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A Bride For The Mountain Man
Tracy Madison
She was "just right"…The last thing Liam Daly expected to find was a golden-haired beauty deep in the Colorado mountains. But when a blizzard leaves Meredith Jensen stranded, Liam's solitude is shattered.Meredith is determined to build a new, independent, life for herself. But she's attracted by Liam's warm soul, still recovering from a love he tragically lost decades earlier. It's just a matter of time before they give in to the spark between them…a spark that unexpectedly makes them parents-to-be.Even though Liam wants to do the right thing, Meredith won't settle for a duty-bound man. She wants the fairytale.


She was “just right”
The last thing Liam Daly expected was finding a real-life Goldilocks in the Colorado mountains. But after a blizzard leaves Meredith Jensen stranded, Liam’s solitude is shattered by the electrifying golden-haired beauty.
Sheltered Meredith is determined to build a new life for herself. But she’s compelled by Liam’s warm soul, still recovering from a love he tragically lost decades earlier. It’s just a matter of time before they give in to the spark between them...a spark that unexpectedly makes them parents-to-be.
Even though stand-up Liam wants to do the right thing, Meredith won’t settle for a duty-bound man. How can she convince Liam that his real-life Goldilocks is just right...forever?
“We can nix the snowman in lieu of another prize.”
“Giving up that easily?”
“There is something else, something...better, that I’d like for my prize.” It was one thing to decide the asking made sense; it was another to actually verbalize the question. “I’m pretty sure it will make me far happier than the snowman would’ve. No. Not pretty sure. Absolutely sure.”
She could still back out if she lost her courage. She hadn’t given anything away yet.
He stared down at her again, and those green and amber eyes of his darkened to a burnished moss. The change wasn’t fueled by anger or frustration or even confusion, because she saw desire looming in the depths of his gaze. As if he already knew what she was about to ask. As if he’d considered the very same thing.
Maybe he did know. Maybe he had.
“You’re trouble,” he said. “I knew it the second I saw you.”
“Yeah? Well, you’re trouble, too. But...I like it.” Oh! Where had that come from? She blinked another half-dozen times, breathed again. “I might like it.”
“Tell me, Goldi,” he said. “If I have to guess, I might guess wrong.”
It was now or never. So, now please.
“A kiss. I want you to kiss me.”
* * *
The Colorado Fosters: They’d do anything for each other... and for love!
A Bride for the Mountain Man
Tracy Madison


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
TRACY MADISON is an award-winning author who makes her home in northwestern Ohio. As a wife and a mother, her days are filled with love, laughter and many cups of coffee. She often spends her nights awake and at the keyboard, bringing her characters to life and leading them toward their well-deserved happily-ever-afters one word at a time. Tracy loves to hear from readers. You can reach her at tracy@tracymadison.com.
To the canine loves of my life:
Roxie, Max and Maggie, Sadie and Holly.
Contents
Cover (#ue95ac979-f9e8-53bf-9ef5-580ac632e0fd)
Back Cover Text (#uf247d097-5f17-5963-bda8-fef9b5dff7f8)
Introduction (#u53cfc9b3-6c18-5e4b-a842-a9f0fd8778fe)
Title Page (#u223e6b2e-3587-5dc4-8b4a-dd77cbc7a7a2)
About the Author (#ucaad7256-3660-5dfb-8cb0-46137296c8e5)
Dedication (#u3498fd63-a892-58b4-b2bb-295b8a3d08b0)
Chapter One (#uc3f37ddd-0c5a-53ac-9429-12c9a27685b4)
Chapter Two (#u62fc50ac-94c0-5a5f-a38b-138464a3a528)
Chapter Three (#u790b71ec-ce37-59b7-849a-0507578801c6)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ua597d059-485f-54a5-bafd-7187224aa6bd)
There were many ways a person could die. Before this moment, Meredith Jensen had never given much thought to how her life might come to an end.
Why would she? She had youth, good health and a rather safe existence on her side.
Other than her penchant for over-easy eggs paired with buttered toast every Sunday morning, she didn’t participate in dangerous activities. Her weekends weren’t spent skydiving or bungee jumping, she drove a Volvo S60 and not a sports car and most nights, she was tucked securely into bed with a book no later than ten. As far as her career went, until two weeks ago, she’d worked as a stager for a high-end, prestigious construction and realty company in the San Francisco Bay area. Dressing up the interiors of spectacular houses, apartments and condos to make them more desirable for prospective buyers held very little risk.
And oh, how she’d loved her job.
The creativity involved, the process of designing each room around the architecture and the lighting and the scavenger hunt in locating the perfect accompaniments to bring her vision to reality. She supposed something unfortunate could have occurred if she’d been on a jobsite at the wrong moment, but truly, the vast majority of her time was either spent in her office or canvassing the city in search of the right furniture, artwork, rugs and anything else she had deemed necessary.
If Meredith had spent any amount of time considering her demise, a whopper of an earthquake would’ve topped the list, due to where she lived. Everyday tragedies, such as car accidents, house fires and random acts of violence would have been noted, as well. To be complete, she would’ve included illness as an additional possibility.
But getting lost in the mountains of Colorado while the heavens unleashed a torrential, icy downpour outside her rental car? In the middle of October, no less? Nope. The predicament she currently found herself in wouldn’t have landed a spot on her personal scenarios-of-death list. This trip was meant to be an opportunity to catch up with an old friend, relax, indulge in some skiing and most important...make peace with her past and reassess her future.
If everything had gone according to plan, she would have arrived at her friend Rachel Foster’s house over an hour ago and would certainly be enjoying a glass of wine this very second. Naturally, Rachel had offered to pick her up from the airport, but Meredith wanted to have a car at her disposal. She had GPS, Rachel’s address and her phone number. That and the Honda Accord she rented was all she needed.
