Kayla treasured the paths they had walked through her life, and at the same time hated being reminded that they were gone. That the people who had made her childhood and teen years so rich were no longer there to share in her life now. Maybe if they had been around, she wouldn’t have had that low period in San Francisco….
As if sensing her feelings, the six dogs that had come racing up here now stood quietly in the shadows, waiting for her to do whatever it was she had to do.
Kayla took another long, deep breath, trying not to notice how the dust tickled her nose. An ancient, dust-laden, black Singer sewing machine that had belonged to her great-grandmother stood like a grande dame in the corner, regally presiding over all the other possessions that had found their way up here. Her grandfather’s fishing rod and lures stood in a corner, near her father’s golf clubs, still brand-new beneath the covers her mother had knit for them.
Next to the clubs was a body-building machine that had belonged not to her father but her mother. Kayla’s mom had been so proud of maintaining her all-but-perfect body. She’d used the machine faithfully, never missing a day. Kayla pressed her lips together to keep back the tears that suddenly filled her eyes. The cancer hadn’t cared what her mother looked like on the outside, it had ravaged her within, leaving Kayla motherless by the time she was sixteen.
By twenty-two, she’d become a veritable orphan.
Now the dogs were her family. You’re getting maudlin. Snap out of it, Kayla upbraided herself. Taking another deep breath, she blew it out slowly and then approached a large, battered steamer trunk in the corner opposite the sewing machine. The trunk had its own history. Her grandfather had come from Ireland with all his worldly possessions in that trunk. When he landed in New York, he’d discovered that someone had jimmied it open and taken everything inside. Seamus McKenna had kept the trunk, vowing to one day fill it with the finest silks and satins.
These days, her parents’ things resided inside the battered container, mingling just the way they had when they’d had been alive. The contents were worth far more to Kayla than the silks and satins her grandfather had dreamed of.
The attic fairly shouted of memories. Kayla could have sworn she could see her parents standing just beyond the lantern’s light.
She felt her heart ache.
“I miss you guys,” she said quietly, blinking several times as she felt moisture gathering along her lashes. All of them, especially her father, had been her inspiration. She couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t wanted to be just like him, hadn’t planned on going into medicine because he had. He was the kindest, gentlest man ever created….
But her passionate love for animals took her in a slightly different direction, and instead of a doctor, she’d become a veterinarian. She never once regretted her decision. Being a vet, along with the volunteer work she was presently doing for the German Shepherd Rescue Organization, had given her a sense of purpose she badly needed.
And there was another, added bonus. She didn’t feel alone anymore, not with all these four-footed companions eager to display their gratitude to her at the drop of a dog treat.
Crossing to the trunk, Kayla started to open it, then stopped and glanced back at the dogs.
German shepherds, despite their tough public image as police dogs, had very delicate skins and often had a multitude of allergies. The ones she had taken into her home and was presently caring for certainly did. Three of them were on daily allergy medication.
“Maybe I should have left you downstairs,” she said, thinking out loud. Well, it was too late now. “Okay, stay.” She said the last word as a command. She knew that training animals was a constant, ongoing thing, and she never missed an opportunity to reinforce any headway made. The dogs instantly turned into breathing statues. Kayla smiled to herself as she flipped the lock on the trunk and lifted the lid.
A very faint hint of the perfume her mother always wore floated up to her.
Or maybe that was just her imagination, creating the scent. Kayla didn’t care. It was real to her, and that was all that mattered. A vivid image of her mother laughing flashed through her mind’s eye. Her mom had remained healthy-looking until almost the very end.
Leaving the lantern beside the trunk, Kayla carefully went through the clothes and memorabilia inside. Some of her father’s old medical school textbooks lined the bottom of the trunk—he’d never liked throwing anything away. Finally, she found the overalls. They were tucked into a corner near the pile of books.
Daniel McKenna had never favored suits or ties. He tended to like wearing comfortable clothes beneath his white lab coat. Ironically, the week before he’d suddenly died, he’d told her that when he was gone, she should give away his clothes to the local charity—just as he’d always given away his time and services so generously in his off-hours.
But Kayla couldn’t force herself to give away every article of clothing. For sentimental reasons, she had kept one of his outfits—his old coveralls.
Taking them out now, she held up the faded denim and shook her head. The man on her sofa was going to be lost in them. But it would do in a pinch. And, after all, it was only temporary. Just until his own clothes were dry again.
She had to admit, Kayla thought as she folded the large garment, that if she had her druthers, she would vote to have Alain Dulac remain just the way he was right now. There was no denying that beneath that blanket, he was one magnificent specimen of manhood.
Her mother would have approved of the sculpted definition in his arms, and the washboard abs. Most likely, Kayla thought with a smile, her mom would have wound up comparing workout routines with him, and giving Alain advice on how to get twice the results out of his efforts.
Not that there was really any room for improvement, she mused, her mouth curving.
Closing the lid of the trunk, Kayla stooped down and picked up the lantern again. She hadn’t seen a wedding ring on the man’s hand, but that didn’t really mean anything. A lot of married men didn’t wear rings—and those that did could easily take them off. Although, now that she thought of it, there hadn’t been a tan line on Alain’s finger to indicate he played those kinds of games.
