by Lisa Jackson
Maggie’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Yes, sir,” she replied before stepping back into the hallway.
Noah threw his coat over his shoulder and snapped his briefcase closed. He half ran out of the office and down the hallway before stopping. On impulse he turned to accost his father’s secretary once again. “Oh, Maggie?”
The plump redhead was a few paces behind him. “Yes?”
“There is one other thing. If Sheila Lindstrom should call again, tell her I’ll get back to her as soon as possible. Get a number where she can be reached. I’ll check back with you later.”
The smug smile on Maggie’s round face only served to irritate Noah further. Why did he feel a sudden urge to amend his position with the intriguing woman who had called him earlier in the day? For all he knew, Sheila Lindstrom might be involved with the arson. He didn’t know anything about her. It was crazy, but he felt almost compelled to speak to her again. Perhaps it was the mood of the letters she had sent him, or maybe it was her quick temper that had sparked his interest in her. Whatever the reason, Noah knew that it was very important that he talk with her soon. She was the first one of his father’s business associates who had shown any ounce of spunk. Or was it more than that?
He shrugged off the unanswered question as he slid behind the wheel of his silver Volvo sedan and headed for the meeting with Sean’s probation officer. Noah had been dreading this meeting for the better part of the week. Sean was in trouble. Again. When the school administrator had called last week and reported that Sean hadn’t shown up for any of his midmorning classes, Noah had been worried. Then, when he finally found out that his son had cut classes with a group of friends and later had been picked up by the police for possession of alcohol, Noah had become unglued. He was angry and disgusted, both at himself and his son.
If Sean was in trouble, Noah had himself to blame. Sixteen years ago he had begged for the privilege and responsibility of caring for his infant son, and he was the one who had insisted on raising the child alone. Unfortunately, he had made a mess of it. If Sean didn’t straighten out soon, it could spell disaster.
Although it wasn’t quite three-thirty, the Friday afternoon traffic heading out of the city was thick, and driving was held to a snail’s pace. Even Seattle’s intricate freeway system couldn’t effectively handle the uneven flow of motorists as they moved away from the business district of the Northern Pacific city.
The high school that Sean attended was near Ben’s home, and in the twenty minutes it took to get to the school, Noah found himself hoping that the probation officer would give Sean another chance. Noah knew that he had to find a way to get through to his son.
Noah’s car crested a final hill, and he stopped the car in front of a two-story brick building. At the sound of the afternoon bell, he turned all of his attention to the main entrance of the school. Within minutes a swarm of noisy teenagers burst through the doors of the building and began to spill down the steps. Some held books over their heads, others used umbrellas, still others ignored the afternoon drizzle altogether.
Noah’s eyes scanned the crowd of teenagers as it dispersed over the school yard. Nowhere did he see his blond, athletic son. The thought that Sean might have stood him up crossed Noah’s mind, but he pushed it quickly aside. Surely the kid wouldn’t be that stupid! Sean knew the importance of today’s meeting with the juvenile officer. He wouldn’t blow it. He couldn’t!
Noah continued to wait. His hands gripped the steering wheel more tightly with each passing minute. There was no sign of his son. The teenagers on the steps thinned as they dashed across the lawn, heads bent against the wind and rain. The roar of car engines and rattling school buses filled the air. Still no Sean. Noah’s impatience was beginning to surface, and he raked his fingers through the thick, coarse strands of his near-black hair. Where the devil was that kid? The appointment with the juvenile officer was in less than thirty minutes, and Sean was nowhere in sight.
Angrily Noah opened the car door, pulled himself to his full height, slammed the door and pushed his hands deep into his pockets. He leaned against the car, oblivious to the rain that ran down his back. His eyes skimmed the empty school yard. No sign of his son. He checked his watch once, uttered a low oath and continued to lean against the car.
