Man In The Mist

Fiona held the cup to his lips. “This will help your cough and your fever, I promise.”

He drank as greedily as he had earlier. Once he finished, she returned the empty cup to the table and lowered his head back to the pillow.

She picked up the jar again and took out a dollop of the salve with her fingers. She cupped the ointment in her hands to warm the soft mixture. When the creamy medication reached body temperature she lifted his shirt and stroked her hand across his chest.

A charge of energy shot through her hand and arm, catching her off guard. She felt as if she’d just stuck her finger into a live electrical socket.

Greg Dumas was a powerful man regardless of his present condition. At least he was having a powerful effect on her. She forced herself to move her hand with a calmness she was far from feeling and applied the soothing mixture over his chest.

He smiled without opening his eyes. The smile unnerved her. She smoothed the ointment more swiftly, wanting to be finished with this part of the healing process. His chest was broad and muscled, and touching him created a fluttery feeling inside her, a sensation she was unused to experiencing.

Fiona made certain she’d covered the area adequately before she withdrew her hand from beneath his shirt. Or tried to. As soon as she began to withdraw, he trapped her hand beneath his.

As calmly as she could, Fiona said, “You need to rest now, Mr. Dumas. It’s early yet. Try to sleep a few more hours.”

He opened his eyes. They glittered in the faint light. He stared at her for a moment before he said, “I’ll sleep but I want you here beside me.”

He no longer sounded like a bear. Instead, he had become a virile male who knew what he wanted, and at the moment he wanted her in his bed.

Fiona had never run into this situation before. For one thing, she’d never had an occasion to treat a male without another family member being present. For another, she had never expected any male, regardless of his fevered condition, to show a personal interest in her.

“I don’t believe that would be a good idea,” she finally replied, speaking as softly and soothingly as possible. The man had no idea what he was saying and probably wouldn’t remember any of this once he recovered from his illness.

In the meantime…she wasn’t sure what to do.

Greg took matters into his own hands, literally, by pulling her toward him until she tumbled onto the bed beside him. With a grin that enhanced his attractiveness, he wrapped his arms around her.

“Now I’ll sleep,” he said, as though keeping a promise.

The man was much stronger than she’d realized. Fiona wasn’t certain she could get up without a struggle. Her most startling realization was that she was in no way frightened of him, despite the fact that she’d never been this close to a male other than her father.

She forced herself to relax, hoping he would release his hold on her. The tea she’d given him should ease him into sleep in a few minutes.

He turned his face toward hers and nuzzled her neck.

“Mmm,” he murmured, “you smell nice.”

She froze in disbelief. He flicked his tongue along her earlobe, causing her to shiver. When he slipped his hand beneath her robe and gown and stroked her bare breast, she almost strangled on her gasp. He made a sound of contentment as he continued to stroke and caress her, causing her nipple to pucker in the palm of his hand. A surge of pure sensual pleasure swept over her.

Fiona panicked. She could not allow this to continue. He would be horribly embarrassed later on—as would she!—when he recalled what he had done.

Greg nibbled on her ear before he licked it again.

“Mr. Dumas,” she managed to say when she was able to catch her breath. “You really need to rest.”

He ignored her and trailed kisses along her neck and the curve of her shoulder. “Stay with me,” he whispered, his husky voice vibrating in her ear. “I’ve missed you so much, sweetheart. There were times when I thought I’d die from the pain of losing you. But you’re here now. Stay with me and let me love you.”

Finally, the soporific effect of the tea kicked in and his hand slid away from her breast. She swallowed, willing her heart and breathing to slow down.

Fiona carefully left the bed, watching him with a combination of dismay and an unexpected yearning she’d never experienced before. His thick dark hair fell across his forehead. His face was flushed with fever and Fiona had an almost uncontrollable urge to push his hair away from his face and thread her fingers through its silky softness.

She knew better than to act on her impulse. She slipped out of the bedroom before temptation became too much for her to resist and hurried to the kitchen. She needed a dose of her own herbal tea to soothe and relax her.

While she sipped from her cup a few minutes later, Fiona reminded herself that Greg hadn’t known what he was doing. His fever had climbed rapidly since he’d gone to bed, which wasn’t a good sign.

