MAN IN THE MIST

by Annette Broadrick

  Fiona was the first woman he'd noticed, really registered seeing, since he'd lost Jill. By the time he woke up this morning, he'd stopped kidding himself that he wasn't affected by her. He'd been dreaming about her, which had unnerved him. He'd pushed the dream out of his mind, or thought he had, until he'd walked into the kitchen and saw her standing there.

  His body had reacted instantly, wanting to reenact the erotic dreams he'd had the night before. He'd been startled by the unexpected response. He'd had no desire to make love to a woman since Jill had died. He'd figured there would never be another woman who attracted him in that way. Now he knew he was wrong. The problem was that he didn't know what to do about his reaction to her. He was a guest in her home, although he fully intended to pay her for his stay. Nevertheless he did not want to take advantage of her.

  He had finally managed to overcome his instant physical response to her by concentrating on his gratitude for all she had done for him. Not only had she taken him in, she had known what to do to help him recover from his illness.

  Once awake this morning, Greg realized that he felt better than he had in months and he'd wanted to thank her for all she'd done, but one look at her face when she turned and saw him in the kitchen warned him that she wouldn't be interested in hearing anything he had to say.

  He deserved her cool reception—thanks to his blasted moods—but he already missed her friendliness, her stern lectures about his health, her adorable smile.

  Greg forced himself to look around the dim room. The garage door kept slapping against the wall with each wind gust. With the way the heavy clouds were scudding through the sky, he wouldn't be surprised if the area would be drenched in the near future.

  He turned back to the boxes. Not one of them was marked. Of course he wouldn't know what to look for if a box was marked, except for dates. That probably wouldn't work. A doctor might keep a patient's file for years. Surely there was a file in all these boxes for a Douglas and Moira who'd had triplets. It was strange, though, how everyone he spoke to in Craigmor was adamant about never hearing of triplets or a couple named Moira and Douglas.

  Well, standing there looking at the stack of boxes wasn't going to get him any further in his quest. With new determination, Greg picked up two of the boxes and carried them into the house with him.

  McTavish greeted him at the kitchen door.

  Greg didn't know how, but he knew that Fiona was gone. She hadn't taken her car because it was in the garage. He wondered how far it was to Glen Cairn. He might drive there to see.

  He strode down the hall and paused in the archway of the living room. She'd already built a fire there. He might as well take advantage of it. He placed the boxes on the floor and went back outside. Two more trips gave him more than enough to look through in a day. His last venture outside was to relock the garage.

  The sky spit drops of moisture as he left the garage. He wasted no time returning to the warmth of Fiona's home. No reason to become ill again. After this week, he'd had enough of that to last the rest of his life. But what about Fiona? He hoped she'd worn something waterproof.

  * * *

  "Ah, Fiona," Timothy McGregor said when she entered the greengrocer's shop. His beaming smile and dancing eyes sparkled in his round face. "I've been missin' that lovely smile of yours. I hope you haven't been ill."

  "Never, Timmy," she replied to the almost-bald man twice her age. "I have been busy, though. I'm certain you've heard about my guest as well as the number of calls I've been getting from families who have someone ill in their homes. I hope this isn't going to be too harsh a winter. Too many villagers have weakened immune systems going into the season, what with one ailment or another popping up."

  She picked out some fresh vegetables while she spoke.

  "Well, as to your visitor, I've heard so many stories, I've been forced to discount each and every one," he said, his eyes twinkling. "Some say he's your long-lost brother, or cousin or some other type of relative. Others are convinced he's the reason you've refused to go out with any of our local lads and that you've been engaged to him for a couple of years or more."

  She shook her head in wonder. "Amazing, isn't it? Despite the lack of a single fact upon which to base suppositions, the stories mushroom anyway."

  "So who is your visitor, if I may ask?"

  "His name is Greg Dumas and he's looking through some of my father's files hoping to locate some information for a client in the States."

