that certain colors represented physical problems, and certain emotions appeared to her in defining colors, as well. There was no way she could find the words to explain what she saw.
As a child she’d thought that everyone could see those colors and knew what they meant. She’d assumed that was how her father was able to diagnose what was wrong with his patients.
However, as she’d grown older she’d discovered that she was the only one around who witnessed what she saw. After being laughed at several times, she’d learned to keep quiet about seeing colors that no one else appeared to detect.
Instead, she used her knowledge and skills to diagnose and treat others with her home-grown herbs, salves and her intuitive messages.
Fiona poured the steeped herbal tea, let it cool a bit and took it to her guest bedroom. After tapping on the door and getting no response, she quietly turned the knob and walked into the bedroom. Rather than turn on the overhead light, she reached for a small lamp near the door. Once there was light, she turned and looked at her guest.
The covers were bunched around his waist, displaying his bare chest. He lay on his back, his head turned away from her, his latest coughing spell still echoing in the room.
“I’ve brought you some tea.”
He slowly turned his head toward her and the light, his eyes appearing unfocused.
She touched his arm and discovered that he was burning up. She gave his shoulder a light shake. “Can you sit up for me, please?”
He blinked. When his eyes opened a second time, they were somewhat clearer. “What do you want?” he asked, his words slurred.
“I want you to drink this,” she replied, sitting on the edge of the bed and offering him the cup.
He came up on one elbow and took the cup, draining it as though he was thirsty. Without a word he handed it back to her and fell back on the bed.
She smiled, almost amused at his change in attitude. Perhaps he was too sick to care what she gave him. Fiona went over to the tall dresser in the corner and opened one of the drawers. She pulled out a large flannel shirt and brought it back to the bed.
“Here. Put this on…. You need to stay warm.”
Greg opened his eyes and frowned at her. “I’m hot. I don’t need a shirt.”
“Take my word for it. You really do need to keep your chest warm.”
His frown grew, but he sat up and pulled the shirt over his head without another word. With a glare that spoke volumes, he rolled over so that his back was to her and said, “Turn out the light when you leave.”
He sounded as gruff as a grizzly disturbed in his rest. She may not know much about her visitor, but he’d made it clear he would not be an easy patient to look after.
She turned on a night-light, turned off the lamp and returned to the kitchen to find the salve she needed for his chest.
McTavish had followed her downstairs and now sat just inside the kitchen door, giving her a disgruntled look. “Yes, I know,” she said soothingly. “I have disturbed your rest, as well. Go back upstairs. I’ll be there shortly.”
With a muffled snort the dog went into the hallway, pausing for a moment in front of the stairs to glance at the closed bedroom door before he trotted up them. Sometimes he acted as if he understood every word she said.
Perhaps he did, she thought.
Fiona quietly reentered the guest bedroom with the jar and more tea. The night-light cast enough of a glow for her to see the bed and nearby table. She placed the items on the table and sat beside him on the bed.
Once again he lay sprawled on his back, his arms thrown wide. When she brushed her hand against his forehead, she knew she had to do whatever was necessary to break his fever.
His immune system was struggling and needed help. No doubt Mr. Dumas pushed himself beyond his physical limits on a regular basis, which made him human, she supposed, but didn’t help when an infection managed to overcome him. He had little energy in reserve to combat his illness.
She reached for the ointment.
He stirred, turning his face toward her. “Jill?” he murmured. “I’ve missed you so much.” He took Fiona’s hand and tugged her toward him. She managed to catch her balance enough not to fall directly on him. Instead, she now lay next to him, her head on his shoulder.
“Mr. Dumas,” she said softly. “We need to bring your fever down. I’m also going to rub an ointment on your chest to ease the congestion there.”
She pulled away from him and reached for the cup.
He didn’t let go of her hand. “Jill?” He sounded puzzled.
“No. My name is Fiona.”
She pulled her hand away from him and slid her arm beneath his head, raising him slightly. He opened his eyes without a sign of recognition before closing them again.
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
