A Bride for the Mountain Man

by Tracy Madison

  “Any type. All types.” He wasn’t quite sure what a stager was, but didn’t much feel like asking, so he didn’t.

  Sitting down at the table, he took a large gulp of his coffee. He had to admit that the spread on the table was impressive, in sight and smell. His stomach rumbled in response, which shocked him. Typically, he didn’t get hungry until lunch. “Everything looks amazing.”

  “Well, enjoy.” She served herself a pancake and a few strips of bacon. “I’m a master in the kitchen at breakfast, but that’s the extent of my culinary knowledge. Other than sandwiches.”

  “Nothing wrong with a good sandwich,” he managed to say.

  “No, I guess there isn’t.” Darting her gaze downward, she concentrated on her food, on slowly and methodically taking one bite at a time.

  Following her lead, he filled his plate and tried to ignore the guilt gnawing his gut to shreds.

  It was not his job to entertain this woman. She was his guest, but only by...well, force seemed too harsh a word, but it wasn’t far off. And worse, much worse, he didn’t feel himself around her, which further complicated the situation. What he wanted was for them to exist in their separate corners until she could leave, in order to preserve his sanity.

  There were a few problems there. His place wasn’t tiny, but it wasn’t built for two people to stay out of each other’s way. It seemed selfish. Mostly, though, he didn’t want her to feel bad.

  He’d go for some honesty, see where that took them. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can see you’re trying here, and I appreciate your intent. I really do. I’m just not much of a socializer.”

  “It’s okay,” she said, her voice quiet. She looked at him and smiled. “Really. I get it. You wish I wasn’t here. You’re used to being by yourself, and in from the storm, here I am, and now you’re stuck with me. I’m sorry about that, and I’ll try to be less...sociable.”

  Lie through his teeth or go for more honesty? Liam pushed his eggs around on his plate before choosing the careful answer of, “It isn’t that I wish you were gone. Don’t think that. I’m glad you’re here, relieved my dogs found you and brought you to safety. But you’re not wrong in everything else you said. I am not a people person, by anyone’s definition.”

  “So you’re the guy at parties who hides in the corner, sipping his drink, hoping no one talks to you and watching the clock, waiting for the polite time to leave.”

  “Nope. I’m the guy who doesn’t go to parties. Or barbecues or picnics or family reunions, unless I have absolutely no other choice. If I could figure out how, I wouldn’t even go to the grocery store,” he said. “Unfortunately, I’ve yet to train the dogs to shop for me.”

  “I bet they could learn,” she said with a laugh. “And this might surprise you, but I’m not a people person, either. I can force it, though. Most people who meet me think I’m an extrovert, when the complete opposite is the truth. I tend to need lots of time after expending that type of energy to regroup, to find my bearings again, so I really do get it.”

  “You have one up on me. I barely get by in any social situation. Usually, when I’m forced to attend one,” he said, surprised at his willingness to share even this, “I stand there, trying to find the right thing to say and counting the seconds until I can make my escape. I’ve always been that way.”

  Well, in most circumstances. He didn’t feel that way with his sister or a few of his longtime friends or when the topic of conversation surrounded an area of interest. He could talk about photography and some of his favorite locales around the world forever.

  Tipping her chin, so their eyes met, she nodded. “I hate that feeling. You wish the floor would open up and suck you away. My family attended a lot of social occasions when I was growing up, and I used to hate them. But my dad taught me a trick that made it easier.”

  “Oh, yeah?” He might just be able to stare into this woman’s eyes for hours on end. They called to him, somehow. Soothed him. Made him feel...enough. “What would that be?”

  “When you don’t know what to say to another person, ask them a question. Any question. Doesn’t much matter what it is because the attention is diverted back to them, and all you have to do is listen...and then ask another question based on whatever they said.” She shrugged. “You can even avoid answering their questions that way. Just keep asking your own.”

  Was that why she’d been asking him so many questions? “That works for you, huh?”