Except the weather had turned on a dime shortly after she’d left the airport, going from cold to freezing temperatures and drizzling rain to an icy mess, as if Mother Nature had flipped the “storm switch” out of boredom or anger.
She shouldn’t be surprised, really. While the vast majority of Meredith’s life had gone precisely according to plan, recently fate seemed determined to push her off course onto one bumpy, twisty road after another.
A small, semihysterical laugh, born from desperation and fear, escaped her. No, maybe she hadn’t sensed disaster looming when she’d boarded her plane in San Francisco earlier that afternoon, but all things being considered, she should have.
Squinting her eyes in an attempt to focus on the narrow mountain road, Meredith looked for a clearing to turn the car around. Obviously, she’d gone left when she should’ve gone right or vice versa. Not that she had any idea of exactly where she’d erred. Because of her location, the weather or a combination of both, her phone had lost its signal thirty-plus minutes ago.
No GPS. No way to search for directions from her current location. No way to call or text Rachel or to reach out for help. She was on her own.
And didn’t that feel like some type of a sick joke?
To make matters worse, as late afternoon crawled its way toward dusk, snowflakes had joined the wintry mix and now whipped through the air, their numbers seemingly multiplying by the minute. They fell hard and fast, covering the ground in a growing sheath of white. She was, as her much loved and dearly departed grandmother used to say, in quite the pretty pickle.
Meredith drew her bottom lip into her mouth and tried to hold back the panic rippling through her blood. Barely able to see through the windshield, driving as slow as she could manage in deference to the slick, icy road, she said a silent prayer for her safety. Then, right on the heels of that, she gave herself a swift, mental kick in the butt.
“Be smart,” she said. “Stop feeling and start thinking. There will be plenty of time to fall apart later.”
Right. Assuming she lived, she could give in to hysterics as much as she wanted once she got out of this mess. And the first step had to be reversing her direction, so she could attempt to find one of the houses she’d driven past and hope for a kind Samaritan who would be willing to take her in until the weather cleared. Locating Rachel’s house at this point was akin to finding a solitary needle in a hundred—no, make that a thousand—haystacks.
Leaning forward in her seat and completely removing her foot from the gas pedal, Meredith peered through the windshield. The sky was darkening quickly, the sun’s already dimming glow further diminished by clouds and snow, rain and ice.
She couldn’t even see far enough in front of her to know if she was approaching a bend in the road or a cross street she could use for a U-turn. Other than her headlights, there weren’t any lights to be seen, whether from oncoming cars, houses or businesses that might be tucked off the road.
The terror that Meredith had worked so hard to contain engulfed her in a rush, sending a tremor of shivers through her body.
Where the hell was she?
How had she managed to find what had to be one of the very few mountain roads in a tourist town filled with skiers that wasn’t populated with residences, hotels or any other signs of human existence?
She couldn’t see a damn thing, so she braked to a full stop, the tires sliding precariously on the icy road before obeying her command. With the car engaged in Park, she switched on the emergency lights—just in case she was fortunate enough for another vehicle to come along—opened the door and stepped outside.
Okay, yeah, it was cold. The type of cold that hurt.
Edging to the side of the road, she walked forward, looking for what she hadn’t been able to see from the car: a wide, relatively flat and clear space she could use to turn the car around.
In mere seconds, her hands were tingling from the frigid temperature and the slashing wintry mix. She hadn’t been thinking clearly. She should have grabbed her coat from the back seat before leaving the car. She didn’t bother turning back. She wouldn’t be out here for long.
Tugging down her sleeves to use as makeshift gloves, eyes downcast, she trudged forward. In careful, small steps, she navigated a path through the thickening snow and around the outer layer of trees—a mix of deciduous and coniferous, mainly aspen, pine, spruce and fir—that blanketed this section of the mountainside.
Earlier, before the drastic change in the weather and becoming hopelessly lost, she’d marveled at the natural beauty of these trees, of their rich and varied shades of green and gold, with splashes of red, atop a canopy of pure white leftover from a prior snowfall. Now, they were nothing more than another set of obstacles, blocking her route and her vision. Still beautiful, without doubt, but entirely unhelpful.
Her arms, legs and feet were already numb. Her cheeks already raw, her lips chapped and her hair a mass of wet, frozen strands.
She couldn’t have traveled more than twenty feet from the car, but what would’ve been an inconsequential distance in the full light of day and under normal circumstances might as well have been two hundred miles. It was just too cold, too gray and shadowed, too windy, too...everything. Each step she took away from the car increased her brewing panic. She kept at it for a few more minutes, without any luck, before deciding she’d gone far enough.
If there was an easy spot to turn around, she couldn’t see it.
Okay. No biggie. She’d just keep driving in the same direction and hope she’d come across a house, a hotel, a gas station or a restaurant. An igloo. Somewhere, anywhere, that would offer safety until the storm passed.
“Please, please let there be shelter just up the road,” she whispered into the frigid air as she stumbled in retreat toward her waiting car. Somewhere with food would be a tremendous bonus, as she hadn’t eaten anything that day. She never did before getting on a plane.
A burger dripping with melted cheese would taste like heaven. Or a large pepperoni and mushroom pizza. Or...her stomach grumbled in response to her thoughts, which made the entire situation seem even worse. She’d never had to ignore her body’s natural reminder for sustenance.
If she was hungry, she ate. It had always been that simple.
Back in the Accord, Meredith aimed the vents in her direction and cranked up the heat. She closed her eyes and breathed through her shivers and chattering teeth, letting the solid stream of warm air soak into her skin and begin to dry her hair and clothes. Just that fast, she regained some of her optimism. She might be hungry, but she certainly wouldn’t starve. She had shelter and warmth right here. Even if she was stuck in the car until morning, she would survive.
She would be fine.
With that mantra running through her head, she rebuckled her seat belt, put the car into Drive and cautiously pressed on the gas pedal. The car rocked as the tires fought for traction on the icy layer of snow but didn’t actually move forward.
