Page 10 of Redeeming Harmony

She grabbed the slip leash hanging on a hook next to the run. She opened the kennel, patiently waiting as Winston climbed slowly to his feet. She took the cone off before slipping the leash over his head. “Ready to go pee, Winston?”

His tail wagged and moving slowly and a bit awkwardly, they left the run and headed out of the dog kennel and down the narrow hallway that led to the side exit. She opened the door and guided Winston out into the yard.

He peed and then laid down in the soft grass in the sunlight. It was a gorgeous fall day, and Harper sat cross-legged next to Winston, scratching behind his ears and stroking his side. The dog panted happily when she rubbed his belly.

“You need a bath, big guy. As soon as you’re healed a little more, I’ll take you to Pampered Paws and get you the full spa treatment.” Harper scratched his belly again, smiling when Winston’s tail thumped on the grass.

Her father’s old lab, Betty, had passed away about three months before Harper left Harmony Falls, and her apartment in New York hadn’t been pet friendly. Harper hadn’t realized how much she missed being around a dog until now.

She sat in the warm sun, staring at the stream that flowed by the fenced-in area as she petted a dozing Winston. She used to love quiet moments like these, but now they gave her too much time to think about what a failure she was.

Anxiety over her future and depression over the loss of her dream crept in. Determined not to get mired down, she pulled her sketchpad out of her bag and flipped it open to a clean page.

She studied Winston for a few minutes before beginning to sketch. Like always, time lost all meaning when she worked on her passion. It wasn’t until Winston whined and climbed to his feet did she realize that over an hour had passed. The sun had moved behind some clouds, and a cool wind brought goosebumps to her skin despite the hoodie she wore.

“Sorry, boy,” she said as she climbed to her feet. Still holding her sketchpad in one hand, she led Winston back into the clinic. She set her sketchpad on the counter and walked Winston back to his dog run, slipping off the leash and placing the cone back on him before closing the run door.

When she returned, Nathan stood at the counter with a liquid-filled syringe in one hand and her sketchpad in the other.

Her stupid libido immediately roared to life. He wore jeans and a grey t-shirt with a white lab coat and a stethoscope hung around his neck. It shouldn’t have been sexy as hell, but her girl parts were already tingling.

Harper, focus!

Right. This was the enemy. It didn’t matter how lickable he looked or how much she wanted to suck on that lower lip of his… she needed to stay focused and remember the mission.

Destroy him and his perfect lips.

Whoa. Relax, John Wick.

She took a deep breath and marched forward, holding her hand out for the sketchpad. “Do you always look at people’s personal things without permission, Dr. Henshaw?”

* * *

Nathan pickedup the sketchpad sitting on the counter and stared at the pencil drawing of the stray dog. It had to be Harper’s. Warren had mentioned she was an artist. Holy shit, even only half-finished, it was incredible. He’d had no idea Harper was so talented.

A framed pencil drawing hung above Warren’s desk of him and an old lab dog, sitting in a fishing boat in the middle of a lake. Nathan had often admired how the artist had captured Warren’s features so perfectly but never got around to asking Warren about it. Now, he realized that it was more of Harper’s work and his admiration for her talent grew. The woman was an exceptionally good artist.

He glanced up at the sound of footsteps, refusing to acknowledge the trickle of excitement in his belly when Harper walked toward him. Her hair was in a ponytail, her face free of makeup, and she wore a thick hoodie and leggings.

She looked incredibly fuckable.

He swallowed hard as she held out her hand and said, “Do you always look at people’s personal things without permission, Dr. Henshaw?”

“It’s Nathan,” he said, handing over the sketchpad, “and I guess I do when it’s left on my work counter.”

Her nostrils flared, and she tucked the sketchpad under her arm. “Your work counter? You don’t own the clinic yet.”

“Harper, wait,” he said when she turned to leave. She turned back, giving him a frosty glare that only increased his lust for her. “I think we got off on the wrong foot last night. I’m just finishing up with an appointment, but maybe we could go for a quick coffee afterward?”

“No, thank you,” she said. “I appreciate your help last night, but I’m not interested in being your friend.”

Annoyance tempered some of his desire for her. “I’m not asking to be friends. I’m asking if we can have coffee like adults and discuss your unwarranted anger toward me and your mistaken belief that I’m trying to steal the clinic from your father.”

“It’s not a mistaken belief,” she said.

“You’ve been given the wrong information,” he said. “Give me a chance to clear up the misunderstanding.”

“Are you or are you not buying the clinic from my father?” she asked.

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