Almost Summer Read online

  Ever since she was young, Paige McLean has longed to see the world. Still, she never imagined the world would land on her doorstep in the form of a charming British surgeon who needs a place to stay when his plans fall through.

  After a devastating loss, Alistair Woodbury has vowed to live his life alone. But in all his travels, he hasn’t encountered a town as welcoming as Fool’s Gold, nor a woman as caring—or as beautiful—as Paige. Her compassion warms him almost as much as their stolen kisses.

  When it’s Alistair’s time to leave, will his brief visit turn into a lifetime stay?

  A Fool’s Gold series novella.

  Almost Summer

  A Fool’s Gold Series Novella

  Susan Mallery

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Fool's Gold Series

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  “Stop! Don’t come any closer.”

  Paige McLean stared at the man standing between her and the front door to her friend’s house. As a rule she didn’t mind a well-placed bit of instruction, but she was running late and had places to be when she left here.

  “Or what?” she asked, tucking her yoga mat under one arm and doing her best to look stern and intimidating. Not that she was good at either. “This is a public sidewalk. You can’t stop me from going anywhere.”

  Technically, they were standing on a private walkway but unless the guy was a lawyer or a surveyor, he might not think of that.

  The man covered his mouth and coughed. He held up his other hand and waved her away. “I mean it. I’m contagious.”

  He had a nice voice, she thought. Sexy, with a British accent. The thrill of the sound faded and she was able to focus on what he’d actually said.

  “Yikes.” She took a step back. “What’s wrong with you?” She paused, not wanting the question to sound too hostile. “Medically, I mean. I’m not commenting on any personal issues.”

  “Personal what?”

  “Issues. You know. Like you’re unable to commit or you drive too fast. Whatever. It’s fine. We all have flaws. I assume the best of people, which isn’t really a flaw, I suppose. So far I haven’t been let down. I have a miserable time figuring out what to tip. I’ve heard it’s good to double the tax, but don’t different states have different tax rates? Is that really dependable?”

  She paused to look into his dark blue eyes. They were slightly dilated and unfocused. “Are you okay?”

  “Not really.”

  The front door opened and Simon Bradley, her friend Montana’s husband, stepped out.

  “Paige, you need to step back.”

  “So I’ve been told. What’s going on?”

  Simon sighed. “Alistair Woodbury is a colleague of mine. He’s here for a visit. Unfortunately, he has the measles. Apparently his vaccination didn’t take.”

  “Uh-oh.” Paige might not have kids herself, but she knew measles and pregnant women didn’t mix. Montana was about seven months along. “He can’t stay with you.”

  “We know that, thanks,” Alistair said, coughing again. He was pale and looked like he might be clammy.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked, thinking a hotel wasn’t really an option. Exposing tourists to an active case of measles certainly wasn’t visitor friendly.

  “I’m looking for somewhere right now,” Simon admitted.

  “He can stay with me,” Paige said before she could stop herself. “I’ve had the measles. Wow, that was a painful rash. I remember it. Aunt Sophia took pictures. I still have them.”

  “How helpful,” Alistair said.

  Paige pointed her finger at him. “Not nice. You’re in a strange town, you’re sick and I’m all that stands between you and the infectious disease ward of the local hospital. I’d be a little friendlier if I were you.”

  Alistair surprised her by flashing a gorgeous, if weak, smile. “Point taken. My apologies.”

  “All of them or just some?”

  “As I’m about ten minutes from passing out, you can have all of them.” He swayed as he spoke.

  Paige shook her head. “Okay, this has gone on long enough. Simon, I’m going to assume you’ll confirm that your friend here isn’t a serial killer, so I’ll be safe with him. Please tell Montana she’s on her own with the yoga. I’ll take Alistair home, then call for instructions. I assume you know what I’m supposed to do with him?”

  “Of course. Fluids, keep down the fever.”

  Alistair looked at her. “I shouldn’t intrude.”

  “No, you shouldn’t, but you’re going to. It’ll be fun. I’m a charming companion. Not that it matters because it looks like you’re going to faint. Try to stay conscious until we get home, please. I can’t carry you and you wouldn’t like being dragged.”

  Alistair turned to Simon. “You actually know her, do you not?”

  “Funny,” Paige said. “Now stay right here. I have to put my mat in my trunk. I don’t want it to get cooties.”

  She hurried back to her small compact and dumped the mat in the trunk. On the way, she grabbed what she assumed was Alistair’s suitcase and slid it into the rear seat. Then she was back at his side. She put an arm around his waist.

  “Okay, big guy. Let’s get your British self back to my place. You’re going to walk now.”

  “As you wish.”

  He put his arm around her shoulders and leaned on her a little as they started to walk. Simon hovered, but was careful to stay out of germs’ way.

  “I’ll call,” Simon promised.

  “No. I’ll call,” Paige told him. “Let me get your friend settled. It’ll be about half an hour.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  She was sure of that. Simon was a doctor, but, more than that, he was a first-time father-to-be. He adored his wife and nearly drove her crazy with his constant worrying. Paige had a feeling the entire front of their house, not to mention the walkway, was going to be sanitized before the day was over.

