Suspicions: A Twist of Fate\Tears of Pride (32 page)

“All right, now, Emily; it’s your turn.” Emily fastened her frightened eyes on her mother. Never had she witnessed such hostility at a meal. Nor had she ever seen her mother so tough with a guest.

Sheila smiled at her daughter, and Emily’s anxieties melted a bit. “You can bring the cookies out to the back patio. I’ll bring the coffee and Noah will get the milk.” If Noah was surprised that he, too, was issued an order, he didn’t show it.

Sean’s chair scraped insolently against the tiled floor as he rose from the table. His handsome face was clouded in an expression of disdain, but he managed to clear the dishes. Emily was uncommonly silent as she arranged the macaroons on a small plate. The tension that had been building throughout dinner continued to mount. Noah poured two glasses of milk and escaped out the back door. Emily soon followed. Sheila waited for the coffee to perk, while Sean put things away, making as much noise as he possibly could.

Just as Sheila was pouring the hot, black liquid, Sean exploded. “Maybe you can fool my dad, but you can’t fool me!”

Sheila was startled and sloshed some of the coffee on her wrist. The scalding brew burned her skin, but she remained calm. As Sean watched her reaction, she set the cup down and put her hand under cold water from the tap. Her voice was even when she addressed him. “I have no intention of trying to fool you, Sean.”

“Sure,” he sneered.

Sheila turned to face the tall boy, and she leveled her cool gray eyes on his face. “Look, Sean, I’m not trying to deceive anyone, and I expect the same in return. I don’t really care if you like me or not. You have the right to your own opinions, just as I have the right to mine….”

“Don’t give me any of your psychiatric lines! I know you’re a school counselor, and I’ll just bet Dad dragged me up here so you could do a number on me; you know, analyze me—try and straighten me out.” He threw up one of his hands in disgust. “I just want you to know that it won’t work on me. Save your breath!”

Sheila managed a smile. “Do you really think that I would bother wasting my time or expertise on someone who didn’t want it?”

“It’s your job.”

“No. I’m sorry, Sean, but you’re wrong. I’m not going to beat my head against the wall for someone who doesn’t want my help, and that includes you. As for what your father expects from me, it has nothing to do with you. We’re business partners.”

“Sure.”

“I think I will take your advice,” Sheila agreed. Sean tensed. The last thing he had expected was for this woman to concur with him. “I’m going to save my breath. I would like to try and convince you to relax and enjoy the weekend—”

“Fat chance,” Sean interrupted under his breath.

“Pardon me?”

“This isn’t my scene,” he spat out, and turned to glare out the window.

“That’s too bad, because it looks like you’re stuck here for the duration of the weekend.” Sean rolled his eyes heavenward, and Sheila poured the coffee into the second cup. When she picked up the tray, she cast a final glance in Sean’s direction. “Why don’t you come out to the patio and join the rest of us? Emily already took out the cookies.”

Sean whirled angrily to face Sheila. “I’m here, okay? That’s the end of it. I’m not going to sit with the rest of you and eat milk and cookies. That might be all right for Emily, but not for me. I’m not wasting my time babysitting your kid!” he shouted.

The screen door slammed shut and Emily came into the room. From the expression on her face it was evident she had heard Sean’s final words. Tears sprung to her soft green eyes as she stared at Sean.

“Damn!” Sean muttered, and slammed his fist onto the counter. His face burned in his embarrassment as he strode angrily from the room.

“Why doesn’t he like me?” Emily asked Sheila. The little girl tried vainly to swallow her tears. Sheila set the tray down.

“It’s not that he doesn’t like you, Em,” Sheila replied, hugging her child. “He’s just not sure of himself here. He doesn’t know you or me, and he’s not really sure how to act.”

“He’s mean!” Emily sniffed.

“He’s not trying to be. Maybe he’s jealous of you,” Sheila whispered into her daughter’s thick, dark curls.

“Why?”

“Sean doesn’t have a mother.”

Emily was puzzled. She pulled out of her mother’s embrace and with a childish imitation of adult concern, looked deeply into Sheila’s eyes. “I thought everybody had a mommy.”

“You’re right, sweetheart. Everybody does have a mother, including Sean. But, I think he’s unhappy because he doesn’t see her very much.”

