by Lisa Jackson
Even Emily was beginning to open up to Noah, and the little girl’s shyness all but disappeared by midafternoon. Though he was busy looking over the books, he always took the time to talk to her and show an interest in what she was doing. By late afternoon Emily seemed completely at ease with Noah.
The most surprising relationship that began to evolve was Emily’s attraction to Sean. She adored the teenager and followed after him wherever he went. Though Sean tried vainly to hide his feelings, Sheila suspected that Sean was as fond of the tousled-headed little girl as she was of him. Things were going smoothly—too smoothly.
“Enough work,” Sheila announced, breezing into Oliver’s study. Noah was at the desk, a worried frown creasing his brow. One lock of dark hair fell over his forehead. As he looked up from the untidy stack of papers on the desk and his eyes found hers, a lazy grin formed on his lips.
“What have you got in mind?” A seductive glint sparked in his eyes as they caressed her from across the room.
She lowered her voice and dropped her eyelids, imitating his look of provocative jest. “What do you have in mind?”
“You’re unkind,” he muttered, seeing through her joke.
“And you’re overly optimistic.”
He leaned back in the leather chair and it groaned with the shifting of his weight. “Expectant might be a better word.”
“I was hoping to hear that you were hungry.”
His smile broadened. “That might apply,” he admitted, his voice husky.
“Good.” She threw off her look of wicked seduction and winked at him. “We’re going on a picnic.”
“Alone?”
“Dream on. The kids are joining us.”
Before Noah could respond, an eruption of hurried footsteps announced Emily’s breathless arrival into the study. “Aren’t you ready yet?” she grumbled. “I thought we were going on a hike.”
“We’re on our way,” Sheila laughed. “Did you pack your brownies?”
“Shhh…” Emily put her finger to her lips and her face pulled into a pout. “They’re supposed to be a surprise!”
“I promise I won’t tell a soul,” Noah kidded, his voice hushed in collusion with the excited child. “This will be our secret, okay?”
Emily smiled, and Sheila couldn’t help but wonder how long it had been since she had seen her daughter so at ease with a man. Emily was shy, and even when her father visited, it took time for her to warm up to him. But with Noah it was different; a genuine fondness existed between the man and child. Or was it her imagination, vain hopes that Emily would take to Noah….
Emily raced out of the room, and Sheila cocked her head in the direction of the retreating child. “I think we’d better get going before Emily’s patience wears out.”
“I can’t believe that little girl would ever lose her temper.”
“Just wait,” Sheila warned with a warm laugh. “You’ll see, only hope that you’re well out of range of her throwing arm if you ever cross her.”
“Emily? Tantrums?”
“The likes of which haven’t been seen in civilization,” Sheila rejoined.
Noah rose from the chair. “I wonder where she gets that temper of hers?” he mused aloud. The corners of his eyes crinkled in laughter as he stared pointedly at Sheila. He crossed the room and encircled her waist with his arms. His fingers touched the small of her back, pressing her firmly against him. He pushed an errant lock of copper hair behind her ear as he stared down at her, a bemused smile curving his lips. His clean, masculine scent filled her nostrils.
She lifted an elegant eyebrow dubiously. “Are you accusing me of being temperamental?”
He shook his head. “Temperamental is far too kind. Argumentative is more apt, I think.” His lips caressed her forehead and his voice lowered huskily. “What I wouldn’t give to have just an hour alone with you,” he growled against her ear.
“What would you do?” she asked coyly, playing with the collar of his shirt.
“Things you can’t begin to imagine.”
She felt a tremor of excited anticipation pierce through her. “Try me.”
His eyes narrowed in frustration. “You’re unbelievable, you know, but gorgeous. Just wait, you’ll get yours,” he warned as he released her and gave her buttocks a firm pat. “Let’s go—we don’t want to keep Emily waiting.”
The hike up the steady incline of the surrounding hills took nearly an hour, but Sheila insisted that the view from the top of the knoll was well worth the strain on their leg muscles. Noah appeared openly doubtful, Emily was an energetic bundle of anticipation and Sean had once again donned his role of bored martyrdom.
The picnic spot Sheila had chosen was one of her favorites, a secluded hilltop guarded by a verdant stand of tamaracks and lodgepole pines. After selecting an area that afforded the best view of the surrounding Cascade Mountains, she spread a well-worn blanket on the bare ground and arranged paper plates and sandwiches haphazardly over the plaid cloth. The tension of the previous night was subdued, and Sheila relaxed as she nibbled at a sandwich and sipped from a soft drink. Even Sean began to unwind, letting his mask of rebellion slip.
“I know a good place to catch trout,” Emily stated authoritatively. She was still trying to impress Sean.
“You do, do you?” Sean kidded, rumpling Emily’s dark curls. A mischievous twinkle lighted his blue eyes. “How would a little kid like you know about catching trout?”
Emily’s face rumpled in vexation. “I’m not a little kid!”
“Okay,” Sean shrugged dismissively. “So how do you know how to fish?”
“My grandpa taught me,” Emily declared.
