A Bride For The Mountain Man

It was decided that Meredith would use some of her savings to spend a few weeks vising Rachel in Steamboat Springs, Colorado. In addition to rest and relaxation and letting her brewing emotions settle, the reprieve would offer the opportunity to come up with an achievable plan. Where to live? Where to work? What dreams to chase?

To think she’d put so much energy into proving that she could make it on her own. An idealistic notion that, while important in a lot of ways, felt ridiculous and meaningless now that her life hung in the balance. This was the only fight that mattered. Survival.

And it was all on her.

Her thoughts ended when her knees buckled against the strong wind for a second time. She managed to stay standing, but it was by the skin of her teeth. Still no sign of that light, and she knew—in the way a person knows—that she did not have much left in her.

Lord. She was really going to die out here. Alone.

Why bother trying for another step, let alone ten, when her body, heart and brain all knew the truth? She wouldn’t find that light. She wouldn’t reach safety. She didn’t know how long it would take, but yes, death was pounding on her door. Soon, not much longer, she guessed, he’d kick down the door and that would be that. And she would take her last breath. Have her last thought. Perhaps, if she had the strength, she’d cry her last tear.

So why bother? Why not just drop to the ground and...no. No!

She wasn’t about to give up until she was left with no other choice. And no matter how close that moment might be, she wasn’t there yet. She’d fight for as long as she could. Simple as that.

“Help me,” she whispered the prayer. “Send an angel to guide me. Please?”

A sound other than the howling wind made it to her ears. What was that? She stopped, listened harder and heard the sharp, abrupt noise again and then again. It sounded like barking.

A dog? Yes. Had to be a dog.

More barking, and it seemed to be growing closer. Where there was a dog, there was probably a human. An actual person! Meredith turned in a circle, trying to gauge which direction the sounds were coming from. Close, she thought, but...where?

Oh, God, show me where.

“Help!” she called out, hoping her voice would cut through the storm as cleanly as the dog’s continuous series of barks. “Help me, please! I’m—”

Through the darkness a dog emerged, followed by another, both barking and moving far swifter than she would’ve thought possible. And then, they were at her side. Two dogs, not one. They were covered in snow, whining now instead of barking, and one started nipping at her ankles while the other mouthed her sock-covered hand and tugged.

“Hello?” she yelled. “Your dogs are with me! Hello?”

No response other than the dogs, who were still whining and nipping and tugging. Were they out here alone? She hollered into the wind again and waited, watched to see if anyone would answer or a human figure would emerge from the same direction the dogs had.

And...no.

Okay. Okay. Her salvation wasn’t right around the corner. The dogs had probably gotten loose and were trying to find their own way back home. She could barely keep herself standing. What was she to do with two dogs who were likely just as lost as she was?

Still. They were company. She was no longer alone.

“Hey, guys,” she said, her voice weak. “I’m happy to see you, but I’m afraid I’m not going to be of much help. I have no idea where I am or where you two came from.”

The dog that was nipping at her heels stopped for a second to growl. Softly, not menacingly, and then returned to gently prodding at her heels. The dog who had her hand tugged harder and whined plaintively. As if to say, “Come on! Pay attention to what we’re doing! Don’t just stand there. Get moving! Lead us to safety, why don’t you?”

“I don’t know where safety is,” she said. Tears flooded her eyes. “I wish I did.”

Dropping her hand, the dog barked and ran ahead a few feet. Faced her and barked again. The other dog barked, too, and then shoved its head against the back of her legs, toward dog number one.

She stumbled from the pressure, almost fell, but the pooch pushed to her side and she grabbed onto its fur for stability and managed to keep herself standing.

Her numb brain clicked into gear. Were they trying to get her to move? Were they trying to lead her to safety? That was how it seemed, and because she needed something to believe in, to propel her into action, she chose to accept that these dogs were her saviors and all she had to do was follow them. Trust in them to get her out of this mess.

So she did.

Once the dogs saw she was walking, one stayed at her side while the other would run up a few feet, stop and bark until she made her way to that position. Over and over, this pattern was repeated. She almost fell a few times, but by the grace of God and the dog beneath her hand, she didn’t. The storm wailed on, the cold grew even more bitter, and she knew that if not for these dogs—angels, they were angels—she wouldn’t have made it this long.