“Why not?” Emily was clearly perplexed, and Sheila wondered if she had broached a topic she couldn’t fully explain. After all, what did she know of Sean’s mother? If she had interpreted Noah’s story correctly, Sean may never have met his mother. No wonder the kid had a chip the size of a boulder on his young shoulders. Sheila felt her heart go out for the stubborn boy with the facade of bravado. Emily was still staring at Sheila, and she knew she had to find a suitable answer for her daughter. “Sean’s parents don’t live together,” she whispered.

Emily’s sober expression changed to one of understanding. “Oh, they’re divorced. Like you and Daddy.”

Sheila’s expression clouded. “Sort of,” she replied vaguely. Emily seemed satisfied for the moment, and Sheila changed the subject quickly. “Let’s go out on the patio and see Noah before this coffee gets cold.”

“He’s not there.”

“He’s not?”

Emily shook her head. “He’s just walkin’ around.”

“Then we’ll wait for him.” Again Sheila picked up the tray, and with Emily in tow, walked out to the brick patio that was flanked by Oliver’s rose garden.

Noah had been familiarizing himself with the layout of the winery. His walk also gave him the excuse to vent some of the frustration and tension that had been boiling within him since he had left Seattle. The trip over the mountains had been strained; Sean had brooded because his weekend plans were canceled by his father’s hastily organized trip. Sean had pleaded to be left alone in Seattle, and when Noah had refused, Sean had ridden the entire distance with his head turned away from his father while he pretended interest in the passing countryside. He had responded to Noah’s questions with monosyllabic grunts. By the time they reached the winery, Noah’s tension was wound tighter than the mainspring on a watch.

Noah had hoped that Sean would loosen up by the time they had come within sight of the winery, but he had been wrong—dead wrong. Sean was more petulant than ever. It was as if he were intent on punishing his father with his abrasive behavior.

Noah’s frown twisted into a wry grin as he thought about Sheila’s reaction to his strong-willed son. The embarrassment Noah had experienced at the table had faded into admiration for Sheila as he had witnessed the effective manner in which she had handled Sean. Even Sean had been set on his heels by Sheila’s indifferent and coolly professional attitude. She had refused to be goaded by anything Sean had done. Noah had to hand it to her: she knew how to handle kids. Her own daughter was proof of that. It occurred to him that perhaps he would never be able to control his son. It was all too evident that Sean needed a mother as well as a father. Noah had been a fool to think that he could raise a son of his own. Ben’s warning, issued sixteen years before, rang in his ears. “You want to raise that bastard on your own? You’re an even bigger fool than I thought!”

The screen door slammed, breaking into Noah’s thoughts. He lifted his eyes to observe Sean racing angrily from the house. There had obviously been another battle and it seemed as if Sean had lost one more round to Sheila. Noah shook his head as he watched his athletic son run across the backyard, hoist himself effortlessly over a pole fence without once breaking stride, and continue at a breakneck pace into the fringe of woods beyond the orchard.

Noah’s thoughts returned to Sheila. There was more grit to her than met the eye. Stunningly beautiful, she was also independent and intelligent. Noah raked his fingers impatiently through his hair as he wondered if he had made a grave mistake in seeking her out. She was more intriguing than he had remembered, and seeing her in the setting of the burned winery seemed to add an innocent vulnerability to her large eyes. Noah felt as if he wanted to protect her, when in fact he had come to Cascade Valley expecting to confront her with the knowledge that her father did, in fact, start the fire at the winery. As yet, Noah hadn’t found the right opportunity to broach the subject. The more he was with Sheila, the less he wanted to talk about the fire.

Anthony Simmons’s report had been short and concise. Though the detective had produced no concrete evidence to name Oliver Lindstrom as the arsonist, the case Simmons had built against Sheila’s father had been complete. Noah knew that the insurance company was bound to reach the same conclusion as he had: Based on circumstantial evidence, it was proven that Oliver Lindstrom set fire to Cascade Valley hoping to collect the insurance settlement and pay off a sizable debt to Wilder Investments. Inadvertently Mr. Lindstrom got caught in his own trap, was overcome by fumes of noxious gas and died in the blaze.

Noah’s stomach knotted as he wondered how involved Sheila had been in her father’s scheme. Had she known about it beforehand? Was she involved? Or was she, as she claimed, looking for a solution to the dilemma? According to Simmons, Sheila had been polite, but hadn’t gone out of her way to help with the investigation. It had been like pulling teeth to get her to divulge anything personal about her father…or herself. Was she hiding something? Simmons seemed to think so. Noah didn’t. Still, it didn’t matter, the bottom line was that he had to tell her about her father and then gauge her reaction to the news. It wasn’t going to be easy. Either way she lost. If she already knew that her father was a fraud, she would come out of this mess at the very least a liar; at the most an accomplice. If she didn’t know that her father had started the fire, her dreams and respect for the dead man would be shattered. No doubt she would blame Noah for digging up the dirt on Oliver Lindstrom.

