A Bride for the Mountain Man

by Tracy Madison

  Quickly, before the wish fueled a type of courage she didn’t really want to have—at least not yet—she stood and picked up the game. “I suppose we should put everything away and...and...” What? It was too soon for sleep, they’d eaten enough snacks to not need dinner, there wasn’t a television that she’d seen and even if there was, she doubted they’d have reception. Even a generator couldn’t fix that. “I guess I don’t know what we should do then.”

  “Now you sound like my niece,” Liam said, also standing. “We could play a few more games, or...well, would you be interested in seeing some of my photographs?” He blinked as he asked the question, as if he’d surprised himself. “Or...let’s just go with another game.”

  “Oh, no you don’t. Once an offer like that is made, there is no taking it back!” Before he could argue further, she stacked several of the games in her arms. “These go in the mudroom?”

  “Yeah. I can put them away. I need to let out the dogs anyway.”

  “And I can help.”

  “Stubborn,” he said, half under his breath. “And really, I don’t expect you to want to look at photographs. I’m not sure why I suggested it, but—”

  “Liam,” she said, interrupting him, her voice soft. “I already asked you questions about your work this morning, remember? I am very interested in seeing what you do, and I am honored you’re willing to show me. Please don’t take that away. Okay?”

  His gaze dropped to the floor, which surprised her, but he nodded. “Okay. On both accounts, but as soon as you want to do something else, just say the word.”

  “Oh, I doubt that will happen. But yeah, you have a deal.” Surely, he was accustomed to people viewing his photographs if this was his profession. Yet, he seemed shy at the idea, even though he was the one who’d broached it. Another interesting facet of this man she’d dreamed about. Another tidbit of information to store with the rest.

  So far, she very much liked what she knew.

  “Well, then,” he said, that gruff tone returning to his voice. “I guess I can’t argue.”

  “No, you really can’t.”

  They put away the games, he let out Max and Maggie and less than twenty minutes later, he was opening the door to his office.

  And she felt privileged, somehow, to be let into the wizard’s inner sanctum. A place, she was sure, not many people had entered. She didn’t take this lightly. She knew, in the way a person really knows something, that Liam didn’t easily share his privacy.

  The room was larger than she’d imagined, rectangle in shape. Windows that almost went from floor to ceiling occupied the wall directly across from the door. Against this wall of windows was his desk—long and sturdy—upon which sat three oversize monitors, boxes in various shapes and sizes that she assumed held...well, photography odds and ends, a couple of framed photos that must be of his sister and niece and an impressive stack of notebooks, sketch pads and file folders.

  The back wall seemed to be formed from shelves from the ground up and storage containers, so many that she couldn’t even see the wall behind them, along with camera cases and other paraphernalia of one sort or another. The bottommost shelf held several oversize duffel bags that appeared to be full. What he stored in those, she couldn’t say.

  There was also a large refrigerator to her right and next to that, another door. A second bathroom, maybe? Or a darkroom. The latter of those two possibilities made the most sense.

  While there were a lot of items in this room, everything appeared neat and orderly—save for the tottering stack of files, notebooks and sketchbooks on his desk—which didn’t surprise her. She’d already noticed Liam’s preference for tidiness. Oh, he didn’t seem obsessive about it, but to her, he was obviously a man who believed that everything had its place.

  Meredith believed in the same, but she also didn’t mind a little clutter every now and again. Her grandmother used to say that the messy bits were where real life happened. Meredith tended to agree with that assessment, more so today than ever before.

  Clearing his throat, Liam gently took hold of her arm and guided her to the center of the room. He turned her toward the long wall across from his desk and said, “There. Some of my photographs. My personal favorites, I guess you could say.”

  And oh. Just...oh.

  She blinked at the display, let out a breath and blinked again. If someone had blindfolded her and led her to this precise spot with this precise view, she would’ve stated with unequivocal certainty that she was standing in an art gallery and that these photographs were taken by someone at the top of his or her career.

  There were large photographs, small ones and those that fell in a myriad of sizes in between. And all were...well, she didn’t have a word that could capture every one.

  Some were beautiful. Some were striking. Some, to her, were melancholy...almost sad. There were those that evoked the sensation of joy and togetherness and those that resonated of loneliness. There were close-ups and distance shots, those captured in a hazy, dreamlike manner and those that were so crisp and clear, she could have been there in the moment, rather than simply looking at a photograph of one.

  All of them, though, were breathtaking and rich with emotion.

  She saw pride and focus in the loyal stance of a muscled lion, giggling, playful mirth in the gazes of chubby, tumbling wolf pups and fierce love in the mama wolf standing sentry. In another, three multicolored birds—she didn’t know their type—were perched on a long, curvy branch, their eyes curious and intent on the camera, and she knew they were but a millisecond from taking off in flight. She saw a pile of sleepy monkeys, so entwined with each other that it was difficult to see which limbs belonged to which monkey, a herd of elephants studiously guiding their young and a rather large lizard that might have been a Komodo dragon surrounded by green foliage, staring upward at a vibrant purple butterfly.

