She never went back north to Blackrock. She had her reasons, and the murders weren’t one of them.

No, she’d never come back to Blackrock because of the boy named John Fenn.

Bennett continued talking about the murders, about how the police interrogated every member of the Fenn family, from the patriarch, Patrick Fenn; a gray haired beast of a man who owned property in all corners of the county, to John and Deacon Fenn, Patrick’s teenage grandsons. Catherine remembered sneaking out of the house to go be with John when the town was turning against his family, threatening to get into fist fights at school when other kids began teasing him, calling his family a bunch of murderers. John didn’t need defending, and the kids at school knew it. However much they teased him, there wasn’t a single kid stupid enough to try to fight John Fenn.

Meanwhile, as the kids were making his life hell, he was trying to mourn the loss of his Great Uncle, just a few years after losing his favorite Aunt.

Catherine knew the Fenn’s had nothing to do with the murders, but no one in town knew them like she did. She’d had dinner at John’s dinner table numerous times, and was beloved of his mother Janice and his father Carl. When her parents discovered that she was sneaking out at night to have supper at the murderer’s house, they packed her up in their Toyota and hauled her to North Conway.

She’d never heard a word about John Fenn again.

“Have they found anything new? Any new leads?” Jean asked. Her morbid curiosity wasn’t so strange. She and Catherine met while working at the local Haunted Hayride theme park that the ski lodge put on every year.

Bennett was enjoying holding court, drawing these stories out as much as he could. “No new suspects or anything. They did come out a couple years ago and say that both victims were found very shortly after death.”

Catherine perked up at this. “But Alison Fenn was missing for almost a week when they found her.”

“Yup,” Bennett said, nodding with a satisfied smile. “Apparently she’d been alive until the night before they found her in the lake. Where she was for those four days -”

“Stop, Bennett. Please. I don’t want to hear anymore about it, right now.”

Bennett paused, exhaling through his nose. Then he tapped her thigh. “Alright, cuz. Sorry to upset you. Just thought it would be a good story, since you guys will be sleeping in those very woods tonight.”

He glanced in the rear view at Jean and she squealed in excited terror. “Man, I’m not gonna sleep at all tonight!”

Though Bennett didn’t say a word, she knew him well, and would bet any amount of money that he was silently offering to give her another reason to stay up all night.

What a jackass? She thought.

They turned up the main road of Cherryfield, passing the beautiful mansions that lined either side of the road. Catherine smiled. She hadn’t seen these houses in over ten years.

The rest of the drive consisted of Catherine picking the music and Bennett making small talk with Jean. She was a lovely woman, and Catherine didn’t begrudge him his efforts, but Bennett had a way of grandstanding when he was trying to get a girl’s attention. She didn’t mind it on most occasions, but as they were driving along these old familiar roads, Catherine wanted desperately to ride in silence, letting AC/DC blast through the speakers – the way John Fenn did when he finally got his license and demanded she go for a three hour drive with him across the Canadian border.

She smiled to herself.

They arrived at the gravel road around six in the evening, turning into the woods that stretched along the border of Falkirk’s Seat. Twenty minutes later, they’d reach the camp. Bennett wasted no time hopping out of his truck to start assembling their tents, making a point to show Jean just how rugged and manly he was. Catherine sauntered over to the forest edge and began collecting brush to start the evening’s fire. Jean was giggling and flipping her hair for Bennett’s benefit, and Catherine rolled her eyes. She might be sleeping in her tent alone tonight.

“Don’t get lost over there, girly!”

Catherine startled around to find the source of the voice. Bennett charged forward to offer a back slapping embrace to his old friend, Paul Merlotte.

Paul was one of Bennett’s good friends from Blackrock High School. He’d been a staple of the Calhoun compound when she was young; riding ATVs and going clamming on warm days with Bennett and Bennett’s dad, Bodie Calhoun. Sadly, Catherine hadn’t been a part of those rugged afternoons. After all, as the Calhoun men often reminded her, she was just a girl.

“Catherine, you remember Paulie, yeah?” Bennett asked

Catherine stepped forward to shake Paul’s hand. He took it, smiling politely. As she recalled, Paul wasn’t one of her favorite people as a young man. He’d been brash, rude, and often made fun of her for being a little overweight when they were in school. She was still ‘a little overweight,’ but Paul gave her an appraising look, his eyebrows shooting up.

“Geez Catie, you look great! God, it’s been ten years, hasn’t it?”

She nodded. “Yes it has.”

And yes she did, she thought. And I weigh the exact same amount I did in high school, you prick.

Paul was soon joined by another familiar face – Jason Twomey, yet another of Bennett’s high school friends. Catherine gave Jason a wave as a truck pulled into the camp road, its windows rattling with the sound of Classic Rock. The familiar faces weren’t at all surprising. The whole weekend was planned around a booze laden camping trip of Blackrock’s finest. They did this several times every summer. Catherine only agreed to join the shenanigans as a tradeoff for a ride north. Grampy Calhoun was getting old, and as her mother assured her many times, if she wanted to remain in the will, she might want to say Hello before he died.

Catherine couldn’t give two shits about Grampy Calhoun’s will. Still, her mother’s current life choice became rather persuasive.

