MAN IN THE MIST

by Annette Broadrick

  "Why me?"

  "Because you might know what happened to your father's files. It's possible your father had a file on Moira and Douglas. I know it would be difficult to find them without a last name, but at this point, I have no other way to go. If I could check his files, I'm certain to come across the birth of triplets in that year, which would give me the parents' names. I feel badly that I have to go back to my client with the news that not only does she have sisters she never knew existed, but I lost the trail leading to her family once I discovered her parents are dead."

  Fiona nodded. "Did Mr. McCloskey tell you who adopted the other girls? That might help in your search."

  "No. My questions were specific to my client and he was reluctant enough to give me what he did. He certainly wouldn't have divulged information about the other babies. He said his records contained nothing else about my client and I believe him."

  "And you think my father might have the information buried somewhere in his files?"

  "I can only hope."

  "I'm not sure I can help you. For one thing, I don't have all of them. When I moved out of their home I removed all the files but didn't have room here to store everything. Most of my father's papers and files are at my aunt's home."

  Greg studied her in silence. "Why did you move to Glen Cairn?"

  "Craigmor had too many memories of my parents. I had to get away until I could deal with my grief. One of these days I'll probably go back. I haven't decided when."

  "I guess what I'm asking is, why did you choose Glen Cairn?"

  "The closest doctor to Glen Cairn is fifty-five miles away. When I learned that, I felt I could help the villagers if I came here. I believe I have."

  Greg rubbed his forehead, feeling another headache beginning. What he was hearing was that there was a good chance she might not have the file he was searching for. For that matter, there might not be a file. There was a good likelihood that he would end up returning to New York without much more information than he had obtained when he'd first arrived in Scotland.

  He tightened his jaw. Not if he could help it.

  "Would you mind if I look through the files you have?" he asked.

  "Not at all, but I need to warn you that it will take some time since you don't have a last name."

  "Or … maybe I'll be lucky and find a file listed as an adoption. That would make my work considerably easier. In the meantime, I'll find a room in the village tonight and come back tomorrow to begin my search."

  "There's no reason for you to find another place. As you can see, I have room for you to stay here."

  He shook his head. "No, that won't do. You live alone. There's no reason to ruin your reputation by having me stay with you."

  Her smile dazzled. "Too late."

  He frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "I had a visitor earlier today who discovered that you were here. By the time I went to the village, it was already an accepted fact that I was involved in an illicit and passionate love affair with a mystery man from who knows where."

  His eyes narrowed. "I'm sorry. I'm responsible for crashing in on you like I did. I would have never believed I'd be sick for days before I came to my senses."

  "Don't worry. I ignore the gossips and so should you. I do what I do without explanation. You were ill and needed a place to stay. Some people have little else to do than to speculate about other people's lives. So we'll let them."

  He didn't say anything. Instead, he picked up his cup and drank, making a slight face.

  "You don't care for the tea?"

  "Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. It's just that when I forget that what I'm drinking isn't coffee, the taste change catches me off guard."

  "I can make you coffee, if you like."

  "Really? I would be indebted to you more than I am now."

  She hopped up from her chair and rummaged through one of her shelves. When she glanced around at him, she looked pleased with herself. "I knew I had some. I don't know how fresh it will be." She prepared a filter and the coffeemaker.

  "Doesn't matter," he said. "If you don't mind my staying here, I'll take you up on your offer on the condition that you allow me to pay you."

  She stopped measuring the coffee. "You're very determined, aren't you?"

  "I wouldn't have it any other way, Ms. MacDonald."

  "Please, call me Fiona. If you're going to continue to stay here, you don't need to be so formal."

  "I'm Greg."

  "Yes, I know."

  "I mean, you may call me by that name, if you wish."

  "Perhaps. We'll see." She started the coffee. "The files are in storage boxes in the garage. What I suggest is that you bring them in here to look through. There's no reason for you to create more congestion in your chest by working in an unheated storage room."

  "So … you're okay with this?"

  "Yes. I'm generally not home much in the daytime. There are several people whom I check in on every day. You'll have the place to yourself most of the time."

  He nodded. "Thank you."

  When the coffee stopped perking, she filled a heavy mug with the dark liquid and handed it to him. "Do you need anything in it?"

  "No. This is the way I like it." He sniffed the aroma circling up from the cup and sighed. "I've been having serious coffee withdrawal symptoms," he said. He carefully sipped the coffee and grinned. "Just the way I like it."

  It was strong enough to curl the hair on his chest. He was used to drinking it that way from his years with the NYPD. Not that it had ever been this fresh. By the time he would pour a cup of coffee at the precinct, the stuff had been sitting in the pot for hours. His own office wasn't much better. This, he decided, was ambrosia.

  A deep "woof" sound came from the other side of the door. Fiona let McTavish in. He entered with placid dignity and paused beside her. She rubbed his ears and Greg could have sworn the dog smiled. After a couple of minutes, McTavish ambled over to Greg's chair as though to greet him.

  He scratched the mastiff s head. When he glanced up, Greg saw surprise on Fiona's face.

