After the Dawn (7 page)

Getting out of the car, she sniffed. She was only marginally less nervous that she didn't smell smoke.

“Samantha?”

Samantha jerked around to see Dillon's mother coming toward her. She wore chocolate slacks, a cream-colored blouse, and chocolate walking shoes. The mother was as striking as the son, with hair just as thick. Hers was straight and framed a face with high cheekbones and warm black eyes.

“Hello, Ms. Montgomery.”

“Marlene, please.” She extended her hand. “Your emergency car service said you were on your way.”

Samantha took the hand, surprised to feel the slight calluses. “The red light came on.” She shifted uncomfortably, stuck one hand into the pocket of her jeans. “I'm a bit late with my oil change.”

Marlene smiled. “That's probably not the cause of the light. Let's take a look.” She popped the hood. Smoke billowed.

Samantha automatically caught Marlene's arm, pulled her away from the car. “Be careful. You could get hurt or ruin your clothes.”

Smiling in reassurance, Marlene gently brushed Samantha's hand aside. “Believe me, after all these years, I know how to get grease stains out.” She bent over the engine, then straightened a few seconds later. “Busted water hose. It will be a couple of hours before we can get to you. The cost will be sixty-five dollars and take about thirty minutes. We can take you home or you can wait.”

Samantha simply stared. “You know that quickly?”

Marlene's smile wavered. “If you'd like another mechanic to look at it, I can pull one for a minute.”

Samantha was shaking her head before Marlene finished. “I'm not doubting you, I just wanted to know how you knew so quickly.”

Marlene pointed to the split hose. “Simple visual. It wasn't that difficult.”

“It would have been to me.” Sighing, Samantha curved her arms around her handbag. “I'd like for you to fix the car and I'll accept a ride home. Have you always known about cars? I only know how to put gas in mine.”

“I didn't when I first started, but I was determined to learn,” Marlene confessed with narrowed eyes. “Dillon didn't have the time or the inclination to run the business here, and since I was the cause of him opening the garage, I felt obligated to learn and help.”

A frown darted across Samantha's brow. “How is that?”

“Long story short, an unscrupulous mechanic cheated me out of fifteen hundred dollars and then got smart about it,” she said. “In a month I was running a garage geared toward accommodating women, and in three months the mechanic was out of business.”

“Good for you. I've been taken advantage of,” Samantha said. “I'm glad you had Dillon.”

“He's the best son a mother could ask for. Let's go inside and sign the work release form.” Marlene started toward the office. “I called Collins yesterday and couldn't get you.”

“You did?”

Marlene opened the half-glass door of the white stone building. “The operator rang your grandfather's office. I spoke with Evan.”

Samantha stepped inside the large office with healthy plants and an aquarium. Through an open door she saw a waiting room with a TV and a small bookcase. “I can imagine he wasn't helpful.”

“He said you were in Houston and hung up.” Marlene went around the counter and handed Samantha a service contract on a clipboard. “I'm glad you didn't stay.”

Samantha bit her lower lip. “You're probably the only one. Uncle Evan doesn't have any faith in me. Neither did my co-workers in Houston when I told them.”

“Do you have faith in yourself?”

Samantha glanced upward. She opened her mouth, then closed it. “It comes and goes,” she said truthfully.

“Then you'll fail,” Marlene said, her expression sad. “The world will always have an opinion of you, but what counts is what you think of yourself. It won't be easy running Collins. If you go in with self-doubts, they'll overwhelm you.”

“It isn't easy when no one believes in you.” Samantha handed back the completed form.

“Abe had faith in you. He was a shrewd man. He wouldn't have made you a partner if he had doubts.” Marlene took the form, placed it in a plastic folder, and hung it on a hook with several others. “I also have faith in you.”

“You do?” Pleasure spread through Samantha.

“Like Abe, you care about the employees and the company. That counts for a lot.” Marlene came back around the counter. “You came back when you could have stayed in Houston. That took courage.”