  "You don't say? Who is he looking for?"

  "That's one of his problems. He doesn't know. Somehow he managed to trace the adoption of triplets to my father, but he doesn't have a last name for the birth parents. It seems to me that the birth of triplets is enough of an oddity that my father would have mentioned such an occurrence, but I've never heard about them. I showed Mr. Dumas the boxes of files I have in storage and left him to his hunt."

  "How long does he intend to stay?"

  "Until he finds a file giving more information on the parents, I suppose."

  "Be careful that you don't have a permanent resident there once he becomes accustomed to your cooking and baking."

  She laughed as he'd meant for her to. "I'll be careful. Perhaps I'll overcook a dish from time to time. That should discourage him."

  When she left the shop, she was smiling. Timothy had been one of the first people she'd met when she first visited there. He'd understood without her saying that her grief was much too deep to discuss. He'd steered her to the realty office when she mentioned rental property, and from there she had found her snug cottage. In the two years since she'd moved to Glen Cairn, she'd slowly come to terms with the unexpected loss of her parents.

  She hadn't been ready to let them go, but then, who is ever ready?

  Perhaps that was why Greg refused to talk about his past. He may have suffered a grievous loss too painful to discuss. She intended to honor his reticence and ask no more questions, despite her embarrassingly strong curiosity to learn everything there was to know about him.

  After visiting Mrs. Tabor and checking on several other villagers, Fiona returned home carrying her umbrella. There had been rain earlier in the day, but now the sky had cleared. It looked as if there was going to be a beautiful sunset.

  She paused on her walk home to gaze at the vista of rolling hills and glints of water that were so much a part of the western Highlands. All else considered, she had chosen a lovely place in which to deal with her grief.

  Fiona gave a sigh of contentment and continued on her way. For her noon meal, she'd eaten some fruit, homemade bread given to her by the mother of one of her patients and some cheese. Now she was ready for a hot meal.

  Would Greg have known to look for food in her kitchen? She'd neglected to tell him to help himself to whatever he found. Well, if he weren't willing to search for food, it would be his own fault if he went hungry.

  Light had faded from the sky by the time she reached home and saw a gleaming lamp beckoning through the front window. Fiona found it unexpectedly charming to come home to a lighted window and to someone with whom to visit before bedtime.

  She had a flash of what it might be like not to go to her bed alone. With that thought came the sudden flood of emotions that swept over her every time she thought about the brief intimacy she'd shared with Greg. That night had awakened her to another world, one of sensuous pleasure. She would never be the same again.

  Stop mooning over a stranger you can't have and think about what you're going to prepare for dinner, she scolded herself.

  * * *

  Greg took a break from his search about midafternoon. He hadn't wanted to overlook something, so he had carefully read enough data from each file to know it wasn't the one he was searching for.

  He'd made more coffee midmorning, and at noon he'd found the ingredients for a sandwich. Now he stopped and warmed the coffee. Once it was ready, he returned to the living room and glanced at the time. It was close to eight o'clock in Queens. Tina would be almost
ready for bed.

  He hadn't spoken to her in almost a week and decided it was past time for him to call her. He used his calling card and soon heard Helen and George Santini's phone ringing.

  Helen answered on the third ring.

  "Hope I'm not interrupting anything," Greg said.

  "Greg! Oh, it's wonderful to hear your voice. Hold on, will you?"

  He listened as she called to Tina. "Tina! Your daddy's on the phone." She spoke into the phone. "I'm sorry to do this at the beginning of the call, but she has been pestering me for several days, wondering when you'll be home."

  "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!" Tina's voice bounced through the phone. "When are you coming home, Daddy? I miss you! And I have lots and lots to tell you!"

  "You do, huh? Then why don't you tell me now?"

  "Oh. Well, I got to wear a new dress to school today because they took our pictures."

  "They did? How come I didn't know about it?"

