Lips stretched into a faint smile as she lowered herself to the chair. “That would be fantastic. And I’m okay. A little weak, yes, but really, not so bad considering.”
She was probably the type of person who refused to admit when she was sick, too. He supposed he couldn’t give her grief over that, at least not if his sister was anywhere close to hearing distance. He didn’t get sick. Or so he told Fiona whenever she tried to coddle him over a cold or what-have-you. He didn’t need coddling. Despised coddling.
After handing her the juice, he said, “Drink it nice and slow. There’s a lot of sugar in that, and it is ice cold. I guarantee if you chug it down, no matter how thirsty you feel, you will throw up all over my floor, and I don’t really feel like cleaning that up.”
She nodded and took a grateful sip. “How is it that...” she trailed off. At his confused expression, she said, “Sorry. I forgot to speak my words and just thought the rest of the question. Let me try again...how is it that you have electricity? I mean, with the weather like it is, and that wind, and being so deep in the mountains, I would’ve guessed you’d have lost power ages ago.”
“We did. Or I did.” Opening the pantry, he grabbed a can of chicken noodle soup and the loaf of bread. “Yesterday, actually. Not long after I came home and found you.”
“Oh.” Turning her head, she glanced out the window, at the still-raging storm. “They already got the power back on? In this?”
“Nope.” He opened a drawer and retrieved the can opener. “They can’t do anything while it’s still snowing like that, and even if the snow stopped now, it will take days—if not a week—for the power to be reestablished. I’m used to it, though admittedly, not this early in the season.”
“You have power,” she said. “Unless I am imagining the lights and the heat, which would mean that I really am delusional.”
“I’d say the delusional part remains to be seen, but your observation skills are not in question. Yes, I have power.”
She snickered, showing she had a functioning sense of humor. “How?”
“Magic,” he said, surprising himself.
“Magic?”
“Yup. You, my dear, were lucky enough to become snowbound with a wizard.” Now, where had that come from? Liam wasn’t the teasing sort. Never had been, anyway. It didn’t feel awful. Actually, he somewhat liked this moment. Dumping the can of soup into a saucepan, he turned the burner on low. “Why do you think I choose to live up here, alone and in complete seclusion? People, even in today’s world, tend to become fearful of what they don’t understand.”
“Afraid you’ll be burned at the stake?”
“Nah. I’m a wizard, not a witch.”
“Doesn’t really matter what you call yourself, if you have magic and people are afraid of magic,” she said in a dry manner. “I rather like the idea of it, myself.”
“You do, huh?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I? Magic could ease so many discomforts in life.” She took another careful sip of her juice. No puking yet, thank goodness. “And I would be willing to buy into the implausible tale you tell, except for one small detail that has left me confused.”
“And that would be?”
She grinned and wrinkled her nose. It was...well, the word adorable came to mind. “I don’t quite understand how you are able to use magic for electricity, yet...you’re heating up a can of soup and toasting bread the old-fashioned way. Why not just wave your hand and have a bowl of homemade soup appear? Along with...hmm, a basket filled with artisan breads?”
“Simple. I didn’t say I was a good wizard. Electricity is one thing, but food is quite another. Food takes a lot more skill than turning on the lights. Magically speaking.”
“Is that so?” Her lips twitched again. Yup. Adorable. “I would think it would be quite the opposite.”
“You would, huh? I agree, but alas, the world of magic isn’t based in logic.” He felt himself smiling. Whoa. He must be on the edge of collapse if this conversation was amusing him, rather than annoying him. Stirring the soup, he said, “But consider everything that goes into a bowl of soup. It’s really quite difficult.”
“Huh. I guess that makes a weird sort of sense.” Again, she sipped her juice. He was pleased she didn’t appear to be having problems with it. “Oh,” she said, “I got it. A generator?”
