by Francis Ray
“Good for you.” His mother saluted Sam with her coffee cup.
“There are too many crooks out there ready to con unsuspecting people,” she said. “Unfortunately, it’s getting worse.”
“You want to make a difference,” Dillon said.
She turned to him. “It might sound Pollyanna, but I’d like to.”
“It appears you did.”
“Abe was proud of you with good reason,” Marlene told her.
“When we get ready to do press releases about the new turbochargers, your background will be a big help.”
“Then you’re in?” she asked.
He shouldn’t be affected by the plea in her eyes, the sincerity in her beautiful face. “I’m in.”
* * *
Samantha drove home from the dinner with Dillon and Marlene feeling more relaxed than she had since she’d lost her grandfather. She finally had more hope than doubts that Collins would survive, that she wouldn’t let her grandfather or her father down.
The dinner had also brought back pleasant memories of her and her mother in the kitchen, preparing dinner, laughing and talking. Her father often worked late on weekdays, but they always had a big breakfast together on Saturday and spent Sunday together.
Samantha pulled into the driveway of the mansion and stopped. The lights blazed on the upper floor, but otherwise the house was surrounded by darkness. Even the landscape lights were turned off.
It was mean-spirited of her uncle to turn off the lights, but to her, it showed how petty and unhappy he was. Thinking back, she recalled that on weekends when she had been growing up, his family slept late while hers was up and enjoying one another. On Sundays, it had been the same thing. Even though she had lost her parents, she had been loved and had memories to cherish. Sadly, she didn’t think her uncle’s family had any. She felt sorry for them.
Dillon would call her crazy for thinking that way. But she had wasted years being angry when she should have been grateful. Marlene would understand. Samantha liked his mother, admired her for her strength and tenacity. It hadn’t been easy for her or for Dillon.
They admired courage. Since Samantha wanted them to admire her, she had better put a steel rod in her backbone.
After putting the car in drive, she drove around back, parked in the garage, got out, went inside and flicked on the light in the kitchen. She didn’t stop until she stood in front of the control panel for the lighting. As she’d known, the dial had been switched from automatic to off. After resetting the timer, she hit the stairs.
In front of her uncle and aunt’s bedroom door, Samantha rapped sharply. She knocked again when long seconds passed and no one had answered.
The door jerked open. Clearly irritated, her aunt stared down her nose at Samantha. “What do you want?”
“I reset the timer of the landscape lights to automatic. I don’t intend to reset it again.” Samantha’s voice was just as abrupt as her aunt’s. “Good night.”
Ignoring the anger in her aunt’s face, Samantha headed for the stairs, a smile on her face.
Five
Dillon had a strong talk with his libido that night, so the next morning, when he walked into Abe’s old office to find Samantha sitting behind her grandfather’s desk looking beautiful and outrageously tempting, he almost regretted that Evan wasn’t there so he could tear him a new one. He needed to vent some pent-up emotions, and not the way his body wanted.
“Good morning, Dillon,” she greeted cheerfully.
“Good morning.” He stopped in front of her desk. He had no intention of being swayed by the entreaty or thankfulness in her face and voice. This was business.
“The first thing is to see where the bleeding is—and that means a look at the financial records.”
Nodding, she jotted something on the notepad he was beginning to think was attached to her. She really was clueless. How could Abe have put her in such a position? He knew she didn’t have the experience or the toughness.
She has you. He could clearly hear his mother say those three irritating words.
Although he hadn’t said anything further, Sam sat patiently waiting for him to go on. She had faith in him. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
“I’ve asked Roman Santiago, one of the best C.P.A.s in the state, to come in and look over the accounts.” Dillon took a seat in front of the desk. “I want it kept quiet. I don’t want the employees worried or some other company getting wind that Collins might be vulnerable and mounting a takeover.”
“They’ll know when he looks at the books,” she said with a frown.
“If they want to keep their jobs, they’ll keep quiet,” Dillon told her. “I’ll speak to them personally. In the meantime, he’ll look at who’s buying and who we’ve lost as clients.”
Sam made another notation. “What can I do?”
“Look cute.”
Sam’s head jerked up. Annoyance flared in her incredible brown eyes.
Dillon was just as annoyed. The words had just slipped out.
“I can do more than that,” she huffed.
Since he’d stuck his foot in his mouth, and hoping she wouldn’t think he was attracted to her, he said, “You can help me look over the orders.”
She stood and went to the file cabinet. “Granddad was old-fashioned. As you see, no computer for him.” She pulled out two stuffed folders. “I’ve been through his files. He kept records of all sales.” She handed him a folder.
“This might take a while.”
“Then we better get started.” Samantha pulled up a chair to the front of the desk, took a seat, and opened the folder.
“What are you doing?”
“Going over the records.” She never paused.
“You’re not that obtuse.”
Finally she lifted her head and gave him her attention. “You’ll be doing the lion’s share of work, so you should have the desk and comfortable chair.”
He grunted. So she didn’t use her femininity as most of the women he knew did. “Take the chair. I’ll go check with maintenance to see if there is another desk and chair.”
“Dillon.”