Biting her lip, Meredith applied a miniscule amount of more pressure to the gas pedal and, when that didn’t work, a little more yet. The tires spun uselessly for another instant—no more than a second or two—before the car lurched into actual motion. Without conscious thought, she gripped the steering wheel tighter and drove, using the brakes far more often than the gas to retain some semblance of control.
And even her current speed of a sleepy, lazy tortoise felt too fast, too reckless.
She drove slowly, not so much following the road as the dense line of dark trees along either side of the car. As she did, the sun continued its unrelenting descent and the snow kept falling, faster and thicker, decreasing her scant visibility to the point of near blindness. The gusting, rushing gales of wind battered against the car with such ferocious strength that being swept off the road ranked as a real possibility. Terrifying, yes, but also...lonely.
Not in the “oh, I wish I had someone to talk to” sense of lonely, but in the “if this goes bad, I could legitimately die out here, by myself, and no one would know.”
Her parents wouldn’t have a clue, nor would her brothers or friends or prior coworkers. No one, except for Rachel and her husband, Cole, would even think to try to contact her for days, if not for weeks. She was supposed to be on vacation, after all.
More than that, though. This trip was about a lot more than a simple getaway.
After an inferno of an exchange with her father, Arthur Jensen had made it clear that for the next year, no matter the circumstance she found herself in, he would not intervene. The rest of the family wouldn’t, either.
It was what she had wanted, had asked for and then demanded when he’d initially taken her request as a joke. But she hadn’t guessed how upset her father would become, the awful truth that slipped out in his anger, which further upset her or, when he finally capitulated, the strict set of rules he put in place. She recognized why. He didn’t believe she’d agree, but oh, she had. Because really, what else was she to do?
But she certainly hadn’t foreseen a freak autumn snowstorm, losing her way in a wholly unfamiliar and apparently remote location or the possibility of death on the horizon. And even if her father could somehow know of her predicament and even if he hadn’t declared her as, for all intents and purposes, an orphan for the next year, he couldn’t help her now anyway.
No one could.
“Stop it,” she said, loud and clear. “I am not going to die out here.”
She’d no sooner spoken the words than the faintest shimmer of light appeared ahead and to the right. So faint, she almost wondered if her eyes were playing tricks on her, and what she thought she saw was nothing more than a panic-induced mirage...her personal oasis in the desert. Could be that, she thought, or it could be just as it appeared: a sanctuary. She wouldn’t know for sure until she got closer, but hope and relief tempered the rapid beat of her heart.
Neither lasted long. Seemingly out of nowhere, the narrow, uphill road curved sharply to the right and Meredith, in an instinctive attempt to correct her direction, yanked the steering wheel too hard. The car whiplashed to the side before settling into a spin and, now facing the opposite direction, picked up speed and careened downhill.
Gripping the steering wheel even tighter, she worked to keep the car on the road while pumping on the brakes. She couldn’t regain control. She closed her eyes, tensed her body and readied herself for whatever came next. Damn it! This should not be happening. She should be with Rachel, sipping wine and trying to let go of the past while deciding on a new and improved future. She was not supposed to be lost, scared and...
The impact came hard and swift, jarring her body and ending her inner tirade.
In sync with the crash, a loud noise, almost like a gunshot, rang in Meredith’s ears as the airbag deployed and slammed against her chest. An acrid smell, strong and pungent, consumed the interior of the car, along with a powdery dust that coated her face and hair. She might have screamed, if she’d been able to breathe.
Keeping her eyes closed for a minute and then another, she waited for her lungs to kick into gear and her shivers to fade, for her heart to regain its normal rhythm and her stomach to stop sloshing. Finally, when her breathing returned and the starkest edge of her fear ebbed, she opened her eyes. She clenched and unclenched her hands, wiggled her toes and moved her legs.
Okay. Good. All seemed in working order. She hadn’t died yet.
* * *
Where had those dogs gotten off to? Liam Daly swore under his breath and hollered their names—Max and Maggie—uselessly into the wind tunnel the night had become. They didn’t come running, nor could he hear their boisterous barking. Not good.
Not good at all.
It was unusual for them to leave his side in the middle of a storm. Even more unusual for them to do so after he’d been gone for so long.
He’d just returned home after an extended stay in the Aleutian Islands, where he’d photographed a variety of wildlife, including those that lived on the land, flew in the air and swam in the sea. It was a good trip and as always he was thankful for the work, but Lord, he was happy to be back home in Colorado.
He’d be happier if his dogs would show themselves. Max and Maggie were Belgian Tervurens, a shepherding breed closely related to Belgian sheepdogs. They were smart, intuitive, active and more often than not, positioned themselves so close to Liam’s legs that he was lucky not to trip over them. They’d done so when they’d first arrived home, after Liam had picked them up from his sister’s place in Steamboat Springs proper. Fiona always looked after Max and Maggie when Liam was away, and they loved her almost as much as they loved him.
Fiona had asked him to stay in her guest room for the night, to relax and spend some time with her and her foster daughter, Cassie, due to the oncoming storm. He’d thought about it, because he’d missed them both, but the storm could last for days. Frankly, he’d been away long enough, and he knew the mountains like the back of his own hand.
So, he’d promised his sister and niece—because that was how he thought of Cassie—that he’d visit them soon, and as he’d thought, he didn’t have a lick of trouble on the drive home. He’d even made a quick but necessary stop for groceries and still managed to roll into his driveway a solid thirty minutes before the spitting rain had fully turned to sheets of snow-drenched ice.
Knowing his sister would worry, he tried to check in using his mobile, but without a signal, that proved fruitless. And his satellite phone—a necessary piece of technology for assignments in certain remote locations—was pretty much useless with all the trees. Fortunately, and surprisingly, the landline still had service. Wouldn’t last much longer, he’d expect, but he was able to reassure Fiona that he’d made it home in one piece.
