Tears Of Pride

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?”