"McTavish."
Greg had been in the process of rolling onto his back when he heard the name. He jerked his head around and saw Fiona standing inside the door holding a tray. Okay, so his mind was playing tricks on him. Besides, a dog that size wouldn't have such a feminine voice.
"Hello, McTavish," he said, nodding politely to the dog, feeling as though he'd found an ally in this household.
Fiona set the tray next to the bed. It held a steaming cup. She refilled the water glass and handed him two capsules.
He took them from the palm of her hand and stared at them.
"If my intentions were to poison you, Mr. Dumas, I could have done so at any time during the past four days."
He glanced at her for a moment in silence. "Are you always so waspish?" he finally asked.
"Only with cantankerous patients. At the moment you are at the top of that list."
He nodded. "Just wondered." He looked back at the capsules. "Would it be cantankerous of me to ask what these are for?"
"I would like to say they aid in improving your disposition, but I haven't come up with a formula for that one yet. Those are pain relievers that can be bought at any store. They're for your headache."
"And the tea?" he asked, with what he hoped was the necessary politeness she expected from him.
"The tea is what has assisted you in overcoming the infection you've been battling. I have also mixed up the necessary herbs to help your cough in case you need it. If you start coughing again, drink some of this tea.
"The best thing you can do for yourself at the moment is to take the capsules, drink the tea and continue to rest," she said briskly. "You'll feel better in the next day or so, I should think."
"Yes, ma'am," he replied meekly, his eyes lowered.
She abruptly broke into peals of delighted laughter, the sound echoing in the room like a melodic shower of notes. Her laughter was contagious and he found himself chuckling hoarsely in response, which triggered another coughing episode.
She left the room without a word.
He expected McTavish to follow but the dog remained where he was. Greg picked up the mug and sipped it to check the temperature, which was not too hot, before he drank it in its entirety. His tickling throat, which triggered his need to cough, subsided with the soothing liquid but the previous coughing spell and his efforts to suppress it had used up the small amount of energy he had.
Fiona reappeared, carrying a teapot. "I apologize for laughing, but your fake humility was too much for me." She poured more tea. "Drink as much as you can. It will help your cough."
He nodded. "What makes you think it was fake?" he asked, his voice raspy. It hurt to talk. Hell, it hurt to breathe, but he didn't care for the only other option he had.
She tilted her head slightly and Greg realized with a start that Fiona was a very attractive woman. His idea of beauty had always been a tall woman with dark hair and eyes. He'd admired Jill's tall, curvaceous body and Tina already showed signs of being tall for her age.
Fiona was small, probably weighing no more than a hundred pounds or so. She wasn't much over five feet tall. Her hair was thick and wavy. In some lights it looked fiery red. Other times it was more golden.
She had eyes the color of the sea, and just as changeable. At times they appeared gray. At other times, they looked deep blue-green. Glowing with laughter they'd become a light blue, almost silvery. Her eyes gave away her emotions.
He wondered what color they were when she made love? He indulged in a brief fantasy until he saw her flush, as though she could read his thoughts.
His fever must be back, otherwise why would he have such a preposterous thought?
"I can't imagine that you have ever been filled with humility."
A dark memory pushed its way into his thoughts and he shook his head to dislodge it. "Don't count on it," he muttered, and sipped the tea.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so personal," she said quietly.
She turned and went to the door, pausing long enough to say, "Come, McTavish. Allow Mr. Dumas to rest."
Without moving, McTavish gave Greg a soulful look with his large brown eyes.
"I don't mind if he stays," Greg said between sips of tea.
She threw up her hands and left, muttering something that sounded like "Men!" As soon as the door closed behind her, McTavish pushed himself to his feet, meandered to the side of the bed and, with a lightness Greg found astonishing, sprang up on the bed and lowered himself next to Greg.
Greg worked hard to control what would have been a shout of laughter at McTavish's smug expression. No use giving away the actions of his newfound friend. Greg stroked the massive head and was rewarded with a contented sigh.
He took another sip of the tea and yawned. He didn't know what was in the drink, but it acted like a knockout drug. Or maybe it had such a strong effect on him because he'd been knocked off his feet with this illness.
His mother-in-law rarely let a day pass when he came to pick up Tina that she didn't mention how much he needed to take some time off … how he needed to rest more often … how he needed to take better care of himself.
He was glad she had no way of knowing that he was paying the price for ignoring her advice. When he got around to telling her, he knew he'd never hear the end of it.
Greg closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift into sleep, comforted by the sound of McTavish's heavy breathing beside him.
* * *
A couple of hours later Fiona peeked into her patient's room. He and McTavish had become buddies rather quickly, it seemed. They both slept soundly, Greg's arm thrown over McTavish's back.
She could count on McTavish to keep his eye on her charge while she made a quick trip to the village.
Once outside, she decided to get Greg's clothes out of his car. Thank goodness he hadn't bothered to lock it when he'd arrived. She found a suitcase and a briefcase and took them inside.
Fiona opened the bedroom door and stepped inside, placing the suitcase on the floor near the dresser and the briefcase on a table. McTavish raised his head and looked at her, as though daring her to suggest he leave their patient.