Chapter 3
It was dusk when Sheila found the address listed on the torn envelope, and even though twilight dimmed her vision, she could tell that the house Ben Wilder called home was immense. The three-story structure stood high on a cliff overlooking the banks of Lake Washington, and the grounds surrounding the manor encompassed several acres. The stately stone house was surrounded by a natural growth of sword ferns and ivy. To Sheila, the building seemed strangely cold and uninviting. Even the sweeping branches of the fir trees and the scarlet blossoms of the late-blooming rhododendrons didn’t soften the hard, straight lines of the manor.
An uneasy feeling that she was intruding where she didn’t belong nagged at Sheila’s mind, and she considered retreating into the oncoming night. She chided herself for her case of nerves. What would it hurt to knock on the door and inquire as to the whereabouts of Ben Wilder? Nothing ventured; nothing gained. Wasn’t that the phrase?
It was obvious that someone was home. Not only was there smoke rising from one of the chimneys, but also, several windows in the stone mansion glowed brightly from interior lights. Even the porch lanterns were lit. It was almost as if her presence were expected. A cold chill of apprehension skittered up her spine.
Ignoring her mounting misgivings, Sheila parked her car behind the silver Volvo sitting in the long, circular drive. Before she could think twice about the consequences of what she was about to do, she slid out of her car, gathered a deep breath of damp air and walked to the door. A quiet rain had begun to settle over the city, and droplets of moisture clung to Sheila’s hair. After hiking the collar of her raincoat more tightly around her throat, she knocked softly on one of the twin double doors. As she nervously waited, she wondered who would answer her knock and what his reaction would be to her inquiry. Would she really be able to procure information as to the whereabouts of Ben Wilder or was this just one more leg in the wild-goose chase she had been participating in all afternoon?
The door opened suddenly. Sheila wasn’t prepared to meet the forceful man standing in the doorway. In a house the size of a Tudor, she had expected a servant to greet her, but she had been mistaken. The tall, well-built man standing in the light from the hallway presented himself with an arrogance that spoke of power rather than servility. His face was handsome, though not in a classical sense. His features were even, but severe. The angle of his jaw was strong, and dark, ebony brows hooded deep-set delft-blue eyes. The lines of worry on his face intensified his masculinity and the power of his gaze. His eyes sparked with interest as he looked down on Sheila. Involuntarily her pulse quickened and fluttered in the hollow of her throat. Surely he could sense her unease.
“Is there something I can do for you?” he asked with practiced boredom. Sheila instantly recognized his voice. It belonged to Noah Wilder. Of course! Why hadn’t she expected him…or had she? Had her subconscious sought him out? She swallowed with difficulty while her heart clamored in her chest.
“I was looking for Ben Wilder,” was her inadequate response.
“Ben?” He cocked a wary black eyebrow before crossing his arms over his chest and leaning on the doorjamb. The light fabric of his shirt strained over his shoulder muscles. A lazy smile softened the severe planes of his face. “You want to see Ben? Who are you?”
There was something disturbing in Noah’s deep blue eyes, something that took hold of Sheila and wouldn’t let go. With difficulty she drew her eyes away from the alluring depths of his gaze. She drew in a steadying breath and ignored both her racing pulse and the strong desire to run back into the safety of the night. “My name is Sheila Lindstrom. I believe I spoke with you earlier this afternoon.”
He didn’t seem surprised by her announc
ement. His smile broadened to show the hint of a dimple. He was interested but cautious. “You’re the lady with the urgent problems at Cascade Valley, right?”
“Yes.” At least he remembered her. Was he amused? Why the crooked, knowing grin?
“You called the office and Maggie told you where you could reach me?” he guessed, rubbing his chin while his eyes inched slowly up her body. What was it about her that he found so attractive?
Before she could answer his question, his eyes left her face. A car engine whined on a nearby road, and Noah’s head snapped upward. His eyes followed the sound, and every muscle in his body tensed as he looked past her toward the sound.
The car drove past the main gates and turned into another driveway. “No,” Sheila said, responding to his question of a few moments before.
“No?” Noah’s interest was once again on the conversation. His eyes searched hers.
“I told you I’m looking for your father.”