She would have fallen. And this time, she would not have gotten back up.

Suddenly, Dog A—the one setting their direction—started barking even more exuberantly, and that was when Meredith saw the light.

She hadn’t imagined it!

With tremendous effort, she pushed herself forward, watched the dog run ahead a few more feet, and she pushed herself again. A house! An actual house. She could see the outline now.

She was so close that she was almost on top of it.

The storm had grown increasingly worse since she’d first seen the porch light, before her accident. She should have realized that by the time she returned to approximately the same position on foot, the snow would’ve fully camouflaged the glow. She wouldn’t have seen it again. Not on her own, not without these dogs. But here it was. Just a few more feet.

That was all she had to walk, all she had to find enough power for. A few more feet.

They were, without doubt, the most difficult, exhausting few feet that Meredith had ever walked. But she made it to the porch, up the few steps and to the door.

The dogs were on either side of her now, pressing their bodies against her legs, sharing their strength. Keeping her standing. She knocked on the door, but her fist barely made a sound. She tried again and then, knowing she was this close to collapse, turned the doorknob and pushed open the door.

She called out a feeble “Hello?” but received no response. The room—the blessedly warm room—was empty. The dogs left her side to run in, barked at her to follow and so...well, she did. Unless the owner of this house was heartless, he or she would most certainly understand. And if they didn’t? Well, that was the last worry on Meredith’s mind.

Closing the door behind her, she tried for another “Hello” before half stumbling her way across the room. A low-burning, welcoming fire glowed brightly from the fireplace, and a long, inviting couch was right there along the wall. She went to the sofa, knowing she should take off her coat and outer layers of clothing, but...she couldn’t.

As in, she was unable to.

All she could do was sit down, and then stretch out, on the thick, comfortable cushions and stare at the fire. Oddly, she did not feel awkward at being in a stranger’s home without permission. She wasn’t worried if the owner would understand or be angry when he or she walked in. All she felt, through and through, was a deep, abiding sense of relief.

Just relief. But it was profound.

Meredith fought to stay awake so that when the mystery owner appeared, she could try to explain her presence. Probably, she should sit up. Thought again that she should take off her coat, the shirts wrapped around her head, the socks on her hands. But doing so seemed impossible. Doing so would require considerably more energy than she currently had available.

So she closed her eyes, breathed in the deliciously warm air, and thanked the good Lord for getting her this far. She was alive. Freezing, exhausted, shivering and numb...but alive.

A miracle had occurred. She was not going to die tonight.

Vaguely, she felt the pressure of the dogs—her angels—as they jumped onto the sofa and snuggled their bodies around her, again offering what protection, what help they could. And that was enough to put an end to her feeble resistance. She stopped trying to find energy where there was none, stopped thinking altogether and allowed her body to do what it demanded.

She slept.

Chapter Three

For a solid hour and a half, Liam searched for Max and Maggie. They weren’t behind the house, nor were they at the stream. He branched out in an ever-widening circle around the cabin while keeping track of his own position. At the forty-five-minute mark, he promised himself he’d only give it another fifteen before returning home, even though he flat-out hated the idea of stopping.

The dogs had gotten stuck somewhere, or one of them was injured. There just wasn’t another logical explanation for their absence. And he had no doubt that if something had happened to one, the other would stand sentry. His dogs were loyal beyond belief, to each other, to him, to Fiona and Cassie. Hell, they’d probably be loyal to a stranger, so long as that stranger wasn’t causing them or their family harm. They were those sorts of dogs.

So when he hit an hour without any sign of them, he gave himself another thirty minutes. Due to the storm and all it brought with it, it was slowgoing despite his knowledge of the terrain and his attempts to move quickly. Didn’t matter where he looked, though. They had seemingly vanished.

It was possible they’d returned to the cabin while he was trekking over the mountainside and even now were waiting for his return. He hoped so.

But yeah, another half an hour before turning back.

At one point, through the wind, he thought he heard barking, but it was so faint and so distant, he couldn’t determine the direction. He called out their names repeatedly and listened closely.

