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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.”