“And I told you he was out of the country.” Something in his gaze seemed to harden.
“I was hoping that someone here might be able to give me an address or a telephone number where he might be reached,” she admitted, pressing onward despite the chill in Noah’s gaze.
His lips tightened into a scowl, and his voice became still colder. “Come in, Miss Lindstrom, and get out of the rain. You were right. Earlier today you indicated that we have a few things to iron out, and I agree with you. Let’s get on with it.” He moved out of the doorway as if he expected her to enter.
Sheila hesitated for a moment as her resolve faltered. When his eyes had darkened in disdain, she felt her poise crumbling. She was the intruder. “I think it would be better if I talked to your father. If you could just give me the number….”
“I asked you to come inside! I think it’s an excellent suggestion, as it’s getting dark and the wind is beginning to pick up. I’m not about to stand here and get wet while I argue with you. The choice is yours; either you can come into the house and talk to me or you can stand out on this porch alone. I’m not going to stand out here much longer. You were the one who was so desperate to talk to me this afternoon. Now you have the opportunity. Take it!”
It was a mistake to enter this man’s home. Sheila could feel it, but she was cornered. With what little dignity she could piece together, she reluctantly accepted Noah’s invitation and quietly strode into the formal entry hall. Antiques and portraits adorned the walls of the expansive foyer. A large crystal chandelier warmed the entrance in a bath of filtered light, which reflected against the polished wood floor and the carved walnut staircase. Expensive Persian carpets, rich in hues of burgundy and navy, seemed to run endlessly along several of the corridors that branched from the central reception area.
Noah closed the door behind her and indicated the direction she should follow. Sheila tried to hide the awe that was flooding through her at the ostentatious display of Wilder wealth. Although the Wilder name was familiar throughout the Northwest, never had Sheila guessed her father’s business partner to be so affluent. The size and elegance of the gracious old house overwhelmed her, and she had to remind herself of Ben Wilder’s infamous reputation for gaining his wealth. Nothing stood in his way when he wanted something; no amount of money was an obstacle that couldn’t be overcome. She slid a glance toward the tall man walking silently at her side. Was he the same as his father?
Without breaking stride Noah touched Sheila’s elbow, nudging her into a room near the back of the house. A dying fire and a few table lamps illuminated the room, which appeared to be a library. Hardcover editions rested on an English reading table, and other books were stored behind the leaded glass of the built-in cabinets. A leather recliner sitting near the fireplace was partially extended, and a half-finished drink rested on a side table, indicating that Noah had been in this room just moments before, waiting. But for whom? Certainly not Sheila. He had no idea that she would grace his doorstep this evening. Once again the overwhelming sensation that she was intruding upon him cut her to the bone. Noah Wilder was just as mysterious as she had imagined.
“Sit down, Miss Lindstrom,” Noah suggested as he stood near a bar. “May I get you a drink?”
“No…thank you.” She sat on the edge of a wingbacked chair and prayed that she looked calmer than she felt.
“Coffee, perhaps?”
She looked up at him and shook her head. She could feel his eyes on her face; they were the bluest eyes she had ever seen, erotic eyes that mystified her. “No…nothing, thanks.”
Noah shrugged, pulled at his tie and dropped into the oxblood red recliner facing her. In the warm glow from the smoldering embers he studied her face. His stare was so intense that after a moment of returning his direct gaze, she let her eyes fall and pretended interest in the dying fire. But the blackened logs and the quiet flames reminded her of her father and the inferno that had taken his life. Unconsciously she bit at her lower lip and tried to concentrate on anything but the nightmare of the last month.
Noah was disgusted with himself when he realized how fascinated he was becoming with the beguiling woman he had found on his doorstep. Earlier today he had known that she interested him, but never had he expected to become so utterly captivated by her beauty and unconscious vulnerability. Lines of worry etched across her otherwise flawlessly complected forehead, and a deep sadness lingered in her eyes. Still, she was beautiful. The combination of her thick chestnut-colored hair, her delicately structured oval face and her large, nearly luminous gray eyes bewitched him. Noah didn’t fall easy prey to beautiful women; most of them bored him to death. But this intriguing woman with her sharp tongue and gorgeous eyes captivated him. It was difficult for him to disguise his interest in her.