Nothing.

Just the noisy storm playing tricks with his ears, fueled by his desperate hope to locate his dogs. Sighing, Liam pushed forward for the allotted thirty more minutes before turning on his heel and heading back toward the cabin with that awful, sick sloshing in his gut.

If they weren’t there, he’d do the smart thing and warm up, get some food in him, rest for an hour or so, before beginning the search anew. And he’d rinse and repeat those actions for as long as it took or until his body gave out on him and he required more than an hour rest in between. Experience had taught him that he could go a real long time with minimal rest.

As he approached the house, he kept his eyes peeled for signs of Max and Maggie, willing them to appear. They did not. Nor were they waiting for him near the back door.

Damn it!

It was difficult to not turn around and retrace every one of his steps, but he knew better. This storm was fierce. As much as he wanted to get his dogs, he needed intermittent breaks in order to keep going throughout the night. Otherwise, he faced the possibility of wearing himself out too soon, which wouldn’t do Max or Maggie a lick of good.

Sighing, feeling the weight of the world upon his shoulders, Liam entered through the back door, stopping in the heated mudroom. Piece by piece, he removed his outerwear, starting with his insulated gloves, coat and pants and ending with his heavy-duty hiking boots. Next came the wool hat and the midlayer, which was basically a fleece track suit. He hung each item separately, so all would be dry and ready to wear when he ventured back out.

Wearing only his socks, thermal-compressed long johns and a long-sleeved shirt, he walked into the kitchen, his plan to start a pot of coffee. While that brewed, he’d go upstairs, put on a fresh base layer and then prepare a meal. He wasn’t tired yet, so he didn’t need a nap. No more than an hour’s reprieve should do the trick, less if he could get away with it.

He measured the coffee, filled the pot’s reservoir with water, clicked the power button, and as he completed each step, he considered where to start his next foray. If the dogs were stuck or hurt anywhere nearby, he felt sure he would’ve found them. So, they were either farther out than seemed reasonable or, somehow, they’d been picked up by a passing motorist who just happened to be driving through this remote area in the middle of a friggin’ storm.

Doubtful, though not impossible.

Running his hands over his eyes, Liam released a worried sigh. When he woke that morning, all had been right with the world—his world, anyhow—and now, because of two lost dogs, every last thing felt slightly skewed, just enough off balance to be completely wrong. If he’d accepted Fiona’s offer of staying at her place through the storm, he’d still have his dogs.

All would have remained right in his world.

He stomped out that thought good and fast. One of the many lessons he’d learned over the years was not to dwell on what couldn’t be changed. What-ifs did not yield results. All what-ifs did was fill a person with regret, making them wish for the impossible. And that right there was a huge waste of brainpower, energy, and productivity.

Smarter, better to learn from where you’ve already walked, but focus on the ground ahead of you that has not yet been covered.

Fifteen minutes gone. Liam strode from the kitchen into the living room, his vision planted directly on the stairs. Change clothes. Eat. Drink coffee. Get back out there, and...whoa.

Halting with one foot half raised in the air in front of the first step, he pivoted toward the sofa. There were his dogs, safe and sleeping so soundly that neither raised their sharp, pointed noses in his direction.

For a fraction of a second, all Liam could do was stare in shock. How the hell had they gotten into the house? Had they somehow followed him in earlier and he hadn’t noticed? In another millisecond, as his shock faded into relief, he realized they were not alone.

A slight, huddled figure—a woman, he thought—was curled tight against the back of the sofa. Maggie rested at the tips of a pair of petite hiking books and Max stretched out on his stomach along the length of the stranger’s body.

Liam went to the couch, knelt down and patted Max’s head before reaching over to gently shake the woman’s dark-gray-coat-covered shoulder. She didn’t budge or make a sound. He tried again with the same result.

Sizing up the situation and not liking what he saw—wet coat and jeans, pale skin, slight shivers rippling through the woman’s body—Liam muffled a curse. Max, hearing Liam, opened his eyes and scooted to join his sister at the end of the sofa. He whined in an imploring fashion, pushed his nose into the woman’s denim-clad leg and whined again.