The dogs had followed as he’d brought in the groceries, turned on the lights and jacked up the heat. They’d gobbled their kibble lightning fast and had then run in circles outside as he lugged in wood for the fireplace.
He’d gotten the fire going before heading out to make sure everything was in order with the generator, because before the night was through, he’d likely lose power. All was good. He had plenty of firewood, propane and food to outlast a storm of mega proportions. He could last a couple of weeks without issue. Good thing, too.
He had that bone-deep intuition that this storm would be one for the history books.
Trying not to worry about the dogs—they knew this part of the mountains as well as Liam did—he hollered their names again while deciding on his next course of action. Likely, the dogs were fine. Wouldn’t hurt to give them a bit more time to stretch their legs and find their way home before allowing his concern to rule his judgment.
He’d unpack his equipment, get everything set straight and orderly, so that he could buckle in and work for the next long while. He had hundreds upon hundreds of digital photographs to sort through, analyze, decide which were gold and which were not, in addition to the many rolls of film he had to develop in his darkroom.
It was, perhaps, one of Liam’s favorite aspects of his job: the meticulous process of bringing a captured image to life. Oh, he wasn’t opposed to technology. Hell, he friggin’ loved what technology could do and had done for his profession, both in the practical and artistic sense.
He was, however, a stalwart follower in the church of film photography. He would never want to give up either for the other, but if forced to choose...well, he’d say goodbye to technology and every one of his digital cameras, even his newest Canon, in a nanosecond.
And yeah, he’d be sorry to see them go, but everything about film photography—from the cameras themselves, to how they worked and how to coax the best possible shot out of them, to the art of developing the prints—was what had drawn Liam to this profession to begin with. His want for solitude and exploration drove him toward the obvious niche: nature and wildlife.
Well, also that he tended to understand animals far easier than people. Typically, he liked them better, too. And he would always choose just about any remote location over a city. Cities had too many people, and people liked to talk. Something Liam wasn’t all that fond of.
His sister teased him, liked to say that Liam was allergic to other human beings outside of their family network. In a way, he supposed there was some truth to that statement, but his “allergy” was by choice. He was just a guy who did better on his own and had long ago recognized that fact. Other than Fiona and a few friends who didn’t annoy him every time they opened their mouths, he had Max and Maggie. Along with his job, that was all he needed.
Calling out their names once again, he waited to see if they’d show. When they didn’t, Liam shoved his worry to the back burner and returned to his cabin.
He’d built it close to five years ago now, on a secluded plot of land that was situated on an equally secluded area of the mountain. He didn’t have neighbors. He had trees and streams, wildlife and tons of privacy.
Just as he liked it.
Inside, he shrugged off his coat and boots. If the two shepherds weren’t back by the time he was done unpacking his gear, he’d put on his layers of arctic wear and try to track them down. Difficult, maybe impossible, with the current state of the weather, but he would have to try. He wouldn’t be able to relax, otherwise.
Making quick work of the job, Liam hauled the equipment to his office at the back of the cabin, taking care to unpack and organize in his standard methodical fashion.
His rolls of exposed film were in airtight, labeled canisters, which he stacked in the refrigerator he kept in this room for just that purpose. A set of customized shelves sat against the back wall that held moisture-proof containers for his various cameras, along with those meant for other necessary items, such as lenses, straps and memory cards. The longest wall of the room held his desk, computers, monitors and an array of additional storage. Everything had a place.
Liam’s darkroom was attached to the office, but for the moment, he left that door closed. No reason to go in there until he was ready to begin developing his film, which wouldn’t be for another day or two.
With everything more or less put away, he took the stairs two at a time to his bedroom—the only room on the second floor—where he put on the layers of clothing and outerwear appropriate for the howling storm, which was turning into one hell of a blizzard.
Yeah, he had to go after his dogs.
Downstairs, he grabbed a flashlight before opening the front door. Then, having second thoughts, closed it against the torrential slam of wind and snow.
Max and Maggie’s favorite roaming grounds were in the dense cluster of trees directly behind the cabin. They’d go round and round, sniffing out squirrels or rabbits, roughhousing with each other and in warmer temperatures, cooling themselves off in the stream that twisted through the trees. He’d go that route first and hope he could outlast the storm long enough to find them and bring them home.
Exiting through the back door, Liam did his best to ignore the worry gnawing at his gut. This just wasn’t like them. Unless one of them had gotten hurt somehow, maybe a soft spot in the icy stream held one of them captive or...no. He wouldn’t assume worst-case scenario.
They were smart, agile dogs. Excitable and full of energy. Probably, they were happy to be home and, in their canine glee, were ignoring the cold and snow in favor of a frozen romp. Sounded good. Plausible even, to anyone who didn’t know Max and Maggie. Problem was, Liam did know them, and that sort of behavior in this type of weather didn’t ring true.
He’d find them. He had to. They were as much his family as Fiona and Cassie.
Chapter Two (#ua597d059-485f-54a5-bafd-7187224aa6bd)
Within minutes of slamming into a cluster of trees, Meredith realized she no longer heard the comforting hum of the car’s engine or felt the warm flow of heat blowing from the vents. She almost turned the key in the ignition to see if the engine would fire again, but had second thoughts. Better to first check out her surroundings and the car’s condition.
Shoving the now-deflated airbag off of her body, she unclasped her seat belt, opened the driver’s side door and stumbled to her feet. Wind-propelled snow slapped at her face, stinging her skin and making her eyes water. The early evening hung in complete darkness, without so much as a single star shining through to offer even the slimmest ray of light.
In her entire life, she had never felt so alone or unprepared.