“Yeah. Up here, you pretty much need one.” The soup was hot and the toast was done and thanks to his out-of-character whimsy, he’d done all of the talking. Quickly, he buttered the toast and ladled the soup into two oversize mugs, grabbed a couple of spoons and napkins. “Here you go,” he said as he set her food in front of her. “Eat up. But...slowly.”
“Is that your advice for everything? Go slowly?”
“For a woman who has just gone through what you have? Yup.”
“I’m actually doing...okay.”
“Good.” He sat down across from her and waited for the dogs to sidle next to him, as they did whenever he ate. They didn’t. They stayed planted at Goldi’s feet, looking up at her with what could only be described as utter devotion.
He knew that look. He’d seen it on his own face a grand total of once. A little over a decade ago, which seemed unbelievable. So much time had passed. An entire lifetime, plus one or two more.
But he hadn’t forgotten that look. His dogs were besotted.
“Tell me the story,” he said, “of how you met Max and Maggie.”
Sky-blue eyes widened in shock. She dropped her spoon, which clattered on the table and sent sprays of broth, along with a few noodles and chunks of chicken, flying into the air. Blinking, she asked, “How I met who?”
“Max and Maggie,” he said. She blinked again, obviously still confused. “My dogs? You were going to tell me how they found you, rescued you?”
“Max and Maggie are your dogs! Right. Of course.”
“Are you okay? Feeling dizzy or sick to your stomach?” he asked. “We can put this off until later, after we’ve both slept some.”
“No, no. Not that. I just didn’t know the dogs’ names, so it took a minute for the pieces to connect.” Her words came out in a jumble, one on top of another, and a smattering of pink blossomed on her cheeks. “You are correct, though! I promised you the story, and really, it won’t take that long to tell.”
“If you’re sure, then go ahead.”
“Yes, I am,” she said as she sopped up the soup spill with her napkin. “I’m supposed to be on...vacation. I’m from San Francisco, and I have a friend who lives in Steamboat Springs. Rachel. Who is probably frantic with worry right about now. The last time we spoke was right after my plane landed. I checked in, told her I’d be there soon, and then the storm hit. I got lost.”
“She probably is worried, but there isn’t anything we can do about that just yet. Once we have phone service again, you can call her.” She nodded, but didn’t speak. He waited a few more seconds before saying, “Go on. Eat as you talk. Your body needs the nourishment.”
Dragging in a deep breath, she nodded again and started to talk. Bit by bit, as she slowly ate her soup and toast, drank her juice, the entire story came out. With each word spoken, he easily heard the remnants of fear, desperation, loneliness in her voice. Saw it in her eyes, whenever she looked in his direction, and in her body, as she shivered in remembrance.
He felt for her, deeply. In a manner that held zero logic. She wasn’t a part of his life. Could not be described as either family or friend. That he knew her at all boiled down to a simple coincidence of timing and location. Yet, he felt for her, and had the inane wish that he could step backward in time and meet her at the airport, warn her...lead her in the correct direction, so she’d never have to go through what she had.
So she could escape this haunting fear, stark loneliness and sheer desperation that would likely forever live in her memor
y.
It would take more effort than she realized at this moment to find peace and acceptance for what had occurred, for all she’d experienced. He knew this with absolute fact. Hell, it had taken him close to five years to free his soul, his heart, from his darkest memory. Some days, he still struggled more than he thought he should, even now, even after almost a decade.
Well, perhaps that right there was the foundation, the reason...the logic of feeling so much for a stranger. It was based on pure compassion for another human being’s struggle that, while vastly different in the actual facts from his most personal battle, held enough emotional nuances to strike a chord.
Demons. They looked alike, felt alike, despite their origin.
Liam pushed out a breath, set the past aside and focused on this minute with this woman. No matter the reason, he was damn glad his dogs had found her and brought her here, to him. Was glad the coincidence of timing and location had led to her arriving when he was actually in the state and not off on assignment. Was glad he hadn’t chosen to stay at his sister’s place for the duration of the storm. He was just...glad.
And he didn’t need to decipher all the reasons why.
