Page 1 of Fool Me

CHAPTER

ONE

ATLAS

“Slap my ass, and call me mommy.”

The squawk comes from the African grey parrot I’m examining, forcing me to fight back a smile by rolling my tongue against my cheek. But when Betty White starts bobbing her feathered head, chanting, “Tell me you like it. Tell me you like it,” a laugh builds in my throat. My failed attempt at covering it with a cough doesn’t go unnoticed. Despite being a foot shorter than me, the bird’s owner manages to look down at me, spearing me with her unimpressed glare.

My predecessor and mentor, Dr. McMullins, could’ve given me a warning about the parrot’s vocabulary somewhere in the thick patient record belonging to the pet in question.

I bet the old man did it on purpose, knowing I wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face.

Marilyn, the owner, gasps, sucking in a sharp breath. “I didn’t teach her that.” Her beady eyes are fixed on me as she taps her foot like I said the words, not her bird.

“Of course not. Parrots like Betty pick up things from background noise; TV and radio can contribute to their vocabulary.” By some miracle, I sound professional.

“What do you think I’m doing alone in the big house while my husband is at work? Watching the SpiceMax?”

I’m pretty sure SpiceMax hasn’t been a thing since the advent of high-speed internet, but her curt tone has the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. It’s not a point I’m going to argue with her.

“Can’t trust a doctor who doesn’t wear khakis or a tie. City boy in scrubs, like he’s a TV doctor,” she huffs.

I can’t win, but that’s been the theme since coming back to Timberline Peak.

Focusing on the bird, I go over everything Marilyn has told me, making sure I’m not missing something in my assessment. She mentioned her husband was gone; the bird could be picking up stress from her. Once I win her over, it might be worth exploring, but we aren’t there yet, so I start with the simplest explanation first. “Let’s make sure Betty is getting enough fruit. Strawberries, blueberries, and bananas are all safe. Sometimes they’ll pluck their feathers like this if there’s a vitamin deficiency.”

“Put it in my mouth,” Betty squawks.

Every time the parrot opens her beak, the odd name seems a little more fitting. Leading Mrs. Franklin and her dirty bird to the door, I hold it open for her, gesturing to the front desk where my assistant is sitting. “Grace can get you set up with a follow-up appointment, and I’ll print off a list of foods you can try with Betty.”

I follow her out of the treatment room and slip into my office, shutting the door behind me, I let out the laugh I’d been holding in for the last thirty minutes. The stress of being back in my hometown has me on edge. Unconventional as it might be, this is the first time I think I’ve laughed since the move. It was unexpected and jarring, but I have no regrets.

I look around the office—myoffice.

Two weeks ago, Dr. Ray McMullins called, letting me know of his wife’s recent ALS diagnosis and his decision to retire, effective as soon as possible. I’d spent fifteen years away after vowing never to come back to my hometown, but there was a soft spot in my heart for that man. Saying no and leaving the rural Wyoming community I grew up in without a vet wasn’t an option, so I agreed to take over for my longtime mentor and upended my entire life with almost no notice.

Everything in this office still belongs to him. Eventually, that will have to change. The problem is I underestimated how change-averse his patients were. Nearly every one I’ve seen has already pointed out that I’m not Dr. McMullins. Changing this office might seem small, but to my new clients, it might feel like an erasure of the doctor they were so fond of.

So, it can wait a little while. Why give them something else to complain about?

I’ve heard it all.

“Doctor Ray took checks. Why don’t you?”

“Scrubs? Kind of casual, don’t you think, young man?”

“You expect me to call you by your first name? What kind of doctor are you?”

“No wedding ring. Interesting.”

“You know you broke your mom’s heart when you left.”

That last one stung, because I’m afraid there’s some truth to it, but maybe being back will help me repair that damage.

Much to the town's disappointment, Dr. McMullins isn’t here. And he won’t be here the next time Mrs. Franklin’s parrot is plucking feathers out. My mentor and friend is probably ass up on a beach in Florida enjoying precious time with his wife while I try to convince every patient that I am indeed capable enough of practicing veterinary medicine.

But the only thing Marilyn Franklin, and all the rest of them, care about, is that I’m still that Kane kid who left for college inthe city and never came back. They don’t know me anymore, and they sure as hell don’t trust me. And it’s not just in the clinic, I see the glances at the grocery store—judgemental and curious.

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