“Whoa, Willow.” Max slid from his mount and walked over to the woman. At his approach, the dog at once became protective, giving a guttural growl. It forced Max to stop and rethink his goal.
“Easy, boy.” He lowered his hand to the dog and allowed him to sniff it. The dog stopped growling and eased himself down, curling his furry white body next to the woman’s head—protecting her—still whimpering and licking her face. Max took a deep breath, careful not to anger the dog and not wanting to injure it. The dog was unmistakably attached to the woman. Feeling more confident the dog would not attack him, he lowered himself onto his haunches to get a better look at the woman.
Gently, he swept wet, muddied blonde tresses from her face. Recognition was swift and tumultuous. “Bloody hell! Meg, what happened? Why are you out in this storm, of all places? Why are you here?” Questions flooded his brain. He fought the gut-wrenching impulse to pull her close. When she did not answer, he picked up a limp hand and noticed rope burns around her left wrist, anger registering. “You are bleeding.” He moved her damp blonde hair away from her forehead, revealing a deep gash from which blood still oozed. Fear gripped him. He stared at her motionless body until he saw her chest barely move. Good. She was breathing. “Thank goodness you are still alive.”
Her eyes opened and closed. Her throat worked, but she did not speak. She needed a doctor. Max needed to get her to safety and leave before she engaged his heart yet again.
He had washed his hands of Maggie Winters when she ran away and abruptly married the Earl of Tipton three years past—when she and Max were planning to wed. Anger churned in his gut as he thought about the day he found out, and it renewed his confusion, pain, and anger. She had disappeared without a word—merely a scribbled note delivered to him. Without thinking, he reached inside this waistcoat pocket and touched the folded missive. No one had heard from Maggie in years. It was strange, but word of her marriage had cleared it up for him. He squashed the now-familiar feeling of dread.
“No, no, no! Leave him alone! Please…do not harm him.” Her voice was hoarse and barely audible. She rolled her head from left to right and moved her hands about herself in defense—defending against what, he did not understand. Was she speaking about the small dog? With one eye on Max, the dog was furiously licking her face. He was trying to calm her. Amazing.
The small animal gave a sharp bark, trying to gain her attention. “Rrrr…uff.”
Unsure of the dog’s reaction to his presence, he increased the space between them. He had no wish to have an animal of any size bite him. But the bark itself triggered an awareness. He vaguely recalled having met this animal. But when? He narrowed his eyes, attempting to remember. It had been a while since he had seen Meg. She could have gained a pet without his notice. It had been three years since he had last laid eyes on her.
The heaviness in his heart was returning. Max had tried to forget her. He wanted to forget her. The last thing he needed was to be in her presence now. But Meg’s condition terrified him. Ignoring her was not an option. He smoothed the wet hair away from the sides of her face.
Lifting her, he placed her on his saddle. Her body slumped. He leaned in close, holding her against his shoulder, then put his left foot in the stirrup and hoisted himself up behind her. He held her gently in case there was any other injury he had not seen. The touch of her sent his pulse racing, but Max did his best to hold on to Meg and the reins. The dog started barking and jumping, almost bouncing, desperate to gain access to his mistress. Willow twisted and bared her teeth at the dog, as if to tell him to stop, but the small animal was unfazed. He would have to bring the dog.
This dog means something to Meg. Recognition almost knocked him out of his seat. This bedraggled white dog was the same grubby puppy they had saved moments before an out-of-control wagon and its horses would have ended its life, only weeks before Meg had disappeared from his. His heart sped with excitement that she had kept it all this time. “I know you!” He looked down at the dog. “It is coming back to me now.” Excited, he leaned into Meg. “I recognize Shep. You kept the dog!” he whispered, realizing she would not hear him but needing to speak. Overwhelmed, he pulled her tight to his chest and breathed in her essence. Lilacs. His favorite. He loved that she always smelled of lilacs. Once upon a time, she told him it was her preferred flower.
The dog waited. Its demeanor communicated the anticipation of accommodation. “I will not leave you. Give me a moment to think.” He was speaking almost to himself. It was a difficult position. Thinking rapidly, he reached behind him for his saddlebag and emptied its contents. Nothing of importance was in there. Once satisfied with the space, he carefully slid off his horse, keeping one hand holding onto Meg. She did not move. Hurriedly, he gathered the small dog into the satchel. Shep gave no resistance. Max hoisted the bags over his shoulder to allow the small dog to ride, and once again mounted Willow.
“Shep,” she murmured, barely conscious. Her voice was weak. “Shep, where are you?” She tried to open her eyes, but they fluttered closed again.
A lighter bark registered under his arm. He could not believe his ears. The dog had