“I've put my condo on the market. A moving company will deliver my things on Friday, but I'm not sure where to put them.”

“Why not the guest cottage behind the main house? Your grandmother planned to decorate it, but she never did. There might be some things in there, but probably not much.”

Samantha thought of the rumors of Abe fathering Dillon. “He loved her very much.”

“Yes, he did. That kind of love is rare and precious.” Marlene pulled a key from her pocket. “I can take you home.”

“Thank you.” Samantha didn't say anything else until they were in the van. “Is Dillon coming back?”

Marlene started the motor before answering. “I haven't asked and he hasn't said.”

Samantha leaned her head back against the seat. “Maybe I should call him.” She straightened. “If you don't mind giving me his number.”

“Not a good idea.” Marlene pulled out of the parking lot into the street. “Dillon doesn't like to be pushed. He has to make up his own mind about Collins.”

“But what if he doesn't want to help?”

Marlene stopped for a signal light. “Then you'll have to learn the business on your own.”

That was exactly what Samantha was afraid of.

*   *   *

Marlene had been truthful with Samantha when she'd said Dillon couldn't be pushed. Even as a toddler, he'd been independent and wanted to do things his way. She'd fretted that his feet would be crooked because he liked dressing himself and, more often than not, he put his shoes on the wrong foot. But he could be led. She'd learned the gentle art from trial and error, tears, and sleepless nights.

The phone on her nightstand rang. She didn't need caller ID to know it was Dillon. He was the only person who would call her after ten.

“Hi, Dillon. Home or still at the garage?” She closed the book she had been reading in bed and removed her eyeglasses.

“The garage. Pulling the motor out of a Ferrari. The wife was frantic when the tow truck hauled it in. It's her husband's pride and joy.”

“Something tells me she wasn't supposed to drive it?”

He chuckled. “They've only been married a year.”

“She won't make it to two if she goes behind his back.”

“I think she's learned her lesson. I've never seen a woman more hysterical or make more promises to me, her absent husband, and God, before. How was your day?”

Marlene smiled and leaned back more fully against the padded gray silk headboard that matched the draperies. Showtime. “Busy as usual. We worked on Samantha's car. She's one lucky woman. Are you going to give the woman with the Ferrari the usual ten percent discount?”

“Hardly. Why was she lucky?”

“Her water hose burst a few blocks from the garage instead of on the way back from Houston. She's moving back to run Collins.”

“What she knows about cars you could probably put on the head of a pin.”

“Probably as much as I did, but thanks to you and your patience, I'm as good as any of my crew. It makes a difference when someone has faith in you.”

Silence. He probably had a hard frown on his face, but he was also thinking. Dillon might have a bad-boy reputation, but he liked helping people. He mentored potential dropouts with the local school districts. What young boys didn't like cars?

“Thanks for calling. You better get back to work on the Ferrari. Good night. Love you.”

“Night, Mama. Love you too.”

Marlene hung up the phone. She'd give Dillon a week tops. He wasn't the type of man to walk away from his obligation or let a woman fail if he could prevent it.

However, he wouldn't make it easy for Samantha. But that might be a good thing. She needed to toughen up. Marlene just hoped she'd eventually learn to stand up for herself. If not, Samantha would never be the woman she could be proud of.

*   *   *

In less than a week Dillon was back in Elms Fork.

His mother hadn't said anything more about him helping Samantha, but her silence was making him feel that he'd shirked his responsibility by leaving. That was her way. She never yelled, no matter his provocation, and he'd given her plenty of opportunities—speeding tickets, getting drunk, fooling around with older women—he'd been a hell-raiser. And there had been plenty of people ready to help him earn his reputation for being wild.

He'd come down in his truck, with his motorcycle in the bed. Even though he'd only gotten a few scratches in the past, his mother still didn't like him riding it, and never from Dallas, forty miles away. He figured he'd worried her enough growing up, but he liked to tease her that he hadn't given her any gray hairs.

