Page 28 of Fool Me (Timberline Peak #1)

CHAPTER

SEVENTEEN

ATLAS

There’s a saying about nurses being the world’s worst patients. I can attest to the truth of that statement, at least where former nurses are concerned. Her promise to cooperate was complete bullshit.

“I can’t just leave my car here.” She pouts, her lips pulled down in a frown that makes me want to give her anything she asks for.

“You can’t drive.”

Her shoulders sag, defeated by the slow hike back as she sits on the tailgate of my truck while I loosen the laces on her boots. She won’t admit it, but I’m sure her head is throbbing.

And if she keeps nibbling her lip while she looks at the powder blue SUV like it’s her flesh and blood, there will be nothing left to kiss. I shake that thought away.

“She’s my baby.”

Echo whines like he’s disgruntled by that statement and I pat his head because I get it. I wish Harlowe would look at me with that kind of devout admiration.

“I’m asking you to leave it behind. I just said you can’t drive.”

She huffs out a frustrated sigh.

“I’ll drive her back if you’ll let me, but you’ve gotta tell me why she means so much to you.”

“But your truck?—”

Gripping her waist, I lift her off the tailgate.

The movement is enough to break off the sentence.

My hands linger until I’m sure she’s steady on her feet, and maybe a second longer, because it’s hard to pull back from her.

Each time she lets me touch her, even when it’s fake or friendly, I get a little more hooked—a little more fucked up over her.

And it’s just setting in that I agreed to spend the night keeping an eye on her. That’s definitely not going to help. Six-hundred-odd square feet of space is going to make it impossible to keep my distance.

And I have to keep my distance. There’s a chance she’s got a concussion. She doesn’t need me being a creep when she should be resting. Besides, there’s no reason for me to be anything more than a friend and caretaker in the privacy of her home.

“I don’t have any attachment to my truck other than for transportation.”

“How are you going to get to work tomorrow?”

I close the tailgate, making Echo jump up from his spot at my feet and lead Harlowe around the side of my truck. It only takes a second for me to grab the packed gym bag out of the back and hold it up between us.

“I always keep a gym bag in here with a change of clothes. It makes it easier to get to the gym when I need to, and it means I can run home in the morning before I have to walk over to the clinic.”

“So prepared. That’s oddly hot.”

“Thanks?”

She snorts. “That was sincere. Flashy and unreliable are overrated. Give me steady strength, give me understated confidence. That’s what I want in my friends . . . and, you know . . . whatever else.” She presses her keys into my hand.

And whatever else . Does she even realize she said that?

“How’s your head?” I ask, observing her carefully, but find nothing concerning.

“Why? You think I’ve lost it?” She smirks.

“Just checking.” I drop my eyes to the keys, finding a mini tie-dye butt plug attached to the key ring. “On second thought . . .”

Soft laughter causes her to flinch. “A gag gift from the girls. We did an exchange—bought absurd key chains. Personally, I think mine is the best. Tessa’s says, ‘I have pubic lice.’ Sloane’s is a homemade version of one of those huge gas station bathroom key rings.

She can’t even put it in her purse. Briar’s looks like a real shrimp, which doesn’t sound bad, but?—”

“Denver’s allergic to shellfish.”

“Yeah. It’s given him so many jump scares, I’m surprised it hasn’t had a mysterious accident.”

“And you got a pretty little plug.”

Her face flushes. “At least it’s easy to hide.” She reaches out and closes my fist around it. “Fits right in the palm of my hand.”

I hum because I don’t trust myself to speak. Dropping the brightly colored silicone from my palm, I slip the key into the ignition.

“Have you called Denver yet?” She leans her head against the headrest and closes her eyes.

I should let her rest, but I doubt her stubborn ass will quit until I talk to her about this. So, I do that next best thing and very quietly tell her what she wants to know.

“We’re grabbing a drink tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow is horseshoe night.”

“Excuse me?” My gaze comes off the road for a second to check on her.

To her credit, she relaxes into the seat and pretends to rest while she grills me. “At the farm, on Mondays, the guys meet for horseshoes.”

But her short-stilted sentences only confuse me. “The farm? His uncle’s farm? Like the one next door to me.”

One eye pops open and she turns her toward me. “Wait, you really don’t know?”

I give her a dumbfounded look.

“Damn, when you cut someone off, you fully commit.”

“I left it all behind,” I say through gritted teeth. But I’m not annoyed with her, I’m annoyed with myself for all I let Canyon take from me. I was too young and too angry. Now, I can see that it cost me more than I ever planned.

“Deacon Kennedy had a stroke about five years ago. It was before I lived here, but Denver and Briar took over the farm after he was moved into a long-term care facility.”

“He’s been right next door this whole time . . . And Denver’s uncle?”

She rolls her lips together. “He passed a short while after.” Her lashes flutter closed again. “I think it’s time you meet your neighbors, City Boy.”

“That fucking joker. I bet he’s known I was right next door this whole time.”

Harlowe’s answering chuckle is deep and raspy. “Probably, and now he’s going to socially ambush you. Drake’s in town, so he’ll probably be there. Jude and my dad usually go too. Mostly, they just sit around gossiping and avoid responsibility for an hour or two.”

“So, that’s something to look forward to—a night’s worth of conversation about a past I’m trying to make people forget.”

“Are you going to bail?” Disappointment bleeds into her tired voice.

