by Francis Ray
Her uncle leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, his chin on his folded hand. “We need to cultivate that friendship. Take them out to dinner, the theater.”
Samantha got the impression that her uncle wanted to use them. Not in this lifetime. “We’ll see.”
He frowned at her. “Connection in the business world is paramount to success. Surely you know that. Now that Collins is in the news, we have to capitalize.”
He actually sounded excited about Collins. Maybe there was hope for him after all. “Once Roman is finished putting the financial records into the computer, we’ll know where we stand financially and can tell more about increasing production.”
“Financial records?” Evan jerked upright. “You said he was doing inventory.”
Samantha could have smacked herself. She hadn’t meant to let that slip. “That’s what Dillon wanted people to think.”
“I see.”
Dillon would have her head. She hadn’t been her best since the weekend. “Uncle Evan, please don’t tell anyone else.”
“No. I won’t. I’ll let you get ready for your interview.” He rushed out of her office.
Her uncle hadn’t been gone two minutes before another knock sounded at her door. She took Dillon’s chair and leaned back. “Come in.”
Mark slowly opened the door. This time he had a photographer with him. Samantha came to her feet. He crossed the room, shook her hand, holding it far longer than he should have as his eyes searched hers.
She pulled her hand free and waved him to a seat. “Thank you for the press. Bloomberg service picked up your articles, and Collins is all over the news.”
His nostrils flared as he continued to stare at her. He tossed a glance at the photographer. “Go grab a cup of coffee, and give us five minutes.”
“Sure thing.” Gently he placed the long-lens camera on the small couch in the room and left.
“I warned you.”
Samantha took her seat. Oddly, Dillon’s chair was giving her the strength not to back down. “And I told you, it’s turbochargers and intercoolers or nothing. What will it be?”
He cursed beneath his breath. “What do you see in him and not in me?”
She could think only of a phrase she’d once heard, that the heart wants what the heart wants. Her foolish heart had chosen at the impressionable age of thirteen. “Have a nice trip back to Houston.”
“I love you, Samantha. I wanted to marry you. What has he offered?”
She barely kept from flinching. Dillon offered a hot night of sex and nothing of himself.
“I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn,” Mark finally said when she refused to answer him.
“Mark, I’m sorry too. I don’t love you the way you deserve to be loved,” she said as gently as she could. “You’ll find her one day, but it won’t be me.”
“I guess you can’t make it any plainer.” He pulled out his tape recorder and placed it on the desk. “As you like.”
Nothing was as she liked. She was afraid her life never would be again.
* * *
After the interview in her office, she invited Mark to tour the factory. Thanks to Dillon, she now could talk with more authority about how the turbocharger worked and not just spout facts. Judging from Mark’s surprised expression, he hadn’t expected her to have the command and knowledge she had.
They were almost finished when the cameraman spotted Dillon working. “Mark, you want to get a shot of Montgomery?”
Samantha tensed as much as Mark did. No matter how hard she tried to still the yearning of her heart, it didn’t do any good. She loved the pigheaded, argumentative man and there was nothing she could do about it.
“Dillon is working on a modification of our turbocharger to work on high-performance cars. Rowland Motors have already requested that they provide the test car.”
Without speaking, Mark moved toward Dillon, who was working in a small area of the factory. He looked up, eyes narrowed, his cutting gaze going from her to Mark. By the time they reached Dillon, his arms were folded across his chest, his stance combative.
Samantha forged ahead. “Dillon, I just told Mark about your working on modifications of our turbo for high-performance cars.”
“I didn’t expect to see you again,” Dillon said.
“You might be seeing a lot more of me,” Mark tossed back.
Her gaze swung to Mark. He was being as baiting as Dillon.
“Lucky us.” Unfolding his arms, Dillon went back to work.
Samantha forced a smile. “We can go back to my office, if you don’t have any other questions.”
“Do you mind if I get a shot, Mr. Montgomery?” the cameraman asked.
“Since I’m working on modifications, I’d rather the competition not see what I’m doing,” Dillon continued without turning. “One with Ms. Collins and a turbocharger just off the assembly line might be better.”
“We already have that shot,” Mark said with satisfaction.
Dillon looked up, his face hard. “Then I won’t keep you.”
“This way, gentlemen. Thank you, Dillon,” Samantha said, her smile stiff. Finally, Mark stopped trying to outglare Dillon and followed her back to the office.
Fifteen
Dillon clenched the wrench in his hand. Seeing more of him. Sam couldn’t possibly be thinking of taking that loudmouth Washington back. Could she? He tried to continue working and couldn’t. He tossed the wrench on the workbench and headed for Sam’s office.
He rounded the corner and saw Washington reach out his arms. He couldn’t see Sam and was actually glad he couldn’t see her hugging another man. He didn’t know if he should warn him off or ask Sam what the hell she was doing. She was his!
The thought slammed into Dillon’s brain. He tried to get around it but couldn’t. He didn’t want to be tied down to any woman. He’d always felt protective of Sam. Intimacy had made him feel more so, that’s all. Sure that he had explained his strange possessiveness to his satisfaction, he went back to work.