He slowed going up the rise, aware that when he started down the incline, he'd see Collins Industry on the right. He usually stared straight ahead. This time he looked at the complex. No matter how he tried to go around it, Abe Collins had helped his mother when no one else had.

She'd grown up in foster care and aged out at eighteen. She'd put herself through secretarial school and gotten a job as Abe's secretary. She could read Abe's “chicken scratch” handwriting, type over one hundred words a minute, and take Abe's rapid-fire dictation.

She hadn't been afraid of hard work. She'd wanted to make something of herself, and despite getting pregnant with him when she was twenty-two, she'd succeeded.

Abe had told Dillon, soon after he'd graduated from MIT and gone to work at Collins, that next to his own wife, Edith, Marlene was one of the most loyal and loving women he'd known. She'd protect those she loved, and God help those who wronged them.

The old man really had loved his mother, and if for that reason alone, Dillon flicked on his signal, slowed, and turned onto the paved driveway of Collins Industry. Not even seeing one of his school bullies again deterred him.

“You want something, Dillon?”

Dillon stared at Sonny Sparks. His belly hung over his belt, and his pimpled face was just as homely as Dillon remembered. He'd barely made it through high school. “I have an appointment with Ms. Collins.”

Sonny sneered. “She didn't say anything about you coming.”

Dillon scratched his nose, silently reminding Sonny that his was crooked because he'd provoked Dillon one time too many when they were in the eighth grade. They both knew Dillon would happily do it again.

“I'll check.” Sonny retreated to the safety of the booth.

Dillon waited. Apparently, Samantha hadn't bothered to tell anyone that he was half owner. He couldn't blame her, especially since he had walked away. He wasn't worried about her cheating him, from what he'd been able to find out. He never went blind into anything—the company was barely making payroll. One of those reasons was Evan's ten-thousand-dollar biweekly salary plus expenses—and he always had a lot of them.

Dillon might not be able to do anything about the salary, but the expense account came to an end today. He realized as the thought went through his head that he was going to give it a try. For how long, heaven only knew.

The arm of the gate swung upward. Dillon pulled through.

*   *   *

Samantha was surprised to learn Dillon was at the main entrance. She had begun to think he wasn't coming back. She'd driven by his garage a couple of times, tempted to go in and speak with his mother again to try to find out, but she'd always been too chicken. She didn't want her suspicions confirmed that Dillon had turned his back on her and the company.

The door opened after the briefest knock. Dillon stepped inside, looking sinful in faded blue jeans, crisp white shirt, and baseball cap with
MONTGOMERY GARAGE
on the bill. She desperately needed his help to turn the company around, but she wasn't about to beg him. He'd do it because he wanted to and for no other reason.

“Good afternoon, Dillon.”

“Why are you in Evan's office instead of the old man's office?”

He could have at least spoken politely after being gone for so long. “It doesn't matter where I work as long as the job gets done.”

He cocked his head to one side and braced wide-palmed hands on his narrow waist. “What have you done in the past week to get the job done?”

Samantha blinked, bit her lower lip. She didn't have an answer.

Dillon grunted. “Let's go.”

He didn't give her a chance to answer. But if there was a chance he was going to help, he could be as high-handed as he wanted.

*   *   *

Dillon ignored the stares as he and Samantha walked onto the production floor. Some of the people actually stopped working. He recognized some of the faces. A few he'd had run-ins with, like Sparks at the gate, others he recognized from school. He didn't see how a person could live his whole life in one place.

“Can I help you, Ms. Collins?”

Dillon turned to see a man in his mid-forties he didn't recognize rushing toward them. The monogram on his long-sleeved shirt read,
PLANT MANAGER.
Dillon recalled he'd been with Abe when he collapsed.

Samantha looked up at Dillon for guidance. It shouldn't matter that even though he knew he must have ticked her off, she was still willing to defer to him. She'd do whatever it took to save Collins.

Dillon extended his hand. “Dillon Montgomery.”

Frowning, the man extended his. “Frank Crowley, the plant manager.”