Sheila was nervous, though she proudly attempted to shield herself with a thin veil of defiant poise. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, and tiny droplets of moisture clung to her dark hair, making it shine to the color of burnished copper.
Noah took a swallow from his drink. What bothered him most was the shadow of despair in her eyes. It puzzled and nagged at him, and he wondered if he had inadvertently contributed to that pain. An odd sensation swept over him. He wanted to protect her. He felt the urge to reach out and soothe her…comfort her…make love to her until she forgot everything else in her life other than him.
His final thought struck him savagely. What was he doing, fantasizing over a woman he had barely met, a virtual stranger? He reined in his emotions and blamed his traitorous thoughts on the long, tense day and the worry that was eating at him. What did he know of Sheila Lindstrom? He tried to convince himself that she was just another woman. One that, for all he knew, wanted nothing more from him than a piece of his father’s fortune. He drained his drink.
“All right, Miss Lindstrom,” Noah said, breaking the heavy silence. “You have my undivided attention. What is it that you want from me?” He folded his hands and leaned back in the recliner.
“I told you that I want to get in touch with your father.”
“And I told you that your request was impossible. My father is in Mexico, recuperating from a recent illness. You’ll have to deal with me.”
“I’ve tried that,” she pointed out.
“You’re right. You did try, and I wasn’t very accommodating. I apologize for that…. I had other things on my mind at the time. But right now I’m prepared to listen. I assume that you want to talk about the insurance claim for Cascade Valley Winery?”
Sheila nodded, a little of her confidence returning. “You see, Ben was a personal friend of my father’s. I thought that if I could reason with him, I could convince him of the importance of rebuilding the winery before the fall harvest.”
“Why do you think Wilder Investments would want to continue operating Cascade Valley?”
Sheila eyed Noah dubiously. “To make money, obviously.”
“But the winery wasn’t profitable.”
“Only in the last few years,” she counte
red. Was he testing her? “It’s true that we’ve had a run of bad luck, but now—”
“We?” he interrupted abruptly. “Do you manage the operation?”
“No,” Sheila admitted honestly. Her face clouded in thought. “No…I don’t. Dad took care of that….” Her voice faded when she thought of her father.
Noah’s question was gentle. “Your father was the man who was killed in the fire?”
“Yes.”
“And you think that you can take over where he left off?”
Sheila squared her shoulders and smiled sadly. “I know I could,” she whispered.
“You worked in the winery?”
“No…yes…only in the summers.” Why couldn’t she think straight? It wasn’t like her to be tongue-tied, but then Noah Wilder was more intimidating than any man she had ever met. “I helped Dad in the summers, when I was free from school and college. I’m a counselor at a community college.” Sheila purposely omitted the five years she had been married to Jeff Coleridge. That was a part of her life she would rather forget. Her daughter, Emily, was the only satisfying result of the sour marriage.
Noah regarded her thoughtfully. He pinched his lower lip with his fingers as he turned her story over in his mind. His eyes never left the soft contours of her face and the determination he saw in her gaze. “So what, exactly, qualifies you to manage the operation—a few summers on the farm?”
She recognized his ploy and smile. “That along with a master’s degree in business.”
“I see.” He sounded as if he didn’t.
Noah frowned as he stood and poured himself another drink. The woman was getting to him. Maybe it was all of the worries over his son, or the anxiety that plagued him at the office. It had been a long, hard day, and Sheila Lindstrom was getting under his skin. He found himself wanting to help her, for God’s sake. Without asking her preference, he poured a second drink and set it on the table near her chair. After taking a long swallow of his brandy he sat on the edge of the recliner and leaned on his elbows. “What about the vineyards? It takes more than a college education to oversee the harvest and the fermentation.”
