Page 32 of Fool Me (Timberline Peak #1)

CHAPTER

TWENTY-ONE

ATLAS

Jealousy is an ugly look on me, but no more than when I’m envious of my own mule.

The braying starts up the second Harlowe and Echo come around the back where I’m grilling burgers for dinner. I’m bypassed with a brief hello and a wave on her way to the fence to show my pain-in-the-ass boarder some love.

“I see where I rate,” I say over my shoulder and she shoots me a beaming smile but keeps on walking. Bold as brass.

Harlowe looks cozy in a pair of spandex shorts and an oversized t-shirt.

Her blonde hair is piled into a messy knot on the top of her head with a few strands coming loose in the front.

If she were really mine, it would be the perfect outfit for cuddling under the stars.

I’d slip my hand under her shirt and hold her close just the way she asked the other day in her sleepy, possibly concussed, haze.

Across the yard, Muley nuzzles Harlowe, pressing her wet nose into her side any time her attention wanders. That goes on until the donkey decides she’s had enough and runs to the opposite end of the pen chuffing, trying to get Echo to chase her.

The patio chair scrapes across the concrete as Harlowe takes a seat a few feet away, tipping her face to the sky and kicking her feet up on the chair next to her. “Is she always so demanding?”

“Yes, but with me she nips when she wants something,” I grumble, the fresh pain of this morning’s bite still on my mind.

“She got you on the butt again?”

“Fucking, yes. A literal pain in the ass.”

“I mean can you blame her. It’s a really good butt.”

There’s no stopping the smirk that tugs at my lips. “You think so?”

“This relationship might be for show, but those squats you do aren’t.

” Lightness lifts her voice and it almost numbs the sting of her calling us fake.

I’ve got no right to feel bitter over it when it’s exactly what we agreed to, but everything about us feels so genuine that it’s hard to think of this as anything but real.

“Burgers are done. Are we eating out here or inside?”

Her eyes drift to the mountains beyond, where Echo and Muley chase each other up the fence line. “Let’s stay out here. It’s too pretty to head in yet.”

“Keep an eye on those two. I don’t want her to get spooked and kick him. I’ll grab the rest of the food.”

“I can recall Echo and help.”

Bending to set the burgers down, she tilts her head back, awaiting my response. I can’t pass up the opportunity to drop a kiss on her forehead. I’m careful to avoid the healing cut and the yellowing bruise surrounding it.

“Stay here and relax. I’ll be right back.”

“Keep it up with the gold-star boyfriend treatment and you’ll never get rid of me.”

Maybe I don’t want to, and maybe I should tell her as much.

When I come back out, Harlowe is laughing hysterically, folded over in her chair. I glance out toward the pasture where Echo is doing circles, chasing his tail. After a moment, he drops to the ground with a puff of dust and barks at Muley once.

Starting slower, the donkey mimics Echo’s circles, nipping at her own tail but missing.

When she stops, Echo bounces around yipping at her, like he’s her own personal cheerleader.

She starts again, this time chasing with a touch more speed until she grabs the base between her teeth.

Victory is short-lived because it slips out a moment later and Muley gives up.

“I leave for two minutes and chaos erupts.” But honestly I’m impressed she was flexible enough to manage to trap it at all.

“There’s no way that’s the same donkey you say is perpetually moody.”

“Bruises, Harlowe,” I remind her.

There’s nothing quite like the sound of her laughter, but when it’s just for me—that’s magic. “Pictures or it didn’t happen.”

“I’m not . . . Just, no.”

Mischief dimples her cheeks as her smile grows. “The good doctor doesn’t send nudes.”

My grin follows suit, spreading each time she laughs. “Not of my ass.”

Her shocked face is my reward for the quick retort, but she recovers quickly. Her gaze heats as she takes me in slowly. “You don’t strike me as the type to send an unsolicited dick pic.”

“Consent, Harlowe. We’ve been over this. Always with consent.”