Catherine turned her attention back to the woods, losing Jean’s interest completely to the crowd of burly men. She drowned out the sounds of their sailor talk and back patting, collecting another six or seven long sticks before venturing back to the fire pit.

She dumped them into the pile and dropped to her knees. A moment later, they had a roaring fire.

“Damn, Catie’s got the skills!”

She glanced up, acknowledging Paul’s compliment. He tried to hold her gaze a little longer. She turned her eyes back to the fire.

Not today, Paul. Not fucking ever.

CHAPTER TWO

“It’s such a load of horse shit up there!”

Jason Twomey was sitting silent across from her, nursing his third Sam Adams as Paul careened through his fifth. He was up in arms about the recent efforts to change hunting regulations in Falkirk’s Seat.

“You know they’ve shut us down every god damn year, so far. Every year!”

Bennett was shaking his head in solidarity. The Calhoun family were avid hunters as well, and were no less influential in trying to have the regulations changed.

Paul was getting louder and more intense with each passing moment. “Bear season opens August 1
^st
, right? You can start baiting by then anywhere else, but not in Falkirk.”

“It’s always been that way,” Jason offered, but he was nearly drowned out by Paul barreling over him.

“They have the highest number of bear sightings, some of the best hunting woods in the damn county, but the only way you’re baggin a bear in those woods is if you’re willing to go through the fucking Fenns.”

Catherine startled at the name. “What do the Fenns have to do with it?”

Paul scoffed, shifting into Jason and sending a stream of beer hissing across the fire. “Cause that dickhead Patrick Fenn owns the woods up in there. Everything from Falkirk’s Seat to here,” he said, gesturing to the trees behind them. “But you’re not allowed to hike with your gear from this side, and even if you do, you’re fucked if you ain’t got a permit or his permission - and he ain’t givin it to ya. Buncha bull shit.”

Catherine turned her attention to her bottle of cider and glanced back toward the woods. The logging road went another three miles into Parkhurst Forest from there, and the lake was another two mile hike to the west.

Jason piped up again, however softly. “It’s because of the rez.”

“What is the rez?” Jean asked.

“The rez – reservation. A quarter of Falkirk’s Seat belongs to the Fenns, the other three quarters are on Indian land. And reservation folk don’t want hunting on their land.”

“Oh that’s because of those stupid myths they’ve got. Talking about Bear folk and shapeshifters or some shit.”

Jean’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, they believe in that kind of thing up here?”

Paul groaned, but Jason continued. “Some of the tribe might. Doesn’t matter if they all do, council decides whether to grant permits on their land or not, and let’s just say, relations with white folk aren’t always the best.”

Catherine scanned the tree line, pretending to shake her head in solidarity. John had told her these stories when they were young, walking through the woods on his grandfather’s land. He loved those old stories, trying desperately to convince her of their validity. “But what if it’s true?” He’d say, his arms flailing out around him.

“I’d say it was pretty cool,” was always her response.

“There’s plenty of hunting elsewhere,” said Bennett, to which Paul unleashed a whole new world of complaint.

Bennett turned to Jean, nudging her gently. “Oh yeah, you two haven’t heard about the hikers, up here?”

Jean smiled across the fire at him. “Well, you better tell me then.”

Jean was clearly enjoying the attention, now receiving it from three fellows instead of just the one. Catherine felt inclined to deflect any attention she received, given the thought of flirting with Paul Merlotte turned her stomach, even a decade out of high school.

“Oh man, let me tell it, let me tell it,” Paul demanded.

“Naw, I think I tell it better.”

Everyone startled at the voice, and Catherine turned about face to greet the new arrival. She stopped dead at the sight of him.

“Holy shit, John boy! They let you off the compound? I thought you changed your mind!” Bennett was on his feet and around the fire in two strides, giving John a hearty embrace. He offered another to the man Catherine recognized as Deacon Fenn, but she couldn’t look away from John. He stood taller than Bennett by four inches or more, wearing a cream colored flannel shirt and jeans. His dark hair was growing out in thick brown waves, and he sported a neatly trimmed beard. Despite the changes to his appearance, she could have recognized him had she been blindfolded.

John pulled a utility knife from his pocket and cracked the top of his beer. Then he met her gaze, and gave Catherine a nudge with his knee. He smiled down at her. “Hey Catie.”

Catherine turned her attention back to the fire, taking three long swigs on her cider as she tried to feign calm. He seemed taller now, broader, and God damn those blue eyes of his.

Jean extended a hand over her shoulder, greeting the newcomers. “Here, we’ll make room. Have a seat,” she said, sliding away from Catherine to offer him a spot between them. He took it, his hip brushing against Catherine’s as he sat down. It made her heart race just as it had when she was seventeen.

Jesus Christ, why did she think she could escape up here?

“Paul was just about to tell us a story,” Jean said, elbowing John gently.

John smiled, swigging his beer.

“Hell yeah, I was,” Paul said.

Bennett slumped back down across the fire from her, Deacon Fenn sitting down beside him. Deacon was younger than John by eleven months, and his hair was far lighter. John and Deacon Fenn were known as the Irish twins all through school, having been placed in the same class despite the age difference.

“I’m not going to believe any of this, by the way. I’m onto you guys,” Jean said.