MAN IN THE MIST

by Annette Broadrick

  It was the truth, what he'd said to Helen. He'd never met anyone like Fiona. Maybe that was why he found her so intriguing … so sexy … and so blasted hard to understand.

  Last night she'd admitted that she was attracted to him. She'd come to him when he suggested the kiss. So what had changed overnight that she now treated him as if he were lower than dirt?

  He poured his coffee and walked outside. McTavish bounded out with him and took off, no doubt chasing a rabbit. Greg sat on the bench in Fiona's garden and looked around. The Highlands were nothing like he'd imagined them. They were green, but there weren't many trees. From where he sat, he could see a herd of sheep moving down a hillside.

  The area couldn't be more different from what he was used to in Queens. Then there was Fiona. Fiona, the rescuing angel who had taken him in and cared for him when he was too sick to care about anything. Fiona, the sprite, a magical creature who somehow managed to conceal her fragile wings from mere mortals.

  He shook his head. Maybe it was the air around there that made him so whimsical. He didn't feel grounded in reality, which wasn't a good sign.

  Greg finished his coffee and headed back to the house. He whistled for McTavish, who bounded toward him with comforting enthusiasm. At least he could rely on McTavish not to have unpredictable moods. Let's face it, he thought grimly, a dog was much easier to understand than a woman.

  * * *

  Fiona returned around noon and came in the back way, deliberately avoiding Greg. She slipped up the stairs without looking to see if he was in the living room or his bedroom.

  Knowing that they would be traveling today, she had hurried through her visits. She'd alerted a neighbor to keep an eye on elderly Mrs. Grant, who was having some congestion. At her age, she could develop pneumonia with alarming ease.

  Fiona found a small bag and quickly packed what she would need for an overnight stay in Craigmor. She knew that her aunt would insist that she stay with her. She wasn't certain how Aunt Minnie would accept Greg. She lived in a rambling house with several bedrooms. If she were so inclined, Aunt Minnie could put them both up for the night with no problem.

  Only time would tell.

  She thought about calling her aunt to alert her she was coming to visit and that she was bringing someone with her, although she knew a phone call would be a waste of her time. Aunt Minnie had her housekeeper, Becky, answer the phone. She pretended to be too deaf to hear anything on the phone. Her strange malady disappeared as soon as she hung up. The truth, of course, was that Aunt Minnie disliked using a telephone to communicate. She thought it too impersonal.

  Fiona gave herself a quick glance in the mirror and headed back downstairs. She dropped her bag at the foot of the stairs and walked into the living room.

  McTavish dozed beside Greg's chair. Greg had a stack of files in front of him, methodically going through them. What a job he'd taken on.

  McTavish raised his head and looked at her. Greg looked up, as well. "Oh. There you are. I didn't hear you come in."

  "I thought I'd make sandwiches for lunch. When do you want to leave?"

  He glanced at his watch. "I hadn't realized the time. Probably as soon as we eat." He looked down at McTavish. "What do you do with him when you travel?"

  "He usually goes with me, but not this time. Patrick McKay from the village said he'd come pick him up and take him to his farm. McTavish enjoys visiting there."

  "And Tiger?"

  "Tiger does not enjoy visiting, thank you very much. I leave extra food for him. He's found a way in and out of the house through the cellar. As long as he doesn't show his personal entrance to my home to any of his friends, I've allowed him to come and go as he pleases." She glanced around the room. "He's probably outside now. I'll go make those sandwiches."

  Greg leaned back in his chair and absently scratched McTavish's head, surprised that the dog hadn't followed his mistress into the other room. Maybe he's enjoying same male companionship, he thought with an inward smile.

  "So what do you think?" he said in a low voice. "Is she in a better mood? You know her better than I do. Do I need protection?"

  McTavish pushed himself into a standing position with a groan and ambled out of the room. "That bad, huh?" Greg muttered.

  At least she didn't waste time. They were in his car heading out within the hour. When Patrick McKay had arrived to pick up McTavish, the Scots man had studied Greg with unconcealed curiosity. Greg had thought of several comments he might make, but had restrained himself. He'd heard about small towns and how everyone knew what everyone else was doing. Considering that Fiona lived alone, Greg thought this was a good thing.

