After the Dawn (4 page)

Inside the study, Samantha stepped away from him, then she introduced him and his mother to those already seated. “This is Ms. Montgomery and her son, Dillon. Granddad wanted them here. This is my aunt Janice, and my cousins, Shelby and Ronald.”

Dillon nodded. His mother spoke, but the only response she got was a hostile glare from Janice and bored looks from Shelby and Ronald. Dillon ignored the speculative once-over from Shelby. He'd steered clear of her in high school for good reason. Too much drama and possessiveness for his taste.

Samantha flushed and turned to them again. “Can I get you anything?”

“They aren't guests,” Evan snapped. “Sit down so we can get this over with.”

Dillon stiffened and was moving before he realized it. Someone needed to put a muzzle on Evan's loud mouth. His mother's hand on his arm stopped him.

“Thank you, Samantha. We're fine.” His mother sank gracefully into a love seat, pulling a taut Dillon down next to her.

Twisting the handkerchief in her hand, Samantha took a seat in a high-backed chair near them. Dillon noted she hadn't sat with her family. His mother had been right. She had no one.

“Now that everyone is here, we can proceed.” Samuel Boswell picked up several sheets of paper, adjusted his eyeglasses. “I had hoped, as we all did, that this day was many years away. Abe Collins was a good man.”

Marlene nodded. Samantha bit her lower lip. Dillon noted that no reaction came from the other family members.

“Abe made an unusual request in the reading of his will. There will be two readings with only the people involved. I'm meeting later with the house staff, several lifelong employees of Collins Industry, and the pastor of his church. He wanted family matters kept private.”

Translation. The shit was about to hit the fan,
Dillon thought. Apparently Evan had the same thought. He glared at Samantha, then at Dillon and his mother.

Dillon grinned. This was about to get very interesting.

“‘I, Abraham Lincoln Collins, being of sound mind, do bequeath my home located at 1927 Pecan Place in Elms Fork to be equally divided between my son, Evan Emerson Collins, and my granddaughter Samantha Ann Collins.'”

Evan jerked upright and glared at Samantha. Since she was looking at the lawyer with a shocked expression on her face, she missed it entirely.

“Me?”

Boswell smiled kindly at her. “You. I believe his next statement explains better than I could. ‘I want Sammie, my baby girl, to always have a place to come home to, to know I loved her parents, and mourn their loss daily.'”

Tears seeped down Samantha's cheeks. Dillon didn't expect her family to try to comfort her, and he wasn't disappointed. His mother rose, pulled a nearby chair closer to sit next to Samantha, then gave her a fresh tissue and curved her arm around her trembling shoulders.

Dillon had countless reasons to be proud of his mother, but this was one of the proudest.

“‘To ensure she has the funds to maintain the house and grounds, I'm leaving her all of my assets, including cash, stocks, annuities, and bonds, in an irrevocable trust.'”

“What?” Evan came to his feet. “That can't be true.” He crossed the spacious room, and reached for the will.

Samuel drew the papers to his chest. “Mr. Collins, please take a seat. I'm not finished.”

Heaving with fury, Evan didn't move. “When was this will written?”

“The day your father was released from the hospital.”

“Then that explains it,” Evan announced with a dismissive shove of his hand at the will. “His lack of oxygen after his first heart attack must have affected his brain. He wasn't himself.”

“Abe was seen by a psychiatrist less than an hour before he changed his will, which was witnessed by his doctor and his private duty nurse.”

“Checkmate,” Dillon said, and laughed. “This is really getting interesting.”

Evan pivoted and snapped. “You think this is funny?”

“No, I think it's sad,” Dillon said slowly.

“Please, Mr. Collins, take a seat so I can finish.”

Evan retook his seat. The lawyer flashed a worried look at him, adjusted his glasses. “‘To Marlene Montgomery, the most efficient secretary a man could ask for, but just as importantly, a kindhearted woman who forgave when she didn't have to, I bequeath the sum of two hundred and forty thousand dollars—the salary she would have earned if she hadn't quit when I fired her son. I paid for my rashness ten times over. You were irreplaceable and I was too stubborn to ask you to come back. I know Dillon can take care of you, but I'd like for you to have the money to do something fun and then come by the grave site and tell me.'”

