by Francis Ray
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To my loyal readers.
You make the long, solitary hours
at the computer worthwhile. Bless each of you.
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to Richard South, manager of Regogo Racing Team for Vintage Car Racing. His expertise was invaluable. I’d also like to thank Lisa Williams South, his gracious and charming bride, for the introduction.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Also by Francis Ray
About the Author
Copyright
Prologue
In Abe Collins’s eighty-one years of living, he’d made his share of mistakes. Believing he had time to correct them, he’d pushed matters to the back of his mind. Six days ago he’d been given a fast reality check, and it wasn’t pretty.
Propped up on pillows, wearing an oxygen mask, and hooked to two annoying machines, he was as weak as a baby.
He’d always taken his health for granted. After all, he’d never been sick with more than a cold. His cholesterol might be a little high, but whose wasn’t over the age of fifty? So he forgot to take his high blood pressure medicine. He was president of Collins Industry.
His company manufactured and shipped close to two hundred turbochargers a day. He arrived at work an hour before the shift started and was usually the last one to leave the factory. He believed in letting his people do their jobs, but they also knew he kept an eagle eye on productivity.
Odds weren’t in his favor that he’d be able to continue. He’d built Collins Industry from the ground up. It was as much a part of him as his hands. The thought that his company wouldn’t continue was unthinkable. To make sure that didn’t happen, he had to own up to his mistakes. He just hoped and prayed he had a chance to correct the biggest one before it was too late.
He’d passed out talking to the manager of his plant and awakened in the hospital fighting to breathe with an elephant sitting on his chest. He’d had a heart attack.
Abe was alive by the grace of God, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet. The doctors wanted to do a quadruple bypass. They’d given him the odds at his age of getting off the table. They weren’t good enough for Abe … at least not until he had all of his ducks in a row.
Slowly, Abe twisted his head toward his nightstand. He saw the first things every morning, the last things he saw each night—the grouping of family pictures. Family had always been the most important thing in the world to him. To his everlasting shame, he hadn’t always shown it.
There was his wife, Edith, beautiful and vibrant at her sixtieth birthday party before cancer took her from them nine short months later. Next were their sons, Evan and William, in their varsity football uniforms in high school. Abe’s eyes misted.
William, their youngest, had also been taken. When Abe heard the news that his son’s plane had gone down in a thunderstorm, killing him and his wife, Abe hadn’t thought he could go on. His heart had actually ached; it still ached.
Despite knowing you should love your children equally, Abe had always favored William, the child of his heart. Smart, funny, and as stubborn as his father, William rarely backed down, and they’d butted heads a time or two. One of those regrets was that they’d had an argument before William had flown off to Austin for a meeting with one of their suppliers.
He and his young wife, Gayle, never made it. Abe swallowed the sorrow, the regret. His gaze moved to the smiling picture of William and Gayle’s only child, Samantha, when she was sixteen. Abe added her to the growing list of regrets.
Samantha had wanted her parents to stay and see her in the lead part of the high school senior play. Abe had told her and his son there’d be other plays—the trip was important to the company.
Abe’s punishment was having to tell her that her parents weren’t coming home. She’d thought he meant they were spending the night in Austin and had said she guessed the company still came first. Explaining that their plane had gone down was the hardest thing he’d ever done. She’d fought him when he’d tried to hold her, her anger and misery making her uncontrollable. He’d accepted the pelting of her small fists against his chest, held her when she’d finally begun to sob.
That was the last time he remembered holding her.
Four months later, she was in Stanford University in California. She always had excuses for not coming home. His other two grandchildren from his oldest son, Evan, didn’t even pretend he was important in their lives. Shelby, the oldest at thirty-two, had been married twice. Her brother, Ronald, was thirty, working on his second marriage, and as lazy as they came. As far as Abe knew, they’d called once since his heart attack and then had gone on with their lives.
What gave him hope that it wasn’t too late for him and Samantha to find common ground was that she had come from Houston the same day he was admitted to the hospital. She was still here, sitting with him, ready to fluff his pillow, give him a sip of water, reassure him, hold his hand.
The smile forming on his lips faded. He’d missed so much in his life because of his stubbornness, and he was paying for his know-all attitude. His hand swept across his chest. William had wanted to modernize the factory, but Abe had stubbornly refused.
He’d started the company in 1972 with an idea that he could invent a turbocharger with more power and half the size. He’d had a thousand dollars and the unfaltering faith of Edith. They’d both scraped and saved to get the money—which wasn’t easy with two boys in college. But it had paid off.
Collins Industry made the best turbochargers in the Southwest. He saw no reason to change. What was good thirty years ago was still good.
Yet he was alive because of the remarkable changes in the medical profession. He had a chance for even more years. He wanted to ensure that Collins Industry had the same chance—and it would take new thinking and modern technology to do it. That required the right people in charge.