  He didn't like the idea of her living so far from neighbours. Granted, it was only a couple of miles to the road, but if she were to get hurt, it would be a very long two miles and, according to Patrick, it was another five miles into Glen Cairn.

  Greg would probably have nightmares from now on about her living up here by herself, regardless of how protective McTavish was.

  At least Greg didn't have to ask for directions to Craigmor. He had his marked map from the trip over there. After he glanced at it, he was ready to hit the road. Fiona sat quietly beside him and appeared to be miles away. She didn't have to make it any more obvious that she would prefer to be anywhere else than with him.

  He'd gotten the message.

  It was too bad for his peace of mind that she looked particularly fetching with her hair in a French braid. Jill had worn her hair that way occasionally before she cut it. On Jill the style was a sleek, smooth hairdo. On Fiona, wisps of soft curls fell around her ears and on the nape of her neck.

  His fingers itched with the desire to run his fingers through her hair. He had to stop thoughts of that nature from distracting him. Yes, he was attracted to her. More, as a matter of fact, with every passing day. So what? He'd recover as soon as he left Scotland.

  Wouldn't he?

  "Tell me about your parents," he said into the silence.

  "What about them?"

  "Whatever you're willing to share."

  Fiona settled back into her seat and smiled. Hopefully he'd chosen a safe enough topic to help her relax a little and enjoy the ride.

  "My most vivid memories were how much they loved me. Aunt Minnie insists they spoiled me rotten. If I was spoiled, it was with their love, not material possessions. They were always so proud of me. They attended every social event I was in at school.

  "I was a handful when I was young, or so Aunt Minnie assures me. Of course to have heard my parents tell it, I had no imperfections. Aunt Minnie made certain that I knew at a very early age not to believe that story! She said I led them on a merry chase and wore them out before each day ended."

  "I'd love to see pictures of you when you were a child."

  She looked at him in surprise. "You would? Why?"

  "I don't know. Maybe to confirm my suspicions that you were a heartbreaker, even back then."

  She didn't say anything and he wondered if he'd offended her. Again. When she finally spoke, she didn't reply to his comment. Instead, she said, "Aunt Minnie has pictures, if you'd like to see them."

  "Yes," he said quietly. "I would." When she didn't say anything more, he asked, "Your aunt is your father's sister, isn't she?"

  "Yes."

  "I take it she never married, since she uses the name MacDonald."

  "She was engaged. She grew up with Robbie, her fiancé. His dream was to learn to fly. He ended up in the RAF while she was finishing school. He was killed in a plane crash a few weeks before their wedding."

  "That's tough. She must have loved him a great deal."

  "Oh, I'm sure she did. By the time I was old enough to ask questions, though, she explained to me that Robbie was the only man brave enough to have considered marrying her."

  He laughed. "I already like your aunt Minnie. I'm looking forward to meeting her."

  "Just don't build too many expectations on the outcome of the meeting. She will be pol
ite, I sincerely hope, but I really don't see her divulging much information. If she does, it will be a first."

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  « ^ »

  The road followed the burn for several miles before reaching Craigmor. Fiona felt the familiar sadness that occurred each time she had returned to the village since her parents died. She wondered if she would ever stop expecting to find them at home waiting for her. She forced herself to look around, hoping to find something that had changed in the past two years.

  Craigmor appeared to be the same. There was the greengrocer's shop, the meat market, the post office, and the church … all the places that had been part of her life when she lived there.

  Greg's voice breaking into her reverie startled her. "Where do we go from here?" he asked.

  "Oh! We turn by the church and follow the road that leads to the loch. I'll point out her home when we get there."

  She made herself concentrate on the here and now. As much as she might wish to, she could change nothing in the past.

  Greg followed the winding road until Fiona pointed to the driveway where they needed to turn.

  The house couldn't be seen from the road because of the tall hedges Aunt Minnie had allowed to grow without trimming. They were now more bushy trees than shrubs, but her aunt preferred them that way.

