A Bride For The Mountain Man

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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.