  "'Cause they only told us like maybe yesterday. Or sometime like that."

  He heard Helen say, "The teacher sent a note home last Friday."

  "Yeah," Tina said, "on Friday."

  "What kind of dress did you wear?"

  "A beeootiful one. Gramma picked it out for me. It's got red and green in it."

  "A plaid," Helen said in the background.

  "A plaid," Tina dutifully repeated. "Gramma said it's the kind they wear where you are."

  "Ah, a Scottish plaid. I can hardly wait to see it."

  "Gramma took pictures when I was ready to go to school so you can see them when you come home. When are you coming home, Daddy? You've been gone for weeks and weeks."

  He rubbed the frown lines between his eyebrows. "Honey, I really don't know. Daddy's looking for something for a client. I need to stay here until I find it."

  "Oh." After a brief pause, she said, "But you said it would only take a few days and it's been longer than a few, Daddy. It's been a loooooong time!"

  "I know, baby. It's been a long time for me, too." He cleared his throat. "It's time for you to go to bed now, isn't it?"

  "Uh-huh. Granpa said he'd read me a story like you do."

  "Good for Granpa. I love you, sweetheart. Why don't you let me talk to Gramma now?"

  When Helen came back on the line, he said, "I'm sorry this is taking longer than expected."

  "Oh, Greg. I know you'd be here if you could. She's been very good, except for getting a note from her teacher about talking in class, but that doesn't surprise any of us who know her."

  They both chuckled at the thought of Tina, the magpie, being quiet in class.

  "How's your case going?" Helen asked.

  "To be honest, I'm becoming more and more discouraged. After that first run of luck getting information from the solicitor, I thought I'd have my answers in a few days. As you know, it hasn't turned out that way.

  "I went to Craigmor in hope of finding a relative of the doctor involved with the adoption."

  "And you didn't find anyone? Oh, dear. That is unfortunate."

  "Well, I did find his daughter, but she's too young to know anything about it."

  "What do you intend to do?"

  "I'm at the daughter's home at the moment. She no longer lives in Craigmor so it took me time to find her. Then I picked up some kind of bug that laid me low. At least the daughter had something to help me overcome whatever it was."

  "How fortunate. She's a doctor, too, then?"

  "I don't know much about her credentials. All I know is whatever she did worked wonders on me."

  "I'm sorry to hear you succumbed to something. You've been driving yourself much too hard, you know. Thank goodness you found someone who was able to help you."

  "Amen to that."

  "Well, don't you worry about anything here. We're doing fine … and I know you'll find what you're looking for before long. You don't discourage easily."

  He laughed. "So you told me when you tried to convince me I wasn't the right person to marry Jill."

  "Of course, you enjoy bringing that up, don't you? Just to hear me admit I was wrong about you."

  He sobered. "Actually, you weren't wrong, Helen. If she hadn't married me, she'd still be alive today. We should have listened to you."

  "You know that isn't true. You can't control every criminal who breaks the law in the city, Greg."

  "I wish I'd thought of that sooner."

  "Please stop beating up on yourself over what can't be changed. At least we have Tina, who, by the way, has one more thing she needs to tell you before she goes to bed."

  "Okay, but first I want you to take this phone number down in case you need to reach me. I'll try to do better about checking in with you."

  Once Greg recited the number, Helen handed the phone to Tina who was filled with more news about school, and her kitten and the plans being made for the weekend. When she finally ran down, he said, "Daddy really misses you, baby girl. Pretend I'm there to give you a big hug and a smooch, okay?"

  * * *

  Fiona hadn't meant to eavesdrop. She'd come in though the kitchen to put the vegetables away when she'd heard Greg's voice. She thought someone was there with him. She stopped in the hallway when she heard him say something about marrying Jill and that she would be alive today if it hadn't been for him. After hearing that, she could not force herself to walk away.

  When she heard him say that he missed his daughter, she understood the enormity of the burden Greg carried.