  Alistair did a good job of cooperating. He slid easily into the seat, leaving her with the thought that it was going to be a lot more difficult to get him out.

  As she leaned over to fasten the seat belt around him, she was aware of the heat radiating from his body. Not sexy heat, either. This was a whole lot of fever. Oh, joy. She really hoped that measles recovery didn’t include a throwing-up session because this guy had been hit hard.

  She drove through the quiet streets of Fool’s Gold and arrived back at her small house in less than ten minutes.

  “Stay here,” she told Alistair, although, based on his closed eyes and slightly bobbing head, she guessed that she was speaking to a man flirting with unconsciousness.

  She raced into the house and up the stairs.

  Twenty-one years ago, five-year-old Paige had suffered the horrible loss of both her parents. Her only family had been her great-aunt, Sophia, a nun for the past forty years. When Sophia had heard about the tragedy, she’d immediately left her order and had traveled to Fool’s Gold to be Paige’s guardian. She’d moved into this house and raised Paige as her own.

  Six months ago, Paige had lost her beloved aunt. Now she hurried down the short hallway into Sophia’s room. Once across the threshold, she paused for a second, remembering the wonderful woman who had given up everything she’d ever known to raise her great-niece.

  “Hey, Sophia,” Paige whispered. “There’s this British guy who’s going to be staying here for a while. What do you think of that?”

  She had a feeling Sophia would have approved. Taking care of peop le had been one of her callings.

  Now Paige worked quickly, putting fresh linens on the bed and opening the window to let in fresh air. The May weather was warm and the light breeze carried the scent of flowers and cut grass.

  Paige returned to the main floor and dashed out the front door. Alistair sat where she’d left him. She opened the passenger door and called his name. He didn’t move.

  “Alistair,” she said more loudly. “Don’t go unconscious on me now. We have a set of stairs to climb.”

  His eyes opened, revealing dark blue irises. “I don’t see how that is possible.”

  “Anything is possible with faith, my friend. I was raised by a nun. I should know.”

  “A nun? Really?”

  “Yes, really. Now gather yourself. We’re getting out of the car.”

  His eyes sank closed. “Just leave me here.”

  “No way. My neighbors will call the police for sure.”

  “I thought Americans were friendly.”

  “We are, which is why we don’t leave strange men in cars.” She leaned over him and unfastened the seat belt, then pulled his legs toward her until his feet were dangling over the driveway.

  “Come on,” she told him. “You can do it.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Someone needs an attitude adjustment.” She straightened and wondered if she was strong enough to lift him. As quickly as the thought formed, she dismissed it. Alistair was a good eight inches taller than she was and he looked well-muscled.

  “So you’re British, right?”

  He slowly opened his eyes. “We’ve established that, yes.”

  “Know anyone in the royal family? I think I’d make a fabulous princess. Harry’s still single, isn’t he?”

  “Prince Harry? Yes, I believe so.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “I’ve met him a few times, of course.”

  Paige stared at him. “Excuse me?”

  “I’ve met him. At my father’s house.”

  “What was Harry doing there?”

  “Playing polo.”

  “You play polo?”

  “Not well.”

  “I’ve been meaning to take my game to a higher level, so I know what you mean.”

  He looked at her then. “You play?”

  “Of course. Weekly. Just me and the ponies. Come on, lean forward.”

  He did as she asked. She grabbed his hands and pulled him forward. His feet dropped to the driveway and gravity did its thing. The forward momentum propelled him to his feet.

  “I think you’re joking,” he said as he staggered a couple of steps.

  “I am. Put your arm around me. We’re going into the house and then upstairs.”

  “As you wish.”

  “You keep saying that. If only that were true. Take a step. Then another one. Walking is good.”

  She maneuvered him into her house and then paused at the bottom of the staircase.

  “We’re going up,” she told him.

  He barely nodded.

  She put his hand on the railing, then stepped behind him and pushed. “Let’s get this over with.”

  He started to move up the stairs.

  “That’s it. Tell me about your father. How does he know Harry?”

  “He knows the whole royal family.”

  “Because?”

  “He’s an earl.”

  Paige nearly stopped pushing. Alistair started to lean back. They were already halfway up—there was no retreating now.

  “Seriously?” she asked, shoving as hard as she could. “A real earl?”

  “Are there unreal earls?”

  “I don’t know. So that makes you what?”

  “A viscount.”

  “Should I call you something? Mr. Viscount?”

  “My Lord is traditional, but unnecessary.”

  “Good because I’m not the type to curtsey.”

  They’d reached the top of the stairs. Alistair turned to her. “One only curtseys to the queen.”

  “Does one?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good to know.” She guided him into Sophia’s old room and pointed to the bed. “How does that look?”

  Alistair sighed. “Heavenly.” He reached for the buttons on his shirt. “You’ll want me to take my clothes off.”

  “If I had a nickel,” she started, then stopped when he didn’t. In a matter of seconds, the shirt was floating to the ground and he was reaching for his belt.

