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Tears Of Pride
Lisa Jackson


HER LEGACY HAS JUST GONE UP IN FLAMESSheila Lindstrom is reeling from the aftermath of the devastating fire that claimed the life of her father and all but destroyed Cascade Valley Winery, the family's pride and joy. Without the insurance proceeds needed to rebuild the winery, Sheila risks losing everything to corporate monolith Wilder Investments. When she confronts company president Noah Wilder, an undeniable attraction hits both of them with the force of a tidal wave. Will mistrust and deceit undermine this volatile union–or will love rise from the ashes?







“I think you could persuade me to do anything,” Noah said.

His finger trailed down her throat to rest against her collar. Her heart fluttered.

She stepped away and eyed him suspiciously. “What would it take for you to listen to my side of the story?”

He shrugged. “Not much.”

“How much?”

Noah’s eyes gleamed devilishly. “Why don’t we start with dinner?”

“All right, Noah. Why not?” Sheila countered. “But I insist we keep the conversation on business.”

“Just come with me,” he suggested wickedly. “The conversation and the night will take care of themselves.”




Discover why Lisa Jackson is a reader favorite!


“This psychological thriller has a beautifully conceived plot full of unexpected twists and provocative misleads, as well as sophisticated character development.”

—Publishers Weekly on The Morning After

“The pages practically sizzle.”

—Publishers Weekly on Whispers

“When it comes to providing gritty and sexy stories, Ms. Jackson certainly knows how to deliver.”

—Romantic Times on Mystic

“A spellbinding blockbuster of a mystery…a heart-stopping whodunit with as many twists and turns as the streets in San Francisco. Don’t miss it!”

—Old Book Barn Gazette on If She Only Knew

“Lisa Jackson presents a spine-tingling suspense adventure in her latest release…. Carefully constructed, tension-packed scenes will leave readers sitting on the edge of their seats, anxiously anticipating the outcome of this incredible tale…thrilling.”

—The Times Record News, Wichita Falls, TX, on Unspoken

“Ms. Jackson makes character and plot development seem easy! What a natural talent!”

—Literary Times on A Twist of Fate




Tears of Pride

Lisa Jackson







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To Mary Clare, my editor,

with love and affection.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE (#u548fdf7c-9548-5237-a9e7-2a1b1532b0c7)

CHAPTER TWO (#u2b11752d-b845-5f48-a7d4-5be0bcfe9ccb)

CHAPTER THREE (#u2a721865-52b0-5f32-af66-a5fd264f255e)

CHAPTER FOUR (#ud8550f29-4590-5ae8-ac45-980cc595121f)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE


HE STOOD ALONE, and his vibrant blue eyes scanned the horizon, as if he were looking for something…or someone. The cold morning fog on the gray waters of Elliott Bay hampered his view, but the lonely, broad-shouldered man didn’t seem to notice. Haggard lines were etched across his forehead and an errant lock of dark brown hair was caught in the Pacific breeze. Noah Wilder didn’t care. Though dressed only in a business suit, the icy wind blowing across Puget Sound couldn’t cool the anger and frustration burning within him.

Realizing that he had wasted too much time staring at the endlessly lapping water, he began to walk along the waterfront, back to a job he could barely stomach. He gritted his teeth in determination as he continued southward and tried to quiet the anger and fear that were tearing him apart. Just half an hour earlier he had been notified that his son was missing from school. It had happened before. Noah closed his mind to the terrifying thoughts. By now, he was used to the fact that his rebellious son hated school—especially the school into which he had been transferred just two months before. Noah hoped that Sean wasn’t in any real trouble or danger.

He paused only once as he walked back to the office and that was to buy a newspaper. Knowing it was a mistake, he opened the paper to the financial section. Although this time the article was buried, Noah managed to find it on the fourth page. After all this time, he had hoped that the interest in the scandal would have faded. He was wrong. “Damn,” he muttered to himself as he quickly scanned the story.

It had been four weeks since the fire, but that had been time enough for Noah Wilder to have the opportunity to curse his father too many times to count. Today was no exception. Actually the fire and the scandal surrounding it were only a couple of problems on a long list that seemed to grow daily. The fire and the suspected arson complicated matters for Noah, and until the entire business was resolved, he knew that he would suffer many more long hours in the office and endure countless sleepless nights. It was just his luck that the blaze had started while his father was out of the country. At the thought of Ben Wilder, Noah’s frown deepened.

The early morning was still thick with fog, the air thick with the smell of the sea. A few shafts of sunlight pierced the gray clouds and reflected on the water collected on the concrete sidewalk, but Noah was too preoccupied with his own black thoughts to notice the promise of spring in the brisk air.

An angry horn blared, and a passing motorist shouted indignantly at Noah as he stepped onto the street against the traffic. He ignored the oath and continued, without breaking stride, toward the massive concrete and steel structure that housed Wilder Investments, his father’s prosperous holding company. Damn his father! This was one helluva time for Ben to be recuperating in Mexico, leaving Noah to clean up all of the problems at the company. If it weren’t for his father’s recent heart attack, Noah would be back in Portland where he belonged, and perhaps Sean wouldn’t be missing from school again. At the thought of his rebellious son, Noah’s stomach tightened with concern. The lines deepened on his forehead, and his thoughtful scowl gave him a ragged, anxious appearance. Unfortunately, Noah could blame no one but himself for his son’s attitude.

Noah should never have let Ben talk him into taking control of Wilder Investments, not even for a short period of time. It had been a mistake, and Sean was the person who was paying for it. Noah shouldn’t have let his emotions dictate the decision to move to Seattle, and Ben’s heart attack shouldn’t have made any difference in that decision. Noah uttered an oath under his breath and slapped the rolled newspaper against his thigh in frustration. It had been difficult enough trying to raise a son alone in Portland. But now, in Seattle, along with the problems of managing Wilder Investments, it was nearly impossible for Noah to find enough time for his son.

Noah pushed open the wide glass doors of the Wilder Building and strode angrily to the elevator. It was early in the day, and the lobby was nearly empty. Silently the elevator doors parted and Noah stepped inside, grateful that he was alone. This morning he had no use for small talk with the employees of his father’s multimillion dollar corporation. Anyone or anything that reminded him of Ben Wilder only served to deepen Noah’s simmering anger.

After pushing the button for the thirtieth floor, he glared at the headlines of the financial section of the paper and reread the beginning of the article that had ruined his morning. His stomach knotted as the headline jumped up at him. “Burned” Wilder Investments Suspected of Insurance Fraud. Noah gritted his teeth and tried to control his anger. The first paragraph was worse than the condemning headline: Noah Wilder, acting president of Wilder Investments, was unavailable for comment against the rumor that Wilder Investments might have intentionally started the blaze at Cascade Valley Winery. The fire, which started in the west wing of the main building, took the life of one man. Oliver Lindstrom, the deceased, was in partnership with Wilder Investments at the time of the blaze…

The elevator stopped, and Noah drew his eyes away from the infuriating article. He’d already read it, and it only served to make him more frustrated with his father and his decision to prolong his stay in Mexico. To top things off, Sean had taken off from school this morning and couldn’t be found. Where the hell could Sean have gone? Noah bit at his lip as his eyes glinted in determination. Regardless of anything else, Noah promised himself that he would find a way to force Ben to return to Seattle to resume control of Wilder Investments. This time Sean came first. There was just no other alternative.

Noah stepped from the elevator and headed for his father’s auspicious office. He paused only slightly at Maggie’s desk to order a terse directive. “See if you can get Ben on the phone immediately.” He forced a smile that he didn’t feel and entered the spacious, window-lined office where all the decisions for Wilder Investments were made. Pitching the bothersome newspaper onto the contemporary oak desk, Noah shrugged out of his suit jacket and tossed it unceremoniously over the back of a well-oiled leather couch.