She reaches for the water I brought her, gulping it down. “I recall you mentioning something about that. These pictures, are they posed? Or just a haphazard shot of the goods?”

My eyes narrow on her as I look down my nose at her, making her joyful laughter turn nervous, as I silently ask, Are we really doing this?

“Why are you asking, Clover?”

Harlowe Corbin is flustered, and that stirs the need to push her further to see just how off-kilter I can make the most rightfully self-assured woman I’ve ever met.

She avoids my eyes, scrunching her nose in a way that’s almost too adorable to stand.

“Curious minds and all that,” she mumbles.

I hum my understanding. “Is that all?”

“Of course.” She lifts her burger, taking a bite, chewing slowly. “It’s not like I’m asking you to send me one.”

“Of course not. Why would you do that?”

She moves right on from my question breezing over it and adding, “I’m sure they are very nice—tasteful lighting, artsy—but not for me.”

“No?” I infuse an exaggerated curiosity in my tone.

“It’s not like you’d want me to send you nudes, so no.” She shrugs.

“Harlowe.” I drop the amusement from my tone, setting down my burger. She’s only a couple feet away, just around the edge of the outdoor table from me, but it’s too far.

I reach out and turn her chair, shifting mine so our knees are touching.

“I’d cherish any picture you sent me, no matter the state of dress, but if you shared that part of you with me .

. .” I pause because I don’t want to spook her, but I won’t be able to hide the conviction in my voice at the next part.

“Those pictures would fucking ruin me. I would treasure them and always protect your vulnerability. Understood?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“Good.” I don’t move my chair away and neither does she, shifting her plate and body around so that she can eat.

Between bites, she tells me about her interview.

Including the fact that my brother was waiting and tried to intimidate her.

I’m livid and it doesn’t get better as she continues.

The urge to punch Blake-the-blond burns down my arms as she shares how he grilled her about whether her interest in SAR was long-term.

The unspoken insinuation that she’d want out when she got married or had kids has my anger doubling on her behalf. “That’s insane and completely illegal.”

Her eyebrows lift. “I’m well aware, but it’s not rare. This is what women deal with every single day.”

She’s almost flippant about it. Like it’s so commonplace that she half expected it. But I guess she did, and that’s why we’re even here.

My teeth clench but I force my muscles to relax because I can’t fix this for her and she isn’t asking me to. Ruining our night over some jerk that doesn’t deserve anymore of her time is the opposite of what we should be doing.

After we clear the plates together, Harlowe helps me feed Muley, watching in disbelief as the donkey gives me the attitude that’s always so elusive with Echo and her. Once we’re finished with the chores, we cross the yard, side by side. “She really doesn’t like you. What do you think that’s about?”

“Hard to say, but if I had to guess, she associates the upheaval in her life to me. Ray fostered her after a wildfire took the barn on the farm she lived in a few years ago. In the aftermath, the owners decided to downsize to a more manageable property. They weren’t able to take her, so she stayed with Ray.

He’d never intended to keep her with his retirement approaching, but when her owners said they couldn’t take her, he felt guilty re-homing her so soon after the trauma of the wildfire. ”

“Then you moved in and her life changed again.”

“More or less.” And now I feel guilty because her attitude is a product of her circumstances and she deserves better . . . all of us do.

“I think I liked it better when I thought I was just her favorite.” Her smile fades and I’d do anything to put it back on her face.

“Let’s roll with that theory. I like it better, too.”

“Maybe you just need to get her a friend.”

A rumble of laughter bursts free from my chest. “Abso-fucking-lutely not.”

“Come on, a vet with a veritable petting zoo in his backyard? That would win the town over in a heartbeat.”

“I think I like our plan better. There’s less chance for animal-inflicted humiliation.”

When we step through the back from the patio into the kitchen, she asks, “What are we watching tonight?”

“The most mindless thing we can find.” I lead her through the kitchen to the living room and pull her down next to me on the couch.

