Page 3 of Redeeming Harmony

The dog struggled for a few seconds longer before giving up the fight. With Nathan holding him down, Harper was free to pet and scratch the dog’s neck.

“Good boy. That’s a good boy,” she said when he whimpered again.

The dog settled, and she was suddenly much too aware of Nathan’s body against hers, of his warm breath on the side of her neck. His chest brushed lightly against her back, but he kept his lower body away from hers. She should have been pleased that he wasn’t using her need for his assistance as an excuse to be a total perv. Instead, she wished his crotch was pressed up against her ass, wished that grinding up against a complete stranger in front of her father was a perfectly a-okay move to make.

Who’s the perv now?

She was. With a capital P. Still, his politeness wasn’t gonna stop her from asking out Mr. Tall, Dark, and Sexy Lips the minute she had a chance. He would be a nice distraction from the current mess that was her life.

“Okay. You can ease up now,” her father said.

Nathan stepped away, and she mourned the loss of his warmth. She cautiously stepped back from the dog, waiting to see if he would try to get up. He didn’t move, keeping his head on the blanket and his eyes closed.

“No break in the leg, but that hip’s dislocated,” her father said. “We’ll sedate him, do some x-rays and then pop the hip back in. Nathan, can you stay and help?”

“Wait, what?” Harper stared at her father. “You know this guy?”

Her father nodded as Nathan stuck his hand out. “Hi, Harper. I’m Nathan Henshaw. I work with your dad. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Harper stared mutely at him.

Mr. Tall, Dark, and Sexy Lips was Dr. Henshaw.

The asshole veterinarian who was trying to steal her father’s practice and send him into early retirement.

The man she’d never met but already hated.

Well, shit.

Chapter 2

Harper’s room was exactly as she’d left it. It eased the year long homesickness that had never really gone away and also depressed her.

Her father should have turned it into the lavish study he’d always wanted. Instead, he’d left it untouched. As if he expected her to fail in New York and come crawling home with her tail tucked between her legs.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself.

Excellent advice. One she’d tried really hard to take ever since she’d admitted the defeat of her dream. But it was hard to ignore defeat’s bitter taste when you were twenty-five years old and back in your childhood bedroom with pictures of the Jonas Brothers on the walls and the horseback riding trophies from when you were fifteen still on display.

She crossed the room to her closet and grabbed a pair of leggings and a t-shirt before pulling out some fresh underwear and a bra from the Ikea dresser against the far wall. She and her dad had put the dresser together when she was eleven. They’d gotten a case of the giggles about halfway through - she could no longer remember why.

But she could remember lying on the same worn rug that still covered the floor in front of the door, holding her aching stomach as tears slid down her cheeks. She could remember the way her dad had looked, standing in the patch of sunlight from the window, tears streaming out of his eyes as he laughed and snorted as hard as she did.

It hadn’t lasted long. Her mother was as attuned as a hunting dog to finding their small moments of joy in the house and snuffing them out like a dying candle. She’d opened Harper’s door, that scowl always so quick to appear already stamped into every feature, and barked at them to stop acting like fools and finish the job.

Harper peeled off her wet clothes and dropped them into the laundry basket before towelling dry and quickly dressing in the blessedly dry and warm clothes. She studied herself in the full-length mirror nailed to the wall.

“Ugh.”

She looked like a drowned rat. Her hair was plastered to her skull in an unflattering helmet, and she quickly towel dried it before running a comb through it. She didn’t think it helped that much. Her hair still hung limply, and her roots needed to be done despite it only being a few weeks since she’d gone blonde.

She sighed. Dying her brown hair to blonde had been an impulse decision - story of her freaking life - and while she wasn’t exactly regretting it, she did regret the extra cost it would take in upkeep. Especially since her bank account balance was less than a thousand bucks and she was both homeless and jobless.

Drama queen.

Yeah, maybe a little, but having to move back in with your dad and also beg him for your old job back was a good excuse for some drama queen feelings, right?

She studied her face in the mirror. While she had extra clothes in her room, she didn’t have any makeup. It was back in her bags in her car, which was currently still on the side of the road. Although, maybe, if she was lucky, she’d left a tube of mascara or a bit of foundation in one of her desk drawers.

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