The bank of windows behind the desk overlooked Pioneer Square, one of Seattle’s oldest and most prestigious areas. Brick buildings, set on the sides of the rolling hills overlooking the sound, boasted turn-of-the-century architecture contrasting sharply to the neighboring modern skyscrapers. The area was packed with an interesting array of antique shops, boutiques and restaurants.

Beyond Pioneer Square were the soothing gray waters of Puget Sound, and in the distance were the proud Olympic Mountains. On a clear day, they stood as a snow-laden barrier to the Pacific Ocean. Today they were merely ghostly shadows hiding in the slate-colored fog.

Noah cast a glance at the calm view over the rooftops of the city before sitting stiffly down in his father’s leather chair. It groaned against his weight as he leaned back and ran an impatient hand through his thick, coarse hair. Closing his eyes, he attempted to clear his mind. Where was Sean?

He shook his head and opened his eyes to see the newspaper lying flat on the desk. The picture of the charred winery met his gaze. The last thing he wanted to think about this morning was the fire. One man was dead—arson was suspected—and the Northwest’s most prominent winery, Cascade Valley, was inoperable, caught in a lawsuit contesting the payment of the insurance proceeds. How in the world had he been so unlucky as to get trapped in the middle of this mess? The intercom buzzed, interrupting his thoughts.

“I’ve got your mother on line two,” Maggie’s voice called to him.

“I wanted to speak with Ben, not my mother,” was Noah’s clipped, impatient reply.

“I wasn’t able to reach him. It was hard enough getting through to Katharine. I swear there must be only one telephone in that godforsaken village.”

“It’s all right, Maggie,” Noah conceded. “I shouldn’t have snapped. Of course I’ll talk to Katharine.” Noah waited, his temper barely in check. Although he was furious with himself and his father, there was no reason to take it out on Maggie. He told himself to calm down and tried to brace himself against the wall of excuses his mother would build for his father. After pushing the correct button on the telephone, he attempted to sound casual and polite—two emotions he didn’t feel at the moment. “Hello, Mother. How are you?”

“Fine, Noah,” was the cool automatic response. “But your father isn’t feeling well at all.” Beneath Katharine’s soft, feminine voice was a will of iron.

Noah’s jaw tightened involuntarily, but he managed to keep his voice pleasant and calm. “I’d like to speak to him.”

“I’m sorry, Noah. That’s out of the question. He’s resting right now.” His mother’s voice continued to drone in low, unemotional tones, giving Noah an updated prognosis of his father’s condition. As he listened, Noah rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and began to pace angrily in front of the desk. He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand while he clutched the other in a death grip around the telephone receiver. His knuckles whitened in annoyance as Katharine continued to speak tonelessly to him from somewhere in northern Mexico. Noah cast a dark glance out of the window into the rising fog and hoped for a break in the one-sided conversation.

It was obvious that Katharine Wilder was protecting her husband from the demands of his son. Noah could envision the tight, uncompromising line of his mother’s small mouth and the coldness in her distant blue eyes as she spoke to him from some three thousand miles distance.

“So you can see, Noah, it looks as if we have no other choice but to stay in Guaymas for at least another two months…possibly three.”

“I can’t wait that long!”

There was a long unyielding sigh from his mother. Her voice sounded a little more faint. The frail telephone connection to Mexico seemed to be failing. “I don’t see that you have much of a choice, Noah. The doctors all agree that your father is much too ill to make the exhaustive trip back to Seattle. There’s no way he could hope to run the company. You’ll just have to hang on a little longer.”

“And what about Sean?” Noah demanded hotly. There was no response. Noah’s voice quieted slightly. “Just let me talk to Ben.”

“You can’t be serious! Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said? Your father is resting now—he can’t possibly come to the phone!”

“I need to talk to him. This wasn’t part of the bargain,” Noah warned, not bothering to hide his exasperation.

“Perhaps later…”

“Now!” Noah’s voice had risen as his impatience began to get the better of him.

“I’m sorry, Noah. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Don’t hang up—”

A click from a small town in Mexico severed the connection.

“Damn!” Noah slammed the receiver down and smashed one fist into an open palm. He uttered a stream of invectives partially aimed at his father, but mainly at himself. How could he have been so gullible as to have agreed to run the investment firm while Ben was recuperating? It had been an emotional decision and a bad one at that. Noah wasn’t prone to sentimental decisions, not since the last one he had made, nearly sixteen years before. But this time, because of his father’s delicate condition, Noah had let his emotions dictate to him. He shook his head at his own folly. He was a damned fool. “Son of a…”

“Pardon me?” Maggie asked as she breezed into the office in her usual efficient manner. Nearly sixty, with flaming red hair and sporting a brightly colored print dress, she was the picture of unflappable competency.

“Nothing,” Noah grumbled, but the fire in his bright blue eyes refused to die. He slumped into his father’s desk chair and attempted to cool his smoldering rage.

“Good!” Maggie returned with an understanding smile. She placed a stack of correspondence on the corner of the desk.

Noah regarded the letters with a frown. “What are those?”

“Oh, just the usual—except for the letter on the top of the pile. It’s from the insurance company. I think you should read it.” Maggie’s friendly smile began to fade.

Noah slid a disgusted glance at the document in question and then mentally dismissed it as he looked back at the secretary. She noticed his dismissive gesture, and a perturbed expression puckered her lips.

“Would you put in a call to Betty Averill in the Portland office? Tell her I won’t be back as soon as I had planned. Have her send anything she or Jack can’t handle up here. If she has any questions, she can call me.”

Maggie’s intense gaze sharpened. “Isn’t your father coming back on the first?” she asked. Maggie normally didn’t pry, but this time she couldn’t help herself. Noah hadn’t been himself lately, and Maggie laid most of the blame on his strong-willed son. The kid was sixteen and hell-on-wheels.

“Apparently not,” Noah muttered in response.

“Then you’ll be staying for a few more months?”

Noah narrowed his eyes. “It’s beginning to look that way, isn’t it?”

Maggie tried to ignore the rage in Noah’s eyes. She tapped a brightly tipped finger on the correspondence. “If you’re staying on as head of Wilder Investments—”

“Only temporarily!”

Maggie shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, but perhaps you should read this insurance inquiry.”

“Is it that important?” Noah asked dubiously.

Maggie frowned as she thought. “It could be. That’s your decision.”

“All right…all right, I’ll take a look,” Noah reluctantly agreed. Before Maggie could back out of the office, he called to her. “Oh, Maggie, would you do me a favor?” She nodded. “Please keep calling the house, every half an hour if you have to. And if you do happen to get hold of my son, let me know immediately. I want to talk to him!”

Maggie’s smile was faintly sad. “Will do.” She closed the door softly behind her.

When Maggie was gone, Noah reached for the document that she had indicated. “What the hell is this?” he muttered as his dark brows pulled together in concentration. He scanned the letter from the insurance company quickly and several phrases caught his attention: non-payment of benefits…conflict of interest…lawsuit contesting the beneficiary…Cascade Valley Winery.

“Damn!” Noah wadded the letter into a tight ball and tossed it furiously into the wastebasket. He pushed down the button on the intercom and waited for Maggie’s voice to answer. “Get me the president of Pac-West Insurance Company on the phone, now!” he barked without waiting for her response.

The last thing he needed was more problems with the insurance proceeds for the winery located in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains. He had hoped that by now the insurance company would have straightened everything out, even with the suspected arson complicating matters. Apparently he had been wrong, very wrong. Maggie’s efficient voice interrupted his conjecture.

“Joseph Gallager, president of Pac-West Insurance, is on line one,” she announced briskly.

“Good.” He raised his hand to connect with Gallager, but paused. Instead he spoke to the secretary. “Do you have the name of the private investigator that my father uses?”