Sean’s indifference wavered as he sized up the little girl. She was okay, he decided, for a little kid. His expression was still dubious. “What kind of trout?”
“Rainbow…and some brook.”
Sean’s interest was piqued. “So how do you catch them?”
“With a pole, stupid,” Emily replied haughtily.
Once again Sean was defensive. “But we didn’t bring any poles.”
“You think you know everything, don’t you?” Emily shot back. She reached into Sheila’s backpack and extracted two tubes; within each was an expandable fly rod.
“You need more than a pole to catch a fish.”
Emily shot him a look that said more clearly than words, Any idiot knows that much. Instead she said, “Give me a break, will ya?” Once again she reached into the open backpack and pulled out a small metal box full of hand-tied flies. She flipped open the lid and held it proudly open for Sean’s inspection. “Anything else?”
Sean smiled, exposing large dimples as he held his palms outward in mock surrender. “Okay, okay—so you know all about fishing. My mistake. Let’s go.” He looked toward Noah and Sheila sitting near the blanket to see if he had parental approval.
Sheila, who had been witnessing the ongoing discussion with quiet amusement, grinned at the blond youth. “Sure you can go. Your dad and I can handle the dishes—such as they are. Emily knows how to get to the creek; she and her grandpa used to go up there every evening.” Sheila’s smile turned wistful. “Just be sure to be back at the house before it gets too dark.”
Emily was already racing down the opposite side of the hill, her small hand wrapped tightly around the fly rod. “Come on, Sean. Get a move on. We haven’t got all day,” she sang out over her shoulder.
Sean took his cue and picked up the remaining pole and the box of flies before heading out after Emily.
Sheila began to put the leftover fruit and sandwiches into the basket. “You can help, you know,” she pointed out, glancing at Noah through a veil of dark lashes.
“Why should I when I can lie here and enjoy the view?” His blue eyes slid lazily up her body. He was lying on his side, his body propped up on one elbow as he studied her. As she placed the blanket into her backpack, his hand reached out to capture her wrist. “Explain something to me.”
The corne
rs of her mouth twitched. “If I can.”
His dark brows blunted, as if he were curiously tossing a problem over in his mind, but his thumb began to trace lazy, erotic circles on the inside of her forearm. “Why is it that you and that precocious daughter of yours can handle my son when I can’t even begin to understand him?”
“Maybe you’re trying too hard,” Sheila answered. She bit into an apple and paused when she had swallowed. “Do you really think that Emily’s precocious?”
“Only when she has to be.”
“And when is that?”
“When she’s dealing with Sean. He’s a handful.”
Sheila rotated the apple in her hand and studied it. “She’s never had to deal with anyone like Sean before.”
Noah seemed surprised. “Why not?”
Sheila shrugged dismissively. “All of my friends have children just about Emily’s age. Some are older, some younger, but only by a few years. The winery’s pretty remote and she hasn’t run into many teenagers. That might be because they tend to avoid younger kids.”
“Certainly you’ve had babysitters.”
Sheila shook her head, and the sunlight glinted in reddish streaks on her burnished curls. “Not many,” she explained, tossing the apple core into the trash. “I usually trade off with my friends, and when that doesn’t work out, there’s always Marian.”
“Marian?”
“Jeff’s mother. Emily’s grandmother.”
Noah’s thumb ceased its seductive motion on her inner wrist. “Right,” he agreed, as if he really didn’t understand. He stood up abruptly and dusted his hands on the knees of his jeans. A dark scowl creased his forehead. As if dismissing an unpleasant thought, he shook his head and let out a long gust of wind. “You’re still very attached to your ex-mother-in-law, aren’t you?” he observed.
Sheila jammed the cork back in the wine bottle and stashed it in the backpack. “I suppose so,” she said. “She’s Emily’s only living grandparent.”
“And that makes her special?”
“Yes.”
Noah snorted his disagreement as he picked up his pack and the light basket.
“Marian Coleridge is very good to Emily and to me. She adores the child, and just because Jeff and I split up doesn’t mean that Emily should have to sacrifice a good relationship with her grandmother.”
“Of course not,” was Noah’s clipped reply.
“Then why does it bother you?”
“It doesn’t.”
“Liar.”
“I just don’t like being reminded that you were married.”
“You’re reminded of it every time you see Emily.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“Your child can’t be compared to your ex-husband’s mother.”
Sheila sighed to herself as they began walking back to the house. “I don’t want to argue with you. It’s pointless. I’m a thirty-one-year-old divorced woman with a child. You can’t expect me to forget that I was married.”
“I don’t. But then, I don’t expect you to constantly remind yourself of the fact.”
“I don’t.”
They came to a bend in the path, and Noah stopped and turned to face Sheila. He set down the basket and gazed into the gray depths of her eyes. “I think you’re still hung up on your ex-husband,” he accused.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?”
Sheila’s anger became evident as she pursed her lips tightly together. “The only reason I don’t like to talk about Jeff is that I’m not proud of being divorced. I didn’t go into that marriage expecting it to end as it did. I thought I loved him once, now I’m not so sure, but the point is, I had hoped that it wouldn’t have turned out so badly. It’s…as if I’ve failed.” She was shaking, but tried to control her ragged emotions. She sighed as she thought of her daughter. “I am glad I married Jeff, though.”