Although tears rolled down her cheeks, Marlene smiled.

Dillon started to rise and go to her, but she waved her hand to indicate she was all right. He noted that her other hand was wrapped around Samantha's. He couldn't tell who was holding whom.

The lawyer cleared his throat. “‘Collins Industry was founded on a vision and succeeded because of hard work and determination. I want to leave my company in the hands of people who will value it just as much and work tirelessly for it to succeed. Therefore I leave joint ownership of Collins Industry to Samantha Collins and Dillon Montgomery—if they agree to jointly run the company for five years.'”

Dillon was stunned. There was no other way to describe his reaction.

Evan was on his feet again. “That's bullshit! Collins Industry is mine! I don't care what some quack psychiatrist said, Daddy must have been senile. He wouldn't have left the company to an outsider.”

“Uncle Evan,” Samantha said quietly when he stopped to take a breath, “Granddad asked me the day we lost him to consider taking over the company.” She looked across the room at Dillon. “He mentioned there was another person he wanted to help.”

“If there was another person, it was me,” Evan said. “There must have been some mistake in drawing up the will.”

Boswell looked offended. “There was no mistake.”

“Mr. Boswell is right,” Samantha said. “Granddad said I would be working with someone else. Don't think harshly of him,” she rushed to say at her uncle's angry expression. “He was worried. The company is in trouble. He wanted to save it, and he thought Dillon and I could pull it off. I think that's why he put off his surgery.”

Hands on his hips, her uncle snorted dismissively. “And how do you propose to do that? I've been here, helping run the company while you've been off playing and drawing the money from my brother's trust fund. You have no clue how to run Collins Industry. Dillon has even less. More importantly, Daddy fired him.”

On an apparent roll, Evan swung to Dillon. “Just because Daddy was feeling sentimental that he never claimed his bastard is no reason—”

Dillon shot out of his seat like a bullet. He grabbed Evan by the collar of his tailor-made white shirt and drew back his fist.

“Dillon,” his mother called, catching his arm with both hands. “Stop it.”

Dillon's chest heaved with barely controlled rage. “Bastard” was the one word that he would never take easily. He was called that too many times growing up, taunted, not allowed to associate with the “good kids” because his mother wasn't married when she had him. Abe wasn't his father, but Dillon had no intention of telling the loudmouthed Evan.

“Dillon, please.” His mother's voice trembled.

Dillon cut a look at his mother. While he'd been called bastard, she'd been called much worse. She wasn't turning loose of his hand. He'd walk through burning coals before he hurt her. “Apologize to my mother.”

“I won't—”

Dillon's fist tightened, cutting off the flow of oxygen, then relaxed only marginally. “Do it!”

“I apologize, Marlene,” Evan said with a nasty sneer on his face.

Dillon shoved Evan distastefully away from him before he hit him anyway. Evan staggered, then straightened. His face promised retribution. “I'll have you arrested for assault.”

“Go ahead and try,” Dillon told him, noting that Evan's family had stood but none had tried to help him. “I'll put my lawyers against yours any day. I was provoked. You're lucky my mother was here or you'd be picking your teeth up off the floor.”

“Come on, Dillon. Sit down.” His mother tugged his arm.

“Cross that line again and nothing will save you.” He finally allowed his mother to lead him back to the love seat he'd been seated on.

Samantha felt helpless and miserable. This wasn't what her grandfather wanted. “Uncle Evan, what we don't know, you can teach us. The company is slowly dying. If that happens, the employees and town will lose as well. Together we can make Collins Industry a top contender with turbo engines again.”

“The company is fine!” Evan shouted, his chest heaving. “I'll get an injunction if I have to! I'll sue! I'll lock the doors!”