Still, she couldn’t help absently wondering if there was someone waiting for Alain Dulac back home, wherever home was. The next moment she laughed at herself. What was she thinking? Of course there was someone waiting for him. Men who looked like Alain Dulac always had someone waiting for them. They didn’t go around creating bodies like that just because they had nothing better to do. That kind of body was bait, pure and simple. Had he reeled in his catch?
Probably more than his share.
Makes no difference one way or another, she insisted silently, leaving the attic.
She waited until her entourage had gathered around her out in the hall, then closed the door.
“Okay, gang,” she announced cheerfully, “We got what we came for. Let’s go.” Winchester had remained at his side, staring at him, the entire time Kayla was gone. He’d tried to pet the dog, but the very movement had sent pains shooting up and down his side.
Alain strained now, trying to hear if the woman he was indebted to was coming back. Boards squeaked overhead. She was leaving the attic, he guessed, relieved.
“Your mistress is coming,” he told the dog. “You can go stare at her now.”
Alain heard the sound of thirteen pairs of feet hitting the stairs, hers muffled by the clatter of the dogs’. Damn, he wanted to sit up to greet her like a normal person, but even shifting slightly on the sofa brought the anvil devils back, swinging their hammers in doubletime. Not only that, but there was an excruciating pain shooting up from his ribs.
He’d never been one to make a fuss, and he’d always thought he had a high pain threshold. When he fell out of a tree and broke his arm at the age of eight, he’d been so stoic Philippe had been certain he’d gone into shock. But this was bad. Really bad. He couldn’t take in a deep breath, only shallow, small ones—which som
ehow fed the claustrophobia he felt. He kept trying to inhale a deep breath to hold the sensation at bay, but each failure only drew it closer.
“Why can’t I take a deep breath?” he wanted to know the second Kayla walked into the living room. He was vaguely aware how the light from the lantern preceded her like a heavenly beam, illuminating her every movement. Directly behind her, her animals came pouring in.
“Because you cracked two ribs and I’ve taped you up tighter than a CIA secret,” she answered matter-of-factly. Patient feedback—and complaints—were two things she didn’t get as a vet. Being a veterinarian did have its perks, she thought. “It’s only temporary.”
Placing the lantern on the coffee table, she held up the coveralls. It took him a second to realize that she wasn’t unfurling a bolt of material, but an article of clothing. The man who had sired this petite woman had been huge. It was obvious that she must have taken after her mother.
“Wow, you really weren’t kidding about your father being big, were you?” The coveralls looked as if they could accommodate two of him. “How much did your dad weigh?”
“Too much,” she answered shortly. “Given his profession, he should have known better.”
Trying to ignore the throbbing shaft of pain that kept skewering him, he tried to focus on the conversation. “What was his profession?” “My father was a doctor. A general practitioner,” she explained. “Could have been worse,” Alain allowed. When she looked at him quizzically, he said, “Your father could have been a nutritionist or a diet doctor.” Forcing a resigned smile to his lips, he reached out for the coveralls she was holding, then suddenly dropped his hand as he sucked in what little breath he had to spare.
Concerned, Kayla set the coveralls on the coffee table. “Maybe you should just lie back. You can always get dressed later. God knows you’re not going anywhere tonight.”
As if to underline her assessment, the wind chose that moment to pick up again, rattling the windows like a prisoner trying to break out—or, in this case, in.
Kayla lightly placed her hand on Alain’s forehead and then frowned.
He didn’t like her reaction, Alain thought. “What’s wrong?”
She drew her hand back, looking at him thoughtfully. “You feel warm.” He didn’t like the way she said that, either. He really didn’t have time for this. His schedule was full and he should have been on his way home. “Isn’t that a good sign? Doesn’t cold usually mean dead?”
“Stiff means dead,” she corrected, with just a hint of amusement reaching her lips. “Wait here, I’m going to get you something to make you feel better.”
“Wait here,” he echoed when she’d gone. Winchester looked at him with what appeared to Alain’s slightly fevered brain to be sympathy. “As if I had a choice.” The shepherd barked in response, apparently agreeing that, at the moment, he didn’t.
Alain stared at the animal. He had to be hallucinating. What other explanation was there for his having a conversation, albeit mostly one-sided, with a dog in a cast?
This time Kayla returned more quickly. When she came back, she was holding a glass of water in one hand and an oval blue pill in the other.
“Here, take this,” she instructed in a voice that left no chance for argument. She held the blue pill to his lips.
Alain raised his eyes warily. For the most part, he was as laid-back as they came. But he also wasn’t a trusting fool. “What is it?” “Just take it,” she told him. “It’ll make you feel better, I promise.” When he still made no move to swallow the pill, she sighed. “It’s a painkiller,” she told him, a note of exasperation in her voice. “Do you always question everything?”
“Pretty much.” Well, if she’d wanted to get rid of him, she could have done it while he was unconscious, he reasoned. So, with some reluctance, he took the pill from her, preferring to put it in his own mouth. “It’s in the blood.”
