Tears Of Pride

“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.