What he was thinking would cause problems and hurt, but Abe didn’t see any other way. His callused hand felt the wires and leads connected to his still muscled chest, and he grudgingly accepted he was on the downside of his life. He dared not put off the conversation that would tear his family even further apart. His eyes closed, then opened.
Stretching out his left hand, he picked up the picture of his oldest son, fifty-nine-year-old Evan, and his wife, Janice. They were in evening attire; Evan wore a black tuxedo, and Janice had on a shiny silver gown that probably cost half as much as one of his workers’ yearly salary. They’d been at the Cattleman’s Ball in Dallas. Tickets were six figures, but Evan said it was good for business. He said the same thing whenever he spent lavishly. And he spent a lot.
Sadness had Abe’s hand gripping the silver frame. It was hard to admit that his remaining son might not be the man to run the factory. Evan didn’t put the time or the effort into the company. William never
paid any attention to the time clock—unless his family needed him. Evan left most days promptly at five. He was vice president, liked the title, but did little to help the company’s bottom line if it didn’t mean socializing or traveling.
Abe acknowledged that it might have been his fault. He’d always run the company his way, seldom asking for guidance or a second opinion—one of the things William didn’t like. While William kept trying to get his father to change, Evan cashed his paycheck and went about his business. But therein lay the problem: Profits were way down. Collins Industry was in a fight to survive.
Abe had to accept that a man he’d ordered off his property years ago might be the one to save his company. It was hard for a man who’d once thought he and the Man Upstairs controlled his destiny, thought that he didn’t have to ask any man for anything, to admit just how wrong he had been.
Abe wouldn’t blame the man if he laughed in his face. He certainly didn’t need the headache or the money, but Samantha would need help to pull the company out of its tailspin and, sadly, that help wouldn’t come from Evan—especially once the contents of Abe’s new will were known.
How had it come to this? He loved his family, did his best to see that they had more than just the necessities, that they would be people you could count on, proud to know, and capable of carrying on the family company. He’d failed.
Emotions clogged his throat. He thought of his wife, the only woman he’d ever loved. Perhaps if she had lived, he would have learned to bend a little. Perhaps not. She’d called him bullheaded on more than one occasion, but she’d loved him just as he’d loved her. He still did.
A soft knock sounded at the door. “Granddad?”
Even with the difficult task before him, the mistakes and regrets, he thanked God he heard the love and concern in Samantha’s soft voice. Despite his overwhelming blunders, he hadn’t killed her love for him.
“Baby girl, come in,” he said, then cursed his body because his once booming voice now trembled in weakness.
“I’ll let her in, Mr. Collins.” Bertha Scott, the private duty nurse the doctor insisted come home with him, rose from the nearby chair and went to the door and opened it.
“Hello, Ms. Scott.”
“Come on in, Ms. Collins,” the nurse greeted her.
Samantha took a hesitant step into the room. He understood why. The trip from the hospital yesterday put more strain on his already weak heart. His doctor, who had ridden in the ambulance with him, had wanted to take him back and schedule surgery immediately. Abe had refused but had to agree to no visitors until late the next day.
He motioned her closer, annoyed that just that bit of movement made his heart act up, the monitor to increase its annoying noise. His nurse was back by his side, checking his vitals, studying him as much as the machines. It was useless to tell her that he was all right. They both knew he wasn’t.
“Can—I have a—word alone with my granddaughter?” he asked. The nurse hesitated. “Please.”
“I’ll be outside.” She closed the door softly after her.
Samantha slowly approached the bed, her light brown eyes, so much like her father’s, watching him as closely as the private duty nurse had. “It’s good to have you home, but—”
Abe held up his hand. Samantha had been the most verbal against him putting off the surgery. “My heart attack made me realize that I’m not indestructible. I needed to get things in order.”
He watched her swallow, blink her eyes rapidly, and catch his hand. “Granddad, you’re going to be fine.”
He nodded, breathed in the oxygen flowing from the nearby tank. He wished he could take the mask off. He didn’t want her seeing him like this.
“Why don’t you rest and we’ll talk tomorrow?”
As much as he could, he tried to tighten his hand on hers. Tomorrow wasn’t promised. “I—I want you to run Collins Industry.”
He watched shock widen her eyes, lines form in her otherwise smooth forehead. She was as beautiful as her mother and probably just as sweet. She’d be lost and overwhelmed if the man he’d selected didn’t help her. “Collins Industry needs … needs you to keep it going, keep it the company your father believed in.”
Her hand holding his clenched, then relaxed. She glanced away, then back. Tears shimmered in her eyes. “He loved the company.”
Abe tried to sit up and only managed to cause his breath to shorten, his heart to pound wildly in his chest. Samantha curved her arm around his shoulders and eased him back against the bed. “Breathe. Just breathe and relax.”