“Mr. Simmons,” Maggie supplied.

“That’s the one. As soon as I’m off the line with Gallager, I might want to talk to Simmons.” An uneasy feeling settled over him at the mention of the wily detective. “Oh, Maggie…did you call the house?”

“Yes, sir. No one answered.”

Noah’s blue eyes darkened. “Thanks. Keep trying,” he commanded through tightly clenched teeth. Where was Sean? Noah turned his dark thoughts away from his defiant son and back to the problems in the office. Hopefully, the president of Pac-West Insurance could answer a few questions about the fire at the winery and why the insurance benefits hadn’t been paid to Wilder Investments. If not, Noah would be forced to contact Anthony Simmons. Noah’s lip curled into an uncompromising frown as he thought about the slick private investigator that Ben insisted upon keeping on the company payroll. Though he hated to rely on the likes of Simmons, Noah didn’t have much of a choice. If the insurance company refused to pay because of the suspected arson, maybe Simmons could come up with a culprit for the crime and get rid of any lingering suspicion that Wilder Investments had had something to do with the blaze. Unless, of course, Ben Wilder knew something he wasn’t telling his son.

THE LAW OFFICES OF Fielding & Son were sedately conservative. Located on the third floor of a nineteenth-century marble bank building, they were expensively decorated without seeming garish. Thick rust-colored carpet covered the floors, and the walls gleamed with finely polished cherrywood. Verdant Boston ferns and lush philodendrons overflowed the intricately woven baskets suspended from the ceiling. Leather-bound editions of law texts adorned shelves, and polished brass lamps added a warmth to the general atmosphere.

Despite all of the comfortable furnishings, Sheila was tense. She could feel the dampness of her palms, though they were folded on her lap.

Jonas Fielding mopped the sweat from his receding hairline with a silk handkerchief. Although it was only late May, the weather in the valley was unseasonably warm, and the small, delicately framed woman sitting opposite him added to his discomfort. Her large gray eyes were shadowed in pain from the recent loss of her father. There was an innocence about her, though she was dressed in a tailored business suit. Jonas couldn’t help but remember Sheila Lindstrom as a little girl.

Jonas had practiced law for nearly forty years. Though he could have retired years ago, he hadn’t, and it was times like this that he wished he had left the firm to his younger associates. Looking at Sheila, he felt very old, and the burden of his seventy years seemed great.

He should have become accustomed to grieving relatives long ago, but he hadn’t, especially when the deceased had been one of his friends. Working with family members for the estate was a dismal part of his job, one that he would rather sluff off on a young associate. However, in this case it was impossible. Oliver Lindstrom had been a personal friend of Jonas Fielding. Hence, he had known Oliver’s daughter, Sheila, all of her thirty-one years.

Jonas cleared his throat and wondered why the devil the air-conditioning in the building wasn’t working properly. The offices seemed uncomfortably confining this afternoon. Perhaps it was his imagination. Perhaps dealing with Sheila was the cause of his irritability. He detested this part of his job. To give himself a little space, he stood up and walked over to the window before addressing her.

“I understand that all of this business about your father’s will and the complication with the insurance proceeds is a bit much for you now, because of your father’s death.” Sheila’s small face whitened and she pinched her lower lip between her teeth. “But you have to face facts…”

“What facts?” she asked shakily. Her voice was dry with emotions that wouldn’t leave her. “Are you trying to tell me something I already know—that everyone in this valley, and for that matter the entire Pacific Northwest, thinks my father committed suicide?” Sheila’s hands were shaking. It was difficult but she held onto her poise, holding back the tears that were burning in her throat. “Well, I don’t believe it, not one word of it! I won’t!” Nervously she ran her fingers through the thick, chestnut strands of her hair. “You were a friend of my dad. You don’t think that he actually took his own life, do you?” Round, gray eyes challenged the attorney.

The question Jonas had been avoiding made him squirm against the window ledge. He rubbed his hands on the knees of his suit pants, stalling for time to compose a suitable answer. He wanted to be kind. “I don’t know, Sheila. It seems unlikely…. Oliver had such zest for life…. But, sometimes, when his back is up against the wall, a man will do just about anything to preserve what he has worked for all of his life.”

Sheila closed her eyes. “Then you do believe it,” she whispered, feeling suddenly small and very much alone. “Just like the police and the press. They all think that Dad started the fire himself and got caught in it by mistake…or that he took his own life.”

“No one suggested—”

“No one had to! Just look at the front page of the paper! It’s been four weeks, and the newspapers are still having a field day!”

“Cascade Valley employed a lot of people from around here. Since it’s been closed, unemployment in the valley has doubled. There’s no two ways about it, Sheila. Cascade Valley is news. Big news.” Jonas’s voice was meant to be soothing, but Sheila refused to be comforted.

“I guess I don’t see why everyone seems to think that my father killed himself. Why would he do that—for the money?”

“Who knows?” Jonas shrugged his aging shoulders as he made his way to the desk. “All of the talk—it’s only speculation.”

“It’s slander!” Sheila accused, lifting her regal chin upward defiantly. “My father was a decent, law-abiding citizen, and nothing will change that. He would never…” Her voice cracked with the strain of the past month as she remembered the gentle man who had raised her. Since her mother’s death five years before, Sheila had become closer to her father. The last time she had seen him alive, just last spring vacation, he had been so robust and healthy that Sheila still found it impossible to believe he was gone. When she had visited him, he had been remote and preoccupied, but Sheila had chalked it up to the problems that the winery was experiencing at the time. Although her father had seemed distant, Sheila was sure that no problem at Cascade Valley had been serious enough to cause him to take his life. He had been stronger than that.

Sheila managed to compose herself. There was too much pride in her slender body to allow Jonas Fielding to witness the extent of her grief. “Is there any way I can get the winery operating again?”

Jonas shook his balding head. “I doubt it. The insurance company is balking at paying the settlement because of the possibility of arson.”

Sheila sighed wearily, and her shoulders sagged. Jonas hesitated before continuing. “There’s more to it than that,” he admitted.

Sheila’s head snapped up. “What do you mean?”

“The papers that were in your father’s safety deposit box—did you read them?”

“No…I was too upset at the time. I brought everything here.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“Why?”

“I found the partnership papers among the rest. Did you know that Oliver didn’t own the business alone?”

“Yes.”

The elderly attorney seemed to relax a little. “Have you ever met his business partner?”

“Years ago—when I was very young. But what does Ben Wilder have to do with anything?” she asked, confused by the twist in the conversation and Jonas’s inability to meet her gaze.

“As I understand it, when the business was purchased nearly eighteen years ago, Ben and Oliver were equal partners.” Sheila nodded, remembering the day when her father had made the ecstatic announcement that he had purchased the rustic old winery nestled deep in the eastern foothills of the Cascades. “However, during the course of the last few years, Oliver was forced to borrow money from Wilder Investments…to cover expenses. He put up his share of the business as collateral.”

A tight, uneasy feeling gripped Sheila’s stomach. “You didn’t know about that?”

Jonas shook his head. “All the legal work was done by Ben Wilder’s attorneys. I would have advised Oliver against it.

Sheila suddenly felt guilty as she remembered the course of events over the past five years. “Why exactly did Dad borrow the money?”

Jonas was evasive. He rubbed his palms together. “Several reasons…the economy had been rotten…and then there was a problem with the tampered bottles in Montana. From what I can see in the ledgers, sales have been down for several years.”

“But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?” Sheila whispered. Her throat became dry as she began to understand the reasons for her father’s debt to Ben Wilder. It was her fault! Guilt, in an overpowering rush, settled in her heart.

Jonas dreaded what he had to say. “Your father took out the loan four years ago.”

Sheila blanched. Her suspicions were confirmed.

