A Bride For The Mountain Man

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.