  "What's wrong?" he asked.

  "Nothing's wrong. I've never seen him quite this friendly to any of my visitors before. He's generally aloof with everyone but me." She looked at McTavish thoughtfully. "It's out of character."

  "On the contrary, it's obvious he's a great judge of character, aren't you, fella?"

  "I can tell that you're feeling much better this evening."

  "Why not? I must have slept through the past several days. It's a wonder I don't have bed sores," he added with a grin.

  "Do you have a fever?"

  He shrugged. "I doubt it. I'm feeling very close to my normal self."

  "Why don't we go into the front room so I can start the fire?" she asked, transferring their dishes to the sink. When she turned, she saw that Greg had already left the room. She went looking for him and found him in the living room, kneeling in front of the fireplace. When he turned and looked at her, he was frowning. "Did you lose something?" she asked.

  "I was looking for your wood so I could start a fire."

  "Ahh. Then you'll have a long search, I'm afraid. I use peat to heat the place. Wood is at a premium here."

  He stepped away and allowed Fiona access to the fireplace. He walked to the wingback chair, sat down and watched her. When she finished, she set the screen in front of the fire and took her place in the chair across from him.

  Tiger leaped into her lap and stood staring at her. She obligingly spread the lap robe over her and waited until he curled up into a ball on top of it.

  "What's your cat's name?" he asked.

  "Tiger."

  "Makes sense."

  "He was but a wee kitten when I discovered him by my back door. I don't doubt one of the children from the village placed him there, knowing I wouldn't be able to turn him away. Of course everyone I asked had absolutely no idea what I was talking about."

  "Do you get lonely living so isolated?"
/>
  "You would think so, wouldn't you? However, my days are full, what with caring for the adults and helping some of the mothers with their sick children."

  "Ah, now I understand."

  "What do you understand?"

  He grinned. "Your bedside manner. It explains why you were treating me like a child."

  "Not at all. I was merely responding to your childish behavior," she promptly responded, causing him to laugh. Because he seemed to be in a better frame of mind, she asked, "I know that it isn't any of my business, but I was wondering if you'd share a little something about yourself with me."

  "Why?" he asked bluntly.

  He'd tensed and she felt sad that he could be so threatened by such an innocent question. "Perhaps so that we might get to know each other a little better. You've found out a great many things about me—where I live, my pets, what I do with my time, even my age. I know nothing about you except that you're a private investigator, I was wondering why you chose that profession, as an example, and what your family is like. That sort of thing."

  He stared at her for what seemed like a long time before he said, "Perhaps it would be better if I found another place to stay after all. I would prefer to keep our relationship strictly on a professional level."

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  « ^ »

  Fiona sat staring at the flickering flames in the fireplace long after Greg had left the living room. McTavish and Tiger kept her company. She knew it was late and she needed to go to bed and catch up on her rest, and yet she continued to sit while her thoughts tumbled around in her head.

  Despite her assurance to Greg that she would not pry into his personal life if that was his wish, Greg had immediately returned to his room.

  She continued to ponder his behavior. No doubt he was right. He was a professional doing his job. He was not interested in her other than to have access to her father's files. Her interest in him was beyond good taste, and he had reminded her of that in no uncertain terms.

  He had logically defined their situation. He would do what he needed to do, then go his own way. She would not disturb him with intrusive questions.

  She'd been wrestling with the same or similar thoughts for hours. Her problem was she couldn't seem to put Greg and his emotional pain out of her mind. He carried such hurt in so many areas that had nothing to do with his illness. He was still recovering, yet through sheer force of will he refused to admit to weakness of any kind.

  Not long after leaving her, Greg's cough returned. She'd made more tea and took it to him. When she reached his door, she tapped lightly and waited.

  She heard him stirring. When he opened the door, his unbuttoned shirt hung open. She forced herself to look him in the eye. "I made you tea for your cough. I thought you might want to keep it in your room."

  He glanced at the tray in her hand, then at her, before he took the tray from her. "Thanks," he said gruffly, sounding hoarse.

  "If you wish to sleep with your chest covered, please help yourself to the shirts in the second drawer of the dresser."

  "Whose shirts are they?"

  "My father's. I sometimes sleep in them myself. They're very comfortable.

  Fiona turned away.

  "Wait," he said.

  She turned around. "Yes?"

  "I didn't mean to offend you earlier."

  "Nor did I mean to offend you. I was out of line."

  "No, actually you weren't. It's my problem. I don't talk about my past."

  "Nor should you be expected to."

  He nodded. "Thank you for the tea. I really appreciate it."

  "You're welcome."

  She'd waited until he closed the door before she'd returned to the living room. Now she sat and mulled over what she had learned about Greg Dumas. She didn't need to hear what had caused his pain. Her only desire was to assist in easing it. If he felt his past was too painful to discuss, it would continue to fester within him, causing him mental, emotional and physical problems.

  For a while she had tried to read, only to discover that the intriguing novel she'd been absorbed in when Greg had arrived on her doorstep could no longer hold her attention. Life had impinged on her quiet time.