“I know, boy,” Liam said. “I know.”

There were a few scenarios that came to mind, but the precise details of how this woman got to his couch escaped him. He also did not know how long she’d been roaming in the bitter cold before finding her way here. Neither of those mattered at that moment. What did was determining the state of her health, along with that of his dogs.

Questions could be answered later.

“Max. Maggie,” he said sharply. “Down!” Max obeyed instantly, but Maggie kept sleeping, so Liam gently tugged her ear. She shifted, opened her eyes and yawned. He repeated his command, and she slid to the floor, where she stood next to Max and added her canine voice to his in a whine equally as imploring. “I got her,” Liam said. “Promise.”

The tense lines of the dogs’ bodies relaxed as they plopped their butts on the floor, both sets of eyes now bright and alert, focused on the prone woman. Apparently relieved to pass on the caretaking duty to Liam but unwilling to drop their protective vigil until whatever danger they sensed had passed.

“I got her,” Liam repeated. The dogs retreated to the thick rug in front of the fireplace, where they landed on their bellies. Both sets of eyes continued to watch, assess.

He gently rolled the woman to her back and tried to wake her again. Her eyes remained firmly shut, her breathing a little too fast for his comfort. He also wasn’t fond of the whiter-than-milk shade of her skin.

Hypothermia? Quite possibly, and if so, hopefully not too far advanced. And yeah, he knew what he had to do, he just didn’t want to without her permission. Which she couldn’t give unless she woke the hell up.

“Hey, there,” he said, squeezing her hand as he spoke. “I’m Liam and my dogs are Max and Maggie. We’re...ah...happy you’re here, safe. And I’m guessing this is the most comfortable you’ve been in a good long while, but I would greatly appreciate it if you’d open those eyes of yours. Maybe talk to me for a few minutes, answer some of my questions.”

She did not even flinch.

He set his discomfort aside and, moving quickly, unzipped her coat. “Okay, I get it. You don’t want to be disturbed. No problem for the moment, but if you can hear me,” he said, keeping his voice at an even, calm keel, “I need to get all of these wet clothes off of you. I’m sorry about this, but don’t be scared. I’m trying to help, not hurt.”

Doubtful she heard him, but it seemed better somehow, saying the words.

He took off the wet socks covering her hands, removed her coat, unlaced and yanked her boots from her feet and—feeling like a peeping tom, even knowing he had to do it—unclasped and unzipped her cold, wet jeans.

Ah. Smart woman, she had on another pair underneath. Also cold, also wet. When both pairs were tugged from her body, leaving her in a pair of thin black leggings—they would also have to come off, but not yet—he pushed out a strangled breath.

Turning his attention to the rest of her body, ignoring the rapid beat of his heart—she hadn’t moved a muscle, even as her jeans were removed—he untied the shirts she’d wrapped around her head and face, exposing a tumble of long, curly, matted blond hair. And he had that weird déjà vu sensation that he’d been here, done this before.

She, this, reminded him of... “Goldilocks,” he muttered. “Asleep on my couch, rather than my bed, but close enough. Guess that means I’m one of the three bears.”

Of course, his sister would say he was grumpy enough to be all three bears in one.

Trying not to jar Goldi too much, he lifted her upper body with one arm and unhooked her purse from her shoulder, taking it over her head. Her black sweatshirt and the turtleneck she wore under it were both wet. It took some doing, but he got those off, too. Now, Miss Goldilocks was down to a T-shirt, leggings and socks. And she still hadn’t moved.

A thick, soft blanket was folded over the back of the sofa. Covering her with it, he said, “I need to get a few things, darlin’, but I’ll only be a couple of minutes. Why don’t you try to open your eyes while I’m gone? Would make me and the dogs very, very happy.”

Upstairs first, for dry clothes—she’d drown in them, as they were his, but he figured she wouldn’t mind—and next, the linen closet for several more blankets. As expected, when he returned, Max and Maggie had jumped on the sofa, taking their prior positions at her feet and alongside her. And the sight of this, for some unknown reason, made his heart pound a mite harder. Warmed it a little, too.