He swung back around, caught by the sound of his name on her lips and something else. “Yes?”
She bit her lower lip. “I haven’t told anyone we’re partners.”
He’d thought as much. “Do you plan to?”
“I sort of told Uncle Evan that I might not.”
“I didn’t.” He opened the door to leave, then swung back around. She’d probably feel bad for Evan, and he’d probably make her life at work and the mansion even more uncomfortable. “So they think Evan is in charge?”
“Yes,” she said, then rushed on, “It’s not an excuse, but you weren’t here and I needed his help.”
“And he’s taken full advantage.” Dillon put his hands on his hips. “No one is going to take orders from me if they don’t know I’m a full partner. I’m not going through Evan every time I need something.”
She rose from her chair. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe if there is an announcement that we’re consultants and that our orders are to be carried out without question, that might work.”
“The order would have to come through Evan.”
“I realize that.” She gestured toward the PA system in the corner. “Uncle Evan could make the announcement now.”
“He’d chew off his arm first.” Dillon’s arms came to his sides.
“The way I see it, he has no choice,” she said with a bite in her voice.
Dillon’s brow lifted. “There might be hope for you yet.” Grinning, he opened the office door. “Let’s go make your uncle’s day.”
* * *
Samantha didn’t like the grin on Dillon’s face. There was entirely too much glee in those haunting black eyes of his. She just hoped her uncle didn’t provoke Dillon. She stopped in front of her uncle’s door and knocked. “Uncle Evan.”
There was no answer. She knocked again. “Maybe he’s in the p
lant.”
“Not likely,” Dillon said, stepping around her. He opened the door.
Samantha entered behind him, closing the door after her. Evan snatched down the newspaper he’d been reading and came to his feet. “How dare you come in here without permission!”
“I dare because I’m half owner,” Dillon shot back. “If I were you, I’d be more worried about maintaining my job. You don’t get a free ride.”
“My father’s will said I’m to have a job at my full salary,” Evan said, regaining some of his calm.
“But it didn’t say you couldn’t be fired for nonproductivity or insubordination. Of course, you can fight your firing, but then your check would be frozen.” Dillon smiled coldly. “Either way, you lose.”
Samantha’s gaze snapped between the two men. Dillon had deliberately provoked her uncle, but her uncle had been rude not to answer the door. It was left to her to try to defuse the situation. Again.
“Uncle Evan, Dillon and I have no desire to embarrass you by announcing that we’re in charge, but in order to do our job we need the employees to take orders from us without questions.” Samantha dropped the other shoe. “You’ll have to make the announcement to the employees.”
“I won’t do it.”
“Fine.” Dillon turned to the door. “I’d much rather tell them we’re full partners.”
“Wait!” Evan cried out.
Dillon glanced over his shoulder. “Make it quick.”
“I’ll do it,” Evan said grudgingly.
“You know where the PA system is.” Dillon opened the door and stepped back.
* * *
Evan made the announcement, but he worded it in such a way that everyone believed his workload was so heavy, he’d asked Samantha and Dillon to help out. It still got to Dillon that Evan treated Samantha as if she didn’t matter. Dillon would have much rather told the employees the truth, but he knew Evan would somehow make Sam pay. She was too softhearted.
“All right. You’ve been glaring at me for the past five minutes.” Sam put the folder aside. She was sitting across from him at the small desk. “You think I’m a cream puff.”
“Evan is a jackass. He needed to be taken down a peg or two,” Dillon said, his temper bubbling again.
“Just because he can’t be gracious is no reason we can’t be.” She picked up her file. “We can’t run the plant if we’re at each other’s throats.”
She couldn’t be that naïve. “You think Evan is going to hate us any less or stop praying we fall flat on our collective butts because we didn’t out him as a fraud?”
She opened her mouth and then closed it. “I’m hoping he’ll eventually come around. He lost his father and the company within a week. He deserves to be upset.”
“He was a jackass before then and we both know it. He’s taking advantage of you.” Dillon wanted to shake some sense into Sam, then kiss her breathless.
“Perhaps, but when we turn Collins around, I want to look back and know we did it fairly and with dignity.”
Dillon shook his head and stared at her. “An idealist and a dreamer. Lord help me.”
“Lord help both of us,” she said under her breath.
“I heard that,” Dillon said.
She didn’t back down. “You aren’t the easiest to work with either. You and Uncle Evan both have your faults.”
“And I suppose you don’t have any?”
“I have the greatest faults of any of us.” She bent her head briefly.
Dillon saw her brush a knuckle beneath each eye. Damn. She better not cry. “You all right?”
She grabbed a tissue and raked it beneath her nose. Picked up another folder.
“Sam?”
“Fine.” She straightened the papers in front of her. “I can’t concentrate with you talking.”
It was more than that, but he wasn’t going to push it. Tears were the oldest trick in the book. They didn’t affect him. The knot in his stomach was probably due to being pissed off at Evan.
Picking up the files in front of him, he went back to work. Tomorrow morning when Roman arrived, Dillon wanted to be able to give him a better picture of the company’s finances. He snuck another look at Sam, still clutching the tissue. She had enough to contend with without him on her case.