  Fiona didn't know what she could do, if anything, to help him. She had done what she could for his physical pain. She never worked with a person on an emotional level without gaining permission. It was obvious that Greg had no intention of granting it.

  In general, Fiona stayed detached from those who came to her for help in healing. Otherwise, she would be too drained of energy to be of assistance to anyone.

  She knew that this time, staying detached where Greg was concerned would be a challenge. No matter how much she reasoned with herself, she was attracted to him, more attracted than she'd been to any man she'd ever met. Schoolgirl crushes and casual friendships during her teen years had gone nowhere. She'd understood that most males found her strange abilities off-putting. Greg's reaction to her herbal teas had been typical. Most men were wary of unfamiliar things.

  Greg was more than wary. He had an emotional wall built around him so thick, she doubted if anyone could reach him. She wondered if the Jill he'd mentioned had anything to do with his walls? Had she hurt him in some way that he'd been unable to forgive?

  Her heart ached in response to his pain, a reliable sign that she was not detached. This must stop, she thought. He will be gone in a few days, disappearing from my life as suddenly as he'd appeared.

  Fiona banked the fire, turned off the light and went upstairs. Tiger and McTavish followed. Once in bed Fiona focused her mind on a soothing meditation that helped when she had difficulty relaxing.

  Tiger hopped up on the bed and curled into a ball at her feet. McTavish stretched out on the braided rug beside her bed. With a sigh of unnamed regret, Fiona closed her eyes.

  * * *

  Breakfast was ready when Greg walked into the kitchen the next morning. The first Fiona was aware of his presence was when he said, "I smelled the coffee. It was enough to bring me out of a deep sleep."

  She turned away from the toaster and looked at him. He'd splashed water on his face and combed his hair, although his cheeks were rough with an overnight stubble.

  He was dressed in jeans and a sweater, an ordinary choice. So why was her heart thumping so?

  "Good morning," she said without smiling. "How are you feeling?"

  "Better than I have in a long while. My chest no longer hurts. My head is clear and I'm ready to get to work."

  She nodded and set a plate filled with food at his place. "Then eat and I'll show you where the files are stored." She poured the coffee and set the cup next to his plate.

  He needed no second invitation. As soon as he was seated, Greg picked up the coffee, sniffed the aroma and smiled with pleasure before sipping the hot brew.

  "Thank you," he said when he replaced his cup with a pleased sigh.

  You would think I'd given him the keys to the richest kingdom around, she thought.

  "You're welcome." She sat across from him and began to eat.

  After the silence between them lengthened, Greg said, "I meant what I said to you last night. I sincerely hope I didn't offend you."

  "I understand that you're a very private person and I respect that."

  He gave his head a quick shake of disagreement. "I've never been good about talking about myself."

  "Few people are, you know."

  He chuckled. "I can cite a half-dozen people I know who would prove that theory wrong."

  She finished her breakfast, picked up her plate and placed it in the sink full of sudsy water. A short time later she felt his presence and glanced around. He stood nearby with his plate. She took it from him. "Thank you."

  Instead of moving away, he leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. "You're a very good cook. Has anyone ever told you?" he asked in a conversational tone. She would almost consider his mood to be expansive this morning.

  "Thank you again
," she said, feeling a little flustered. "I love to eat, you see."

  His gaze traveled from her sweater-clad shoulders to her heavy cotton pants and ankle-high boots. "You don't look as if you carry an extra ounce of weight anywhere."

  She fought the heated flush that enveloped her and, as always, lost the battle. She lamented having such fair skin. She had no way to hide her embarrassment. Fiona concentrated on washing the dishes.

  "You're close to rubbing the flowers off that plate, you know," he said. She could hear the amusement in his voice. Her cheeks felt as though they were on fire.

  She hastily rinsed the plate and placed it in the dish drainer. Quickly drying her hands, she said, "Let me show you the storage room," without looking at him. She grabbed the key ring off the hook and went to the back door. Without looking to see if he followed, Fiona stepped outside.

  The wind whipped around her, blowing her loose hair into a frenzy of tangles. She ignored it, striding along the path that went through her herb garden. She unlocked the garage and went inside. She headed to the storage room in the back and opened the door.

  She heard Greg behind her. Without turning, she said, "As you can see, there is no electricity out here. I would suggest you bring the boxes into the house." She turned and faced him. "Here are the keys. I will be gone most of today. Mrs. Tabor is having some difficulties with the early stages of her pregnancy. I promised her I would come visit and answer any questions she might have, since this is her first child. I don't know how long I'll be gone."

  He held out his hand and she dropped the keys into it.

  Without waiting for a possible reply, she stepped around him and left the building. She felt that the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels. She did not want to encourage his friendliness. She was much too susceptible to him without seeing his charming side.

  There had been times when she'd been convinced he had no charming side. Leave it to Greg to prove her wrong.

  He watched her leave, wishing—not for the first time—that he hadn't reacted so strongly to her questions the night before. At the very least, he could have been a little more diplomatic. He knew he had offended her and his rudeness was inexcusable, regardless of his apology.