“I thought so.” His blue eyes narrowed.
“Because of Emily!” Sheila was becoming exasperated. “If I wouldn’t have married Jeff, I would never have had Emily. You should understand that.”
“I didn’t get married to have Sean!”
“And I wouldn’t have a baby without a father.”
Noah’s jaw clenched, and the skin over his cheekbones stretched thin. “So you think Marilyn should have gotten an abortion, as she had planned.”
“No!” Didn’t he understand what she was saying? “Of course not. I don’t even understand the circumstances surrounding your son’s birth.”
“Is that what you want, to hear all the juicy details?”
“I only want to know what you’re willing to tell me and to try and convince you that I’m not in the least ‘hung up’ on Jeff. That was over long before the divorce.”
The anger in Noah’s eyes began to fade. His mouth spread into a slow, self-deprecating smile. “It’s hard, you know.”
“What?”
“Dealing with jealousy.” He looked into the distance as he sorted his thoughts. It was late afternoon; a warm sun hung low in the sky, waiting to disappear beneath the ridge of snowcapped mountains and he was with the only woman who had really interested him in the last sixteen years. Why did he insist on arguing with her? Why couldn’t he just tell her everything he felt about her—that he was falling in love with her and couldn’t let himself fall victim to her? Why couldn’t he find the courage to explain about her father? Why couldn’t he ignore the look of pride and love in her eyes when she spoke of her father? What did he fear?
Sheila was staring at him, her eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re trying to convince me that you’re jealous…of what…not Jeff?” If Noah hadn’t seemed so earnest, so genuinely vexed with himself, she might have laughed.
He was deadly serious, his voice low and without humor. “I’m jealous of any man that touched you.”
She reached down, picked up the basket and handed it to him. “Now who’s exhibiting ‘latent Victorian morality’?”
His dimple appeared as he carefully considered her accusation. “Okay, so you’re right. I can’t help it. I get a little crazy when I’m with you.” He reached for her, but because he was hampered by the picnic basket, she managed to slip out of his grasp. A few feet ahead of him, she turned and walked backward up the sloping, overgrown path. “Is that such a crime?”
“That depends,” she murmured, tossing her rich chestnut hair before lowering her lashes and pouting her lips provocatively.
He waited, his smile broadening, his dark brows arching. “Upon what?” he coaxed while striding more closely to her.
She touched her finger to her lips and then pressed it fleetingly to his. “On just how crazy you want to get….”
“You’re wicked,” he accused, “seductively wicked.” This time, when he reached for her with his free hand, his steely fingers wrapped possessively over her forearm.
“Only when I’m around you,” she promised. A smile quirked on her full lips. “That makes us quite a pair, doesn’t it? Crazy and wicked.”
“That makes for an indescribably potent attraction,” he stated, drawing her closer to him. “Just where are you taking me? Didn’t you take the wrong turn back at the fork in the path a little while ago?”
“I wondered if you would notice.”
“Did you think that you had captivated me so completely that I would lose my sense of direction?”
“Hardly,” she whispered dryly.
“Is it a secret?”
“No.”
“Then why are you being so mysterious?”
“Because I’ve never taken anyone up here before…aside from Emily.”
“What is it, your private part of the mountains?”
Sheila smiled broadly, slightly embarrassed. “I guess I kind of thought of it that way. It’s just a place I used to go, as a kid, when I wanted to be alone.”
Noah’s hand strengthened its grip on her arm. They followed the path around pine trees that
had fallen across it and over a summit, until they entered a small valley with a clear brook running through it. The water spilled over a ledge from the higher elevations of the mountain, creating a frothy waterfall with a pool at its base. From the small lake the stream continued recklessly through the valley and down the lower elevations of the foothills.
They walked around the small pond together, arms linked, eyes taking in the serenity of the secluded valley. Noah helped her cross the stream, nearly slipping on the wet stones peeking from the rushing water. Once on the other side of the brook, Noah spread the blanket. They sat together near a stand of ponderosa pines, close to the fall of cascading water and able to feel the cool mist of water on their skin.
“Why did you bring me here?” Noah asked, his eyes following the path of the winding mountain stream.
“I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to share the beauty of this place with you…. Oh, Noah, I just don’t want to lose it.”
Grim lines formed at the corner of his mouth. “And you think that I’ll take it away from you.”
“I think you have that power.”
Noah rubbed his thumbnail over his lower lip. “Even if I did, do you honestly think I would use it?”
Her eyes were honest when they looked into his. Lines marred her forehead where her brows drew together. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
She took in a steadying breath. “Yes…”
“But?”
“I don’t think you’re telling me everything.”
Noah tossed a stone into the pond and watched it skip, drawing circles on the clear surface of the water. “What do you want to know?”
“About Anthony Simmons’s report on the fire.”
“What if it isn’t complete?” he heard himself ask, damning himself for hedging. The truth should be so simple.