“Roman is driving down in the morning from Dallas and meeting me at Mama’s for breakfast. How about coming over around eight and eating with us?”
She didn’t even look up. “Thank you, but I’ll be busy.”
He opened his mouth but caught himself just in time before asking her if she had a date. It was no concern of his if she dated every single man in Elms Fork. “Suit yourself.”
* * *
Roman Santiago was a man who believed there was a solution for every problem and in the order of things. His practical approach annoyed some, but he was a man who lived by his own standards and rules. Figures didn’t bore him. They excited and compelled him like a beautiful woman, thus making him good at his job as a C.P.A. He was a bloodhound in Italian loafers.
Roman’s clients were usually corporate America, but Dillon was a friend, and if he needed Roman’s help to look over the books of this new business he’d inherited, Roman was his man.
A free agent for the past five years, he accepted only those jobs that suited him. And at the satisfactory conclusion, he always took at least three weeks off to revitalize before moving on to the next job. He might love figures, but when his orderly world had crashed around him six years ago, he’d realized that if he wasn’t careful, he’d burn out and lose sight of what was important in life. His hands flexed on the steering wheel of his Porsche convertible as it hit the city limits of Elms Fork.
Unfortunately, there had been a time when he had been acquainted with both. Before he became a free agent, he’d worked long, grueling hours, leaving his wife to raise their children. He’d thought she was happy with their home in the exclusive gated community, the expense accounts at the best stores, her personal black Centurion American Express card. She wasn’t.
He might never have known she was cheating on him if he hadn’t been trying to catch the phone in the kitchen and bumped over the wastebasket. Picking things up, he’d seen the receipt for a night’s stay at the Fairmont Hotel in downtown Dallas. He’d been out of town on that date. Flipping back to the master calendar, he’d noted their seventeen-year-old daughter, Amy, had been at a sleepover at a girlfriend’s. Their son was a sophomore in college.
Roman distinctly recalled staring at the receipt, trying to come up with any reason except the logical one. He’d done what any sane man would have done. He’d hacked into her personal account for the credit card and found other nights, lavish dinners at restaurants, receipts for men’s clothes that weren’t in his closet. As strange as it seemed six years later, his prevailing thought had been that he’d assumed she had more class and self-respect than to pay some sleaze masquerading as a man to have an affair with her.
He’d sat at the breakfast table, staring at the screen of his laptop in shock. Late the night before, he’d returned from a business trip for the company he worked for. She’d been asleep, with her back to him. Bone weary, he’d undressed, slipped into bed, and turned out the light.
That had said a lot about the both of them and their marriage.
He’d tucked the receipt into his pocket, called a lawyer and a private detective. He’d acquired a lot of assets. He wasn’t about to let her get the lion’s share. Some might have called him cold and pragmatic; what he was was royally pissed.
She didn’t work, had a housekeeper, a cook. He regularly put money in her checking account. And she had used that money to pay some creep to use her. When she’d come down for breakfast, she’d kissed him good morning as usual. It had been all he could do not to accuse her.
He’d told her he had to go back out of town for a few days. Her eyes had lit up. That night, she’d met her lover. A week later, she was served with divorce papers, the accounts froz
en.
She’d been filled with rage, then cried and asked for forgiveness. He wasn’t the forgiving type. Wrong him once, and it was over.
They’d told the children together that it was a mutual agreement. Later, he’d learned that they had known and had been afraid to tell him. She’d hurt him, but she’d also put the children in an unimaginable position. He could never forgive her for that. He’d treated her fairly and given her a settlement. It was much smaller than she’d wanted, but more than she’d deserved.
These days he took time to enjoy life, and the softness of a woman now and then. But now, all thoughts about women would have to wait. He never mixed business with pleasure. He liked being focused.
Glancing at the navigation screen, he flicked on his signal and turned toward what looked like the business section of town. It was quaint, sleepy looking. Not his usual scene.
When he checked his navigation system again, he saw he’d reached his destination and turned into the driveway of a beautiful ranch house surrounded by several sweeping flower gardens. Dillon had wanted them to meet at his mother’s home to discuss his assignment.
Pulling up to the house, Roman saw a beautifully shaped woman appear in the midst of the flowers with a bunch of gladiolas in a wicker basket in one hand, a pair of shears in the other. The early morning sun was at her back. He’d never seen anything more enchanting.
He leaned forward to get a better look, for a moment unsure if he had imagined her. The stunning image remained. She was real.
And breathtaking.
It was the only word he could think of. She wore some type of light sky-blue summer dress that caressed her shapely curves and made his body clench. Thick, blackish-brown hair billowed around a sculptured face with sharp cheekbones. Like him, she must have had some Native American ancestry.
“Can I help you?”
She had a voice as gentle as the petals of a magnolia blossom. He’d grown up in the Bronx and had always been fascinated with accents. Hers was southern, charming, and meant to whisper naughty words in a man’s ear.
Her small chin lifted as if she could discern his thoughts. He certainly hoped not. He didn’t want Dillon’s mother’s friend annoyed at him.