Hesitating only slightly, the old attorney continued. “As I remember, there were several reasons for the loan. The most important thing at the time was that Oliver wanted to help you recover from your divorce from Jeff. Your father thought you should go back to school for your master’s degree. He didn’t want for you or Emily to be denied anything you might need, just because your marriage had failed.”

“Oh, God, no!” Sheila sighed. She closed her eyes against the truth and sank lower into the chair. At the time of the divorce she hadn’t wanted to take her father’s money, but he hadn’t given her much of a choice. She was a single mother without a job or the skill for decent employment. Her father had insisted that she attend a private school in California where the tuition along with the living expenses for herself and Emily were outrageous. Oliver had forced the money upon her, telling her that the California sun would help her forget about Jeff and the unhappy marriage. Begrudgingly she had accepted her father’s help, assuring herself that she would pay him back with interest.

That had been over four years ago, and so far, Sheila hadn’t managed to pay him a penny in return. Now her father was dead. He had never once mentioned that Cascade Valley was in financial trouble. Then again, Sheila had never asked. Guilt took a stranglehold of her throat.

Jonas handed her the partnership papers. She glanced through them and saw that the attorney’s assessment of the situation was correct. After perusing the documents, Sheila raised her head and handed the papers back to her father’s elderly friend.

“If only your father had come to me,” Jonas offered. “I could have avoided this mess.”

“Why didn’t he?”

“Pride, I’d guess. It’s all water under the bridge now.”

“There’s a letter demanding repayment of the loan to Wilder Investments,” Sheila thought aloud.

“I know.”

“But it wasn’t written by Ben Wilder. The signature is…” Sheila’s voice failed her, and her brows drew together as she recognized the name.

“Noah Wilder. Ben’s son.”

Sheila became pensive. She didn’t know much about the man; Noah Wilder had always been a mystery to her. Despite her grief for her father, she was intrigued. “Is he in charge now?”

“Only temporarily, until Ben returns from Mexico.”

“Have you talked to either Ben or his son and asked them if they might consider extending the loan?” Sheila asked, her tired mind finally taking hold of the situation. Without help from Wilder Investments Cascade Valley Winery was out of business.

“I’ve had trouble getting through to Noah,” Jonas admitted. “He hasn’t returned any of my calls. I’m still working on the insurance company.”

“Would you like me to call Wilder Investments?” Sheila asked impulsively. Why did she think she could get through to Noah Wilder when Jonas had failed?

“It wouldn’t hurt, I suppose. Do you know anything about Wilder Investments or its reputation?”

“I know that it’s not the best, if that’s what you mean. Dad never mentioned it, but from what I’ve read, I’d say that the reputation of Wilder Investments is more than slightly tarnished.”

“That’s right. For the past ten years Wilder Investments has been walking a thin line with the S.E.C. However, any violations charged against the firm were never proven. And, of course, the Wilder name has been a continued source of news for the scandal sheets.”

Sheila’s dark eyebrows lifted. “I know.”

Jonas tapped his fingers on the desk. “Then you realize that Wilder Investments and the family itself are rather…”

“Shady?”

Jonas smiled in spite of himself. “I wouldn’t say that, but then I wouldn’t trust Ben Wilder as far as I could throw him.” His voice became stern. “And neither should you. As sole beneficiary to your father’s estate, you could be easy prey for the likes of Ben Wilder.”

“I guess I don’t understand what you’re suggesting.”

“Don’t you realize how many marginal businesses have fallen victim to Wilder Investments this year alone? There was a shipping firm in Seattle, a theater group in Spokane and a salmon cannery in British Columbia.”

“Do you really believe that the Wilder family wants Cascade Valley?” Sheila asked, unable to hide her skepticism.

“Why not? Sure, in the last few years Cascade has had its trouble, but it’s still the largest and most prestigious winery in the Northwest. No one, even with the power and money of Ben Wilder, could find a better location for a vineyard.” Jonas rubbed his upper lip and pushed aside the moisture that had accumulated on it. “Your father might not have been much of a businessman, Sheila, but he did know how to bottle and ferment the best wine in the state.”

Sheila leveled her gaze at Jonas’s worried face. “Are you implying that Wilder Investments might be responsible for the fire?”

“Of course not…at least I don’t think so. But regardless of who started the blaze, the fact stands that Wilder Investments is the only party who gained from it. Ben Wilder won’t pass up a golden opportunity when it’s offered him.”

“And you think the winery is that opportunity.”

“You’d better believe it.”

“What do you think he’ll do?”

Jonas thought for a moment. “Approach you, unless I miss my guess.” He rubbed his chin. “I’d venture to say that Ben will want to buy out what little equity you have left. You have to realize that between the first and second mortgages on the property, along with the note to Wilder Investments, you own very little of the winery.”

“And you don’t think I should sell out?”

“I didn’t say that. Just be careful. Make sure you talk to me first. I’d hate to see you fleeced by Ben Wilder, or his son.”

Sheila’s face became a mask of grim determination. “Don’t worry, Jonas. I intend to face Ben Wilder, or his son, and I plan to hang on to Cascade Valley. It’s all Emily and I have left.”




CHAPTER TWO


THE DOOR TO BEN’S OFFICE swung open, and although Noah didn’t look up, his frown deepened. He tried to hide his annoyance and pulled his gaze from the thick pile of correspondence he had been studying. It was from a recently acquired shipping firm, and some of the most important documents were missing. “Yes,” he called out sharply when he felt, rather than saw, his father’s secretary enter the room. He looked up, softening the severity of his gaze with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Noah, but there’s a call for you on line one,” Maggie said. Over the past few months she’d become accustomed to Noah’s foul moods, provoked by his father’s business decisions.

“I’m busy right now, Maggie. Couldn’t you take a message?” He turned his attention back to the stack of paperwork cluttering the desk. Maggie remained in the room.

“I know you’re busy,” she assured him, “but Miss Lindstrom is the woman waiting to speak with you.”

“Lindstrom?” Noah repeated, tossing the vaguely familiar name over in his mind. “Is she supposed to mean something to me?”

“She’s Oliver Lindstrom’s daughter. He died in that fire a few weeks ago.”

The lines of concentration furrowing Noah’s brow deepened. He rubbed his hands through the thick, dark brown hair that curled above his ears. “She’s the woman who keeps insisting I release some insurance money to her, isn’t she?”

Maggie nodded curtly. “The same.”

All of Noah’s attention was turned to the secretary, and his deep blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Lindstrom died in the fire, and according to the reports, arson is suspected. Do you suppose that Lindstrom set the fire and inadvertently got trapped in it?” Without waiting for a response from Maggie, Noah reached for the insurance report on the fire. His eyes skimmed it while he posed another question to the secretary. “Didn’t I write to this Lindstrom woman and explain our position?”

“You did.”

“And what did I say? Wasn’t it a phony excuse to buy time until the insurance investigation is complete?” He rubbed his temple as he concentrated. “Now I remember…I told her that everything had to wait until Ben returned.”

“That’s right.” Maggie pursed her lips in impatience. She knew that Noah had complete power over any business decision at Wilder Investments, at least until Ben returned from Mexico.

“Then why is she calling me again?” Noah asked crossly. That fire had already cost him several long nights at the office, and the thought of spending more time on it frustrated him. Until the insurance report was complete, there wasn’t much he could do.

Maggie’s voice was tiredly patient. She had become familiar with Noah’s vehement expressions of disgust with his father’s business. The insurance problem at the winery seemed to be of particular irritation to him. “I don’t know why she’s calling you, Noah, but you might speak to her. This is the fifth time she’s called this afternoon.”

Guiltily, Noah observed the tidy pile of telephone messages sitting neglected on the corner of his desk. Until this moment he had ignored them, hoping that the tiny pink slips of paper might somehow disappear.