I consider it. Other than Harlowe, I don’t have any friends here. When she gets this job, will I still have her?

Tonight’s not the night for deep conversations about the future. She should be relaxing, not stressing because I need a label on our friendship.

“No. I’m not,” I say, sure of my decision.

We pull into her driveway and park alongside the tiny purple cottage. Four walls have never seemed so small and it has little to do with the actual size of her house and more to do with the girl I’m about to spend the night looking after.

“You’re sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?”

“You’ll have to drag me there kicking and screaming.”

“I could call your dad.”

She whips around to glare at me, her face twisting in pain. She opens her mouth to yell at me, but I stop her with a hand on her jaw, my thumb stroking her cheek. “Fuck, hey. I’m sorry. I’m not going to call him.”

“You don’t even have his number.”

I could get it if I wanted to—I’m sure it’s in Echo’s file as an emergency contact.

“Let’s just get you inside to rest.” I drop my hand from her face and unbuckle, turning back to level her with a glare I hope looks stern without being dickish. “Stay there. I’ll come help you.”

She rolls her eyes but waits. When I open her door, her arms are crossed and her seat belt is undone.

“I’m—”

I cut her off. “Fine. I know. But I’m not.

” I take a calculated step closer and she widens her legs, letting me in.

My hands drop to the top of her thighs, stroking up and down, the move only calming the storm inside me slightly.

“Watching you take that rock to your head while I was all the way up there, unable to help—it was terrifying. I’ve never felt that out of control. ”

“I find that hard to believe.” Her head drops as she watches the path my hands take over and over. I squeeze lightly and she lifts to find my eyes.

“Never,” I repeat. “I might have been calm on the outside, thanks to my training, but inside it was riotous. You scared the shit out of me. I couldn’t get off that rock fast enough.”

Her slender fingers wrap around mine and I know she can feel my pulse hammering just thinking about it.

“I’m okay, promise. I’ve got a headache, but it’s from the cut.

And the dizziness was the adrenaline at the moment.

I’m fine now—ready to crash from the stress of it, but not because of a head injury. ”

“You can’t know that. Not without imaging.”

“I’ve got pretty good intuition.”

I blink, giving her my best “get real” face. “You dated my brother.”

“A minor infraction. It’s not like I planned to marry him. It started as fun . . . and then it very much wasn’t. Besides, you had eighteen good years with him. So, honestly, I should be questioning your judgement because I figured out who he was sooner than you.”

My tongue rolls across my teeth and the hands on her legs shift their grip, thumbs rubbing the inside seams of her cargo pants. “I don’t want to hear about your fun with my brother.”

Harlowe’s knees close around my hips like she wants to hold me there, and my eyes drop to her lips—those goddamn lips. So inviting. So tempting. And when she swallows, leaning forward an inch, I slide my hands up to grip her waist, helping her out of the car and setting her at my feet.

“Come on; in you go.” With one hand still on her waist, I reach for the back door, letting Echo out.

Harlowe turns the key, that stupid keychain mocking me. “Make yourself cozy,” she says, holding her hand out to her living room. “Any regrets?”

“Not a single fucking one.” I close the door behind us and Echo trots to his bed, circling until he finds the right spot to lay his head. “You might think you’re okay, but I wouldn’t sleep tonight without knowing you’re okay.”

“You’re probably not going to sleep great tonight, anyway. I’m not exactly set up for slumber parties.”

I look down the length of the space she calls home, toward the kitchen and the loft. It’s the first time it’s felt as small as it is. “I can take the couch.”

She lifts an eyebrow. “How very chivalrous of you.”

She has no idea how chivalrous I want to be right now.

If I had things my way, I’d follow her into what I’m certain is a bathroom built for one, strip her out of her climbing clothes and wash this day off of her before tucking her into bed and pressing myself to her so I can feel the rhythm of her heart beating all night.

That, however, would cross many lines. Flirting occasionally doesn’t equal consent for me to be a menace because I need to know she’s okay. That’s my burden to carry and can do it from behind the closed door of the bathroom and the couch.

“Do you want to shower while I make us something to eat?”

“You’re going to cook for me?”

“Let’s get one thing straight: I’m going to do all the hard work tonight. The most I’m comfortable with you doing is rinsing off. And the only reason I can concede that is because I’ll be just a few feet away, at the stove, while you do it.”

She reaches up and pulls her braid free from its elastic, raking her short nails over her scalp. Her eyes squeeze shut when she gets close to the gash. “Has anyone ever told you you’re overbearing?”

“Actually, my therapist and I talk about it regularly.”

“It’s even more annoying that you’re aware of it.”

“Thank you?”

“I went shopping yesterday. Go nuts.”

I dig through her fridge, pulling out broccoli, bell peppers, carrots, spinach, some thawed chicken, eggs, butter, lemon, and parmesan cheese. Shuffling footsteps drift toward the bathroom and I can’t help imploring her, “Not too long and not too hot. I don’t want you getting dizzy.”

“Such a fucking pain in my ass.” I can’t see her face, but I can hear the smile in her teasing voice.

“Seems like you like me bossing you around,” I retort, opening the cabinets in search of more ingredients and finding garlic, jasmine rice, and soy sauce.

“Nah, I liked you better when you were being a good boy.”

“I can be both,” I say over the sound of the closing door.