When Abe felt as if he had enough strength and breath, he said, “He loved his f-family. Don’t ever forget that.”
Samantha nodded. “I won’t. Now breathe and relax. We all need you to get well.”
“I loved him best.” Tears formed in the corners of Abe’s eyes that he was unashamed of. “Losing him and your mother—”
Samantha gently dried his tears. “He loved you too. He was proud of you. He called you stubborn, but I heard him say more than once that if he was half the man you were, he’d—he’d die a happy man.”
Abe’s eyes shut. Tears seeped anyway. He let Samantha dry them, watched her dry her own. Nothing she could have said would have eased his heart more. And she had to have known it.
She’d forgiven him. He’d made the right choice. “Any special man in your life?”
Something flickered in her eyes, and she glanced away. “No.”
She’d been here since his heart attack, and as far as Abe knew, no man had visited her. Houston, where she lived, was less than three hours by car, an hour by plane. She didn’t have the look of a woman missing a man. Good. One less obstacle. “Five years, with triple your salary. You’ll have help.”
Samantha wrinkled her nose, the action reminding him of his late wife, who’d stand toe-to-toe with you and didn’t take crap from anyone. “Uncle Evan and I have different opinions on things.”
An understatement. “Won’t matter. He—he won’t be the one helping you run the company.”
“What? Who, then?” she stammered in bewilderment.
He took a few more breaths before he could answer. “I have a call in to him now.”
She looked confused and unsure. He hadn’t expected it to be easy.
“Ask me again when you can reveal who the other person running the company will be.” She kissed him on the forehead. “Now, please rest. If the nurse okays it, I’ll come up and sit with you in a couple of hours.”
“You gonna do it?” He had to know.
She patted his hand. “Let’s talk more when you feel better.”
His baby girl hadn’t given him the answer he wanted. Abe just prayed he had time to convince her. Now, for the worst part. “Please ask Evan to come see me.”
She hesitated. She and his son were never in the room with him at the same time. Neither ever mentioned the other.
“Please,” he asked.
She nodded, and then left.
Before the door closed, the nurse was back in the room, checking him, the monitors. “I think you’ve had enough visitors for the day.”
Abe wasn’t going to argue, but there was one more person he needed to see alone. If he had to lie to do it.… “I could have some broth.”
The nurse straightened. His appetite hadn’t been worth warm spit. “I can’t leave you alone.”
“Evan is coming in a bit.”
The nurse hesitated. “We’ll see. Just rest.”
Abe closed his eyes and tried to relax. His baby girl, Sammie, would send Evan. Abe just hoped his eldest would understand why he wasn’t leaving him in charge. But he was afraid he wouldn’t.
* * *
Outside her grandfather’s bedroom, Samantha hung her head briefly and said a silent prayer for him. Each time she saw him, he was weaker. He needed the surgery, but for some reason he was putting it off. The doctor had warned them that he was playing with a loaded gun. Despite everything that had happened in the past bet
ween them, she loved him, regretted that she had stayed away so long. She’d blamed him, blamed Collins Industry, for taking her parents.
She’d missed so much with him, wasted precious time that she might not get a chance to have in the future. Straightening, she stared at the closed door, then started down the hall toward the stairs. Her uncle and his wife lived on the third and top floor. She wasn’t looking forward to the conversation.
For some odd reason, her aunt and uncle had never liked her. Even as a child she had sensed their animosity. Her parents, her uncle and aunt, their children, and her grandfather lived in the same house. The three-story Georgian manor had ten bedrooms and had over twelve thousand square feet. It still seemed small at times because of her aunt and uncle’s attitude.
Which was going to get worse once he learned his father didn’t want him running Collins. Since her grandfather’s heart attack, Evan had spouted a lot about “when I’m in charge.” He fully expected to step into his father’s shoes. It wasn’t going to happen.
But did she want the job?
She massaged her temple. She wanted to be passionate about something, but she wasn’t sure what it was. She certainly wasn’t thrilled with her job as a feature writer at the Houston Sentinel. She’d majored in journalism because it had nothing to do with the automobile industry.
She’d been an average student, graduated, and bounced around a lot until she’d landed a job as a feature writer at the newspaper in Houston. The pay was horrible, the hours worse. If not for the trust fund her parents left her, she would have never made it financially.
She thought she’d found love with Mark Washington, the sports reporter at the same newspaper. They’d dated for three months before she’d ended things six months ago. Mark wanted her back, but as she’d told her grandfather, for her it was over. Worse, she was tired of trying to avoid him at work. Perhaps if she were more forceful, he’d leave her alone. There was nothing to keep her in Houston. But did she want the responsibility for over two hundred people and a business she had only a basic understanding of?
No matter how she’d felt as a teenager, her father had loved the company and his father. He would have done—had done—whatever it took to ensure both were served well.