“All right, Maggie,” he conceded reluctantly. “You win. I’ll talk to—”

“Miss Lindstrom,” the retreating secretary provided.

In a voice that disguised all of his irritation, he answered the phone. “This is Noah Wilder. Is there something I can do for you?”

Sheila had been waiting on the phone for over five minutes. She was just about to hang up when Ben Wilder’s son finally decided to give her a little portion of his precious time. Repressing the urge to slam the receiver down, she held her temper in tight rein and countered his smooth question with only a hint of sarcasm. “I certainly hope so—if it’s not too much to ask. I’d like to make an appointment with you, but your secretary has informed me you’re much too busy to see me. Is that correct?”

There was something in the seething agitation crackling through the wires that interested Noah. Since assuming his father’s duties temporarily last month, no one had even hinted at disagreeing with him. Not that Noah hadn’t had his share of problems with Wilder Investments, but he hadn’t clashed with anyone. It was almost as if the power Ben had wielded so mightily had passed to Noah and none of Ben’s business associates had breathed a word of opposition to Ben’s son. Until now. Noah sensed that Miss Lindstrom was about to change all of that.

“On the contrary, Miss Lindstrom. I’d be glad to meet with you, but we’ll have to make it sometime after next week. Unfortunately, Maggie’s right. I’m booked solid for the next week and a half.”

“I can’t wait that long!” Sheila cried, her thin patience snapping.

Her response surprised Noah. “What exactly is the problem? Didn’t you get the letter I sent?”

“That’s precisely why I’m calling. I really do have to see you. It’s important!”

“You’re hoping that I’ll reverse my decision, I suppose?” Noah guessed, wondering at the woman’s tenacity. He thumbed through his phone messages. Maggie was right. Sheila Lindstrom had called every hour on the hour for the past five.

“You’ve got to! If we hope to rebuild the winery and have it ready for this season’s harvest, we’ve got to get started as soon as possible. Even then, we might not make it—”

Noah interrupted. “I understand your problem.” There was a hint of desperation in her voice that bothered him. “But, there’s really nothing I can do. You understand that my father is out of the country and—”

“I don’t care if your father is on the moon!” Sheila cut in. “If you’re in charge of Wilder Investments, you’re the man I have to deal with. Surely you can’t be so much of a puppet that you can’t make a simple business decision until your father returns.”

“You don’t understand,” Noah began hotly in an attempt to explain, and then mentally cursed himself for letting this unknown woman force him into a defensive position. It really was none of her business.

“You’re right, Mr. Wilder. I don’t understand. I’m a businesswoman, and it seems utterly illogical to me that you would let a growing concern such as Cascade Valley sit in disrepair, when it could be productive.”

Noah attempted to keep his voice level, even though he knew that the woman was purposely goading him. “As I understand it, Miss Lindstrom, Cascade Valley has been running at a loss for nearly four years.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, as if Sheila Lindstrom was studying the weight of his words. Her voice, decidedly less angry, commanded his attention. “I think it’s evident from this discussion that you and I have a lot to talk over,” Sheila suggested. Though she sounded calm, a knot of tension was twisting her stomach. “If it isn’t possible for you to meet with me today, perhaps you could come to the winery this weekend and get a firsthand impression of our mutual problem.”

For a moment the soft, coaxing tone of her voice captivated Noah, and he was tempted to take her up on her offer. He would love to leave the problems at Wilder Investments, if only for a weekend, but he couldn’t. There were situations in Seattle that he couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t just the business; there was Sean to consider. A note of genuine regret filled his voice. “I’m sorry, Miss Lindstrom,” he apologized, “It’s out of the question. Now, if you would like to make an appointment, how about the week after next—say, June eighth?”

“No, thank you,” was the curt reply. She was furious when she slammed the receiver back into the cradle of the pay telephone. The city of Seattle, usually a welcome sight to her, held no fascination today. She had come prepared to push her pleas on Noah Wilder, hoping to make him understand her desperate plight. She had failed. After being put off by his secretary, placed on hold forever, and making five fruitless telephone calls, Sheila wondered if it was possible to reason with the man. He was obviously just a figurehead for his father, a temporary replacement who held no authority whatsoever.

Sheila was lost in thought as she walked down the rain-washed sidewalk before wandering into a quiet bistro that had a view of Puget Sound. The cozy interior of the brightly lit café didn’t warm her spirits, nor did the picturesque view of the shadowy sound. Her eyes followed the flight of graceful seagulls arcing over the water, but her thoughts were distant.

Absently, she stirred a bit of honey into her tea. Though it was past the dinner hour, she wasn’t hungry. Thoughts of the winery sitting charred and idle filled her mind. It just didn’t make sense, she reasoned with herself. Why would Ben Wilder leave town and let his obviously incapable son run a multimillion dollar investment business? Pensively sipping the tea, Sheila tried to remember what she could about her father’s business partner. Tiny, fragmented thoughts clouded her mind. Though her father had been partners with Ben Wilder for over seventeen years, the two men had had little personal contact. Ben’s son, Noah, was a mystery. He was the only heir to the Wilder fortune and had been a rebel in his youth.

Sheila ran her fingers through the thick strands of her shoulder-length hair as she tried to remember what it was about Noah Wilder that kept haunting her? Slowly, vague memories surfaced.

Although she hadn’t been meant to hear the whispered conversation between her father and mother some sixteen years in the past, Sheila had listened at the closed kitchen door with all the impish secrecy of a normal fifteen-year-old. From what she pieced together, Sheila understood that her father’s business partner’s son had gotten some girl in trouble. The family disapproved. At the time Sheila had been puzzled by the conversation and then had quickly forgotten it. Although she had always been interested in Noah Wilder, she didn’t know him and had dismissed her parents’ secretive conversation.

The recent problems of the Wilder family were just as cloudy in her mind. Her father had mentioned that some of the bottles of Cascade Valley Cabernet Sauvignon had been tampered with and discovered in Montana, and Sheila remembered reading about the supposed S.E.C. violations in one of Wilder Investment’s takeover bids. However, she had ignored the gossip and scandals concerning her father’s business partner. At the time Sheila had not been interested in anything other than the fact that her marriage was breaking apart and that she would have to find some way to support her young daughter. Her father’s business concerns hadn’t touched her. She had been too wrapped up in her own problems.

Sheila set down her teacup and thoughtfully ran her fingertips around its rim. If only she had known what her father was going through. If only she had taken the time to help him, as he had helped her. As it was, his name was now smeared by the speculation and gossip surrounding the fire.

Thinking about her daughter’s welfare and her father’s reputation spurred Sheila into action. She pushed her empty teacup aside. Despite the warnings of Jonas Fielding against it, Sheila knew it was imperative that she talk with Ben Wilder. He had been a friend of her father as well as his business partner, and if anyone could see the logic in her solution to the problem at the winery, it would be Ben.

She opened her purse and withdrew a packet of old correspondence she had discovered in her father’s private office. Fortunately the papers in the fireproof cabinet hadn’t burned, and on an old envelope she found Ben Wilder’s personal address. The envelope had yellowed with age, and Sheila realized that her plan was a long shot. Ben Wilder could have moved a dozen times since he had mailed the letter. But how else would she find him? He was a man who prized his privacy.

Despite the odds against locating him, Sheila knew she had to find someone who might be able to get in touch with him. A phone number was all she needed. If she could convince him that it was in his best interest to reopen the winery, Ben would be able to order the reconstruction of Cascade Valley. Wouldn’t his arrogant son be burned! Sheila smiled to herself and felt a grim sort of pleasure imagining Noah’s reaction when he found out about her plans. He would be furious! Sheila grabbed her purse, quickly paid the check and nearly ran out of the restaurant.