Minutes after arriving, he glanced up to see Mark walking toward him. The reporter was really begging for a bloody nose.
“If you don’t want Samantha, leave her the hell alone,” Mark clipped out, then turned and walked away.
Dillon’s first thought was to go after Mark and tell him to mind his own business. Just as quickly, he remembered Sam trembling on the flight back. He’d hurt her. He hadn’t meant to do that. She had so much to deal with already, and he had only added more.
Dillon tossed the wrench aside again and started for his truck. He needed to think things through. He ended up at Roman’s office door. He and his mother had been out every night, and she always came home smiling. For the first time in his life, Dillon felt like a failure. He’d always kept his own counsel, but this time he needed help.
Opening the door, he saw Roman working at his desk. Luckily the other two people in the office with him weren’t there. They were probably at lunch. Roman wouldn’t stop except to stretch or if Dillon or Sam brought lunch. Dillon wondered if Sam was eating and taking care of herself. When he messed up, he did it royally.
“Are you coming in or did you just want to see if I’m working?” Roman asked, continuing to type on the computer keyboard.
“In, I guess.” Dillon closed the door, shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
Roman’s hands paused, and his gaze snapped up to Dillon’s. “Marlene okay?”
“Mama’s fine.”
Roman nodded and went back to entering data. “It can’t be the company. You’re getting good press, thanks to the intercooler and Carson talking it up.”
“Speaking of, he said his mother thought you were working hard since you spent so much time here.”
“If I told her I was dating instead of just going through the motions, she and the rest of the family would blow up my phone. No, thank you.” Roman shook his head. “It’s bad enough that everywhere we go people come over to visit. I know s
ome of them by name now.”
Dillon studied Roman. “You don’t seem bothered.”
“That your mother is so well liked that the women of the town want to ensure I’m not up to no good? Hardly. Even some of the men have looked me dead in the eye and told me what a good woman she is. Then there are those men who obviously missed their chance and wish I’d drop dead.” He looked thoughtful. “I don’t think your mother really knows how well liked and respected she is.”
“You make her happy.”
“She does the same for me.” Roman leaned back in his chair. “I would have considered myself a happy man before, but now things just feel so much better.” He shrugged, laughed. “I can’t explain it, but that’s not why you came. If it’s about the accounts, I’m almost through. I had to track down some invoices and a company three years back. Once I’m finished, I’ll have an answer for you and a name.”
“It’s not about either of those.”
“Ah. That leaves Samantha.”
Dillon’s hands came out of his pockets. “Why did you say that?”
Roman stopped typing. “Besides being there when you mentioned her to Marlene, I’ve seen the two of you circling each other even more since your return from Vegas. Marlene likes her.”
Dillon hunched his shoulders. He knew that. His mother wouldn’t be happy with him if she found out he’d hurt Sam. His hands returned to his pockets. “Sam’s different from other women.”
“Meaning she wants a commitment?”
“When Collins is back on its feet financially, I’m outta here,” Dillon told him.
“Life offers choices. Make the wrong one and pay for the rest of your life,” Roman told him. “You have to decide what’s most important to you, your freedom or making Samantha yours.”
Dillon wasn’t sure he had an answer, and he asked a question of his own. “What are your intentions toward my mother?”
“Honorable.” Roman moved his mouse. “Don’t bother with lunch for me today. I’m working straight through. Marlene is leaving early and we’re grilling, then planting the rest of the flowers we picked up Saturday before it gets dark.”
Lines radiated across Dillon’s forehead. “Mama never leaves work early unless she has a medical appointment or has to do something for me.”
Roman grinned. “She is today.”
Dillon simply stared, then headed for the door. What was Roman doing right that he was doing so wrong? “I’ll make myself scarce.”
“Marlene would be concerned if you’re not there. Don’t worry, she said you hate yard work, but would do it if she asked. She won’t.”
“I’d do anything for her.”
“So would I,” Roman said, his dark eyes intense.
There it was, the difference. Roman was clearly committed to doing whatever it took to please his mother. Dillon wanted to please Sam—only on his terms.
“See you later,” Dillon said, closing the office door. He’d never been this conflicted in his life. He’d always known what came next. Even when Abe fired him, he’d had an idea of what he wanted to do.
His cell phone rang. Almost thankful, he reached for it. “Hello.”
“Hi, Dillon, it’s Nathan.”
“Hello, Mr. Rowland. Thanks again for letting me fit your car with the intercooler. The press has been great for Collins Industry.”
“I should be thanking you.” Nathan laughed. “Carson is still walking on air. No matter how old your children get, you want them to be happy.”
“Mama always said the same thing,” Dillon told him.
“Marlene is a smart woman. I called to ask a favor, if you have the time.”
“Name it.” He needed a distraction. Besides, Nathan had been there for him.
“My home builder and friend, Zachary Holman, has a close friend, Cade Mathis, with a Lamborghini that he’s having some problems with. I told him you were the best. Could you meet him at the Dallas garage and check it out?”
Dillon had had these special requests before and knew some people—especially men—wanted only one person working on their car. Any other time, he might have passed. “If he can make it, I can be there in an hour.”
