Capturing The Millionaire. Marie Ferrarella

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 double-time. 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 somehow 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