She tucks her feet under her and we flip through some options before settling on an old comedy. Very slapstick, very mindless, and something we’ve both seen. It’s perfect after the long day she’s had.

It turns out to be the right pick because before the opening scene is over she’s laughing so hard she collapses into me and I throw my arm around her, holding her there—something that doesn’t feel awkward or forced.

Harlowe curls up against me, her hand finding that spot on my stomach it always gravities to.

Her body curving against mine like it’s my other half.

I don’t think she’s aware of the small circles she’s making with her fingers right above my waistband, and she’s too caught up in the movie to notice my reaction.

Thank fuck I’m wearing jeans instead of basketball shorts, because the situation unfolding below my belt would be painfully obvious and I don’t want to be one more guy in her life who treats her like she’s only good for what she can give them physically.

Her finger brushes my belt and a soft “oh” comes from next to me. “Sorry. I didn’t even . . .”

She pulls her hand back and I trap it in mine. I must be a masochist, because I hook it around me so we are wrapped in a hug of sorts. “You can touch me any time you want.”

Tilting her chin up, she searches my face for more, but I relax into the couch and watch the movie. She takes her cues from me, doing the same before her hand has wandered again and she’s moving it lightly over my pec. My chest rumbles with appreciation.

“Damn it, I can’t seem to keep my hands to myself,” she chastises.

The light from the TV illuminates the pink on her cheeks.

“It’s probably my fault. You can’t stop thinking about my sexy photo shoots.”

My comment does its job, and she playfully smacks my chest. “You’re supposed to be the nice one.”

“Am I? I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

She turns toward me with playful fire lighting her blue eyes. “Is that so? Pretend all you want; I know you’ve got a heart of gold.”

“Maybe, but don’t put me in a box I don’t want to be in.

” Truthfully, I’m tired of being good and having her hands on me all night has me strung tight.

“I hear you teasing me, calling me Doc and Good Boy, but there’s so much more to me than that and the things I want right now are anything but wholesome. ”

“Like what?”

It’s the lilt of flirtation in her voice that has me flipping our positions, putting her under me in one quick move.

Fuck pretending. Fuck fake. Fuck being good.

I pin her to the couch beneath me and her eyes widen.

Then a second later, she melts into the couch.

I’m momentarily distracted when she bites down on her lip and it takes me a solid fifteen seconds to remember how to speak.

“All kinds of things. Things that would make you cry out for relief. Things that would make you blush. Things that would make you soar. None of those things are good.”

I give her some of my weight, letting her feel all the not-so-nice things I want to do with her. Her palms flatten against my chest like she’s not sure whether to push me away or pull me closer. I grit my teeth knowing I shouldn’t have escalated this without asking. “You okay?”

“Uh, huh,” she mumbles, her hands smoothing up and around until they are locked behind my neck, cementing her consent and our positions. “Very okay.”

“Don’t mistake my respect for you as me being some fumbling boy. Remember, retribution was part of my motivation to help you with this plan. My brother and I are different at the core, but that doesn’t make me a saint.”

“No, it doesn’t,” she says with a flare of confidence that I expect from her. “What are you doing, Atlas?”

Not Doc, not City Boy, not some other nickname that she uses to keep distance between us because this is supposed to be fake.

“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly.

What started off as playful feels anything but.

I can’t stop thinking about her and it’s not just because her beauty makes my chest ache every time I see her.

The way I want her has nothing to do with my brother or our reasons for starting this.

It’s because, in the last month, she’s become my closest friend.

Without her steady presence, I think I’d still be stuck on what everyone else thinks about me—still stuck in the past and on a revenge that is pointless.

What I want hasn’t changed, but Harlowe’s helped me see I can be the vet that Timberline Peak needs no matter what people think.

She’s shown me that I don’t need anyone’s approval to live my life here. They can talk. I don’t care.

All I care about is what she thinks about me.