by Francis Ray
Louise turned from serving her aunt and went stock-still, bewilderment flittering across her face. “Samantha.”
“Hi, everyone. Whatever you cooked, Louise, it smells delicious.”
Louise’s gaze jumped from her to her aunt, then back to her. Not good, Samantha thought.
“I didn’t think you were dining with us, Samantha. I had Louise prepare only enough for Evan and myself. You know how I detest wasting food.” Her aunt picked up her wineglass. “I’m sure the cook can prepare you a sandwich.”
“I’m sorry, Samantha,” Louise rushed on to say, her hands gripping the gold-trimmed serving dish. “I can thaw out another pork chop. It won’t be stuffed, but I can smother it for you and fix some rice.”
She’d choke before she’d let her aunt and uncle know how embarrassed she felt. “Thank you, Louise, but that won’t be necessary. I just came to let you know I have plans for dinner.” Smiling, Samantha left the dining room and went back to the garage. Her uncle had a satisfied smirk on his face. He’d done that on purpose. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of creating a scene. She certainly wasn’t going to put Louise in the middle.
In her car, she headed back to the grocery store. She’d never been much for dining alone, and two nights at the Golden Cow buffet was enough. If she kept that up, she wouldn’t be able to fit into her pants.
In the crowded parking lot, she squeezed her car between a truck and a Suburban, almost guaranteeing another dent. She slung the strap of her handbag over her shoulder, grabbed a shopping cart, and headed inside for the meat aisle. She’d learned how to cook out of self-preservation so she wouldn’t starve. After eating, her uncle and aunt always retired to their suite of rooms. Louise wouldn’t tell on Samantha. They’d never know.
Deep in thought, Samantha started around the corner of an aisle. It just ticked her off that— Her basket rammed that of another shopper. “I’m sor— Ms. Montgomery.”
“Hello, Samantha,” she said, laughing. “I’ve done that plenty of times. No harm done. I see you’re just getting started.”
Samantha felt her face heat. “I thought I might like to grill.”
“I’m heading in that direction as well.” Marlene reached over to the shelf and picked up a can of black pepper. “Have you gotten settled in at the plant?”
Samantha considered lying. “No, but I’m not giving up.”
“Good.” Marlene patted her arm. “You can do it.”
“Dillon doesn’t think so,” she blurted. Her eyes widened at her admission.
“Then you’ll just have to change his mind.” His mother stopped in front of the meat case. “Porterhouse, rib eye, or T-bone?”
“All sound great.” Her stomach chose that moment to beg for food.
“Hi, Marlene,” a tall man with a white apron behind the counter greeted her. “What can I get you today?”
She pointed to the porterhouse steaks. “Three steaks—two about a half pound each—and a third one the largest you have.”
The man chuckled and selected the steaks. “Dillon’s back in town.”
“Yes,” she said, smiling back. “I was at the garage when he called. I know he’ll be hungry when he gets home.”
Samantha frowned. “He left the plant two hours ago.”
Marlene accepted the meat and thanked the butcher as he moved to help another customer. “He said he was going riding on the Black Devil.”
“The Black Devil?”
Marlene’s brows bunched with concern. “His motorcycle. I intensely dislike him riding it, but he enjoys it so I try not to worry.” She turned to Samantha. “You could help. How about coming home and having dinner with us?”
Samantha actually backed up a step. “No, I couldn’t.”
“You’d be doing me a huge favor, and we could get better acquainted. Abe meant a great deal to me and was there for me when I needed him the most; I’d like to be there for you.”
The rumor of Dillon’s paternity flickered at the corner of Samantha’s mind, but she pushed it away. It was none of her business. They both had been free adults. At least her grandfather hadn’t walked away as some men would have.
Besides, if she went home, there was always the outside chance that her aunt and uncle might come back downstairs. She’d had more than enough of their condescension. And maybe, in a social setting, she and Dillon would learn to get along better and work together. It was well-known he loved and respected his mother. At least he wouldn’t be overly rude.