  When they pulled up in front of the house, Greg stopped the car and gazed at the stone structure. "Wow," he breathed. "This is close to a castle."

  She smiled. "Close," she agreed. "It's several hundred years old. It's been in the MacDonald family for generations."

  They left the car and walked up the broad, shallow stone steps to the wide double doors. Fiona took hold of the large ring hanging in the middle of one of the doors and banged it against the wood. She could hear the echo inside.

  As usual, no one bothered to answer right away. Another one of Aunt Minnie's ploys. She always hoped that whoever came to the door would give up and go away.

  After Fiona knocked for the third time, this time long and as loud as she could, she heard muttering on the other side of the door.

  "I'm comin', I'm comin', so just' hold your horses, would you?"

  Fiona recognized the voice of Aunt Minnie's housekeeper/cook/general factotum. Aunt Minnie wouldn't survive a day without Miss Becky and she was the first one to admit it.

  Becky opened the door, saw Fiona and rushed out to throw her arms around her. "Miss Fiona! Why in the world didn't you tell us you were comin', child? It's thrilled I am to see you. Miss Minnie will be beside herself!"

  Fiona grinned. "I don't doubt that for a minute, Becky. However, she'll just have to deal with it, which is why I didn't call to warn her." She took a step back. "To add to my misdemeanors, I've brought someone to meet her."

  Becky hadn't noticed Greg until Fiona gestured to where he stood, watching the meeting with his hands in his coat pockets. When she did, she placed her hand over her heart and said, "Don't tell me, Miss Fiona! Oh, Miss Minnie's going to have heart failure for sure." She spun on her heel and made a beeline back into the house, shouting, "Miss Minnie, Miss Minnie, you aren't going to believe it. Miss Fiona is here with her fella. Looks like we're finally going to have a wedding in this family. And it's about time, is what I say." Her voice gradually faded as she hurried down the hallway. "And he's a real looker, too. Wait 'til you see him!"

  Fiona had listened to the spate of words flowing out of Becky's mouth with first amusement, then astonishment and at the end, embarrassment. She turned and glanced at Greg who met her eyes with a steady gaze and a calm expression.

  Maybe he hadn't heard Becky. Oh, please, God, please say he hadn't heard her. If she hadn't continued to stare at him, she would have missed the unholy gleam in his eye and the quick lift of the corner of his mouth that appeared and disappeared in a blink.

  Her whole body flooded with color, completely wrapping around her to advertise her embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Greg," she began, only to have him interrupt her.

  "There's nothing to apologize for. It was an honest mistake that we can quickly set straight."

  She squared her shoulders. "You're right. Of course," she said, hoping to sound convincing. She turned and marched into the house without suggesting that he follow her. When the door closed behind her, she realized that he was indeed braving this next hurdle.

  Of course he would follow her. Any sane person would have known that, but at the moment she was feeling anything but sane. She'd had some idea of rushing to Aunt Minnie and explaining the error before Greg reached her aunt. She gave her head a shake. That would have been rude in the extreme, which she wasn't. As a rule.

  Fiona paused in the open doorway of her aunt's drawing room and saw her aunt move slowly toward the door. Aunt Minnie's arthritis must be acting up, which wouldn't improve her disposition any. Fiona had known this trip would be a disaster as soon as Greg mentioned it, but she'd had no idea it would become a farce, as well.

  "Fiona!" Minnie said, advancing on her. Minnie was a tall woman, as slender as a reed, with a posture that would be the envy of any military man. She leaned down and gave Fiona a quick hug and a kiss on her cheek before her gaze narrowed on the man behind her.

  "I don't believe we have met," she said to Greg in her most regal manner. She held out her hand in such a way as to make it difficult to know whether she expected him to shake it or kiss it. Fiona almost groaned aloud. He was already being tested before he'd had a chance to speak.

  "Aunt Minnie," she rushed in to say, "I would like you to meet—"

  "Let him speak for himself!" Minnie replied sharply, tapping her cane on the floor for emphasis.