WHEN NOAH HUNG UP THE TELEPHONE, he had a disturbing feeling that he hadn’t heard the last from Sheila Lindstrom. The authoritative ring in her voice had forced him to reach for the file on the fire. After glancing over the letters from Sheila a second time and thinking seriously about the situation at the winery, Noah felt a twinge of conscience. Perhaps he’d been too harsh with her.

In all fairness, the woman did have an acute problem, and she deserved more than a polite brush-off. Or did she? Anthony Simmons, Ben’s private detective, hadn’t yet filed his report on the arson. Could Oliver Lindstrom really have been involved? What about Lindstrom’s daughter, sole beneficiary to the old man’s estate? Noah shifted restlessly in his chair. Perhaps he should have been more straightforward with her and told Sheila about Simmons’s investigation into the cause of the fire. Was he getting to be like his father, preferring deceit to the truth?

Noah’s jaw tightened. He felt the same restless feeling steal over him that had seized him countless in the past. There was something about the way his father did business that soured his stomach. It wasn’t anything tangible, but there was just something wrong. If only he could put his finger on it. Wilder Investments put him on edge, just as it had in the past. That was one reason Noah had quit working for his father seven years before. The quarrel between Ben and Noah had been bitter and explosive. If it hadn’t been for his father’s recent heart attack and the one, large favor Ben still kept hanging over Noah, he would never have agreed to return, not even temporarily. Noah’s face darkened with firm resolve. At least now he was even with his father, out of the old man’s debt. They were finally square after sixteen unforgiving years.

Maggie knocked on the door before entering the office. “You wanted me to remind you of the probation meeting,” she announced with a stiff smile. This was the part of her job she liked least, dealing with her boss on personal matters. In this case it was like rubbing salt into an open wound.

“Is it three o’clock already?” Noah asked, grimacing as his wristwatch confirmed the efficient secretary’s time schedule. “I’ve got to run. If there are any more calls, or people who need to see me, stall them until tomorrow…or better yet, till sometime next week. Unless, of course, you hear from Anthony Simmons. I want to speak to him right away. He owes me a report on that fire at Cascade Valley.”

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 office. 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 THREE


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 deepset 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 announcement. 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 countered. 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.”

Sheila knew that he was goading her, and although she was provoked at the thought, she replied in a calm voice that overshadowed his impertinent questions. “The winery employs a viticulturist for the vineyards. Dave Jansen is a respected viticulturist who grew up in the valley. His research has helped develop a stronger variety of grape, hardier for the cold weather. As for the actual fermentation and bottling, we employ an enologist who is more than capable—”

“Then what about the losses?” he demanded impatiently as he frowned into his drink. Why did he care? “Assuming that your father knew what he was doing, he made one helluva mess of it, according to the latest annual report.”

Sheila’s throat was hoarse and dry. The pent-up emotions she had kept hidden within her for the last month were about to explode, and she knew that if prodded any further, her restrained temper would be unleashed. She had expected a rough business meeting with a member of the Wilder family, but she was unprepared for this brutal inquisition from Noah and the way his overpowering masculinity was affecting her. She found it impossible to drag her eyes away from his face. “As I stated before…we’ve had a run of bad luck.”

“Bad luck? Is that what you call it?” Noah asked. He wondered why his words sounded so brittle in the warm den. “The tampered bottles found in Montana, and the expensive recall? The damaged crops last year because of the early snowfall? The ash and debris from the Mount Saint Helens’ eruption? And now the fire? From what I understand, the fire was set intentionally. Do you call that bad luck?” His eyes had darkened to the color of midnight as he calculated her reaction.

“What would you call it?” she challenged.

“Mismanagement!”

“Natural disasters!”

“Not the fire.”

For a moment there was a restless silence; Sheila felt the muscles in her jaw tightening. She made a vain effort to cool her rising temper. It was impossible. “What are you inferring?’ she demanded.

“That your father wasn’t exactly the businessman he should have been,” Noah snapped. He was angry at himself, at Ben and at Oliver Lindstrom. “I’m not just talking about the fire,” he amended when he noticed that the color had drained from her face. “That loan to him from Wilder Investments. What was it used for—improvements in the winery? I doubt it!”

Sheila felt the back of her neck become hot. How much did Noah know about her? Would she have to explain that most of the money her father had borrowed was given to her?

Noah’s tirade continued. “I don’t see how you can possibly expect to turn the business around, considering your lack of experience.” His fingers tightened around his glass.

Sheila’s thin patience snapped, and she rose, intending to leave. “Oh, I see,” she replied, sarcastically. “Cascade Valley doesn’t quite hold up to the sanctimonious standards of Wilder Investments. Is that what you mean?”

His eyes darkened before softening. Despite his foul mood a grim smile tugged at the corners of Noah’s mouth. “Touché, Miss Lindstrom,” he whispered.

Sheila was still prepared for verbal battle and was perplexed by the change in Noah’s attitude. His uncompromising gaze had yielded. When he smiled to display straight, white teeth and the hint of a dimple, the tension in the air disintegrated. Sheila became conscious of the softly pelting rain against the windowpanes and the heady scent of burning pitch. She felt her heart beating wildly in her chest, and she had the disturbing sensation that the enigmatic man watching her wistfully could read her mind. He wanted to touch her…breathe the scent of her hair…make her forget any other man in her life. He said nothing, but she read it in the power of his gaze. Was she as transparent as he?

Sheila felt an urgency to leave and a compulsion to stay. Why? And why did the needs of Cascade Valley seem so distant and vague? The closeness of the cozy room and the unspoken conversation began to possess her, and though she didn’t understand it, she knew that she had to leave. Noah Wilder was too powerful. When he took hold of her with his eyes, Sheila wanted never to be released. She reached for her purse. When she found her voice, it was ragged, torn with emotions she didn’t dare name. “Is…is it possible to meet with you next week?”

Noah’s eyes flicked to her purse, the pulse jumping in the hollow of her throat and finally to her face. “What’s wrong with right now?”

“I…have to get back…really.” Who was she trying to convince? “My daughter is waiting for me.” She started to turn toward the door in order to break the seductive power of his gaze.

“You have a daughter?” The smile left his face, and his dark brows blunted. “But I thought…” He left the sentence unfinished as he got out of the chair.

Sheila managed a thin smile. “You thought I wasn’t married? I’m not. The divorce was final over four years ago. I prefer to use my maiden name,” she explained stiffly. It was still difficult to talk about the divorce. Though she didn’t love Jeff, the divorce still bothered her.

“I didn’t mean to pry.” His sincerity moved her.

“I know. It’s all right.”

“I’m sorry if I brought up a sore subject.”

“Don’t worry about it. It was over long ago.”

The sound of tires screaming against wet pavement as a car came to a sudden halt cut off the rest of her explanation. Sheila was grateful for the intrusion; Noah was getting too close to her. The engine continued to grind for a moment and then faded into the distance. Noah was instantly alert. “Excuse me,” he muttered as he strode out of the room.

Sheila waited for just a minute and then followed the sound of Noah’s footsteps. She had to get out of the house, away from the magnetism of Noah Wilder. As she walked down the hallway, she heard the sound of the front door creaking open.

“Where the hell have you been?” Noah demanded. The worry in his voice thundered through the hallways. At the sound Sheila stopped dead in her tracks. Whoever he had been waiting for had finally arrived. If only she had managed to leave earlier. Whey hadn’t she listened to her common sense and left Noah Wilder the moment she had met him? The last thing she wanted was to be caught up in a family argument.

There was a muted reply to Noah’s demand. Sheila couldn’t hear the words over the pounding of her heartbeat. She was trapped. She couldn’t intrude into a very personal confrontation. She had to find a way to escape.

Noah’s voice again echoed through the house. “I don’t want to hear any more of your pitiful excuses! Go upstairs and try to sleep it off. I’ll talk to you in the morning, and believe you me, there are going to be some changes in your behavior! This is the last time you stumble into this house drunk on your can, Sean!”