“He’ll make it,” Nathan said. “Dr. Mathis is a noted neurosurgeon, one of the best in the country, I understand, but he said he was available anytime today or whenever you could get free.”
“Good.”
“Thanks, Dillon. I knew I could count on you.”
“Bye, Mr. Rowland.” Dillon disconnected the call. Too bad Sam couldn’t say the same thing.
* * *
Samantha stared at the papers on her desk more than she worked on them. Her head was propped in the palm of her hand when the door opened and Dillon walked in. Her pride dictated she straighten and act busy. She didn’t. She was tired of pretending.
“You all right?”
“Don’t I look all right?”
He hesitated, which was unusual for Dillon. He had enough one-liners for a comedian. “I need to drive up to Dallas to check the car of a new client.”
His business came first. But then, so did Collins for her. “I’ll pick up Roman’s lunch.”
“He’s skipping lunch today. He’s taking off early to work with Mama in her flower garden.”
Marlene’s romance was clicking along, while Samantha’s had tanked. Her fault for expecting too much. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He didn’t move. “You gonna go get something to eat?”
“Probably,” she answered. She’d been nibbling at food and eating junk since Sunday. Last night it was a dozen chocolate-chip cookies from the bakery, the same bakery where she’d first met Dillon.
“Take care of yourself, Sam.”
She glanced up, but he was gone. So, he cared about her. It wasn’t enough. She wanted his love and was destined never to have it.
* * *
Dillon had his mother on the phone before he reached his car. “Sam’s not eating. Can you invite her over to eat with you and Roman this afternoon? I have to drive up to the high-performance garage to meet a new client.”
“She’s not the only one not eating.”
After activating the automatic lock on his car, he slid inside. “I probably won’t be back until night.”
“Be stubborn, but tonight I’m grilling chicken breasts, and when you get back I’m going to watch you eat every bite.” The line went dead.
Dillon almost smiled. His mother wasn’t to be messed with. He should have remembered. She was handling dating Roman just fine. He was the one floundering, and if he didn’t get his act together and put Sam out of his mind for good, he was going to sink like a rock.
* * *
Samantha absently picked up the ringing phone. “Collins Industry.”
“Hello, Samantha, it’s Marlene. You got a second?”
“Always.” She liked Marlene. Her crashing with Dillon wouldn’t ruin their budding friendship.
“I want to invite you over for dinner tonight. Roman is coming as well,” Marlene said. “I’m grilling. You’ll hurt my feelings if you don’t come.”
Suspicion entered her mind. Who wanted a third person when a date was coming over? “Did Dillon ask you to call me?”
“He did, but I really want you to come over and just relax. Abe would have wanted me to look after you, but I’m asking because I truly like you and hope we can be real friends.”
Samantha massaged her forehead. Real friends meant she might run into Dillon when he came back to visit.
“I cooked an Italian cream cake for dessert. Your favorite.”
“How did you know that?”
“I baked one for Abe last year and he told me.”
Samantha’s eyes misted. “I wish we could have had more time.”
“You were there when it counted. You made your peace with each other. Sometimes that doesn’t happen, and you have to live with the regrets.”
Samantha wasn’t sure if Marlene was talking in generalities about Sam
antha and Abe or about Samantha and Dillon. She’d made the wrong decision so many times in the past. Was she right to ask Dillon for what he couldn’t give her?
“Is five all right?” Marlene said into the lengthening silence. “For once, you can leave before Evan.”
The idea had instant appeal. Tonight, she didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts. “You talked me into it. I’ll see you at five.”
“Wonderful. Bring an appetite. Bye.”
Samantha went back to work, yet somehow she didn’t feel as melancholy as she had before Dillon’s visit and Marlene’s subsequent phone call. He didn’t have to call his mother. He cared. Perhaps not in the way she’d hoped, but he did care. She just had to convince herself that it was enough.
* * *
Dillon drove to Dallas with the pop station blaring, and at just over the speed limit. His thoughts were too scattered to speed. By the time he pulled into the parking lot of his high-performance garage, it was an hour later and he had no idea how to settle the problems with him and Sam. All he was certain of was that he wanted her more than ever, wanted her more than any woman before her.
Climbing out of the low-slung car, he spotted the black Lamborghini immediately. Sleek and mean, with enough horses to hit 120 in five seconds. He’d worked on other million-dollar cars, but to him the Lamborghini was in a class by itself.
The front door of the office opened and two men came out. Both had broad shoulders, were over six feet, and moved with the loose-limbed grace of athletes. One was dressed in steel-toed shoes, well-worn jeans, and a chambray shirt. The other wore one of those tailored suits that cost five figures, the kind Nathan preferred. They walked easily beside each other, as if old friends.
“Mr. Montgomery?” asked the one in the expensive suit.
“Dillon, please.” He stuck out his hand.
“Cade Mathis, and this is Zachary Holman.” The handshakes were firm. “Thank you for coming on short notice.”
“I had the time, and I owe Nathan,” Dillon said, then twisted his head to one side as the men studied him openly. “Did I grow another head?”
“Sorry. I guess I’m in awe of meeting you,” Cade said. “You made quite the splash with headlines over the weekend.”