She walked the perimeter of where she crashed. Since she couldn’t see more than a foot in front of her, she sniffed the air for signs of a fuel leak. Fortunately, if she could trust her nose, she didn’t smell any gas fumes. Assuming the car would start, would she be able to get it back on the road? Maybe. She’d have to be lucky, though. The path out would need to be fairly straightforward, and the car would have to power through the snowy, icy uphill terrain in reverse.
The wall of never-ending wind almost knocked her over, and she had to brace herself to keep standing, had to force her frozen legs to slog through the snow. Again, she was stunned by the saturating, painful depth of the cold. She swore her bones were shivering.
Reaching the back of the car, Meredith tried to gauge how far off the road she’d gone. She couldn’t tell, not from where she stood. But with so many trees, she couldn’t be too far in. Probably, in the light of day, with or without a storm, she’d be able to see the road from here. As it was, however, attempting to blindly maneuver the car seemed a very bad idea.
Okay, then. Her best course of action was huddling in the Accord for the night. So long as the engine would start, she’d have heat. She had plenty of dry clothes in her suitcase. Oh! She even had a bottle of water and a roll of butter rum–flavored Life Savers. Not the most enjoyable way to spend a night, but it could be worse. A lot worse.
She would be fine.
As she fought her way toward the driver’s side door, she suddenly recalled hearing of a woman who—a year or two ago—had died from carbon monoxide poisoning while waiting out a storm in her car. The tailpipes had become clogged with snow, cutting off oxygen. That poor woman had likely also thought she would be safe and sound in the shelter of her car.
Great. Yet another way that Meredith could die tonight.
She retreated again to check the tailpipes. For the moment, the snow wasn’t quite high enough to reach them, thank God. Though, at this rate, with the direction the wind was blowing, it wouldn’t take too much longer. Then what? She’d have to keep checking.
Satisfied that she’d be safe for the next little while, at least, she finally pushed her frozen, wet and shivering body into the driver’s seat. The dry, still somewhat warm interior, even without blowing heat, immediately offered a blessed reprieve. But she’d feel much better with running heat. So, inhaling a large, hopeful breath, she twisted the key in the ignition.
The engine did not rumble to life. Heck, it didn’t even squawk. Or whimper. It did nothing. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed as fervently as she knew how and tried again. Nope. Still nothing. Tears of frustration and fear filled her eyes, but she ignored them.
The good news, she supposed, was that she could cross off carbon monoxide poisoning from tonight’s worry list. But the possibility of freezing to death moved up to number one.
Grabbing her iPhone, Meredith pressed the Home button, hoping that between the crash and now, a miracle had somehow occurred and she’d have a signal. And...no to that, as well. She bit her lip hard to stop the fear from taking complete control and leaving her useless.
“Talk through this,” she said, finding comfort in the sound of her voice. “What are the options?” There weren’t many, so they were easy to count off. “I can stay here, inside the car, out of the storm. Or I can leave and try to find whatever shelter is attached to that light.”
Remaining in the car, shielded from the elements, felt the safer of the two options. She would even bet that was the recommended advice for such a situation. But she didn’t fool herself into thinking another motorist would fatefully come along the exact same path, realize she’d crashed, find her and rescue her or that Rachel would send out help—which, okay, she probably already had, but they wouldn’t begin to know where to look—or even that she could make it until morning if she hung tight. The hours between now and then seemed endless.
If the storm continued with this force, she could be stuck here for longer than overnight. It could be days. Her car could become buried, the brutal winds could cause a tree to fall, shattering her windshield or trapping her inside.
Or worse.
Beyond all those horrific possibilities, the idea of sitting here, merely waiting for the storm to pass and hoping that nothing dire would occur, did not resonate well. It left too much to chance. It took too much out of her control.
Of course, on the other hand, she really did not relish the thought of going back outside.
Leaving the security of the car, no matter how temporary, required her to fight through the storm, that awful cold, the wind and the mounting snow, with the hope of locating a true shelter. She could fall and hit her head or twist an ankle or become even more lost. Even if she escaped those disasters, she would have to be strong enough to keep moving for however long it took to get somewhere safe. Could she do it? Was she that strong?
With a firmness that surprised her, she came to a decision. Her gut insisted that staying in the car would prove to be a mistake, and really, what else could she trust in but her instincts?
She’d find that light, which had to be connected to a house. And it couldn’t be too far away for the glow, as faint as it was, to have made it through the thick, blinding haze of snow.
If she was wrong...no, she wasn’t wrong. She couldn’t be wrong.
In a flurry of adrenaline, Meredith climbed into the back seat and opened her suitcase. She needed dry clothes, layered, something to cover her face, ears and hands. She needed her hiking boots, which would offer a good deal more protection than her perfect-for-traveling, oh-so-cute clogs. And her coat, naturally. On the plus side, she had not packed light.
Sloughing off her wet jeans and sweater—quite the arduous process in the small constraints of the back seat—she put on a pair of leggings she’d planned on sleeping in, followed by one pair of jeans and then another. Over her head, she pulled on a T-shirt, a turtleneck sweater and finally, a long, roomy, extra-thick sweatshirt. Wet socks were replaced with two pairs of warm, dry socks, over which went her hiking boots. Along with her coat, she grabbed another turtleneck, a button-down flannel shirt and two additional pairs of socks.
Before leaving the car, she wrapped the turtleneck around her head and tied the sleeves under her chin. The flannel shirt, she folded and used as a scarf. She hung her purse diagonally over her neck and shoulder, slipped her hands into both pairs of socks and then on top of it all went her coat, which was a struggle of mega proportions to zip.
When all was said and done, she was hot, bulky and uncomfortable, but she thought she’d done a fairly decent job in protecting herself from the elements. Fingers crossed, anyway. As ready as she was going to get, she closed her eyes and breathed. Deeply.
“I will not die out there,” she whispered. Opening her eyes, she stepped once again into the icy maelstrom. “I will be strong. I will find the light, which will be attached to a warm and occupied house, and someday in the future this entire night will be nothing more than an awful, distant memory. A story I will tell over drinks.”