“That had to be absolutely terrifying,” he said when she’d finished speaking, when he’d finished thinking. “Draining. But you persevered. You didn’t give up and now, you’re safe. In another day or two, you’ll feel more yourself. And you will know, for the rest of your life, that you are formed of steel. Don’t forget that part. Steel. Many people never gain that knowledge.”
“Maybe. But really, without your dogs, I don’t know how much longer I would’ve made it.” She shrugged as if attempting to lighten her words. Or maybe the fatalistic meaning behind them? Could be either, he supposed. Half collapsing in her chair, she reached one hand down to pat Max’s head and said, “I’ve decided that your dogs are my guardian angels. They saved me.”
“You were working on rescuing yourself before they found you. Don’t forget that, Meredith.” Points to him for speaking her actual name. “Yes, they led you here, but don’t minimize your part in saving your own hide. Okay?”
“Okay. Right. I won’t. But I can also be ever grateful for Max and Maggie’s abilities. They’re incredible,” she said, smiling. “They’re also gorgeous, sort of like a cross between a German shepherd and a fox. What breed are they?”
“You won’t get an argument from me on their abilities or their looks,” he said. “But to answer your question, they’re Belgian Tervurens, herding dogs, and incredibly smart. There isn’t a lot they can’t do when they set their minds to it, but they’ve never had the opportunity to rescue a damsel in distress before.”
He almost told her about the time, when they were puppies, they managed to open a sealed container of frosted sugar cookies Fiona had baked, without so much as leaving a bite mark on the lid. He’d been outside, had returned to find an empty container and the pups snoozing by the fire. Hell, he hadn’t eaten even one of those cookies. And even though he did not have a sweet tooth, they’d looked delicious.
He chose to keep his mouth shut. Yes, he felt for this woman, was relieved she was safe and sound, but he wasn’t the type to swap stories. Even about his beloved dogs.
Besides which, she was seriously starting to droop. He guessed she wouldn’t be able to keep those blue eyes open that much longer. And hallelujah, when she slept, he’d sleep. Finally. His bed was calling to him something fierce.
“Who is who?” she asked over another spoonful of soup. “I’d hate to call Max by Maggie’s name or vice versa. Miracle dogs should be correctly identified!”
Miracle dogs, eh? He sort of liked that description. “Maggie is a little shorter than Max, and her coloring is lighter. Less russet and black, more tawny and chestnut. And,” he said, feeling a mite foolish, “if you watch them move, Maggie is more graceful. Softer in her gait, though no less agile. Max is brute strength, through and through.”
Scooting out her chair a few inches, Meredith leaned over and patted the dogs on their heads. “It is very nice to finally have a proper introduction. Thank you for saving me.”
Those words, as few as they were, held the power of a sledgehammer against a marshmallow. His heart being the friggin’ marshmallow. He shook off the ludicrous image and focused on the brass tacks. Most of her soup was gone, about half of her toast and she’d drained her juice. Good. “How are you doing?” he asked. “Had enough to eat?”
“Yes,” she said, sitting straight. “Plenty. Thank you.”
“Welcome.” Only one item remained on the list. “Think you have enough energy for a shower? I don’t have a bathtub, but if you’re worried about standing that long, the shower’s big enough for a stool. Can move one in there easy. Don’t want you fainting or anything.”
The pink returned to her cheeks, darker than before. “A shower is exactly what I need. Thank you,” she said with a cute-as-a-button lift to her chin, “but I am fairly sure I can handle standing without passing out. What about my clothes? Are they dry?”
“Dry, yes, but not washed yet.” Standing, Liam gathered the dishes and cups. “I’ll loan you something else of mine until we get yours taken care of.”
“Okay. Yes. Thank you.”
Suddenly aggravated and not knowing why, Liam dumped the dishes in the sink, to be cleaned later. “Come on, then. Let’s get you situated so you can rest. Once you’re settled, I plan on doing the same.”
She didn’t object or thank him again, just nodded. Together, with the dogs glued to her side, they left the kitchen.