“Perhaps I should finish,” the lawyer said quietly. “If you start any legal proceedings to contest the will, your salary at Collins Industry will be frozen until the case is settled. If you'll recall, Abe left all of his personal assets—with the exception of the house, which you and your niece own jointly—to Ms. Collins. If you want to fight this, you'll do it with your personal funds. Since Abe was deemed sane by a notable psychologist, the case could take months, especially if Mr. Montgomery and Ms. Collins decide to fight.”

“I'll fight,” Dillon promised, for the hell of it. He planned to sign over the company before the day was over.

Boswell cleared his throat. “However, if you accept the will, Mr. Collins, you're to remain as vice president with your salary.”

“That's blackmail,” said Janice, his wife, coming to stand by her husband. “Do something, Evan! What will people say when they find out?”

“That—” Dillon stopped abruptly as his mother shook her head. He leaned back in the seat.

“Abe knew it wouldn't be easy, but he hoped you'd come to see that the company needs to change or it won't survive,” the lawyer said.

“I see all right. And all of you can go to hell!” Evan stormed from the room with his wife on his heels.

“Is there any mention of his other grandchildren?” Shelby asked.

“No, I'm sorry.” Boswell slowly shook his head. “Just Samantha Collins.”

“So am I.” Shelby stood and left the room. Her brother followed.

Samantha's emotions had never been so chaotic. She wasn't sure about working with Dillon, but she didn't have a choice. He still looked as if he'd like to rip someone apart. She liked things orderly and calm, nonthreatening. They wouldn't be that way with Dillon. Then, there was this attraction she couldn't control.

She flexed her toes in her black heels. If she didn't want them hanging over a very hot fire, she'd do well to remember that Dillon could be related to her.

“Dillon, I'm not sure what your schedule is like,” she ventured. “I'm available anytime you'd like to meet tomorrow to discuss our next step in running the company.”

He aimed that laser-sharp gaze at her. It was all she could do not to shrink back in her chair.

“You don't think I'm going to go along with this farce, do you?”

“Farce? Granddad left half of the company to you because he believed in you,” she returned, anger creeping into her voice.

“Yeah.” Dillon laughed without humor. “A company he took great pleasure in firing me from. I have no intention of helping Collins Industry. I have my own life. I wish you well.” He approached the desk the lawyer sat behind and braced his hands on top.

“Draw up the papers, and I'll sign over my half of the company to her.”

“I'm afraid that's impossible.” Boswell folded his hands on top of the will. “Abe took into account that you might not be amenable to this initially.”

“He was right.” Dillon straightened. “If you can't do it, my lawyers can.”

“Mr. Montgomery, it's not a matter of can't. Abe's will specifically stipulates that neither you nor his granddaughter can sell or give away your half of the company for five years. Whether you want to or not, you're half owner of Collins.”

“We'll just see about that.”

Turning, he took his mother's arm and walked away, leaving Samantha and the lawyer staring after him.

 

Two

“Samantha won't be able to run the company by herself,” his mother said from beside him as he started the motor of the car. “She'll have no one. Her uncle certainly won't help.”

Angry at Abe for placing him in such an unwanted situation, at Evan for being such a greedy, unfeeling ass, and at Samantha for looking at him with a mixture of fear and hope, Dillon shifted the gears of the Ferrari. In a squeal of tires, he pulled out of the long driveway, easily controlling the low-slung sports car as it rocked, then straightened.

His mother didn't seem to notice as she continued. “Without you, she won't make it. That means the people working there will be without jobs. It's not like you to walk away from your responsibility.”

Dillon recognized that his mother was doing a number on him, but she was right. He did take his responsibilities seriously. He might have been all about himself once, but he now realized it might be trite, but no man made it on his own, and when you could, you reached out and helped someone else.

But he liked his carefree life, the financial freedom to go and do as he pleased. If he took the job running Collins, he'd be tied down for five years in a town that had treated him like dirt. “Not my problem.”

“Hmmm.”

Dillon tossed his mother a look. He didn't like the sound of that.

“Why don't we drive by the complex before you take me home?” she suggested mildly. “I've seen all of your other properties; I wonder if Collins Industry will look any different now.”