Free After the Dawn by Francis Ray

wanted to and for no other reason.
    â€œGood afternoon, Dillon.”
    â€œWhy 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.
    â€œCan 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.”
    â€œMs. Collins and I would like to tour the plant and get an overview of productivity and projections,” Dillon requested.
    Crowley’s questioning gaze swung to Samantha.
    â€œPlease,” she said sweetly, and smiled. “I know you’re busy, but we’d really appreciate it.”
    The plant manager’s expression went from puzzled to rapt in seconds. “Anything, Ms. Collins. All you have to do is ask.”
    Dillon had the strange urge to shake Crowley and tell him to back off when he kept staring at Samantha. “Now would be a good time,” he said tightly.
    The man jerked, flushed. “This way.”
    Dillon glanced at Samantha before following. Of course she was frowning at him, but she hadn’t minded old Frank eating her up with his eyes. Dillon’s problem was that he wanted to do some nibbling of his own.
    During the tour, Samantha stuck to Dillon’s heels like a burr. He’d lost count of the number of times she had bumped into him or brushed against him. Each time she did, his brain and blood headed south. It was all he could do to concentrate on what Crowley was saying.
    He’d turned to glare at her once, only to find her busy scribbling on the pad she carried. She was trying, he’d give her that, but she was also wreaking havoc on him. Perhaps Abe was getting back at Dillon after all.
    *   *   *
    Samantha learned a lot during the tour and thought it had gone well despite Dillon’s abruptness with the plant manager and all the speculative looks from the employees. Some actually stopped working—until Mr. Crowley stared them down. Dillon didn’t seem to notice.
    Since she had been on the floor before and they hadn’t paid much attention to her, she knew they were looking at Dillon. All the stares annoyed her.
    He was just a man. Granted, a prime specimen with hard muscles and a sexy mouth, but still just a man. The reasons for the frank looks were probably varied. It could be the rumor that Dillon was her grandfather’s illegitimate son or speculation over whether he’d done all the crazy things gossip said he had. Then, too, he’d probably had a run-in with a few of the men, dated more than a few of the women. It could have been because he was wealthy or someone had remembered he used