  She picked up a slice of bacon, broke it in half and gave a piece to each of his dogs, who were on their haunches right next to her chair. Maggie licked her palm. Lucky dog. “It really does. With most people.” She shot him a grin. “Try it...ask me a question. Anything at all.”

  Giving in to her charm, her rather easygoing nature, her innate appeal, he nodded. “Oh, all right. What is a stager? I have the impression it does not involve an actual stage in a theater.”

  “No, it doesn’t, but wouldn’t that be fun? And that is a great question.” Another piece of bacon, which she split in half and again fed to the dogs. He should tell her that was enough, as he didn’t give Max and Maggie table food all that often, but hey...bacon wasn’t going to hurt them. “I staged houses to look their best, keeping in mind the area and the targeted pool of buyers, to make them more appealing, so they’d sell fast and hopefully at top dollar.”

  “Furniture, artwork, knickknacks, that sort of thing?”

  “That’s it, exactly. If there were special architectural details or an interesting design element to a room, I’d play that up. The goal,” she said, popping a bite of bacon into her mouth, “was for a buyer to walk into the home and think, ‘I could live here. I want to live here.’”

  “Were you good at it?”

  “I think so. I enjoyed the creative elements of the job. I loved conceptualizing how a room should look and then putting all the pieces together to achieve that vision.”

  He nodded. “I can see how that would be rewarding.”

  Silence kicked into being once again, which he filled by eating a few forkfuls of his eggs. No longer feeling the consuming need to finish eating and make his escape, but disliking the quiet, Liam took Goldi’s advice and asked another question. “How did you meet Rachel if she lives here and you live in San Francisco?”

  “Through some of those various social events I mentioned earlier. Rachel grew up in New York, but over the years, we were at the same place at the same time often enough, and we’re the same age.” Goldi shrugged. “I guess it was natural we became friends.”

  She hadn’t said much, but Liam was struck with the image of two young girls stuck in places they didn’t want to be, had found each other and a bond formed. “Tell me about the first time you met. How old were you? What was the social event?”

  Long lashes blinked. “You’re getting pretty good at this question thing.”

  “I’m a fast learner. Or,” he said with a grin, “maybe you’re a great teacher.”

  Cupping her coffee mug in her hands, she said, “Either or both. But to answer, we were twelve. Our fathers are both businessmen, so even though they don’t work directly with each other, they have numerous connections. I met Rachel in the lobby of a hotel.” A quick grin flitted across her face. “We were at a charity fund raiser. It involved dinner and endless speeches, and it was one of those things where our fathers wanted to show off their families. We both sneaked away out of sheer boredom, bumped into each other and...I don’t know, we just clicked.”

  There were so many more questions he could ask, but eventually, she’d volley a few his way. Since she’d answered his, he’d have to answer hers, which would open another entire field of curiosity on both sides. They could be stuck at this table for hours.

  Not an entirely distasteful thought. Perhaps even an enjoyable one, depending on where their conversation led. The danger existed
in the possibility of exposing areas of himself he just did not talk about. With anyone. Even a charming blonde with beautiful blue eyes.

  “I’m glad you two met,” he said, putting an end to the questions. “My guess is the rest of that night was much more enjoyable for the both of you.”

  “Oh, it was. As were any of the functions we attended together after that. For a while, I even hoped she’d manage to fall in love with one of my brothers, so we could be sisters.”

  “Brothers? How many? Older or younger?” Damn it. There he went, asking more questions. Giving into his curiosity when he should be outside, clearing a path and making sure everything was in order. “It’s okay, you don’t have to—”

  “Two. Both older. Both married now, with kids.” She finished eating the last of her pancake before asking, “You mentioned a sister. Is she your only sibling?”

  “Yup.” Standing before he asked something else, he started clearing off the table. “You cooked, so I’ll clean. Shower if you want, and there are a ton of books in the living room. A few decks of playing cards, too, if you like solitaire. Make yourself at home.”

  “Sure,” she said. “I appreciate that! We’ll get done quicker in here if I help, though.”