Fiona gave him a small wave and retreated to the door. Satisfied, McTavish sighed and put his head down once again.
The weather had cleared but the wind was brisk. Although she generally walked, Fiona chose to drive today so that she would be back sooner. She had errands to run and provisions to buy since she would be feeding another. In addition, she wanted to hear how the village had responded to Sarah Cavendish's most recent newsflash.
She did not look forward to being the latest subject of speculation. On the other hand, with a man unknown to the villagers staying in her home, she might be taken off the matchmakers' lists.
Her visit lasted longer than she'd expected and it was dark when Fiona returned home. Since there were no lights on in the house, she suspected Greg was still asleep.
Rest was the best thing for him. The body naturally healed itself if given a chance. She would guess that Mr. Dumas had been overtaxing his body for some time. Sooner or later, the body rebels against continued abuse. That looked to be what had happened to him.
McTavish greeted her when she opened the back door.
"Ah, so you finished your nap, did you?" she asked, nudging the door closed behind her. She set the groceries on the kitchen table. Tiger jumped down from the windowsill and practiced his snake dance around and between her ankles, making it more difficult for her to put the items away without tripping.
"Yes, yes, I know. You are on the verge of starvation, as well. It's terrible how both you and McTavish are so mistreated. Yes, yes, I understand. You won't last another hour if you aren't fed immediately."
Fiona finally managed to put the food away and immediately fed her companions.
As usual, Tiger ate with fastidious precision while McTavish refused to slow down to savor his meal. Instead, he seemed to inhale it, his large tongue making short work of cle
aning his bowl. In his case, quantity most definitely outweighed quality.
Fiona made a thick broth and some bread rolls, wondering if her guest would like them. She grinned, thinking about his feigned meekness earlier today. She also recalled his smile of pure deviltry.
She needed to face the fact that Greg Dumas's presence in her home could be lethal to her peace of mind. She had seen the strong emotions that he controlled but she knew nothing about his life or what triggered those emotions. She didn't know, for instance, if he was married or not. All she knew was that his calling her Jill told her there was a lover in his life who was important to him.
She had no reason to be disheartened by the idea. He was a very attractive man, after all. It would be much more unusual if he weren't married.
Besides, he would be leaving once he regained his health. She paused. Come to think of it, she'd never asked him why he was looking for her. Fiona could think of no reason why an American would want to contact her. She had never visited the United States, nor did she know anyone who lived there.
Until now.
Fiona sighed, feeling like an infatuated schoolgirl mooning over her literature teacher. It was time to face facts. Greg had made it abundantly clear that she was nothing more than an irritant in his life.
Once the meal was prepared, Fiona placed everything on a tray and took it to her visitor. The door stood ajar, no doubt thanks to McTavish's earlier exit. Since the tray she held was large and filled to capacity, Fiona eased the opening wider with her shoulder without knocking and walked into the room … in time to see Greg clad only in his underwear in the process of putting on a pair of denim jeans.
"Oh! I'm so sorry. I should have knocked," she said, turning away from him and setting the tray on the dresser. With her back turned, she said, "You really need to stay in bed."
She heard his disgusted sigh. "I'm aware that you believe that. However, I'm not used to lying around like this. I don't remember ever sleeping so much in my life. Whatever you've been giving me has been knocking me out for hours at a time and I don't like it." Belligerence echoed in his tone.
He appeared beside her and she was relieved to see that he now wore a thick sweater and a pair of boots in addition to his jeans. He had found his suitcase.
"If you intend to stay up, I'll take your supper back to the kitchen," she said, ignoring his remark.
He turned away and walked to the door. "Suit yourself. I need to shave." He moved out of her sight and she heard his quiet footfalls as he walked down the hall.
Once she heard the bathroom door close, she sagged into a nearby chair and fanned her heated cheeks. Oh my, bathing him when he was semiconscious was one thing. Seeing him fully awake with next to nothing on was quite different.
He had a beautiful body; there was no other way to describe it. From his wide shoulders and narrow waist to his hips and muscled thighs, Mr. Dumas could have been the model for a Greek statue.
In the lamplight, his bare chest had gleamed—the taut muscles rippling from his chest to the top of his low-stung shorts. Fiona shivered at the memory. She could no longer deny to herself that she was attracted to this stranger. However, she had no intention of acting on that attraction. The last thing she wanted was for him to know how easily her emotions were stirred by him.
When Greg walked into the kitchen, Fiona had already set the table and placed his broth there. She poured them some water and motioned for him to be seated.
"Where's McTavish?" he asked, looking around, as though nervous without his newfound companion.
"He's out patrolling the perimeter," she replied with a smile. "He considers that to be one of his duties in guarding me. Of course he also gets the opportunity to exercise. He needs to run every day to rid himself of pent-up energy."
"Wish I had that problem," Greg muttered. He looked at Fiona. "He didn't get much of that today. When I woke up, he was still with me."
She nodded. "He was guarding you while I was away."
"You left?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.
