Defending Harlow (Mountain Mercenaries #4)(50)

“I will. Bye, baby.”

He watched until she’d entered the lobby of the apartment building before pulling away. He’d pushed her a bit harder than he probably should’ve, but he wanted so badly for her to realize what they could have together.

They’d be combustible if she’d only open her eyes and realize that he wasn’t like the jerks she’d dated in the past. He’d treat her like the amazing woman she was.

“Another day, another brick busted in her wall,” he said to himself as he drove home.





Chapter Fifteen

Harlow looked at the stairs in front of her and crossed her arms. “No,” she said emphatically.

Lowell had picked her up right at eight, and they’d driven west of the city to Manitou Springs. It was an adorable little tourist town with cute, kitschy stores and a chocolate shop that made her mouth water . . . even at eight thirty in the morning.

But Lowell had turned, bypassing the shops and heading south for a bit before pulling into a crowded parking area. She couldn’t believe how many cars there were this early in the morning.

When she got out and saw exactly what the Manitou Incline was, she refused to take another step.

“It’ll be fun,” Lowell cajoled.

“Seriously?” she asked, glaring at him. “What part of ‘I’m not athletic’ did you not understand?”

“We don’t have to go fast. Look, there are kids and dogs doing it.”

Harlow kept her arms crossed and scowled. Then she shook her head and said under her breath, “I could be sitting in my apartment in my fat pants or pajamas, drinking coffee. Instead, I thought I was doing you a favor. And I didn’t bother to look up what this incline thing was.” She sighed, then looked at Lowell and said louder, “I’ll stay in the car. You go on and”—she waved her hand at the steps—“do your thing.”

“It’s only a mile, Harl. You can do that.”

“How many steps?” she snapped, knowing better than to trust him.

“Two thousand, seven hundred and forty-four.”

“Jeez,” she muttered. “Lowell, I get winded going up two flights to get to my apartment.”

“But they’re made out of railroad ties. And the view from the top is so cool.”

Harlow looked up. And up and up and up.

“There’s a two-thousand-foot elevation gain. It averages a forty-one percent incline, with the steepest part being sixty-eight percent. It’s so neat. You’re going to love it.”

She looked from the excitement on Lowell’s face back to the stairs. They looked like they were literally going straight up. She didn’t really understand the percentages that he’d given her, but she wasn’t an idiot. She could see that at certain places, the stairs were almost vertical.

Without a word, she turned away from the stairs and headed back to his Mazda in the parking lot.

“Harl . . .” he said, jogging to catch up to her.

“Go for it, Lowell. I’ll hang out down here. I’m sure you can run up and down that thing in, like, twenty minutes.”

“Harl,” he said again, grabbing her elbow and forcing her to stop.

She turned to him. “This was a joke, right?”

He stared at her for a second, and her stomach got tight. She’d been so sure he was pulling her leg. After their conversation before biking down Pikes Peak, he couldn’t actually think this was a good idea . . . could he?

Then his lips twitched—and she breathed a sigh of relief.

“You jerk!” she said, laughing as she punched him in the arm.

“Ow!” he said as he feigned an injury, holding his biceps. “You should’ve seen your face,” he said with a grin.

“Please tell me you actually have something planned for this morning other than giving me a hard time,” she said, more relieved than she could express that he hadn’t really expected her to climb all those stairs.

He winked. “Of course I do. There’s an artist co-op that has some amazing stuff in Manitou Springs. There’s also a chocolate shop that has the best sweets. I thought we could walk around and chill out before I had to get you back to work.”

“That really was mean, Lowell. What if I’d believed you?”

“I know,” he said. “But I knew you wouldn’t.”

There had been a moment when she honestly hadn’t been sure if he was messing with her, but she decided not to go there. “I’ll forgive you on one condition,” Harlow said.

“Anything,” he said.

“Our first stop is for some of that chocolate.”

“You got it, baby.” Then he reached out and pulled her toward him. Her arms automatically went around his waist, and one of his hands flattened against her spine, the other resting on her lower back. He didn’t say anything, just stared down at her with a look in his eyes she couldn’t interpret.

Inhaling, Harlow was once again struck by how good Lowell smelled. She wished she could bottle it up and save it to take out and sniff when she was having a crap day. Pulling back, she said matter-of-factly, “I’ll never be as athletic as you, Lowell. I wasn’t kidding when I said I don’t even like to work out. I’ll try a lot of things. Skydiving, going up in a hot-air balloon, biking down Pikes Peak—but voluntarily climbing thousands of steps won’t ever be my idea of a good time. I mean, look at me. This is as good as I get.”