  “It isn’t necessary. I can take care of this.”

  “I know. I’d like to help. Besides which,” she said, filling the sink with soapy water, “you’ve already stated you’ll be busy for the entire day. I have plenty of time to shower, look through your books and play solitaire. Or whatever else I can come up with.”

  He didn’t argue further even though he wanted to. It would prove fruitless, and her point held validity. Together, they tidied the kitchen and again, the way they moved around each other seemed effortless. As if they were accustomed to doing so. Comfortable. Easy. Familiar.

  A state of being that landed squarely in the irrational range.

  Chapter Six

  Make herself at home, huh? Meredith sighed and thumbed through the books on the shelf for the third time. Liam’s selection of books was rather narrowly focused, most of them nonfiction, either about photography, remote locations around the world, different species of animals or—big surprise here—filled with photographs of remote locations around the world and different species of animals.

  The handful of novels he owned were, by and large, of the action-and-adventure type. Spies and private detectives and mystery thrillers, none of which appealed. She wanted to lose herself in something light and easy. Frivolous and fun.

  Biting her lip, she stared at Liam’s closed office door, which was next to the stairs going up to his bedroom.

  Earlier, he’d dashed in after clearing some of the snow, took a shower and after a small, tight smile directed at her and a reminder to make herself at home, had disappeared into that room with the dogs. She hadn’t seen nor heard from him since.

  Which was perfectly fine. It wasn’t as if he’d invited her to visit and then had chosen to make himself inaccessible. The guy had a life. Responsibilities. But geez, was she ever bored.

  She could, she supposed, play another three dozen rounds of solitaire. Or try to take a nap. Or braid her hair or count to one million or...it was after three o’clock, and she hadn’t eaten lunch.

  Liam hadn’t, either, unless he had a picnic basket tucked away in his office, which she doubted. He’d expended a ton of physical energy dealing with the snow, and now she had to assume he was expending a ton of mental energy. Doing whatever he was doing.

  How could it hurt to make him a plate of food, a fresh cup of coffee, leave them outside of his door with a quick knock? She’d walk away so he wouldn’t feel forced to talk, and he could get right back to work. And maybe after she ate, she’d fall into a food coma and be able to take that nap. A long one, please, so by the time she woke, there wouldn’t be so many hours to fill. Surely, tonight at some point, he’d sit here with her by the fire, and they could talk.

  Get to know each other a little more. Get to know him a little more.

  Making lunch might not be the best plan, but at least it gave her a task in this moment and, really, that was about as positive as it was going to get. And if she couldn’t sleep afterward, she’d give in and read one of those spy novels or find another way to spend the next many hours.

  In the kitchen, Meredith grilled two ham-and-cheese sandwiches, added a handful of salt-and-vinegar chips and some green grapes to the plate, looked for and didn’t find anything dessert-like—not even a single box of cookies—and after giving up on that, poured him a mug of coffee and called the job done. It wasn’t much of a meal, but it was sustenance.

  A small pad of paper sat on the counter, next to the useless phone. After a small amount of deliberation, she jotted a note that said, “Thought you might be hungry!” and drew a smiley face with a wizard hat.

  There. Done. Her stomach sloshed with nerves, which was just silly. Pushing her apprehension to the side, Meredith returned to the living room and quickly placed his lunch and the note on the floor. Rapping on the door once, she turned on her heel and made her escape, feeling very much as if she were involved in a game of Ding Dong Ditch.

  Her heart regained its normal rhythm the second she returned to the cozy, comfortable kitchen. She liked this room, liked the simplicity of the decor, the natural wood cupboards and the concrete countertops, the way that everything fit without overtaking the small space.

  She took her own plate to the table and sat down, wondering if she’d be able to hear him open the door. She hoped he wouldn’t think she was trying to get his attention or time—because, really, she understood their situation, and if he had to work, he had to work. She hoped he’d appreciate the makeshift lunch. She hoped it wouldn’t be seen as an intrusion.