He brought her another pair of drawstring pajama bottoms, along with a sweatshirt and fresh socks, showed her where the towels were and when she closed the door to the bathroom, he breathed in relief. Now that she was out of his sight, his aggravation lessened.
She didn’t seem crazy and hadn’t mentioned her strange dreams about him again. In fact, she seemed nice and smart, grateful and easygoing, with a good dash of quirky humor embedded in her personality. He might, though it was much too soon to say, actually like her.
Just that fast, his sour mood returned.
Oh, no. Nope. He didn’t want to like her. He didn’t want to get to know her any better than he already did. All he wanted was for the damn snow to stop falling, the wind to cease blowing and the roads to clear. So he could go back to his solitary lifestyle.
The life he’d chosen.
* * *
Closing her eyes, relishing the feel of being clean and warm and fed, Meredith snuggled under the blanket on the sofa. Liam had gallantly waited for her to shower—and yes, she’d managed to keep standing, barely—and had brought her another glass of juice before taking the stairs to where she assumed his bedroom was. He’d stopped at the top of the stairs, turned around and somewhat sheepishly offered her the use of his bed, saying he could take the couch.
A sweet offer, but no. She didn’t think her legs were strong enough for the stairs, and frankly, she preferred this room, this sofa, where she had dreamed a life that she’d adored. If she had any hope of falling back into her dream, she figured she had the best chance of it happening here. And she did want to dream again.
The sound of rumbling footsteps on the stairs forced her eyes open. Max and Maggie, not Liam. Dogs, not children.
Easily explained. She must have heard him call them by name while she slept, even if she didn’t recall doing so. Weird, how her brain had taken that scrap of information and turned these two amazing dogs into her children. Their children.
Interesting, but really of little consequence. She’d had a dream. A wonderful dream, yes, and one she very much hoped she would have again, but she didn’t fool herself into thinking the dream itself meant anything. Now that she was fully awake and able to think logically.
Her guardian angels padded to the side of the couch and whined.
&nbs
p; “Come on,” she said, “there’s plenty of room, as you both well know. Though, I kind of think even if there wasn’t enough room, you’d find a way to fit anyway.”
Within seconds, both were tucked tight around her body. Max laid his head on her hip and instantly fell asleep. Maggie wrapped herself in a curve at Meredith’s feet and did the same. And never, in her entire life, had she felt quite so secure. So...at peace with herself and her surroundings. How was that?
Why was that? She should be uncomfortable, frantic for the storm to end so she could contact Rachel, let her know that she was alive and continue with what she had originally planned. She should be desperate to touch base with her parents, because despite everything else, they remained her family. She should feel awkward in this house, hidden away with a man she did not know, like any other normal woman would. She should feel...pensive and concerned for her well-being. She should feel a million and one ways that she did not, in any manner whatsoever, feel.
That, too, probably fell firmly on the inconsequential side of things.
Rather than dwell on how she didn’t feel, Meredith chose to focus on the truths of her situation. And right now, those facts were pretty darn awesome. She was alive. And yes, she was clean, warm and fed. She was safe. And even without her dream as a backdrop, she couldn’t deny that Liam, the real man and not the imaginary one, fully intrigued her.
Yes, he intrigued her...with his quiet, bordering-on-brusque attitude one second, and then stating he was a wizard in that firm, no-argument tone, with the slightest lift to the corners of his mouth the next. With the love he obviously felt for his dogs and how he’d cared for her, a stranger. The concern he showed. His constant “take it slow” advice, and...and oh.
The way he’d looked at her as she’d told him her story, with intensity and interest, almost as if he could see straight into her soul...well, that was something new. Yet another first.
In addition to all of that, she believed, regardless of how little sense the believing made, that she was here with this particular man at this particular time because she was supposed to be. Not because of her dream or the fantasy her brain had concocted, but due to where she was at in her life and the uniqueness, the suddenness of this situation.
A Bride for the Mountain Man Page 6