She was worried about him. She gathered up supplies, including tea and ointments, and returned to his room. She felt she needed to keep a closer eye on his condition.

Fiona found him restlessly moving his legs, muttering incomprehensibly. He said the name Jill several times, as though she were there. He was talking to her, pleading with her.

His fever needed to come down. Fiona had mixed stronger herbs to help contain the infection that was causing the fever.

She sat beside him and said, “Mr. Dumas…please drink this.” She slipped her arm beneath his head, held the cup to his lips and managed to get him to drink without spilling it.

Once the cup was drained, she stepped away from him. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep, knowing that the infection appeared to have progressed enough to overcome him.

Fiona settled into a large overstuffed chair in the corner of the room. Within minutes McTavish showed up at the door. He watched her for a moment before he ambled across the room to the chair where she was. He stretched out on the floor in front of her, forming a footrest for her.

She pulled a blanket around her shoulders and began her wait for her newest patient to respond to the medications.

He couldn’t breathe.

A heavy weight rested on his chest, forcing him to push hard to get air into his lungs.

He coughed and a sharp pain shot through his chest.

Something was wrong with him.

The painful coughing continued, stealing what little breath he managed to get.

A voice murmured nearby. Soft hands cooled his body with a moist cloth that caused him to shiver.

“Jill?” he whispered hoarsely.

“It’s Fiona. Drink this…it will help.”

A soothing liquid trickled into his mouth and down his parched throat. He relaxed and allowed the moisture to ease his dry throat.

Fiona. He’d heard that name before. Did he know a Fiona? He couldn’t recall.

Oh. He remembered now. He was looking for a Fiona. He couldn’t remember why, but he knew finding her was important.

He must have found her. That was good because he had to get home.

Tina needed him.

Jill needed him.

No. It was too late to help Jill. He couldn’t do anything to save her.

Jill was dead. It was his fault.

Now he paid the price for not saving her. He’d been doomed to the fiery flames of hell for all eternity. He could feel the flames singeing him, sucking the air from his lungs.

He’d sometimes wondered if hell was a real place. Now he could tell the world it existed. It hurt. The heat was consuming him.

A young girl kept visiting him—offering him drinks, checking his temperature, bathing him, helping him with his personal needs.

He should be embarrassed. He didn’t know this girl but somehow it didn’t matter. What had she done to be consigned to hell? Must have been bad to have to experience this. Poor thing.

He was tired, much too tired to ask her why she was there.

Images of a strange bedroom flitted periodically through his world. At times the room would be so bright the light hurt his eyes, sunlight from a nearby window filling the area. Other times—only a minute or so later, wasn’t it?—the room had no light, just shadows moving around him. The light and lack of light did nothing to stop the flames that kept licking at him.

Greg saw the gun. He signaled to Jill to get out of the store before the stupid punk with the .38 spotted her.

Where had the other gunman come from? The patrol car should be here by now.

A spray of bullets shattered the glass around him. He had to stop the shooter. He had to check on Jill.

Blood. So much blood.

“Dear God,” he whispered brokenly. “Jill.”

“You’re dreaming. You’re safe here. You’re going to be all right. Just rest.”

The voice came to him—peaceful and soothing.

“Tina?”

“Fiona. I won’t leave you. Allow the medications to work on you. You’re doing fine. You’re safe,” she repeated.

Of course he was safe. It was Jill he’d left unguarded.

Fiona knew that tonight would be the crisis. Three nights had passed since her visitor had arrived. She had stayed with him ’round the clock except for short breaks to eat and bathe. When he was quiet, she managed to nap in the chair in his room. There were times when he would have lucid moments before falling back all too often into some nightmarish scene that haunted him.

She lost track of time. She measured her hours by bathing him with cool water to bring his fever down. Was his cough sounding less congested? Were his lungs taking in more air? She wasn’t certain. All she knew was that she couldn’t leave him to fight his battle alone.

His fever broke somewhere between four and five o’clock the morning of the fourth day, and Greg slipped into a deep, healing sleep.

Fiona was exhausted.

She forced herself to climb the stairs to her room, pulling herself up each step by hanging on to the handrail. With the last of her reserves, Fiona stumbled into her room, found her nightgown and dropped into bed.

She immediately slept.

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