  “Yikes,” she said, backing out of the room. “Leave on your underwear, or we’ll both be embarrassed. Let me know when you’re done.”

  “It’s all right,” he told her. “I’m a doctor.”

  She shut the door and stood in the hall. “Maybe, but I’m not.” She waited a couple of seconds. “Alistair?”

  There was silence, then a thunk. She flung open the door and found Alistair Woodbury, the viscount of something, lying in briefs and nothing else on her Aunt Sophia’s bed.

  And to think she’d assumed that today was going to be a very ordinary day.

  Chapter Two

  Alistair didn’t believe in angels, yet every time the fever threatened to suck him down into a place he shouldn’t go, the angel was there. Blond, with large hazel eyes and a soothing voice. She talked softly, even laughed, and her hands were cool. Sometimes she insisted he eat, but mostly she was simply a presence.

  Time passed, but he couldn’t say how long it had been since he’d shown up at his friend Simon’s house. He was content to simply sleep and awaken briefly to be with the angel. Until something sat on him and tried to kill him.

  He opened his eyes to find himself staring at a very large cat perched on his chest. The black-and-white feline glared at him, as if annoyed to find a stranger where none should be. Sharp claws dug not so gently into his chest.

  “You’re up,” the angel said, walking into the bedroom. “And being attacked by Daytona. Sorry. He strolled in this morning and I didn’t think he would come find you.”

  She scooped up the cat and held him in her arms. “How are you feeling?”

  She was both familiar and not. Slowly, his memory filled in the pieces. His trip to visit Simon and his friend’s wife, Montana. The onset of the fever. The cough.

  “Measles,” he muttered. “I have the measles.”

  “You do, and a very impressive rash, too.” The blonde smiled. “Do you remember me at all?”

  “You’re the angel.”

  She laughed. “Not exactly, although my Aunt Sophia would be so proud to hear that.”

  He frowned. “She’s a nun.”

  “Was, but yes. I’m Paige McLean.” She kissed the top of the cat’s head. “Let me get Daytona here back to my neighbor and I’ll bring you something to eat. You must be starving.”

  His stomach rumbled. “I am.” He looked at the open window and the blue sky beyond. “Was I out long?”

  “Three days.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “And yet,” she told him. “I’ll be back with food in a minute.”

  She left the room. Seconds later, he heard footsteps on the stairs.

  Three days? He thought about how hard he’d been working before he’d left Southeast Asia and how many of the children in the village had fallen sick. He should have known better than to travel. Working backwards, he supposed the good news was that he’d likely become contagious about the time he’d driven into Fool’s Gold. With luck, no one had been exposed.

  He used the bathroom, pausing to stare at the rash covering his chest and arms. After brushing his teeth, he returned to the bedroom and picked up his cell phone. He dialed Simon’s number.

  “I’ve already notified the CDC,” his friend told him.

  Alistair swore. “I never meant to endanger anyone.”

  “Per my calculations, you didn’t.”

  “That’s what I figured as well,” Alistair said. “I’m hoping we’re both right.”

  “You doing all right?”

  “The fever broke and I have a—” He smiled as he remembered Paige’s comment. “A very impressive rash.”

  They finished their conversation. Alistair returned his cell phone to the nightstand and lifted himself into a sitting position. Between the trip to the restroom, a brief conversation with his friend and moving around on the bed, he found himself exhausted. He’d obviously been sicker than he’d realized.

  “Here you go,” Paige said, walking into the bedroom. She carried a large tray, which she set on his lap.

  She pointed to the various mugs, plates and glasses in front of him. “Tea, because you’re British and I heard you all disintegrate if you don’t have it daily. A sports drink. Simon said you need electrolytes. I don’t know exactly what those are, but apparently you’re lacking in them. I’d be embarrassed about that if I were you. I’m just saying.” She touched a small plate. “A plain cheese sandwich. The bread is homemade and delicious. Not made by me, so I’m allowed to say that. Tomato-basil soup, also homemade, but not by me. And a cupcake, which is probably too much food for you, so I’ll take that off your hands.”

  She grabbed the cupcake and retreated to a wingchair on the other side of the bed. It looked out of place in the small bedroom and he wondered if she’d brought it in just so she could sit with him.

  He reached for the tea and took a sip. It was perfect. He tried the soup next. Paige had served it in a mug, which made it easier to drink. He took a couple of swallows and found it as tasty as she’d promised. Hunger twisted his stomach and he took several more drinks before looking at her.

  “The soup is delicious.”

  “I know. I had some last night. Try the sandwich. You’ll die.”

  Exactly what he’d been hoping to avoid. “You have a chef?”

  She choked on a piece of the cupcake and coughed before swallowing. “What? No. Of course not.”

  “Then who’s doing all the cooking?”

  Her hazel eyes crinkled with amusement. The first time he’d seen her, she’d worn her long, blond hair back in a ponytail. Now her hair was loose on her shoulders. With her jeans and T-shirt, she was quintessentially American. Fresh-faced, pretty, open. Sexy.