After the Dawn (11 page)

“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 frozen.

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.

“Good morning.” Smiling, he emerged from the Porsche and extended his hand. “I wasn't expecting to see you rise out of the flowers. It was quite a sight.”

The woman coolly looked at his hand, then back at him. He was being judged. He hoped like hell he didn't come up short. “I'm Roman Santiago. I'm here to meet Dillon.”

The frown on her lovely face cleared only marginally. After placing the shears in the basket of flowers, she held out her hand. “Good morning, Mr. Santiago. Dillon is expecting you.”

He barely felt the warmth of her hand before it was gone. The calluses surprised him as much as the woman and his unexpected response to her.

“Please come inside.” Turning away, she started toward the house.

Roman admired the erect posture, the slight sway of her shapely hips, and was glad he'd lifted his gaze when she turned to look back at him. He smiled innocently and tried to look as if he hadn't been admiring her and thinking things he probably shouldn't.

But at sixty years of age, his once coal-black hair liberally sprinkled with gray, he'd learned to live life to the fullest. Each day was a gift. He'd had too many friends and relatives leave this earth unexpectedly. When his time came, he didn't want to have any regrets.

Facing forward, she opened the door and stepped aside. “Please go in.”

So, he hadn't fooled her. She'd known he was scoping her out. Touching the brim of his baseball cap, he went inside. The house was as inviting as the woman. He liked the soothing grays with touches of soft greens and yellows amid bold flashes of red and green. It showed restrained passion.

Immediately, he knew the woman had decorated the house. Perhaps she was Dillon's mother's younger sister. She still had on her left glove. Roman could only hope he wouldn't want to howl when she removed it and he saw a ring.

“Hey, Roman,” Dillon came in from the back of the house, his hand outstretched. “Glad you're here.”

“Hey, Dillon.” The handshake was strong. “You know I like to drive. It gives me a chance to listen to my CDs and books on tape, and best of all, it's a business expense and it's on your dime.”

Dillon laughed and clapped Roman on the back. “It's a good thing you're the best. I see you've met my mother.”

Roman's mouth gaped open. “You're kidding, right?” This stunning woman, whose eyes had lit up when Dillon entered the room but had gone to frost when he'd made a teasing comment about the business expense, couldn't be his mother.

Dillon happily threw one long arm around his mother's slim shoulders. “She gets that reaction all the time. I like to say she's aged well.”

“I guess somebody doesn't want breakfast,” Marlene said sweetly.

“Just kidding, Mama,” he said. “Roman Santiago, my mother, Marlene Montgomery.”

“My pleasure.” He tipped his hat again.

“Mr. Santiago, Dillon said you'd be joining him for breakfast,” she said.

“Thank you. If it's not too much trouble,” Roman said.

“It's not.” Her smile brittle, she spoke to Dillon. “Please show your guest to the kitchen. The table is already set. I'm not finished outside. Good-bye, Mr. Santiago.”

Dillon caught her arm before she had gone two steps. “You're not eating with us?”

She palmed his cheek. “I'd only be in the way.”

He shook his head. “You know I'm not having that. Remember the house rule.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Show your guest to the bathroom. I'll be in the kitchen.”

Roman's view of Marlene was cut off when Dillon took his arm. “I'll show you to the bathroom. You're about to taste the best cooking in the state.”

What Roman really wanted to taste was Marlene's lips and other parts of her fantastic body. He tucked his head and stepped inside the half bath. Dillon idolized his mother. If he had any idea what Roman was thinking, Roman would be picking his teeth up off the floor.

Roman grabbed a fluffy gray towel and dried his hands. He didn't usually mix business with pleasure, but he was pragmatic enough to know that there were exceptions to every rule.

Life had just taken one of those wonderful, unexpected turns, and he couldn't wait to see where it led.

*   *   *

In Marlene's fifty-seven years, she had met more than her share of handsome, smooth-talking men. They all thought they were God's gift to women. All they had to do was smile, turn on the charm, and the women fell into their bed.

She'd learned that lesson the hard way. No man had interested her in years. She hadn't thought one could.

Unclenching her hand from around the flowers, she placed them on the gray marble counter until she could cut the stems and place them in water. For now, she had Dillon's guest to entertain.

“Something smells good.”

The rough timbre of his voice annoyed her as much as it unsettled her. She wanted Roman Santiago out of her life.

“Like I told you, there's none better than Mama's cooking. Have a seat.”

Dillon's voice calmed her as much as his guest unnerved her. But she wasn't some naïve girl from the country any longer. Removing the sausage-and-egg casserole from the warming oven, she placed it on the table.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Thanks, Roman, but Mama and I have it.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dillon fill three glasses with orange juice. Afterward he placed a cup beneath the automatic coffee machine, an extravagant expense, but one he had insisted on.

She looked at him—handsome, intelligent, and compassionate. And thank God, nothing like the man he was the spitting image of.

“Are you all right?”

Her gaze flew to Roman.

“Yeah. Sure.” Dillon placed another cup under the spout. “I'm an old hand at this.”

“I was asking your mother.”

Dillon swung to her, concern in his face. “Mama?”

“Fine.” She busied herself getting the jam, jellies, and syrup. “Just thinking.” He wouldn't make her lie to Dillon. They'd always been honest with each other.

“Here you go, Roman. Black, straight, just like you like it.” Dillon placed Roman's cup on the table, then his and hers. “Mama and I like ours with lots of cream and sugar.”

“I might have to try it one day,” Roman commented.

Marlene took her seat. He might have been talking about the coffee, but she didn't think so. “I'll say grace.” Bowing her head, she thanked God out loud for His blessings. Silently, she asked Him to remove temptation from her path and keep her strong.

Looking up, she stared into the hot black eyes of Roman Santiago. She felt the pull, sensed the danger. She served both men, then herself. She noted that, just like Dillon, Roman didn't take a bite of food until she did.

“Roman, we'll drive over to the plant as soon as we finish breakfast.” Dillon dug into his meal. “I'm going to tell everyone, outside the two people in accounting, that you're doing inventory. I don't want anyone getting wind of the audit.”