  She’d already intruded into this man’s life enough.

  Picking through her meal halfheartedly, she ate most of what she’d served herself before sighing in frustration. Clean up, and then she’d try that nap.

  As the kitchen was compact and well organized to begin with, tidying the area took no time at all. And she felt weak more than tired, which pointed to the fact that she probably needed the rest. So, okay. She’d choose a book, snuggle into the sofa with a couple of blankets and read. Maybe she’d sleep.

  When she entered the living room, though, and saw Liam’s lunch sitting on the floor untouched, unwanted emotion swam to the surface.

  Really? He couldn’t even be bothered to pick up the damn plate? Or take it to the kitchen and say, “Hey, thanks for this, but I’m not hungry”?

  Though, even as she thought the words, they didn’t seem to fit the man. Oh, she knew full well they were mostly strangers, but he had tried to talk to her last night and this morning. He’d taken care of her. He had definitely shown concern for her well-being.

  Just that fast, her brewing emotions settled. He hadn’t heard her knock. He didn’t know she’d made him lunch. He was, as his sister called him, a hermit, but he wasn’t rude or inconsiderate, so...yes, he just hadn’t heard the knock. Well, she’d take care of that.

  She walked over, raised her fist to knock and the door opened. Another millisecond and she’d have clocked the poor man on his chest. Startled, she stepped to the side and managed to kick over the rapidly cooling cup of coffee, which—naturally—spilled onto the plate of food.

  “Well, hi there,” he said with an amused expression. “Whatcha doing?”

  “Apparently, I am ruining your lunch.” Heat touched her cheeks. Not only due to the circumstances, but due to his physical presence. He only wore a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, but on him, they looked...he looked almost too good to be real. “Which I left here for you, and I knocked but...it doesn’t actually matter. If you’re hungry, I can make you another sandwich. And of course, I’ll deal with the mess I just made. Sorry about that.”

  “Y
ou’re sorry for making me lunch?” His forehead creased into furrows. “Then why, pray tell, did you go to the trouble? Seems counterproductive.”

  “No, I’m not sorry I brought you lunch. I’m sorry for spilling coffee all over your floor and ruining your lunch,” she explained. He grinned and she realized he was teasing her. She liked this side of him, so she gave some back. “Though, really, I shouldn’t be sorry. It’s more your fault than mine that it even happened. For opening the door at that precise second.”

  “Ah, yes. I would have to agree. That was an extraordinarily thoughtless move on my part.” Bending at his knees, he picked up the note, read it and grinned again. Her heart sort of did a spinning dive at the sight of that smile. “Love the wizard hat. Nicely done and don’t worry about the mess. We agreed it was my fault. I’ll take care of it.”

  “You always insist on doing everything on your own?” The dogs made their appearance then, pushing their bodies around Liam and all but drooling over the coffee-saturated lunch. “Or does that trait only appear with women you find unconscious on your sofa?”

  “I don’t insist on doing everything on my own,” he said. “It’s just how I am. And seeing how I live alone, it’s good I’m that way. Otherwise, nothing would ever get done.”

  Well, that was true. But, “Not while I’m here, you don’t live alone. And I can’t sit around and just wait. I’ll be bored out of my skull, so I might as well be helpful. If you’ll let me?”

  His eyes narrowed, causing them to crinkle at the corners and his jaw hardened. One quick shake of his head and, “Just take it easy while you’re here. You went through something extraordinarily difficult, and I...well.” He rubbed his free hand over his face. “I don’t need help, Meredith, with anything, but I appreciate your offer. And your willingness. Just take it easy, read, relax.”

  “Making you a meal when I have to make one for myself anyway is not a hardship,” she said, raising her chin a notch. She could out-stubborn just about anyone, being the daughter of the most stubborn man alive. “Maybe you don’t mean it this way, but when you tell me to ‘just take it easy, read, relax,’ I hear, ‘sit in the corner and be quiet, so I forget you’re here.’”