“What?” She raised one eyebrow quizzically. “Being annoying?”
“Being a lawyer.” He placed the pill into his mouth. Kayla shrugged at the reply. “Same thing,” she quipped. Placing her hand behind his head, she raised it slightly so that he could drink the water she’d brought. As she did so, she could feel him tensing. He was obviously struggling not to show her that he was in pain. “This will help,” she promised again.
He had nothing against painkillers, but the pain actually wasn’t his main problem. “What’ll help is if I can get back on the road,” he told her. “I’m supposed to be in L.A. tonight.” Rachel wasn’t going to take it kindly if he rescheduled their date, and he was having too good a time with her to put a stop to it just yet.
And there was that impromptu get-together that the firm was holding. Dunstan had said there was no pressure to attend, but everyone knew there was. The vibrant redhead was shaking her head in response to his statement. “Sorry, not going to happen. Your car is immobilized.” She tucked the coverlet closer around him. “And so are you.”
“My car.” Flashes of the accident came back to him. Had he really driven the car up a tree, or was that some kind of nightmare? He tried to sit up, and felt not so much pain as an odd sort of murkiness pouring through his limbs. And the cloudiness was descending over his brain again. What the hell was going on? “How bad is it?”
Kayla pretended to consider the question. “That depends.” The town probably came equipped with a crooked mechanic who made his money preying on people who were passing through and had the misfortune of breaking down here, Alain thought. Everyone knew someone who had a horror story about being taken because there was no other alternative.
“On what?” he asked warily. That, she assumed, was his lawyer look. But she could already see it fading away as the painkiller kicked in. “On whether you want a functioning vehicle or a very large paperweight.”
He’d only had the car for a year. It was barely broken in. He should have gone with his first instincts and rented a vehicle to drive up to Santa Barbara. “It’s totaled?” This time she did consider his question. She really hadn’t paid that much attention to the condition of his car; she’d been more concerned with getting him out of the vehicle and out of the rain.
“Maybe not totaled,” she allowed, “but it’s certainly not going anywhere anytime soon.”
Suddenly the room seemed to be getting darker. Was the fire going out?
Or was he? His ribs didn’t hurt anymore. Maybe he could pay her for the use of her own car, he thought. His head began to do strange things. Alain tried to focus. “I can’t stay here.”
“Why not?” she asked innocently. “It doesn’t look as if you have much choice.” And then she added with a smile, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to charge you rent.”
Thinking was rapidly becoming difficult for him. He needed to stay on point.
“I’ve got places to go, people to see.”
“The places’ll still be there tomorrow. And the day after that,” she added for good measure. “And if the people are worth anything, so will they.” Kayla had no doubt that the pill was taking effect. She should have given it to him in the first place, she thought, but she’d needed his input to see how bad he was. He was going to be asleep in a few more minutes, she judged.
She sat down on the coffee table facing him. Taylor lowered his haunches and sat down beside her like a silent consort.
“Right now,” she continued in a soft, soothing voice, “you need to rest. The roads are probably flooded, so you wouldn’t be going anywhere, anyway. Every time it rains like this, Shelby becomes an island.”
“Shelby?” he asked groggily. “The town you’re passing through.” It was hardly a dot on the map. Most people didn’t even know they’d been through it. Leaning forward, Kayla placed her hand on his arm to make him feel secure. “I gave you something to make you sleep, Alain. Stop fighting it and just let it do its thing.”
He liked the way his name sounded on her lips. The thought floated through his head without preamble. He was drifting, he
realized. And his limbs were growing heavier, as if they didn’t belong to him anymore.
“If…I…fall asleep…” He was really struggling to get the words out now.
She leaned in closer to hear him. “Yes?”
“Will…you…have your way with me now?”
She laughed and shook her head. This one was something else.
“No,” she assured him, not quite able to erase the smile from her lips. “I won’t have my way with you.”
“Too…bad.”
And then there was no more conversation. His eyelids had won the battle and closed down.
Chapter 4
He was being watched. The unshakable sensation of having a pair of eyes fixed on him, on his every move— from close range—bore through the oppressive, thick haze that was swirling around him.
Alain struggled to surface, to reach full consciousness and open his eyes. When he finally succeeded, only extreme control kept him from crying out in surprise.
Approximately five inches separated his face from the dog’s muzzle.
Alain jerked up, drawing his elbows in under him.
The salvo of pain that shot through him registered an instant later. This time, a moan did escape.
In response, the dog reared up and licked him. Alain grimaced and made a noise that expressed something less than pleasure over the encounter.
“Welcome back.”
The cheerful voice was coming from behind him. Before he could turn his head to look at her, Kayla moved into his line of vision. She’d changed her clothes, he noticed. It looked as if she was wearing the same curve-hugging jeans, but instead of a T-shirt, she had on a green pullover sweater that played up the color of her eyes—among other things.
It took him a second to raise his gaze to her face. “How long was I out?”
She bent to pat Winchester on the head. The dog had spent the entire night at Alain’s side. There was a definite attachment forming, at least from the dog’s point of view.
[The Sons of Lily Moreau 03] - Capturing the Millionaire Page 3