Right. A story and not the end of her life.
Hunching her shoulders against the wind, Meredith trudged away from the car, keeping her head angled downward and focusing on staying upright.
Her pace was slow, almost sluggish, due to the snow and the wind and the layers of clothing she wore weighing her down. While she had no actual sensation of time, it seemed to take forever to break through the trees and reach the road. So long, in fact, she had a moment of chilling fear that perhaps the car had spun again before the collision and she was walking in the exact wrong direction.
Relief centered in the pool of her stomach that this wasn’t the case. Shoving her hands in the pockets of her coat—the socks she’d used as mittens were already wet, leaving her with frozen fingers—she paused to get her bearings. Here, at least, there was zero doubt as to which route to take. Uphill, the way she’d been driving. She’d continue along until she saw that light again. That light would lead her through the storm to safe ground.
Okay. She could do this.
“I am woman, hear me roar,” she said into the wind. Silly, maybe, but the words gave her another bolt of strength, of courage. Of belief in herself. Whatever worked, right?
She started the trek, walking smack-dab in the middle of the road, using every muscle in her body to stay upright, all the while pretending that she didn’t notice how the cold was seeping through her multiple layers of clothing. Or how her thighs were burning from the exertion. Or how her heart pumped faster, harder, with every labored breath. She kept her gaze glued in the direction she’d seen the light, praying she’d see it again with every step.
So far, just unforgivable darkness.
Had she made a mistake in leaving the car? No. Don’t think like that. If she had made a mistake, there wasn’t a darn thing she could do about that now. What she had to do, all she could do, was keep moving. That was her only job, the only “rule” she needed to follow.
“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,” she said.
Time melted into a black hole of nothingness. She could’ve been walking for five hours or five days...she no longer knew. For a good while, her mind remained clear and her focus unfettered by the still-worsening weather or the effect it was having on her body.
But when she realized that it seemed she had gone a farther distance uphill on foot than she had in her car, still with no sign of the glowing light, fear and desperation rode in and took control.
Tears that she’d held back rushed her eyes and clogged her throat. Her legs, frozen and unwieldy, gave in to the demands of the wind and buckled at the knees. She tried to catch herself but couldn’t.
Losing her balance, she toppled backward and landed in a heap in the thick, icy snow. She instantly went to stand, but between the weight of her clothes, the ferocious, sharp bite of the wind, the gales of stinging, slashing snow and the unexpected unresponsiveness of her numb limbs, her attempt was met with failure. As were the next three.
She breathed deeply, searched for and found an inner kernel of strength amidst the fear. Of course she could stand. She’d been able to stand for most of her life. It was second nature. It was easy.
She breathed in again, rolled to her knees and planted her hands deep into the snow, until she felt the ground and then, after counting to three, shoved herself up.
She didn’t waste time feeling relief or in congratulating herself. This was bad. Worse, even, than she’d let herself believe when she’d ventured from the Honda. Yes, she quite possibly had erred in judgment.
Now, her decision to tread through the storm instead of staying put, where she would have had protection from the wind and snow, felt ludicrous and shortsighted and...well, stupid. Because no, she still did not see that light.
She had been so sure, but could she have imagined it? Perhaps. Especially with her deep desire to locate shelter, yeah, it was possible.
Meredith stopped. Should she turn around and try to find the car? Did that even make sense? The return trip was sure to be easier, since the wind would blow against her back and push her forward, but she wasn’t positive she’d be able to locate the car again. Confusion swept in, mixing with her exhaustion and panic, making it nearly impossible to form any decision other than to do just as she was: stand in place. And that...well, that would seal her fate.
Right. Keep moving.
She started to walk again, forcing her body through the unyielding storm, her vision once again aimed in the direction she’d seen the light. If it hadn’t been a mirage, she would see it eventually. But she couldn’t stop again. No matter what, she couldn’t stop.
One step. Two steps. Three, four, five and six.
When she reached ten steps, she started over with one. Anything to keep walking. If she stopped again, that would be that. And she was pretty sure if she fell again, she’d curl up in a ball and close her eyes. Because oh, every ounce of her body yearned for rest.
On her third set of ten steps, acceptance that, yes, she might be facing the last moments of her life seeped in.
How was that possible? How could this be it? How could she be done? What had she accomplished and what would she be remembered for? What dreams had she fulfilled? Did even one person on the face of the earth really know her?
The answer to that last part came swiftly. How could anyone else really know her when she didn’t yet know herself? This trip was supposed to be the official, if belated, start of that journey. A time to make sense of all she’d learned, of what she’d thought was true balanced against the real truth. And then, over the next year, the rest of the pieces would fall into place.
That had been the plan. Not this fight for survival.
Until her early twenties, she hadn’t had to fight for much of anything of importance. She and her two brothers were raised in an affluent household. Their parents were strict but attentive. Her childhood was filled with private schools, extensive travel and chauffeur-driven cars. Extracurricular activities were carefully chosen by her parents, and success in school was demanded more than encouraged.
Meredith’s grades were always exemplary. She liked to learn, so that part of the equation came naturally. And yes, there were moments she wished her parents would loosen their will in favor of hers, but mostly she towed the line. She went to the college of their choosing, majoring in business as they expected. She fed her love of art with a class here and there, trips to various museums and devoting hours of nonstudy time to sketching and painting.
During her final year of college, she fell head over heels for a man who did not fit in her parents’ neat and tidy box of expectations for their only daughter.
Alarico—Rico—Lucio worked as a mechanic, but he had big dreams and, she believed, the will to fulfill them. He drew her into his world quickly, so fast her head spun. He came from a large and boisterous family that had made Meredith feel at home the second she met them. They accepted her without question, as one of their own, simply because she was Rico’s girlfriend.