Sheila let out a sigh of relief. It was Noah’s son who had come home, not his wife. Why did she feel some consolation in that knowledge? Sheila retreated to the library, but Noah’s harsh words continued to ring in her ears. Why was Noah so angry with his son, and why did it matter to her? It was better not to know anything more about Noah Wilder and his family. It was too dangerous.

Once back in the den, Sheila fidgeted. She knew that Noah was returning, and the knowledge made her anxious. She didn’t want to see him again, not here in this room. It was too cozy and seemed seductively inviting. She needed to meet with him another time, in another place…somewhere safe.

She rushed through the room and paused at the French doors. She pushed down on the brass handle and escaped into the night. A sharp twinge of guilt told her she should make some excuse for leaving to Noah, but she didn’t know what she would say. It was easier to leave undetected. She couldn’t afford to get involved with Noah Wilder or any of his personal problems. Right now she was a business partner of Wilder Investments, nothing more.

Sheila shuddered as a blast of cold air greeted her. She had to squint in the darkness. Soft raindrops fell from the sky to run down her face as she attempted to get her bearings in the moonless night. “Damn,” she muttered under her breath when she realized that she hadn’t walked out of a back entrance to the house as she had hoped but was standing on a spacious flagstone veranda overlooking the black waters of Lake Washington. She leaned over the railing to view the jagged cliff and saw that there was no way she could hope to scale its rocky surface. She couldn’t escape.

“Sheila!” Noah’s voice boomed in the night. It startled her, and she slipped on the wet flagstones. To regain her balance, she tightened her grip on the railing. “What the devil do you think you’re doing?” In three swift strides he was beside her. He grabbed her shoulders and yanked her away from the edge of the veranda.

Sheila froze in her embarrassment. How stupid she must look, trying to flee into the night. It seemed that her poise and common sense had left her when she had met Noah.

“I asked you a question—what were you doing out here?” Noah gave her shoulders a hard shake. His eyes were dark with rage and something else. Was it fear?

Sheila managed to find her voice, though most of her attention remained on the pressure of Noah’s fingers against her upper arms. “I was trying to leave,” she admitted.

“Why?”

“I didn’t want to hear your argument with your son.”

The grip on her shoulders relaxed, but his fingers lingered against her arms. “You would have had to have been deaf not to hear that argument. I’m just glad that you weren’t considering jumping from the deck.”

“What? Of course not. It must be over fifty feet straight down.”

“At least.”

“And you thought I might jump?” She was incredulous.

“I didn’t know what to think,” he conceded. “I don’t know you and I don’t really understand why you came out here or why you were leaning over the railing.” He seemed honestly perplexed.

“There’s nothing mysterious about it, I just wanted to leave. I was looking for a back exit.”

“Why were you in such a hurry?” He examined her more closely. It was hard to tell in the darkness, but he was sure that she was blushing. Why?

“I don’t feel comfortable here,” she admitted.

“Why not?”

Because of you. You’re not what I expected at all. I’m attracted to you and I can’t be! “I’ve invaded your privacy and I apologize for that. It was rude of me to come to your home uninvited.”

“But you didn’t know it was my home.”

“That doesn’t matter. I think it would be best if I were to leave. We can meet another time…in your office…or at the winery, if you prefer.” He was close to her. She could see the interest in his cool blue eyes, smell his heady male scent, feel an unspoken question hanging dangerously between them.

“I don’t know when I’ll have the time,” he hedged.

“Surely you can find an hour somewhere,” she coaxed. The tight feeling in her chest was returning.

“What’s wrong with now?”

“I told you…I don’t want to interfere in your private life.”

“I think it might be too late for that.”

Sheila swallowed, but the dryness in her throat remained. Noah looked into the farthest reaches of her eyes, as if he were searching for her soul. She felt strangely vulnerable and naked to his knowing gaze, but she didn’t shrink away from him. Instead she returned his unwavering stare. His fingers once again found her arms. She didn’t pull away, nor did she sway against him. Though she was drawn to his raw masculinity, she forced her body to remain rigid and aloof as his hands slid up her arms to rest at the base of her throat.

Raindrops moistened her cheeks as she lifted her face to meet his. She knew that he was going to kiss her and involuntarily her lips parted. His head lowered, and the pressure of his fingers against her throat moved in slow, seductive circles as his lips touched hers in a bittersweet kiss that asked questions she couldn’t hope to answer. She wasn’t conscious of accepting what he offered until she felt her arms circle his waist. It had been so long since she had wanted a man. Not since Jeff had she let a man close to her. Never had she felt so unguarded and passionate. Until now, when she stood in the early summer rain, kissing a man she couldn’t really trust. She felt a warm, traitorous glow begin to burn within her.

His hands shifted to the small of her back and pulled her against his hard, lean frame. She felt the rigid contours of his body, and the ache in hers began to spread. Lazily he brushed his lips over hers, and softly his tongue probed the warm recess of her mouth. All of her senses began to awaken and come alive. Feeling she had thought dead reappeared.

When he pulled away from her to look into her eyes, her rational thought came thundering back to her. She saw a smoldering passion in the smoky blue depths of his eyes, and she knew that her own eyes were inflamed with a desire that had no bounds.

“I’m sorry,” she swiftly apologized, trying to take a step backward. The hands on her waist held her firmly against him.

“For what?”

“Everything, I guess. I didn’t mean for things to get so out of hand.”

He cocked his head to one side in a pose of disbelief. “You must enjoy running out on me. Is that it? Are you just a tease?” Was he kidding? Couldn’t he feel her response?

“I meant that I hadn’t planned to become involved with you.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

“Of course. Neither of us planned any of this, but we can’t deny that we’re attracted to each other. We both felt it earlier in the study, and we’re feeling it now.” One of his fingers touched her swollen lips, challenging her to contradict him.

Her knees became weak as his head once again lowered and his lips, deliciously warm and sensitive, touched hers. She was drawn to him, but she fought the attraction. She pulled away. Her own lips were trembling and for an unguarded instant, fear lighted her eyes.

Noah was wary. “Is something wrong?”

She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. “Is anything wrong?” she echoed. “Are you kidding? How about everything? The winery is in a shambles, so I came to Seattle hoping that you would help me. Instead, I end up here looking for your father because I couldn’t get through to you. On top of that I stumble onto your argument with your son, and finally, I fall neatly into your arms.”

Noah put a finger to her lips to silence her. “Shhh. All right, so we’ve got a few problems.”

“A few?”

“What I’m trying to tell you is that sometimes it’s best to get away and escape from those problems. It gives one a better perspective.”

“You’re sure?”

“What I’m sure of is that I find you incredibly attractive.” Noah’s voice was soothing, and Sheila felt her body lean more closely to his.

“This won’t work, you know,” she whispered breathlessly.

“Don’t worry about tomorrow.”

“Someone has to.” Reluctantly she wrenched herself free of his arms and straightened her coat. “I came here to find your father because you refused to see me.”

“My mistake,” he conceded wryly.

She ignored his insinuation. “That’s the only reason I’m here. I didn’t intend to overhear your argument with your son, nor did I expect to get this close to you. I hope you understand.”

The smile that slid across his face was seductively charming. “I understand perfectly,” he responded gently, and Sheila felt herself becoming mesmerized all over again. He was powerful and yet kind, bold without being brash, strong but not unyielding—the kind of man Sheila had thought didn’t exist. Her attraction to him was compelling, but her feelings were precarious.

“I have to go.”

“Stay.”

“I can’t.”

“Because of your daughter?”

“She’s one reason,” Sheila lied. “There are others.”

His smile broadened, and she saw the flash of his white teeth. “Come on, let’s go inside. You’re getting soaked.”