  Greg meanwhile took Minnie's hand and, with a grace that startled Fiona, delicately lifted her aunt's age-spotted hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. "I'm Gregory Dumas, Miss MacDonald," he said in a distinctively formal way. "I am honored to meet you."

  Minnie jerked her hand away as though she'd been burned. "You're an American! What is the world coming to?" She spun on her heel and glared at Fiona. "It was bad enough that you insisted on removing yourself to that desolate area but I will not tolerate the idea of you moving to America. Do you hear me?"

  "Aunt Minnie," Fiona said, her heart racing until she wondered if she were on the verge of a stroke. "You don't understand. I—"

  "Of course I understand! I'm not an idiot nor am I some naive female who is easily appeased by falsehoods. I can certainly see how you might fall for the man. The way you keep yourself tucked out of sight, it's a wonder he ever found you at all. But a foreigner! How could you consider such a thing, Fiona?"

  Greg exploded into laughter, a rich baritone that rolled off the walls of the room in waves. Fiona stared at him in astonishment. So did Minnie.

  He started to speak, then looked at the two women staring at him with their jaws dropped and continued to laugh. It was obvious he was attempting to control himself. He would pause and start to speak only to start laughing again.

  Minnie turned to Fiona. "What is the matter with the man? Is he daft?"

  Fiona lifted her shoulders and spread her hands, which, for some reason, encouraged Greg's laughter.

  "I'm so sorry," he finally managed to say, gasping. He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and mopped his face and eyes. "I didn't mean to be rude. It's just that—" he paused to swallow a chuckle "—I feel as though I walked into the middle of a farce with no idea what my lines are supposed to be."

  Strange that he would also see the farcical qualities of the meeting, Fiona thought. She wondered if Greg had any idea how attractive he was when he laughed.

  She smiled at him. "Actually, I was thinking the same thing." She shared a grin with Greg.

  "I do wish you would tell me what's going on here," Minnie said in a voice that could have just as easily said, "Off with his head!"

  Before Fiona could speak, Becky appeared in the doorway behind them and said. "Dinner is served," as though addressing royalty.

>   Fiona saw Greg clench his jaw and stare fixedly at the ceiling, refusing to meet her eyes.

  Minnie turned back to Fiona. "Well, then, come along. You can explain how you met and when you're planning to marry your young man over dinner." She turned to Greg with a stern expression. "I shall warn you right now, Mr. Dumas, you will not, under any circumstances, take Fiona away with you. This is her home and I mean for her to spend her life here."

  Greg immediately dropped his gaze to his booted feet and nodded as solemnly as possible, considering he looked as though he was biting the inside of his cheek.

  "Aunt Minnie—" Fiona began in a strangled voice.

  Minnie held up her hand. "Not now, dear. We shall discuss everything over dinner." She looked at Greg. "You may escort me to dinner, young man."

  Greg surprised Fiona by immediately holding out his arm so that Minnie could take it. Leaning slightly on him and with head high, Minnie proceeded with dignity into the formal dining room—the one that held a table where forty could be easily seated. Several of the leaves had been removed, Fiona was thankful to see, and Becky had set the three places at one end of the table … with Minnie at the end and Greg and Fiona facing each other.

  Fiona refused to meet his gaze.

  After Greg seated Minnie, she asked him to say grace.

  Another test. Fiona thought, wanting to scream at her aunt. Instead, she bowed her head and made a silent prayer of her own, although she doubted that God would grant her prayer to whisk her back to the sanity of her own home to the time before Greg Dumas came into her life.

  Then Greg spoke. He sounded as though the ritual of grace was familiar to him. He was brief but eloquent and when he finished Fiona couldn't help but notice Minnie's smug smile.

  So far it appeared that Greg had passed Aunt Minnie's impromptu tests but Fiona didn't hold out much hope that he could keep up with her aunt for the entire evening. She began to mull over where they might spend the night if they left here immediately after dinner.

  The food was delicious and she told Becky so when Becky retrieved their plates and brought them dessert. There was no hint that Becky had been anything other than prepared to have visitors. Fiona wondered how she had managed.