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  « ^ »

  Fiona was embarrassed that she had stooped to eavesdropping in order to discover more about Greg. He had no reason to believe that anyone was there besides himself. She should have slammed a door or something to announce her arrival.

  Unfortunately it was too late for any of that. Now she would have to live with what she had inadvertently discovered.

  Fiona hurriedly prepared a nourishing meal. When it was ready she went back down the hallway and paused in the archway of the living room. "I've made something to eat, if you're hungry," she said.

  Greg looked startled. "Oh. Hi. I didn't hear you come in."

  She took a deep breath. "I came in while you were on the phone. I would have said something then but didn't want to disturb your conversation."

  He gazed at her without smiling.

  "Are you hungry?" she asked.

  He stood and dusted his hands. "You bet. Even though I found the pound cake and ate a large slice of that with coffee this afternoon. Hope you don't mind that I made another pot. Coffee keeps my heart pumping."

  "Not at all. I forgot to mention that you were to treat the kitchen as your own while you're here."

  "Your kitchen is nothing like mine. I rarely have anything but milk and breakfast food on hand. The rest of my shopping is in the frozen-food department." He paused in the archway and looked down at her. "Let me go wash some of this dust off and I'll be ready."

  Fiona couldn't meet his eyes. "All right," she replied, and returned to the kitchen. She leaned against the counter and closed her eyes. She was in deep trouble and didn't know what to do about it. No doubt she was more susceptible because she had never been in such an intimate situation with a man before. Their routine must be similar to how a married couple lives.

  She hadn't realized how much she'd missed Greg today until she saw him again. It was then her emotions came tumbling out of some secret place she never knew existed.

  It didn't help that he looked at her in a more intimate way than he had at first. He'd been sick, of course. Now he wasn't. She could not ignore that he was the same man who had nuzzled her neck and fondled her breast, thinking she was his dead wife.

  The only way she could face him was to remind herself that he didn't remember that night. Her problem was that she did. She couldn't force what had happened out of her mind. She kept reliving what she had felt when he'd touched her and stroked her and—God help her—she wanted to feel those emotions again.

&nbs
p; "Mmm, something smells good," Greg said, walking into the kitchen. She immediately straightened but it was too late. "Is there something wrong?" he asked.

  She shook her head. "I'm just tired, that's all." She motioned for him to be seated, then sat down across from him. "How was your day? Did you have any luck finding what you're looking for?"

  "Well, let's put it this way. I've eliminated a great many files that don't contain what I'm looking for," Greg said. "Is there anyone in your family who might remember something that happened twenty-five years ago?"

  She thought for a moment. "Actually, there is. My aunt, Minnie MacDonald, was born in Craigmor. She will no doubt die there. I would guess that she knows everyone who's lived there since she was born. She's the one who has the rest of dad's files."

  "I wonder why no one mentioned her when I was asking for information?"

  She laughed. "They were trying to protect you, I'm sure."

  "From what?"

  "Aunt Minnie has a very sharp tongue and very little patience with anyone. I doubt that she would have told a stranger anything. She's a little independent."

  He widened his eyes deliberately. "An independent MacDonald. I can't imagine it." Then he smiled, a slow, intimate smile that created a familiar flutter in her midsection. Oh, yes, this man's presence was definitely lethal to her peace of mind.

  "If you would like, I could take you to see her if you don't find what you're looking for here. She might be more forthcoming if I'm there."

  He shook his head. "I can't take you away from your own work. You've done more than enough for me this past week."

  She smiled. "Just part of the service, sir. Helping to return a person to optimum health is what I do."

  "You do it very well," he said quietly.

  "Thank you." She met his eyes and was startled at the warmth in them. He'd not looked at her with that expression before. It was filled with admiration and something more. The something more made her nervous. Had he discovered how strongly she was drawn to him? Oh, she hoped not. That would be much too embarrassing to be borne.