Page 1 of Fool Me (Timberline Peak #1)

CHAPTER

ONE

ATLAS

“Slap my ass, and call me mommy.”

The squawk comes from the African grey parrot I’m examining, forcing me to fight back a smile by rolling my tongue against my cheek.

But when Betty White starts bobbing her feathered head, chanting, “Tell me you like it. Tell me you like it,” a laugh builds in my throat.

My failed attempt at covering it with a cough doesn’t go unnoticed.

Despite being a foot shorter than me, the bird’s owner manages to look down at me, spearing me with her unimpressed glare.

My predecessor and mentor, Dr. McMullins, could’ve given me a warning about the parrot’s vocabulary somewhere in the thick patient record belonging to the pet in question.

I bet the old man did it on purpose, knowing I wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face.

Marilyn, the owner, gasps, sucking in a sharp breath. “I didn’t teach her that.” Her beady eyes are fixed on me as she taps her foot like I said the words, not her bird.

“Of course not. Parrots like Betty pick up things from background noise; TV and radio can contribute to their vocabulary.” By some miracle, I sound professional.

“What do you think I’m doing alone in the big house while my husband is at work? Watching the SpiceMax?”

I’m pretty sure SpiceMax hasn’t been a thing since the advent of high-speed internet, but her curt tone has the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. It’s not a point I’m going to argue with her.

“Can’t trust a doctor who doesn’t wear khakis or a tie. City boy in scrubs, like he’s a TV doctor,” she huffs.

I can’t win, but that’s been the theme since coming back to Timberline Peak.

Focusing on the bird, I go over everything Marilyn has told me, making sure I’m not missing something in my assessment.

She mentioned her husband was gone; the bird could be picking up stress from her.

Once I win her over, it might be worth exploring, but we aren’t there yet, so I start with the simplest explanation first. “Let’s make sure Betty is getting enough fruit.

Strawberries, blueberries, and bananas are all safe.

Sometimes they’ll pluck their feathers like this if there’s a vitamin deficiency. ”

“Put it in my mouth,” Betty squawks.

Every time the parrot opens her beak, the odd name seems a little more fitting.

Leading Mrs. Franklin and her dirty bird to the door, I hold it open for her, gesturing to the front desk where my assistant is sitting.

“Grace can get you set up with a follow-up appointment, and I’ll print off a list of foods you can try with Betty. ”

I follow her out of the treatment room and slip into my office, shutting the door behind me, I let out the laugh I’d been holding in for the last thirty minutes.

The stress of being back in my hometown has me on edge.

Unconventional as it might be, this is the first time I think I’ve laughed since the move.

It was unexpected and jarring, but I have no regrets.

I look around the office— my office.

Two weeks ago, Dr. Ray McMullins called, letting me know of his wife’s recent ALS diagnosis and his decision to retire, effective as soon as possible.

I’d spent fifteen years away after vowing never to come back to my hometown, but there was a soft spot in my heart for that man.

Saying no and leaving the rural Wyoming community I grew up in without a vet wasn’t an option, so I agreed to take over for my longtime mentor and upended my entire life with almost no notice.

Everything in this office still belongs to him.

Eventually, that will have to change. The problem is I underestimated how change-averse his patients were.

Nearly every one I’ve seen has already pointed out that I’m not Dr. McMullins.

Changing this office might seem small, but to my new clients, it might feel like an erasure of the doctor they were so fond of.

So, it can wait a little while. Why give them something else to complain about?

I’ve heard it all.

“Doctor Ray took checks. Why don’t you?”

“Scrubs? Kind of casual, don’t you think, young man?”

“You expect me to call you by your first name? What kind of doctor are you?”

“No wedding ring. Interesting.”

“You know you broke your mom’s heart when you left.”

That last one stung, because I’m afraid there’s some truth to it, but maybe being back will help me repair that damage.

Much to the town's disappointment, Dr. McMullins isn’t here.

And he won’t be here the next time Mrs. Franklin’s parrot is plucking feathers out.

My mentor and friend is probably ass up on a beach in Florida enjoying precious time with his wife while I try to convince every patient that I am indeed capable enough of practicing veterinary medicine.