  While she looked, while she thought and felt, Liam stood silently next to her, waiting, without expression, his body tense.

  Still uncomfortable? Why? Obviously, this man wasn’t merely a talented photographer, he was successful. His home and the equipment in this room told her that much. Success in a creative career typically meant that others viewed your work on a consistent basis. Surely, he’d had plenty of experience in this by now?

  Though, perhaps he wasn’t used to standing in the same room while someone looked over his work. Especially in this room, in his house where he lived with his two dogs and no one else on the side of a mountain. A private man. A quiet man. So, okay, his discomfort made sense.

  The sudden want to comfort, to be there for him, had Meredith reaching for Liam’s hand. He jerked slightly as she wove her fingers through his, but he didn’t pull away.

  “Thank you,” she said. “So very much.”

  “For what?”

  “Letting me in here. Showing me what you do. I know this isn’t easy for you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He cleared his throat a second time. “Truth is, I wanted to or I wouldn’t have offered and...it’s easier than I thought it would be.”

  “Good.” And then, “Your pictures are in magazines, aren’t they?”

  “Yes.”

  “Has one ever been on the cover of National Geographic?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have several made it to the cover?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “How many?” The minute she could, she would be scouring her local library’s magazine collection, hoping to find those covers. He didn’t answer, so she repeated, “How many?”

  “Enough of them.”

  “That isn’t an appropriate answer! But okay, where else are your photographs?”

  “Framed prints. Posters. Calendars. A few books.” Tugging on her hand, he started to lead her out of the room, but she planted her heels and stayed put.
“Come on, Miss Nosy. If you’re done with the questions, we should—”

  “Oh, I’m far from done,” she said, interrupting him before he could suggest they return to more board games. “I’ve barely had a chance to really look. And I don’t know the stories.”

  He inhaled a breath, gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “The goal is for the audience to create their own story, from what they see. From what they feel. That job is yours, my dear.”

  “I already have, but...I want to know yours.” She turned, faced Liam and forced herself to meet his eyes with hers. Never easy. Not when his eyes beckoned and pulled her in, made her want more than she should. “Will you tell me your story behind them? Where you were, what you were you feeling? Why these particular shots and why they made it to this wall when I’m sure you have thousands of other photographs that are equally beautiful? Please?”

  Dark, ridiculously long lashes fluttered as he blinked. If only she could have those lashes, she’d never have a need for mascara again.

  He let go of her hand and shook his head, his mouth already forming the word no. She was ready for this, had another slew of arguments all set to go because she did not want to leave this room without hearing Liam’s voice adding depth to his work. It felt necessary, somehow. As necessary as food and water and air.

  But then he surprised her again. He closed his mouth, shook his head a second time and said, “If this is what you want, then okay, I will tell you...my stories.”

  “It is what I want.” Oh. Did he think this was her prize for winning Hedbanz? If it had to be to get him to talk, she’d absolutely go that route, but she kept that information to herself. “And thank you for your willingness to share. I’m guessing it isn’t something you’re used to?”

  “It’s happened before, but no... I tend to keep to myself.”

  “Shocker,” she said lightly. “That seems so out of character.”

  A brow lifted and his lips split into a grin. “Any more sarcasm and I’ll take back my offer and you’ll never know any of my stories, Miss Goldilocks.” Another long-lashed blink. “Ah... Meredith. Sorry about that, but in my head, you’re Goldi.”

  “I don’t mind.” Until this moment, she hadn’t realized that Goldi was a nickname for Goldilocks. She wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or something less. “I am curious, however. Why Goldilocks?”

  “Really? You have to ask?” Tugging on a strand of her long, blond hair, he said, “Well, there’s the hair and the fact that you invaded my home and passed out on my couch.”

  “But I did not eat your porridge or break anything!”

  “Well, you haven’t broken anything yet,” he said. “Though, you did manage to make quite a mess earlier. I’d say that’s close enough.”

  “We already agreed that wasn’t my fault,” she said with a toss of her head. “And I had no real choice but to invade your home, but you and your two dogs could absolutely be the three bears...and wasn’t the papa bear really, really grumpy?”

  “Grumpy? Nah. He was just misunderstood.”

  She laughed. “Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?”

  “Yes, Miss Sass, it is.”

  “Well, in my book, that isn’t—” The room spun as a sudden wave of dizziness overtook her, forcing her to blindly reach out for something to grab onto.

  Liam’s arms came around her and he pulled her close to keep her standing. And he didn’t let go.

  “Now, see,” he said, his voice soft, “this is what I was worried about. You should’ve rested today. I should have insisted you rest. But instead—”

  “I’m fine, and I did rest. I sat on my butt and played games most of the afternoon and evening. You were with me, so you should know I didn’t do anything strenuous.” But okay, in this second, she felt as if she’d run a marathon at full throttle without eating for days. Not that she would tell Liam that. He’d drag her to the sofa and she wouldn’t hear any of his stories.