“At least I’m wearing a coat,” she taunted, noticing the way his wet shirt was molding to the muscular contours of his shoulders and chest.

“I didn’t expect you to run out into the rain.”

“It was a stupid thing to do,” she admitted. “It’s just that I didn’t want to intrude. I didn’t think you—”

“Have problems of my own?”

Embarrassment crept up her throat. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I should have been a little more discreet when Sean came home. I lost control when I saw him drunk again.” Noah wiped the rain from his forehead as if he were erasing an unpleasant thought. He touched her lightly on the elbow and guided her back into the house.

It was difficult for Noah to ignore any part of her; he couldn’t help but notice the quiet dignity with which she carried herself, the curve of her calf as she walked, or the shimmer of her chestnut hair, which had darkened into unruly curls in the rain.

“Thank you for seeing me,” she said softly. “I don’t suppose you would consider telling me how to reach your father?”

“I don’t think that would be wise.”

Sheila smiled sadly to herself. “Then I’ll be going. Thank you for your time.”

“You’re not really planning to drive back to the valley tonight?” he asked, studying the tired lines of her face. How far could he trust her? She seemed so open with him, and yet he felt as if she were hiding something, a secret she was afraid to share.

“No. I’ll drive back in the morning.”

He stood with his back to the fire, warming his palms on the rough stones. “But your daughter. I thought she was expecting you.”

“Not tonight. She’s probably having the time of her life. That grandmother of hers spoils her rotten.”

Noah rubbed his chin and his dark brows raised. “I didn’t realize your mother was still alive.”

A pensive expression clouded Sheila’s even features. “She’s not. Emily is staying with my ex-husband’s mother…. We’re still close.”

“What about your ex-husband? Are you still close to him, too?” Noah asked, brittlely. Why the devil did he even care? He watched a play of silent emotions darken Sheila’s eyes, and without knowing why, Noah Wilder immediately despised the man who had caused Sheila so much pain. He could feel the muscles in his jaw begin to tighten.

“Jeff and I are civil,” Sheila replied, hoping to close the unwelcome subject.

“Then you still see him?” Noah persisted.

“It can’t be avoided…because of Emily.”

“Is he good with your daughter?”

“Yes…I suppose so. Does it matter?” Sheila asked, experiencing a hot flash of indignation. She didn’t like discussing her feelings about Jeff with anyone, especially not a man she was beginning to admire.

“Doesn’t it…matter, I mean?”

“To me, yes. But why do you care?”

His voice lowered at the bitterness in her words. “I didn’t mean to bring up a sore subject.”

Sheila stiffened, but pushed back the hot retort forming in her throat. It was none of Noah’s business. Her divorce from Jeff had been a painful experience, one she would rather not think about or discuss.

“I think I had better leave,” she stated evenly. She reached into the front pocket of her purse and fished for her keys. The conversation was getting far too personal.

“You mean you want to run away, don’t you?”

“What?”

“Isn’t that what you were doing when I found you out on the veranda, leaning over the rail? Weren’t you attempting to avoid a confrontation with me?”

“You were arguing with your son! I was only trying to give you some privacy.”

His eyes darkened. “There’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”

“I don’t know what you’re suggesting.”

“Sure you do.” He moved from the fireplace to stand only inches from her. “Any time the conversation turns a little too personal, you try to avoid me,” he accused. A dangerous glint of blue fire flashed in his eyes.

Sheila stood her ground. “I came here to talk about business. There was nothing personal about it.”

“Save that for someone gullible enough to believe it.”

She glared at him defiantly but held onto her poise. “Quit beating around the bush and just say what it is that’s bothering you.”

“You came over here with the intention of contacting Ben. You were sidestepping me. Don’t take me for such a fool. I know that you were deliberately trying to avoid me.”

“Only because you were being completely unreasonable!” she snapped. He was impossible! When she looked into his intense cobalt eyes, she felt as if she wanted to float dreamily in his gaze forever. The smell of burning logs mingled with the earthy scent of Noah’s wet body. Raindrops still ran down the length of his tanned neck.

“I’m not an unreasonable man,” he stated calmly. His hand reached up to touch her chin, and Sheila felt a shiver skitter down her spine. His eyes studied her face, noting in detail the regal curve of her jaw, the blush on her creamy skin and the seductive pout on her full lips. “Please stay,” he implored.

“Why?” She longed for an excuse, any excuse to spend some more precious time with him.

“We could start by talking about the winery and your plans for it.”

“Would you change your position on the insurance settlement?”

The corners of his mouth quirked. “I think you could persuade me to do anything.” His finger trailed down her chin and throat to rest against the collar of her coat. Her heart fluttered.

She stepped away from him and crossed her arms over her chest. Eyeing him suspiciously, she asked, “What would it take?”

“For what?”

“For you to listen to my side of the story.”

He shrugged. “Not much.”

“How much?”

Noah’s smile spread slowly over his face and his eyes gleamed devilishly. “Why don’t we start with dinner? I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than listen to you over a glass of Cascade Valley’s finest.”

He was mocking her again, but there was enough of a dare in his words to tempt Sheila. “All right, Noah. Why not?” she countered impulsively. “But let’s set out the ground rules first. I insist that we keep the conversation on business.”

“Just come with me,” he suggested wickedly. “The conversation…and the night will take care of themselves.”




CHAPTER FOUR


THE RESTAURANT NOAH selected was located on one of the steep hills near the heart of the city. It was unique, in that the original Victorian structure had been built by one of Seattle’s founding fathers. The old apartment building had been remodeled to accommodate patrons of L’Epicure, but the structure retained its authentic nineteenth-century charm. White clapboard siding, French gray shutters and an elegant touch of gingerbread adorned the entrance. Flickering sconces invited Sheila inside.

A formally dressed waiter led them up a narrow flight of stairs to a private room in the second story of the gracious old apartment house. An antique table sat in an alcove of leaded glass, giving the patrons a commanding panorama of the city lights. Raindrops lingered and ran on the windowpanes, softly blurring the view and creating an intimate atmosphere in the private room.

“Very nice,” Sheila murmured to herself as she ran her fingers along the windowsill and looked into the night.

Noah helped her into her chair before seating himself on the other side of the small table. Though he attempted to appear calm, Sheila could sense that he was still on edge. The quiet, comfortable silence they had shared in the car had been broken in the shadowy confines of the intimate restaurant.

Before the waiter left, Noah ordered the specialty of the house along with a bottle of Chardonnay by Cascade Valley. Sheila lifted her brows at Noah’s request, but the waiter acted as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

“Why would a European restaurant carry a local wine?” she inquired after the waiter had disappeared from the room.

Noah’s smile twisted wryly. “Because my father insists upon it.”

The waiter returned with the wine and solemnly poured the wine first into Noah’s glass, and upon approval, into Sheila’s. After he had left once again, Sheila persisted with her questions.

“L’Epicure keeps wine for your father?”

“That’s one way of putting it. L’Epicure is a subsidiary of Wilder Investments,” he explained tonelessly.

Sheila’s lips tightened. “I see. Just like Cascade Valley.”

Noah nodded. “Although the restaurant carries a full cellar of European wines, Ben insists that Cascade Valley be fully represented.”

“And your father is used to getting what he wants?”

Noah’s blue eyes turned stone cold. “You could say that.” Any further comment he would have made was repressed by the appearance of the waiter bearing a tray overloaded with steaming dishes of poached halibut in mushroom sauce, wild rice and steamed vegetables. Sheila waited until the food was served and the waiter had closed the door behind him before continuing the conversation.

“I take it you don’t like working for your father?” she guessed as she started the meal.

Noah’s dark eyebrows blunted, and the fork he had been holding was placed back on the table. He clasped his hands together and stared at her over his whitened knuckles. “I think we should get something straight: I do not work for Ben Wilder!”




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