As Noah walked back to the patio he tried to find a way to help her rather than hurt her.

Chapter 8

Noah paced back and forth across the red bricks of the patio. The anxieties of the day were etched across his face in long lines of worry. It was nearly ten. The sun had set over an hour before and Sean hadn’t returned. He was obviously back to his old tricks of vanishing without a word of explanation.

Emily was already asleep in her bed. Since overhearing
Sean’s unkind remarks, she had been quiet. The girl hadn’t even put up an argument about going to bed, and Sheila’s heart broke when Emily reasserted her earlier assessment of the situation. “Sean doesn’t like me, and it’s not because I’ve got a mommy. He doesn’t like anybody.”

“He’s just trying to find out who he is,” Sheila had responded.

“That’s silly. He’s Sean. He just doesn’t like me.”

“Maybe he doesn’t like himself.”

Emily hadn’t been convinced as she snuggled under her comforter. Sheila had attempted to hand the child her favorite furry toy, but Emily pushed it onto the floor. “I don’t need Cinnamon,” Emily had stated. “Toys are for
little kids.
” Sheila hadn’t argued, wisely letting her child cope with the struggle of growing up. Instead she picked up the toy dog with the floppy ears and set him on the nightstand near Emily’s bed.

“Just in case you change your mind.” After her parting remarks she had kissed Emily lightly on the cheek and left the room.

“Is she all right?” Noah asked.

“I think so.”

“What was bothering her?”

“She took offense to Sean’s notion that she was a little kid. She thinks she has to grow up all in one evening.”

“Sean’s the one who has to grow up,” Noah argued. “I don’t know if he ever will!”

“It will get better,” Sheila said quietly.

“How do you know?”

“It has to. Doesn’t it?” The gray intelligence in her eyes reached out to him.

“What makes you so certain? How do you know I don’t have the makings of a hardened criminal on my hands?”

Sheila smiled, and her face, captured in the moon glow, held a madonna-like quality that was only contradicted by the silver fire of seduction in her eyes. “Sean’s not a bad kid,” she pointed out. “He’s just not certain of himself.”

“He could have fooled me.”

“That’s exactly what he’s trying to do.”

Noah strode over to the chaise lounge where she was sitting. “How did a beautiful woman like you get so wise?” He sat next to her and his hand touched her thigh as he leaned over her to kiss her forehead.

“Don’t you remember what it was like when you were in high school?”

“I try not to.”

“Come on, admit it. Didn’t you give your parents a few gray hairs?”

“I don’t remember ever getting into as much trouble as Sean has.”

“Maybe you were smarter and just never got caught,” she suggested.

“Now you’re beginning to sound cynical.”

“Realistic.”

“Yeah, so it’s all business, is it?” Sean jeered, walking out of the darkness into the circle of light surrounding the patio. Noah, still leaning over Sheila, barely moved, but Sheila could feel all the muscles in his body become rigid. Slowly he turned to face his son.

“It’s about time you got back. Where were you?”

Sean shrugged indifferently. “Around.”

“I was beginning to worry about you.”

“Yeah. I can see that,” the boy snorted. His blue eyes sought Sheila’s in a condemning gaze. “You told me you were business partners with him, nothing more!”

“I said that we were business partners and that I didn’t think your father brought you up here for a counseling session. I should have added that your father and I are friends,” Sheila explained calmly.

“Yeah.
Good
friends.”

“Sean, that’s enough!” Noah shouted, rising to his full height. Sean’s defiance wavered under his father’s barely controlled rage. “You apologize to Sheila!”

“Why?” Sean asked, managing to pull together one last attempt at asserting his pride.

“You tell me,” Noah suggested.

Sean shifted from one foot to the other as he measured his father’s anger. Noah didn’t take his eyes off of his son. Realizing he had no other choice, Sean mumbled a hasty apology before entering the house.

“I’ll show him his room,” Sheila offered. “There’s a Hide-A-Bed in my father’s office. I just put clean sheets on it yesterday.”

