Page 27 of Fool Me (Timberline Peak #1)

“It’s going to leave a scar.”

“It’ll just be one of many,” I muse.

Atlas’s frown deepens. “I don’t like that this one came from me.”

I lift my hands to his face, tilting his head down until he’s forced to look away from the cut he’s studying like it’s personally offended him.

“This was an accident—not at all your fault. And, of all my scars, this one hurts the least because it comes with memories of a day well spent with someone I care about.”

Because I do care about Atlas. And I hope, when this is all over and we go our separate ways, him flourishing at his practice and rebuilding the time he’s lost with his parents, we can stay friends. It won’t be the same, but it’ll be something.

He nods his understanding, but I sense that’s just an attempt to get me to let him patch me up. With a gentle touch, he cleans the gash, grimacing when I blink away the pain. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, Clover.”

“Why do you call me that?”

“Clover?”

“Yeah,” I say, glad to have a distraction as he holds the wound together and smoothes the bandage over the gash.

“Because it was luck that you came into my life when you did.”

I look up at him, head tilting as the pain ebbs.

“I landed back in Wyoming without a clue on how I was going to manage. Then you kiss me out of the blue, and it was like finding a four-leaf clover in a field of weeds—rare and beautiful.”

Everything spins and I’m not sure if it’s from the rock I took to the head or the way he just cracked the stone encasing my closed-off heart.

Without elaborating, he leaves me to put away the first aid kit and gear.

But I’m stunned. Almost-kisses, flirting, and sweet gestures all add up to one thing in my head: maybe I’m not alone in thinking this could be more than fake.

With everything packed, he slings a pack over each shoulder and walks over to me, offering his arm for support. “Let’s get you checked out. No arguing.”

I sigh, knowing he’s not letting this go. “You already looked at it and patched me up. Going to the hospital now is a waste. Between the two of us, we can handle it.” Just the thought of the hospital has me fighting down rising bile.

His lips pull down into a frown. “It could be more than a cut. You could have a head injury.”

“So assess me.”

“I can’t treat you.”

“I’m not asking you to. We both know there’s enough overlap that you can do a neurological assessment. Tell me what you see and I’ll make the call.”

His jaw tightens.

“Please,” I plead.

He nods, stepping closer. “Fine. But if I don’t like what I see, I’m taking you to the emergency room.” His fingers graze my chin, tilting my face toward the light as he studies my pupils. His eyes flick between them, his own brows furrowed in concentration.

“You’re cute when you concentrate,” I blurt out.

“Patient seems confused,” he deadpans, before releasing my chin. “Your pupils are equal and reactive.” He shifts, angling his phone light toward my eyes, watching them contract.

“See, I’m fine,” I insist.

His lips press into a firm line. “We aren’t done yet.”

Next, his hands skim down my arms, his thumbs brushing the inside of my wrists as he lifts them. His grip is steady, warm, and I can feel the heat of his body just inches from mine.

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs.

I do.

“Hold your arms out. Palms up.”

I obey, and for a second, all I’m aware of is the sound of our breathing—the faint scent of chalk, sweat, and him between us.

“Any dizziness?” he asks, voice softer now.

“Nope.”

“Good.” His fingers trail down to my hands, testing my grip. His hold is firm on mine.

I squeeze back, putting everything into it, because I have no plans to go to the hospital and don’t want to disappoint him. “What’s the verdict, Doc?”

His lips twitch, but the worry doesn’t leave his expression. “Let’s check your balance.”

He steps back. I miss his touch immediately.

“Feet together, arms at your sides. Close your eyes again.”

I do, and the moment my eyes shut, my world tilts. My foot shifts to steady myself. So, I guess it wasn’t him making me dizzy. Fuck.

His hand catches my waist instantly.

I feel his fingers tighten on my hip, keeping me steady. “That was a wobble.” His voice is low, almost too close.

I blink up at him. “Barely.”

His lips press together. “Harlowe, you could have a concussion.”

“I don’t want to go to the hospital.” It comes out a pathetic whine, but there must be enough genuine dread there for him to hear.

His thumb brushes over my hip bone. “What am I going to do with you?”

I sigh, sagging slightly into his grip, which he doesn’t let up on. “You could just stay with me.”

His jaw works like he’s holding back, but when he speaks, it’s calm, steady, and serious. “Stubborn as a mule. Are you going to fight me on everything? Or can you follow directions?”

My body heats at the gruffness in his tone. I hide it behind an indigent huff. “That depends on how overbearing you plan to be.”

“Only slightly.” His fingers haven’t left my waist and his lips twitch like he’s thinking about smiling.

“I’ll do my best.” I roll my eyes, but the movement hurts. “Just get me home.”

He whistles for Echo, clipping him back on his lead, one arm looped around my waist to keep me steady as we walk.

I’d like to brush him off and tell him it’s for nothing, but fuck, my head hurts and I like the feeling of his hands on me a little too much.