But the only thing Marilyn Franklin, and all the rest of them, care about, is that I’m still that Kane kid who left for college in the city and never came back.

They don’t know me anymore, and they sure as hell don’t trust me.

And it’s not just in the clinic, I see the glances at the grocery store—judgemental and curious.

Whispers aren’t quiet when they’re all you hear.

I’m a hot topic, from speculation about why I left, to rumors about being estranged from my brother. Though, what bothers me the most are the murmurs about when I’ll leave again.

Timberline Peak will be shocked to learn I’m not going anywhere. I promised Ray McMullins I would stick around, and if all I can do for my friend is take one worry off his plate, there’s no way I’ll let him down by running, again.

Years away erased the memory of how stubborn small towns can be, but Mountainside Veterinary Services is giving me a crash course in what life is like in rural Wyoming.

As I look around the office, I spot the placard on the desk that bears Dr. Ray McMullins’s name and title, taking a mental note to order my own and find my framed degrees in the packed boxes at home from when I’m ready to hang them. Then I dig out my phone, texting my mentor.

Atlas

Thanks for telling me about the kinky parrot.

Doc McMullins

Consider it a welcome home gift. How is the first week going?

They hate me.

Nonsense. The practice is yours now. The town will come around to that, and to you.

Probably right around the time I retire. How’s Kate?

Better than I am.

I hate this is happening to you two.

ALS can fuck off.

Find a way to win them over.

I will.

And if you find out why the bird talks like that, I need to know.

Still a gossip, even in Florida.

Everyone was shocked he retired with such short notice, but he and Kate chose to keep her diagnosis private, with the exception of close friends.

Part of that fallout rests squarely on my shoulders.

Winning them over is the least I can do for him.

There won’t be a parade in my honor today, but, frustrations aside, at least it’s entertaining.

The setting sun paints the mountains beyond my farmette a fiery orange by the time I get home.

Mine .

It’s weird to look at this house, this land, and think of it as home when it has always been Doc and Kate’s. When he sold me the practice, his house and land came with it.

This property, and the clinic, are my responsibility now—he won’t come back when Kate is gone.

And I’m not allowed to close the practice or sell it to anyone else without Ray’s approval.

There’s only one small animal vet within an hour of Timberline Peak, and now that I’m running things, it’s the only one that can handle small animal critical care in a two-hour radius.

Doc feels the care that we— I —provide is too important to the area, and I agree.

A loud bray comes from the pen in the backyard, demanding some of that attention right now. In the last twenty-five years, Dr. McMullins had gone from a stranger who’d gotten me through one of the worst days of my life, to Ray, a mentor and friend.

And there’s no one else who could’ve gotten me to agree to take on the care of the meanest donkey I’d ever met.

Stopping at the shed on my way through the yard, I grab a clean feed bowl, filling it with pellets. On my way out, I take a flake off the top of the bale and set it on top of the bowl so I can shut the door behind me.

Muley Cyrus’s lips are flapping, her bray getting more demanding when she sees the oversized bowl I’m carrying.

“Just hold on!” I holler.

My friends from Houston know I grew up in the country, but I don’t think the rustic cabin behind me and an actual ass screaming at me for food is what they pictured when I told them I was moving home to take over my hometown practice.

When they think western ski town, they liken it to the opulence of Vail or Aspen, not Timberline Peak, where the population barely reaches sixteen hundred but swells during the summer months and ski season.

Where the buildings downtown have wood porches and facades reminiscent of old western movies.

Or where the crowds gather in Summit Square because that’s the heart of the community.

Where they can bump into their friends getting pizza at Gondoughla Pizzeria, or grab flowers for someone special from Peaks & Petals.

A place where farms and ranches dot the valley, and rugged mountains stretch toward the clouds untamed.

It’s the most beautiful place in the world, if you take it at face value.

It’s hard to believe anyone would voluntarily leave this place and never return, but Timberline Peak’s beauty can’t mask the ugliness of the betrayal I experienced here.