Noah objected. “
I’ll
take him to the room. He and I have a few things to get straight. I’m not putting up with his cocky attitude any longer.” He rubbed the tension from the back of his neck and followed his son into the house.

Pieces of the argument filtered through the thick walls of the château. Sheila began to clear the dishes off the patio and tried not to overhear the heated discussion. Noah’s voice, angry and accusatory, didn’t drown out Sean’s argumentative tones.

The night was sultry and still. The tension from the argument lingered in the air, and Sheila felt beads of moisture beginning to accumulate on the back of her neck. She wound her hair into a loose chignon and clipped it to the top of her head before she carried the dishes into the house.

Noah and Sean were still arguing, but the hot words had become softer. In order to give them more privacy, Sheila turned on the water in the kitchen and rattled the dishes in the sink. It wasn’t enough to drown out all of the anger, so she switched on the radio. Familiar strains of a popular tune filtered through the kitchen and Sheila forced herself to hum, hoping to take her mind off the uncomfortable relationship between Noah and his son. Just as Noah couldn’t get along with Ben, Sean shunned his father. Why? Her loose thoughts rambled as she began to wash the dishes. She didn’t hear the argument subside, didn’t notice when Noah entered the room.

He leaned against the doorjamb and watched her as she worked. Her hair was piled loosely on her head, and soft tendrils framed her delicate face. A thin trickle of perspiration ran down her chin and settled below the open neck of her blouse. He could almost visualize it resting between her breasts. Her sleeves were rolled over her elbows, and her forearms were submerged in water so hot it steamed. A vibrant rosy flush from the hot night and the even hotter water colored her skin. She was softly humming to the strains of music from the radio, and though the sound was slightly off-key, it caused Noah to smile. She had to be the most beautiful woman in the world.

“Don’t you have a dishwasher?” he asked, not moving from the doorway. He enjoyed his vantage point, where he could watch all of her movements.

She laughed. “Oh, I’ve got one all right, but it doesn’t work.”

“Can’t it be repaired?”

Sheila turned to face Noah, while still wiping her hands with the dish towel. “I suppose it can.”

“But you haven’t called a repairman?”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because I enjoy washing dishes,” she snapped sarcastically.

Noah finally understood. “You’re waiting for the insurance money, right?”

“Right.” Sheila’s expression softened. “A dishwasher is the last thing we need right now. Emily and I use very few dishes, so it’s not exactly a hardship.”

“That kind of thinking will send you back to the nineteenth century,” he teased.

“That kind of thinking will keep me out of debt…at least for a little while.” Sheila’s eyes clouded with worry for an instant, but she bravely ignored her problems. The best way to solve them was to apprise Noah of the hopeless condition of the winery. She tossed the dish towel over the back of a chair and boldly reached for Noah’s hand. “I promised you a tour of the grounds.”

“I can think of better things to do,” he suggested huskily.

“Not on your life.” She pulled on his hand and attempted to ignore the laconic gleam in his eyes. “Now that I’ve got you on my territory, you’re going to see exactly what I’ve been talking about.” She led him to the front of the house. “Let’s start with public relations.”

“Public relations? For a winery?”

“Not just any winery, Noah. This is Cascade Valley, the Northwest’s finest. My father always ran the winery with the opinion that the public comes first. Anyone who was even the slightest bit interested in Cascade Valley has always been treated as if he were an important dignitary.” She led him down an asphalt path that led from the château toward the park grounds of the vast estate. Though the grass was overgrown, Noah could tell that in the past the grounds had been immaculately groomed. Stands of dark pine trees surrounded the long grass and the untrimmed shrubbery. The air was fragrant with the scent of pines and lilacs. A hazy moon gave an iridescent glow to the shadowy night.

“Sounds as if your father spent a lot of time and money humoring tourists.”

Sheila refused to be baited. “It paid off, too. Word of mouth was our first form of advertising.” Sheila glanced at Noah to interpret his reaction. Though it was dark, she could read the hardening of his gaze, feel the tensing of his hand over hers, sense the clenching of his teeth as his jaw tightened.

“What kind of tours did your father give?” Noah asked, pressing the issue.

“At first they were nothing out of the ordinary. One of the staff would just show the tourists around. But, as public interest grew, Dad had to hire a woman to pass out literature about the winery and give tours of the buildings every afternoon in the summer.” Sheila motioned her hand toward a small lake shimmering in the moonlight. “Dad had the duck pond built about six years ago. Then he added the gravel paths through the woods. Later he installed the picnic tables and the benches.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t give away bottles of Cabernet Sauvignon, too,” Noah muttered caustically.

