Capturing The Millionaire. Marie Ferrarella

She had no problem with any of God’s creatures, no matter how creepy-crawly the rest of the world might find them. No, what kept her from coming up here was the bittersweet pain of memories.

      The attic was filled with furniture, boxes of clothing, knickknacks and assorted personal treasures belonging to people long gone. Yet she couldn’t make herself throw them out or even donate them to charity. To do so, to sweep the place clean and get rid of all the clutter, felt to her like nothing short of a violation of trust. But as much as she couldn’t bring herself to part with her parents’ and grandparents’ possessions, coming up here, remembering people who were no longer part of her everyday life, was still extremely difficult.

      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 text-books 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.”