"I needed some supplies." She nodded toward his broth. "You need to have a few things I'd run out of."
He stared at the bowl in front of him, then glanced up. "I'll reimburse you for what you've had to spend on me." His voice sounded flat.
She met his gaze before quietly saying, "I was explaining why I was gone, not hinting that I feel you owe me for anything."
He shook his head. "Doesn't matter. I pay my own way. You've obviously taken care of me while I was sick, as well as provided me with a place to sleep. Now you're feeding me."
She leaned back in her chair. "You know, if you really want to help me, why don't you tell me why you're looking for me."
"I've already explained—" he began.
She stopped him. "All right. Tell me about the woman you're looking for."
"I'm looking for the daughter of Dr.—"
"—James MacDonald of Craigmor, isn't that so?"
His startled expression answered her.
"I am his daughter and, as you can see, I'm not in my mid- to late-thirties. Why did you suppose I was?"
He continued to stare at her. "I was told that he was in his seventies when he died. I figured that his daughter would have to be—" He paused and waved his hand. "You know, I figured she would be older, certainly not someone as young as you."
"Actually I was adopted. My real parents were killed in a car accident soon after I was born. My mother was Margaret MacDonald's sister and the MacDonalds adopted me. They're the only parents I've known."
"When did you move to Glen Cairn?"
"After my parents died, about two years ago."
"I was sorry to hear about your loss. From everything I heard about them, your parents were exceptional people."
"They were. But if I had to lose them, I'm thankful they went together. They were so close. I'm not sure how one could have gone on without the other."
Greg remembered the attorney telling him something similar. It was a shame. He knew how senseless accidents happened, forever changing the lives of all involved.
He looked at his bowl and discovered it was empty. During their conversation he'd eaten everything she'd put in front of him. The pain in his chest had eased. When had that happened? He realized that he could breathe deeply without hurting. How long had he put up with the chest pains before he'd fallen sick? He couldn't remember.
Whatever Fiona had been doing for him had worked. He was embarrassed that he'd given her such a bad time. He could have been more gracious toward her.
"I—uh—want to thank you for caring for me," he finally said. "I know I haven't been a very good patient…"
"There's an understatement," she replied.
Greg noted she smiled when she said it. She had a beguiling smile. There were several rather intriguing things he'd noticed about her. He felt a strong tug of attraction and immediately squelched it.
"You're quite welcome, sir. Now, will you please tell me why you were looking for me? My curiosity isn't going to let me rest until I know." She poured them each a cup of tea and returned to her place at the table.
He looked at the cup. What he wouldn't give for a cup of coffee. He felt ungrateful after all she'd done, but tea was no substitute.
"I'm a private detective from New York," he began. "A client approached me several weeks ago and said she had recently discovered that she had been adopted. Since both of her adoptive parents are gone, she wants to find out who her birth parents were and something about her family tree. She hired me to investigate."
Fiona looked puzzled. "I'm sorry, but I'm not following you. What does that have to do with me?"
"James MacDonald was listed as the attending physician on the birth certificate. I had the name of the solicitor who handled the adoption, Calvin McCloskey. It was Calvin who told me that the MacDonalds would be the only ones with more information, and both had died. When I heard they had a daughter, I decided to check out the only lead I'd found in Craigmor."
"Calvin handled my parents' estates, despite the fact that he was retired," Fiona said. "I don't know what I would have done without him." She paused as though thinking. Minutes passed in silence until she said, "I can't imagine why my parents would have had anything to do with such an adoption, though. Craigmor has always been a close community. I never heard of anyone in the village giving up a child for adoption."
"Yes, I've already run into that problem. I contacted Mr. McCloskey to discuss the matter. At first he showed no interest in discussing the matter with me, but at some point, thankfully, he changed his mind. Without his help I wouldn't have known where to continue my search."
Fiona rested her arms on the table and leaned forward. "This sounds like a good mystery. What did he tell you?"
"He said that your parents notified him that they had triplet girls whose mother died soon after giving birth. They told him that the only thing they knew was her first name, Moira, and that her husband, Douglas, had been murdered the night before by his brother. They contacted the solicitor for help in finding a safe home where they wouldn't be found. They came up with the idea to have them adopted separately."
"How fascinating. When did this take place? You would think my parents would have spoken of such an unusual happening, but I never heard anything about triplets being born in Craigmor."
"My client's birth date is in my files. It was sometime late 1978."
"Oh!" she said with a chuckle. "No wonder I never heard talk about triplets. That was the year I was born. They had probably forgotten all about them by the time I was old enough to understand."
"You're twenty-five?" he asked, surprised.
"I will be next month. Why do you ask?"
"I thought you were in your teens. I had no idea…" He allowed his voice to trail off. After a moment of silence, he said, "I don't expect you to remember any of this, but I felt certain that someone in Craigmor might. However, everyone I asked insisted they had never heard of Moira and Douglas nor of triplets born in Craigmor."
"I can see your problem."
"I spoke to a couple of local doctors who knew your father. When I asked them for suggestions as to how I could proceed, one of them suggested I check with you."
MAN IN THE MIST Page 5