And with love, everything changed. For the first time in Meredith’s life, she had something to fight for. A future she wanted with a man she adored. She hoped that given enough time, her parents would come around and embrace her relationship with Rico, just as his family had.
There was a short period where she believed they tried and that they wanted her to be happy. Rico saw it differently, though, and he worried that eventually, their relationship would cause irreparable harm between her and her parents. He refused to separate Meredith from her family, and he refused to be viewed as a second-class citizen. Two strikes, not three.
But they were brutal strikes.
He ended their relationship, swearing that he would love her forever, and that someday, he would return to her as a man her family would respect and honor. His words were heartfelt, his voice sincere...his decision final.
The best year of her life ended in her greatest heartbreak. She blamed her parents and their unrealistic ideals of perfection for pushing Rico away. She blamed her brothers for their choice in “acceptable” mates, and she blamed the universe.
She missed Rico. Her heart ached for him, but she respected his decision and did not try to contact him. There was some pride there, as well. She’d hoped he’d miss her as much as she missed him, give up on his insistence to wait and come to her. He did not.
After graduation, she found some backbone and instead of going to work for her father as had been the original plan, landed the stager position with little trouble. Surprising, really, since she had a degree in business, but oh, had she been happy. The job paid more than the going rate, which pleased her, and she found a small but nice apartment to live in.
For the next handful of years, she’d worked hard to create a life that she believed was of her own making. She’d been happy, except for missing Rico. She never stopped hoping that one day he would reach whatever level of success he needed and come back to her as he’d promised.
She had waited for him, day in and day out, for...years. Her heart held hostage, her hopes in limbo. And all for nothing. Absolutely nothing. None of it was real.
As it turned out, her job wasn’t real, either. Well, the work was, she supposed, but she hadn’t gotten the job on her own accord. The great and mighty Arthur Jensen had paved the way and was even “helping” with Meredith’s salary. Tidbits of information that a tipsy coworker with loose lips had accidentally slipped at a company get-together less than three weeks ago.
She hadn’t aced the job interview to win the job. She hadn’t earned her bonuses over the years. All she was, all she’d ever been, was the privileged daughter of a successful man who had the leverage and the will to pull the right strings at the right time.
The second she confirmed the information was true, she quit her job. Then, humiliated and angry, resentful, too, she confronted her father. Initially, he’d tried to pacify her, but as their argument grew more heated, he called her “soft and sheltered” and stated that if he hadn’t stepped in, she wouldn’t have survived a year.
In a burst of emotion, she told her father that she was tired of living a life that he deemed appropriate and that due to him, she’d lost Rico. The best man she’d ever known. That it was his fault. Because her father had been blind to her happiness, because all he saw was a man with a blue-collar job who came from a blue-collar family, and wouldn’t that be embarrassing, to have to introduce Rico—a mechanic—as his daughter’s boyfriend? Or worse, as his son-in-law?
Her father wasn’t a warm and cuddly man, but he wasn’t a cruel man, either. No, Arthur Jensen was a decisive man. He formed decisions quickly, based on all available information combined with a high-functioning intuition, and he rarely backed down. Meredith’s words, along with her emotional state, must have hit a nerve. After years of staying silent, her father told her the truth about the man she claimed to love.
Rather than accepting an entry-level position at one of Arthur’s companies—which Meredith hadn’t known was even offered at the time—Rico turned the tables. He promised he would walk out of Meredith’s life, never to return, for the sum of $50,000. Otherwise, he would marry her and within a year, she’d have one child and be pregnant with another.
Disgusted with Rico but seeing the man spoke the truth, her father paid the money, and Rico did exactly as he’d promised. Broke off their relationship and disappeared.
Her father had proof in his safe—the cashed check and a signed statement from Rico—but Meredith did not require that confirmation. Her father wouldn’t lie about something so terrible. Her heart had cracked in agony again as she realized all the emotion, time and energy she’d wasted on Alarico and her ridiculous dreams for the future.
The only love she’d ever known had been false. The job she’d worked hard at for years, had believed she’d earned on her own merits, ranked as another false belief. On their own, these two were enough to swing the pendulum, but when she considered how often she’d followed her parents’ wishes over her own, she was...done. Done being the privileged daughter of a successful man. Done living her life by someone else’s set of expectations and rules.
More arguing ensued before she got what she wanted: zero interference. She also got what she hadn’t asked for in the way of zero contact with her family. For a period of one year. She hadn’t expected that stipulation, and it hurt, but she held her chin high and agreed.
It was time—more than time—to build a life she could trust in.
The following seven days were a mix of self-recrimination, doubts and insecurities as she attempted to pull herself out of the muck and consider her options for the future. That was when she contacted Rachel, a close friend who had grown up in the same affluent world as Meredith. Of all her friends, Rachel was the only one who was sure to understand the importance of Meredith’s decision. And why she absolutely had to succeed.
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 (#ua597d059-485f-54a5-bafd-7187224aa6bd)
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.
Had she been ill? Her stomach rocked with another bout of nausea. Seasick, she determined. While the softly bobbing boat spoke of calm waters now, it must have been rough going earlier. And this man with his delicious voice had seen her through the worst of it. So, yes, he loved her.
Did she love him? She couldn’t see his face, recall his name or even how they had met, but for her to feel so absolutely safe and cared for, love had to exist on both sides.
She continued to sleep, continued to dream. Lost to reality. There was nothing to worry about, not a reason on earth to force herself awake.
Slipping deeper into this magnificent dream world, her subconscious manufactured the type of love only found in the most romantic of movies, with her and the man behind the gentle touches and seductive voice as the leads. She still couldn’t remember his face, which was odd, yes, but somehow, this lack of knowledge didn’t cause her a moment’s concern. He was hers. She was his. That was enough.
