Man In The Mist. Annette Broadrick
on a night such as this one. Please warm yourself by the fire. I’ll be right back with some tea to help ease your throat.”
He stared at her blankly and she wondered if he had understood her. He closed his eyes tightly, then opened them, blearily focusing on her.
After a pause, he replied, “Oh, that’s okay,” as though her words had finally registered. “I can’t stay.” He swayed where he stood. “What I really need are directions.”
Oh, my. He was going to be very stubborn about this. She’d certainly read that jawline correctly. He was operating on sheer willpower alone. He blinked his eyes again, as though trying to improve his vision. When he saw her watching him, he smiled uncomfortably. She found his lopsided smile endearing. He was exhausted and refused to admit it.
She nodded toward the front room. “I won’t be long,” she said, showing that she could be just as stubborn. “Go ahead and get warm, now.” She spoke in firm tones, much as she would to an obstinate child.
Fiona hung up her jacket and went down the hallway to the kitchen, which was located at the back of the cottage.
Greg turned to watch her as she walked past him and disappeared down the hallway. He wondered if she were a mirage, like the wings and pointing finger.
This was Fiona MacDonald? he thought, forcing himself to focus on his present situation. Nah. Couldn’t be. The woman he was looking for had to be in her late thirties or so. This woman was barely out of her teens, if that. But then, MacDonald was a fairly common name in Scotland. He rubbed the back of his neck and rolled his head from side to side.
Too bad he’d found the wrong one. It would be too much to hope for that his search would end so easily.
This Fiona MacDonald had vivid red hair that framed her face and tumbled over her shoulders in thick waves. She was no more than a couple of inches over five feet. The top of her head might reach his shoulder…if she stood on her toes.
He shook his head, needing his brain to kick in and start working again. He was exhausted and needed to find a place to sleep. All he’d asked of her were directions. Hadn’t he made himself clear?
Greg took a few steps so that he could see into the front room. The comfortably furnished place looked cozy and the warmth lured him closer to the fire. Without further thought, he headed toward the fireplace and held out his chilled hands. Another coughing spell hit him and he quickly covered his mouth.
Once he caught his breath, Greg sank into the wingback chair nearest him. The giant dog watched him from the doorway and Greg wondered if he was being sized up for the monster’s next meal.
On the other side of the fireplace a yellow-striped cat stared balefully at him from the arm of an overstuffed chair. A lap robe lay on the other arm and an open book was upside down on the small table nearby.
From the evidence, it looked as though Fiona had been reading while seated in that chair when he arrived. Great deductive reasoning for a private eye. His gaze returned to the fire and he squeezed his eyes shut. They burned from fatigue.
A sudden thought made him groan out loud. What if the directions he’d received were for the wrong Fiona MacDonald? Wouldn’t that be just the news he needed to round off his day?
He rested his elbow on the arm of the chair and leaned his head against his hand. All his efforts for today had gotten him was thoroughly lost and too tired to care.
The warmth of the room contributed to his drowsiness and he fought to stay awake when all he wanted at the moment was to fall asleep. This would never do. He had to fight whatever was causing his light-headedness. If that woman didn’t return soon, he would—
“Here’s some tea,” Fiona said, interrupting his hazy thoughts. He forced his eyes open. “It should help you to feel better,” she added. She held a large ceramic mug toward him, with steam lazily rising.
“I really can’t—” he began, but she hushed him with a gesture and gently smiled at him.
Whoa, what was happening here? The way she was standing with the light from the fireplace behind her, she looked as if she glowed. There was no other word to explain it. Her hair shimmered in the light like a halo.
“Drink it,” she said softly. “I promise I’m not trying to poison you.”
Reluctantly Greg reached for the cup. He brought it to his mouth and sniffed. The stuff didn’t smell all that bad, but he’d never been much of a tea drinker. Coffee was his drink of choice. However, it was something hot that might help him to get warm. Besides, she’d been kind enough to make it. The least he could do was to drink it.
The warmth of the mug felt good and he wrapped both hands around it. He hadn’t realized how chilled he was until he’d come inside. Greg absently noticed that Fiona sat in the chair across from him. Her cat immediately jumped into her lap while continuing to eye him with disdain.
When the tea had cooled enough, he brought the mug to his lips and sipped, allowing the pleasing warmth of the liquid to slide over his tongue and soothe his throat. He didn’t know much about teas, but this one wasn’t half-bad. He took another sip and then another. Before long, the mug was empty.
He glanced over at Fiona. “That was quite good, actually,” he said politely.
She smiled. “You sound surprised, Mr. Dumas.”
Embarrassed, he muttered, “I’m not much of a fan of tea, as a rule.” He coughed and hastily set the mug on a nearby table. When he finally managed to control the wracking coughs, he sighed and dropped his head against the back of the chair, closing his eyes once more.
When he opened them sometime later, Fiona stood before him, holding his mug full of fresh tea out to him. “This will help,” she said, her voice gentle.
He sighed, looking up at her. She was being very kind, he thought. The coughing spell had taken so much out of him that he had trouble focusing on her or the mug.
As though she could read his mind, she leaned over and held the warm drink to his lips. He wanted to tell her he wasn’t a child, but speech took too much effort at the moment. Greg found it easier to drink the tea in silence.
He rested his eyes as soon as he finished the tea. He knew that she didn’t immediately move away from him. The light scent of flowers drifted past him, bringing a vision of sunshine and meadows and happiness and… She must have stepped away because the fragrance gradually dissipated along with the sunshine and happiness.
He needed to thank her for the drink. He needed—
She spoke and her voice sounded far away. He forced himself to open his eyes. She continued to shimmer, as though she were a figment of his imagination. Not even his fertile imagination could have conjured up a woman like this one.
Greg gave his head a shake in an effort to clear his thoughts. It didn’t help. Thinking took too much effort. He gave up trying to figure out what she was saying to him. Instead, he allowed himself to drift while he listened to the soothing sound of her lyrical voice.
“It’s much too late for you to attempt to find the village tonight, Mr. Dumas. You’re not well and you need to rest. Come with me. I have a guest room where you’ll be more comfortable.”
She held out her hand and he stared at her for a moment before accepting it. When she tugged, he slowly stood. Greg felt the room shift when he tried to follow her. Something was wrong with him. There was a hum in his head that seemed to drown out all other sounds.
Fiona led him across the room and into the hall. After opening a door across the hallway, she flipped on a switch and quickly moved to the bed.
“Why don’t you take off your jacket and shoes?” she suggested with her angelic smile. He fumbled with the zipper of his leather jacket, but he couldn’t make the darned thing work. Must be stuck, he thought. She gently pushed his hands aside and quickly removed his wet jacket. When she motioned to his shoes, he sat on the side of the bed and clumsily removed