Dirt crunches under my feet as I approach Muley’s pen, and a cloud of dust rises as she stomps impatiently. Keeping my eyes glued to her, I open the enclosure. The last thing I need is a hoof to the dick in her excitement to get to food.

With the latch on the gate clicking behind me, I set down the fresh bowl next to her old one. I give Muley my back only long enough to twist the knob on the water to refill her metal trough.

A sharp pain shoots up my spine from my left ass cheek.

“Goddamn!” I shout, glaring over my shoulder to find her looking all too pleased at having bested me.

I turn tail and hop over the fence, wishing I would’ve changed out of my scrubs before I came out here.

Denim would have protected me better from the chunk she just tried to take out of my ass. As it is, that bite is going to bruise.

“You’re hell-bent on making a meal out of me when I’m out here feeding you.

Doc didn’t tell me you were such a stubborn ass—I’d have let him take you to Florida with him,” I rant at the donkey, making her ears twitch at my empty threat, then reach over the fence to cut the water before yanking my hand back.

“We’re going to need to figure out how to coexist. I’ve got enough stacked against me trying to convince people to give me a chance. That’s only going to be harder if you’re out here making me look like I’m some city doctor they can’t trust.”

Shit, if word got out that I can’t control Miss Cyrus, I’d be laughed out of town.

Prancing off to the pasture, she kicks her hind legs at me—her own version of “fuck you,” and I reach over the fence to grab this morning’s dirty feed dish while it’s safe.

Fresh from a shower, with my scrubs traded for a pair of basketball shorts, I pull out a chair at the kitchen table—another thing I inherited from Doc.

The wood under my hand is smooth, save for the years of knicks and dents from meals shared between Ray and Kate.

When they moved, they left most of the furniture behind.

Handcrafted tables made of local Wyoming timber don’t exactly fit in with the coastal feel of their condo in Florida.

And since he doesn't plan to come back after . . . well I think it’s just easier.

Just like it had been easier to leave all mine in Houston, at the apartment I shared with my girlfriend.

Or, ex-girlfriend, I guess.

After five years together, when I sat down with her to tell her Ray had approached me about buying the practice, she’d wished me well but told me she wouldn’t be coming. At first, I thought it was a ploy to make me stay, or that she’d come around.

But at some point in the last few years, we’d gotten too comfortable. It’s probably why I’d gone into the discussion with my mind already made up—I was coming back whether she was with me or not.

Things were never bad with Sara, they just .

. . were. I wasn’t her person—that’s what she told me.

And honestly, she wasn’t mine, which is something I think I always knew.

I’m sure there were missed signs because I wasn’t paying close enough attention, but both of us were content to be busy with our careers and the pace of living in a big city.

When she told me she wasn’t coming, it was with a sigh of acceptance, not tears. We rarely fought when we were together, and I didn’t want to fight about possessions in the end. So, I called Ray and told him I’d take it all.

Being single will certainly give me more time to focus on making the practice mine, even if the town judges me for not finding a wife while I was gone. They’ll have to deal.

My phone shakes against the glossy wood, and a text from my mom lights up the screen.

Mom

Hope you had a good first week. Dinner here this weekend?

Atlas

Sure. I’d like that.

I could count the number of dinners I’ve had with my parents in the last few years on both hands. All of which had to do with me living out of state, not because there’s this big mysterious rift between us like everyone seems to think.

The rift in our family lies firmly between my brother and me.

My parents do their best to stay out of it these days.

They don’t update me on his life, beyond major occurrences—like when he moved out of state two years ago.

Although, it wasn’t always that way. When I first went no-contact, they plotted to get us together, begged me to forgive him, and bargained with him to try to make things right.

But there was no fixing how broken we were, and eventually they realized that continuing to push it was only driving me further away.

Until two years ago, coming home wasn’t an option.

He’d been living in Timberline Peak, which meant I avoided visiting at all costs.

And over the years, my parents developed a fondness for trips south in the winter.

Even after he abruptly moved two years ago, they kept coming to visit me, escaping the brisk months for more mild temperatures twice each year.

It wasn’t ideal, but it worked for a while.

But now that I was back, dinners at their place would be as regular as everyone knowing my business again.