  Worse, this lovely moment would end. She didn’t want that.

  “You’re not fine. You’re pale and trembling.” A long sigh emerged. “Come on, let me help you to the living room. We’ll get you settled and—”

  “Oh, no you don’t, mister,” she said with every ounce of strength she could muster. “You were about to tell me about your photographs. You’re not getting off that easy.”

  Another sigh, longer and deeper than the one before. “Don’t ask me to ignore your well-being in favor of more talking. Because it isn’t going to happen.”

  He started to tug her toward the door, so she did the only thing she could by pulling herself loose and dropping to the floor. Before he could think that she’d fainted or something and pick her up and carry her away, she tossed him a satisfied grin. “See what I did here? Now I can rest and listen to your stories at the same time. We both get what we want.”

  A third sigh emerged. “Sitting on the floor is not the same as lying down. You know this as well as I do.” She didn’t respond, just continued to smile up at him while he stared at her with...incredulity? Humor? She wasn’t sure, but she didn’t see annoyance. “Fine,” he said after a short pause. “You win. Kind of, but you’re not sitting on the floor.”

  He pulled his chair out from his desk and rolled it her way. Well, that was fine. She wouldn’t argue about sitting in a chair over the floor. “Thank you, Liam,” she said, carefully standing. “I think this works quite well as a compromise.”

  “Compromise, hmm?” he said. “We can call it that if you wish.”

  She sat down and waited a second for her head to stop spinning before asking, “What else would you call it?”

  “That I recognize mule-headed stubbornness when I see it and that I would have to bodily carry you to the couch to get my way.” He ran his hand over his jaw. “And don’t think I didn’t consider that idea, because I did. I’m just fairly sure you’d stomp back in here, and we’d be right where we started. Figured I’d save us a few steps.”

  “Right. A compromise.”

  Between them, the air simmered with unsaid words. Again, she asked herself how this man could feel so familiar to her. Solely because of her dream? Maybe. Or maybe she’d had the dream due to this sense of knowing. What came first, the chicken or the egg?

  A laugh almost broke free, but she held it in. “You should get a chair, too,” she said. “So you can sit next to me.”

  “I’m good,” he said. “Let’s just...”

  “Get this over with?”

  “Something like that.” Walking forward, he pointed to the photograph of the three multicolored birds, inhaled a breath and, a second later, shook his head. “There isn’t really anything to tell with this one,” he said after a rather long pause. “Just three pretty birds.”

  Shadows existed there in his voice, and a bolt of tension ripped through his body. Meredith’s senses went on alert, and she wondered—worried a little, too—about the reason for whatever darkness existed and how a photograph of three birds could be the cause. Should she say anything? Stay quiet? In the end, she went with her instincts and said, “Oh, I doubt that. I mean, they’re on your wall of fame, right? There has to be a reason?”

  Another inhale and he turned just enough away that she could no longer see his face. But then, he nodded and started talking. “The paradise tanager is an outgoing, social breed of bird found in the Amazon Basin. They’re songbirds, restless and active, and don’t tend to stay in any one place for very long. They group together, typically in clusters of five or more. Like a...um...family, I suppose you could say. Traveling together, protecting each other.”

  He went on to describe how they foraged for food, their nesting habits, along with a variety of other information one could find on the internet or in a book. The darkness was no longer evident, and in fact he spoke easily, with knowledge, but now his tone remin
ded Meredith of a school teacher giving a lesson.

  She listened quietly, mostly watching his body language and wishing she could see his eyes. Even if only for a heartbeat.

  What he didn’t talk about—what she guessed he was purposely leaving out—were the personal details she’d asked for. What was in his head when he took this photograph, how did he feel, what was going on for him in that moment and why had this particular photograph made it to this wall?

  Even so, she remained silent and listened, hoping something—anything—personal would creep into his verbiage. She yearned to know more about this man, from the smallest detail to the largest. She ached to know what had caused his change in demeanor.

  But she couldn’t ask those questions. They were too private, given the darkness she’d heard, which meant that he likely wouldn’t answer them anyway.

  One by one, Liam went through the photographs in the same manner as he had with the paradise tanager shot, his voice calm and smooth, knowledgeable and yeah...impersonal. Not quite flat, but without offering anything to connect the man behind the camera with these incredible works of art.

  Whatever memories those “three pretty birds” evoked seemed to have stuck around for the duration. She hated that, but despite how much she wished he’d open up a little and despite the questions circling in her brain, she still didn’t interrupt.

  There wasn’t any reason to. She had the sense that no matter what she might say in this moment, her questions wouldn’t achieve the desired result. He’d have to get there on his own, due to a want to share with her. That was something you couldn’t push a person into doing. All she could do was listen to what he chose to share. Even if that amounted to nothing more than a bunch of basic facts.

  So, she listened. And she wondered. And she worried. Tomorrow was possibly her last full day to spend here, in this house that was hidden in the mountains, with a man like no one she’d ever known before. What if, when she left here, she never saw Liam again?