“I accept. I’ll go get a steak.”
Marlene smiled. “Why do you think I got three?”
* * *
Dillon turned the corner of the street his mother lived on and throttled down. There were only a handful of homes on the quiet cul-de-sac. Her neighbors were around her age and settled, with children grown and gone. He was the only one who drove a motorcycle, so when he let it all out she’d get a couple of phone calls. In his youth he would have gotten back on his bike and let it roar again.
Dillon almost smiled as he hit the driveway. He’d been a handful in those days. At times he still was. So why was he letting Samantha Collins drive him crazy?
The smile abruptly died. There had never been a time when he’d needed to let the bike go full-throttle more than now. Somehow he had to come up with an answer.
Seeing a dirty gray Honda Civic in the circular driveway, he was tempted to turn around and leave. He didn’t particularly feel like company. At least he knew his mother wasn’t matchmaking. She knew his ironclad rule on dating women in Elms Fork.
He scowled. Then why was he lusting after Samantha?
He kicked the rest stand of the motorcycle then threw his long leg over the bike and removed his helmet. Another concession to his mother. He’d much rather have the wind blowing in his face. He thought better that way. He needed to come up with a plan to help Collins and stop thinking about how good it would feel to have Sam’s warm breath teasing his neck and other parts of his body.
That kind of thought would get him nowhere but hot and bothered with no way to ease the ache in his body. He had a good mind. His teachers, even when he was goofing off in school, had always been quick to point that fact out. He’d just used it for devilment instead of good.
All he had to do was figure out why he couldn’t keep her out of his mind and he’d be well on his way to shutting her out. It could be that it was because he hadn’t been with a woman in several months. Running four garages and consulting with the vintage racing circuit took a lot of his time. And although there were women at those events more than ready to show him a good time, that wasn’t his way.
He might have the reputation of a stud, but he was careful whom he took to bed. When he did, he made sure she enjoyed herself as much as he did and that they were both protected. He relished the hot rush of pleasure, the incredible feel of a woman’s soft, yielding body against his.
But the woman always knew he wasn’t sticking around, that both were free to move on. True, he was always the first to hit the door, but he never left the woman feeling used.
At least he hoped not.
Blowing out a breath, he went to his truck and placed the helmet inside. A few steps farther, he smelled the unmistakable aroma of steaks grilling. Instead of going inside, he took the stone pathway to the backyard. Opening the gate, he passed the bed of blooming blue hydrangeas that came to his waist.
When he didn’t see his mother at the outdoor kitchen, he headed to the refrigerator to get a drink. He had the beer bottle tilted to his mouth when he heard laughter. He froze. His skin prickled. Slowly he pivoted, knowing as he did that he’d see Sam.
“Hi, Dillon,” his mother greeted him. “Perfect timing. Look who kept me company so I wouldn’t worry about you riding your bike.”
* * *
Samantha didn’t like the way Dillon slowly lowered the bottle and stared at her. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all. She’d have to try to bluff it out. “Hello, Dillon. You have a nic
e ride?”
“Apparently not good enough,” he muttered, and lowered the bottle more.
Out of the corner of her eye, Samantha saw Marlene shake her head once. Dillon looked skyward, then took a sip of beer.
“Samantha, why don’t you get the vegetables off the grill and Dillon can grab the steaks,” Marlene said. “I’ll finish setting the table.”
Samantha wanted to call her back, but she was already gone. She stared at Dillon. He stared back.
“I won’t bite.”
“Are you sure?” she asked without thinking.
“Let’s just say the jury is still out on that one.” Placing the bottle on the wooden work counter, he lifted the top of the grill. Smoke billowed out and with it the mouthwatering aromas. “The corn is not going to get itself off the grill.”