But suddenly, she saw his eyes. And oh, were they gorgeous. Sensual and vivid and striking. Distinctive. Irises rimmed in dark olive green that gradually lightened to the color of moss near his pupils, glinted with shots of burnished gold and warm brown. Eyes she knew.
They belonged to the man she loved.
And with this man at her side, her brain continued to weave a story for her alone to experience. There was laughter and passion. Long talks and handheld walks. A proposal and then a wedding. Children, a boy and a girl named Max and Maggie.
Years upon years passed while she slept, years filled with the purest form of happiness she’d ever known. Satiating, complete, fulfilling and robust. Ever changing, ever growing, ever stronger...day in and day out.
This fantasy was so intense, so real, so exhilarating and breathtaking, so beautiful a life her mind had created, that even as she started to come around, to realize she was merely dreaming, she staunchly resisted the pull of awareness. She wanted, yearned for more of this.
Precisely, this life. And she wasn’t ready to leave it behind.
The sad truth was that even with Rico, before learning that all of his words had been bald-faced lies, she hadn’t known such depths of emotion existed. So, she stubbornly held on to her dream world and tried—oh, how she tried—to quiet her thoughts, relax her body, to return to the fantasy. But with conscious thought of Rico, her fog-filled brain cleared and the rest of the facts from the past several weeks engulfed her in a rush.
Her job. The argument with her father. Deciding to visit Rachel and flying to Colorado. Her decision to rent a car and then losing her way in the mountains. The storm. The accident. Her loneliness and consuming fear, the acceptance that she would die...and then, those dogs.
Those astounding dogs who’d found her and led her to shelter. Had led her...here.
No. She did not want to think about any of that, had no desire to do anything other than fall back into a coma-like sleep and return to that oh-so-beautiful life. Pretend or not, it didn’t matter. She yearned to be there again, even if every speck of it was only her imagination.
But the voice that had started it all was becoming more insistent that she wake. Now. That she’d been sleeping for too long and enough was enough. That she open her mouth and drink, because she needed more than a spoonful or two of tea every hour. He was tired. He was worried.
“Open your eyes, Goldi,” he said, his voice loud and commanding. “Now!”
She did not obey his command. Eventually, she would have to, but at the moment, she didn’t need to look into this man’s eyes and see they weren’t green with golden flecks. They were probably brown. And while she did not have a thing in the world against brown eyes, she wasn’t ready to give up her fantasy. This man’s voice—his deliciously rich voice—was, in her mind, a matching set to the green eyes she’d imagined.
To see otherwise would only make it more difficult to jump into her dream life when she was able to sleep again, and she believed she’d be able to soon. If only he would stop talking.
“Goldilocks, you’re killing me here,” the man said in a lower volume. “Wake. Up.”
She still would not have responded except for the identifiable set of canine whines that followed his plea. Her dogs.
Sighing, unwilling to ignore her angels, she capitulated enough to say, “I’m awake.” A tail thumped near her leg as she spoke. A warm nose pressed against her cheek, giving her a lavish lick. “Kind of.”
Ouch. His voice might be a melody fit for a concert, but hers sounded rough and raspy. Thick. Nothing like normal. As if she hadn’t spoken aloud in days.
“Thank God,” he half whispered. Then, “Great! I knew you could do it. How about opening your eyes and trying to sit up? Move slowly, though. You’ve been out for a while.”
Those words acted as a catalyst, and suddenly, she realized how heavy and cumbersome her body—as in, every inch of it—felt. Tipping her head in the opposite direction of the man’s voice, because no, she still wasn’t ready to see him, she did as he asked and waited for her blurry vision to sharpen. She stared at the back of a couch, at the thick stripes of deep burgundy, gold and forest green on the cushion. She remembered how she’d stumbled across the room on unwieldy legs, frozen and exhausted, with this piece of furniture as her singular goal.
She had almost died. Almost.
“You said I have been out for a while,” she said. “How long is that, exactly?”
“I don’t know the precise moment you found your way here and collapsed.” Muted frustration, perhaps some concern, echoed in his speech. “When I came home, you were already down for the count, but we’re going on close to twenty-four hours since then.”
How was that possible? In reality, an entire night and another day had elapsed, yet in her dreams, that same amount of time had equaled years. She thought about the picture she must have presented to this man, a stranger, as he’d walked into his living room with her passed out on his couch. She was lucky. So very lucky. He could’ve been a monster.
“I’m sorry about letting myself in and...well, I mean, I knocked first and I tried to stay awake, but...I should’ve tried harder.” Though, even as she said the words, she knew there wasn’t any trying harder. She’d barely made it this far. “So, um, I’m sorry.”
With each word, her voice grew in strength, became more sure, but still held that rough and raspy edge. Thirsty. Lord, she was thirsty. And she had to pee, too. Badly, though not as desperately as one would think after sleeping for a full twenty-four hours.
He snorted. “You’re forgiven for saving your life. I’d have done the same.”
“You...took care of me, too.” She knew he’d stripped off her clothes, redressed her in something else, had dribbled tea into her mouth. It was a lot to do for a stranger. “Thank you.”
“Didn’t have much choice,” he said in a brusque but not unkind manner. “There’s no way to get help out here until the storm is over and the roads are cleared. From the looks of it, we’ll be stuck together for another handful of days. Maybe a week. But you’re welcome.”
“A week?”
“Unlikely, but possible. So, if you hadn’t found your way here, well...”
Right. She would have died. She’d already figured that one out. Pretending she felt better than she did, she said, “If we’re going to be stuck together, I’d like to know your name.”
“Oh, sorry. It’s Liam. And it will be fine. Number one priority is your health.”
So far, he hadn’t pushed her to do anything now that she was awake and talking. He had to be exhausted, but he was giving her the opportunity to orient herself. To figure out how she felt and how to find some comfort in this strange situation. Unless, of course, he often had strangers stumbling to his house in the middle of a storm and passing out on his sofa.

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