“Down,” he said, motioning his arm toward the floor. They didn’t obey instantly, just whined and gave him that look. Not a surprise, really. Now that they’d shaken off their tundra expedition and had warmed themselves by the fire, their stubborn streak had intensified. “Down,” Liam repeated, in a firm, don’t-argue-with-me tone. They complied.

But they didn’t return to the fire. They stood as close to the sofa as possible without actually being on it, watching Goldi with acute alertness. In some way Liam did not yet understand, his dogs had bonded with this woman. She was theirs now. One of the pack.

Unexpected. Curious, too.

Liam sighed and finished what he had started. Reminding himself that he was taking care of her and not taking advantage, he used the blanket that was already covering her as a privacy tent of sorts.

He reached underneath and slipped off her leggings, replacing them with a pair of his drawstring pajama bottoms, which he tied at her waist. Rinse and repeat with her T-shirt and one of his sweatshirts, although this switcheroo proved a bit more complex. He did the same with her feet, shucking off her wet socks—two pairs—and covering them with a single pair of his thick, wool socks. Finally, he gathered the blankets he’d brought downstairs, and one by one, layered them on top of her, using one to tuck around her head.

Now that she was dry, clothed and covered, he tried once again to rouse her to awareness. While she did not fully open her eyes, her lashes fluttered slightly and a soft moan fell from her lips.

That seemed positive, and far better than complete unresponsiveness. But she was still shivering. Her breathing remained rapid, though perhaps less so than earlier, and when he checked her pulse, he found it steady if a bit fast. She was also still too pale for his peace of mind.

She needed hydration. Something warm, sweet, and caffeine free. Liam wasn’t much for sweet or caffeine free, but Fiona kept a few boxes of herbal teas here for when she visited. He’d brew a cup of that, add a little sugar, and spoon it into Goldi’s mouth. He couldn’t give her much, as she was still unconscious, but even a little would help. He’d take it slow. Which meant that he had one long night ahead of him, because—much like his dogs—he wouldn’t leave his surprise houseguest’s side until he knew she was okay or, he supposed, was on the definite road to being okay.

Max woofed a soft, impatient bark. A whine from Maggie followed. Looking at his anxiously waiting dogs, Liam nodded toward the sofa. They seemed fine physically, but after the tea, he’d give them a thorough once-over to reassure himself.

“Go ahead,” he said. “I won’t stop you now. Your body warmth will do her good.”

That was all they needed to hear. Thirty seconds later, Maggie was curled around Goldi’s feet and Max was stretched out beside her. In almost perfect unison, they heaved breaths of relief while giving Liam a look that seemed to say, “Okay! Good! What’s next?”

Great question. “We need her to wake up. Work on that, while I make the tea.”

* * *

She’d been cold. So very cold, yet her exhaustion had overpowered the need to find warmth. Sleeping was easier, made her forget about the cold.

A voice, soothing and rich, layered and evocative, had chiseled into her brain, asking her to wake up. And oh, she tried to do as the voice asked, tried to find the will to rouse herself and talk, because it seemed of utmost importance to whomever spoke that she do so.

But try as she might, she couldn’t. It was as impossible as taking flight, using her arms as wings. So, she fell deeper into the realm of the unconscious, where her mind concocted a fairy tale to explain all she felt, all she heard.

In her dream, there wasn’t a blizzard raging outside. It was the middle of summer, one of those perfect balmy days that smelled of coconuts and lime, with fluffy cotton clouds floating in a robin’s-egg-blue sky. She was on a boat, drifting aimlessly, listening to the lapping waves and enjoying the luxurious rays of the sun as they coated her naked body in the most delectable warmth. Hands, also warm and soothing, brushed gently against her skin—her legs, her arms, her face—and every now and then, stroked her hair.

She hadn’t felt safe in so long. Why? She couldn’t remember the details, but tendrils of nausea swirled in her belly. Now, though, she felt safe and protected and so gloriously, wonderfully warm.

Again, the stranger’s tenor sifted into the smoky film of her dreams, where it sparked and sizzled in her soul. Her brain decided that this deep and evocative voice must belong to the man who loved her and that he was, in some form or fashion, taking care of her.