Calling herself crazy, she stepped beside him and picked up the platter and tongs. Her stomach chose that moment to growl. Embarrassment tinted her cheeks.
“When was the last time you ate?”
She supposed it was too much to ask that he ignore her stomach. “I grabbed a bite this morning, but didn’t feel like eating lunch.”
“Louise quit?” He placed the steaks on the platter.
She finished getting the vegetables. He couldn’t think any worse of her. “Aunt Janice didn’t think I was eating with them.”
His mouth tightened. “The house is half yours and that means you can give orders just as well as she can.”
“I don’t like confrontation,” she repeated, already knowing what was coming.
“Then people are going to—”
“Walk all over me,” she finished. “My uncle already told me.”
“It turns my stomach to agree with him, but he’s right,” Dillon said. “People respect authority and will push you to the wall if you let them. You’re half owner of Collins Industry, act like it.”
Samantha bristled. “Coming from you, that’s rich. You walked out on me.”
Something flickered in his eyes. “I’m back now.”
“Are you staying?”
He reached for her platter. “Depends. Let’s eat.”
* * *
Dillon wished his mother had let him hit Evan. To think any man would be heartless enough to withhold food! Evan could have overruled his wife. He hadn’t. He was trying to make it as difficult as possible for Samantha to stay. Despite living with two hostile people, she was sticking. It was no cakewalk living with people who obviously didn’t like you. She was also facing up to him.
He’d seen the apprehension on her face when he first saw her, but she’d stayed. She wanted to honor her grandfather’s wish. He’d give her points for loyalty and tenacity.
Sam had on the white blouse and black slacks she’d worn to work. His body still reacted to hers, wanted hers. Not good. He’d gone riding on his bike to get her out of his head and here she was, sitting at his mother’s table, delicately putting away everything placed before her.
His mother noticed as well. She kept the conversation going with him, occasionally speaking to Samantha, mostly leaving her to eat.
Dillon was aware he’d been a bit terse and figured he could relent just a bit. They weren’t enemies. It wasn’t her fault he could imagine her needy and naked beneath him.
“Dillon.”
Caught, he jerked his gaze to his mother. His mother had an uncanny way of reading him. He worked hard to keep his expression neutral and not guilty. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Your steak all right?” Marlene asked, her brows drawn.
He couldn’t tell—never could—what his mother was thinking. “Yes.”
“Then why aren’t you eating?” she asked.
He glanced down at his plate. He’d taken only a few bites. He’d been so angry at Evan and so focused on watching Sam to ensure she ate that he hadn’t eaten his own meal. He picked up his knife and fork. “Just thinking.”
“You have more willpower than I do.” Samantha smiled at his mother. “This is delicious. I’m glad you talked me into having dinner with you.”
“So am I.” Marlene smiled warmly at Samantha. “You’re welcome anytime. I love cooking, but I don’t cook much unless Dillon is home.”
“Things are busy this time of year.” He forked in a bite of salad.
Sam placed her knife on her plate. Only a few scraps of meat remained. “I need your help.”
Why did her brown eyes have to pull at him? “Evan sure isn’t going to give it to you.”
Sam briefly tucked her head. Dillon didn’t need his mother’s look of censure to feel as though he’d kicked a defenseless animal.
“No, he made that clear,” Sam said so softly that he had to strain to hear her.
“Few people know as much as about turbochargers as Dillon,” his mother put in.
His mother bragging on him wasn’t anything new. Putting him on the spot—something she’d never done before—was. He was afraid her reason was Samantha. His mother liked her and therefore would do everything in her power to help her, including giving Dillon a nudge or two.
“For Collins Industry to be successful again, more than turbo knowledge is needed,” he finally said.
“Like what?” Sam turned to him, as eager as a puppy. He’d like to pet her, but not on the head.
“Like I told Abe, we need to improve the turbocharger.”
“How?”
“With a new inner cooling system,” he said. He’d given it a lot of thought while riding—when he wasn’t thinking about Sam. “I’ve been thinking of an improvement for quite some time now.”