“You didn’t approve of my father, did you?” Sheila accused.

“I didn’t know him.”

“But you’re passing judgment.”

“Not on the man,” Noah pointed out. He took his hand away from Sheila’s and rubbed his chin. How could he explain to her that her father was an arsonist who had only wanted to get money from the insurance company to pay his debts? If Oliver Lindstrom had been a little more daring and a little less clumsy, it might have worked. “I’m only questioning some of his business practices. Public relations is usually sound, but not when it devours all of a company’s profits. What’s the point? If your father had paid less attention to putting on a show for anyone who happened to wander by and had more concern for his profits, maybe he never would have had to borrow money from Wilder Investments in the first place!”

Sheila felt the hairs on her neck prickle with anger. “The reason he borrowed the money had nothing to do with the tourists or the duck pond, Noah. That nearly paid for itself in the gift shop alone,” she argued. Indignation flashed in her eyes as she came to the defense of her father. “Dad took a survey of all the people who came here one summer and it proved him right; nearly seventy percent of the tourists bought more than one bottle of Cascade Valley a month.”

“What about the other thirty percent?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you think those people, those who bought your product, were swayed because of a duck pond, or picnic tables?”

“No…but…”

“Of course not! Those people would probably have bought the wine without all of this…grandstanding. The money would have been better spent in production or research, even advertising. Sure, these grounds look impressive, but it’s the quality of the product that counts! Wouldn’t it be wiser to use this acreage for cultivation?”

“I don’t know if the soil is right…” she hedged.

“So check it out.”

Her simmering anger began to boil. “I guess you don’t understand, Noah. We’re not only selling the best wine on the West Coast, we’re creating an image for the consuming public. We’re not competing with cheap muscatel. Our opposition is the finest European wine on the market. Every summer we provide samples of our product at a wine-tasting celebration and the public is invited. We introduce the newest varieties, invite a few celebrities and generally promote the image of Cascade Valley wines as sophisticated, yet reasonably priced.

“Sounds expensive.”

“It is,” she admitted reluctantly. “But, most often, we get national media attention. That kind of advertising we can’t afford to lose.”

“But you didn’t get any national attention for the last few years, did you?”

She shook her heard as if she had expected this question and seemed resigned to a fate she couldn’t avoid. “No.”

“Why not?” He knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from her.

Sheila bit her lower lip nervously. Her words rang with honesty and despair. “Dad was afraid. With all of the news coverage on the tampered bottles of Cabernet Sauvignon found in Montana and the problems with the crop because of the early snowfall, Dad thought it would be best for Cascade Valley to keep a low profile.” She paused for a moment to study the ribbon of silver moon glow on the pond. “This was the year he had hoped would change all of that.”

“How?”

“Because we planned to introduce our reserve bottling of Cabernet Sauvignon.”

“Reserve bottling?” Noah repeated. “Something new?”

“For Cascade Valley, yes.” She turned to face him, her expression sincere. “It could be the biggest breakthrough we’ve had.”

“Tell me about it.” Noah was interested. This was the first hint of good news at the winery.

Sheila shook her head. “Not now. On Monday Dave Jansen will come by. He can tell you all about it…” She stopped midsentence, as if she’d assumed far too much about him. “You can stay until Monday, can’t you?” Why was it so imperative that he remain for more than just one night? Now that he was here, she desperately wanted him to stay.

“Is it that important?” he asked, his voice as low as the soft breeze that had begun to whisper through the pines.

“Yes, it’s important,” she admitted, but lied about the reason. “I think you should see for yourself….”

His fingers lightly touched her shoulders, and through the light cotton fabric they warmed her skin. “What I meant was, is it important that I stay with you?”

Her lips felt desert dry. She had to lick them in order to find the courage for her truthful reply. “I’m glad you came here, Noah.” She admitted with only a trace of reluctance. “And I’d like you to stay, not just to witness the damage from the fire, nor just to evaluate the winery. I
want
you to stay here with me, for
me.
” Her honesty filtered softly through the warm night air. The words of confession surprised her. After Jeff, she thought she had lost the
need
of a man’s embrace. She had never expected to admit how much she wanted a man, because she thought that part of her had died. She had assumed that Jeff had ruined her for a relationship with any man, that the cynical feelings he had created in her would remain forever.