“Go on.” She leaned closer.
The soft fragrance of her perfume, the softer swell of her breasts against the silky blouse she wore, pulled at him. He leaned back to regain control. What was the matter with him? He didn’t lust after women with his mother sitting across the table. Come to think of it, his mother had never met any of the women he’d dated.
“Cooling is the main problem when an engine runs. It cools off the incoming air, which makes the air denser, thus more oxygen to the engine, which makes it more efficient and faster,” Dillon explained. “There are a lot on the market, but I think I have a way to make it more effective. We do that and we’re back on top.”
She smiled and it was like warmth after a cold winter’s day. “What?” he said.
“You said ‘we.’” She held up her hand when he opened his mouth. “I realize you might have meant it figuratively, but it was nice to hear.” She sobered. “I’d appreciate any help you can give me, and I understand that Collins isn’t your main concern.”
Her acceptance should have given him the leeway he wanted, but somehow it didn’t. It annoyed him that she didn’t expect more loyalty from people.
“There’s peach cobbler and ice cream for dessert.” Marlene stood, reaching for Samantha’s plate.
“I got this.” Samantha picked up hers and Dillon’s. “Let me help. This was the best meal I’ve had in a long time.”
“Have you told Louise you own half of Collins mansion?” Dillon asked.
Samantha flicked a glance at his mother, who looked at them and then continued to the kitchen. “No.”
Dillon muttered something that she was glad she couldn’t understand.
He came to his feet. “How do you expect to run Collins when you can’t run your house?”
“By taking one day at a time and doing the best I can,” she answered, her voice trembling. “I didn’t ask for this anymore than you did. Collins is more than a name, it’s people, it’s a dream Granddad founded, that my father worked tirelessly to grow. Excuse me.”
Samantha went to the kitchen and placed the plates on the counter by the sink. “I think I’ll skip the dessert and go home.”
Marlene picked up a tray with three bowls of peach cobbler topped with vanilla ice cream and three cups of coffee. “I love Dillon. He’s outspoken and doesn’t mince words. But he’s also a genius with motors and as loyal as they come.”
/>
“And opinionated.”
Marlene smiled. “That too. But Abe thought he was the man needed to turn Collins around. Somehow you have to find common ground and work together.”
Samantha crossed her arms. “I think Dillon lost the memo.”
“Then you, Samantha, have to help him find it.” Marlene started out of the kitchen with the desserts and coffee. “Come on before this ice cream melts.”
Samantha unfolded her arms and followed. It was easy to see that Dillon had learned his forcefulness from his mother.
* * *
Dillon was still standing when Sam reentered the dining room. She didn’t look at him. His mother said one distinct word when she returned: “Behave.”
It wasn’t necessary. He’d heard the trembling in Sam’s voice. It had sliced through him. She’d just lost the only relative who cared about her, and he was being an ass because he couldn’t keep from thinking about stripping them both naked.
“The ice cream is melting,” he said, hoping she didn’t take it as a reprimand. “You haven’t lived until you’ve tasted Mama’s peach cobbler.”
She took the seat he held and picked up her spoon.
Breathing a sigh of relief, he took his seat and searched his mind for a safe topic. He usually didn’t have to worry about such stuff. Most women talked enough for three people.
“Dillon, Samantha was telling me earlier she worked as a features reporter at a Houston newspaper.”
Thank heaven for smart mothers. “Yeah. That sounds interesting.”
She finally dipped her spoon into the ice cream. “Most of the time it was, but there were also those times it was boring.”
“It’s the same with the garage,” Marlene said. “But that evens out the time when you have customers that test your patience.”
“Don’t remind me. A certain socialite didn’t like my story on her supposed charity when she was actually spending the money on herself.” Samantha grinned. “But I had facts and figures to back me up, so she had to slink away in disgrace.”