Suspicions: A Twist of Fate\Tears of Pride (39 page)

Nothing can possibly go wrong, she thought to herself as she turned up the circular drive of the Wilder estate. This weekend is going to be perfect. She smiled when she saw the familiar silver Volvo sitting hear the garage. At least she had caught Noah at home.

She knocked on the door and waited for it to be answered. The mysterious smile that had spread across her face froze in place when the door was opened by a well-mannered, gray-haired man of near fifty. He was dressed in formal livery and displayed not one shred of emotion as he inquired as to the nature of her call.

A butler,
Sheila thought wildly, not really understanding. Noah employed a butler? He hadn’t mentioned hiring any servants in his telephone conversations. An uneasy feeling began to grip Sheila. Something was wrong.

“I’m here to see Mr. Wilder,” Sheila explained to the outwardly skeptical butler.

“Is he expecting you?”

“No. You see, this is kind of a surprise.”

The butler cocked a dubious gray eyebrow and his lips pressed into a thin, firm line. “You do know that Mr. Wilder isn’t well. He isn’t seeing visitors.”

Sheila’s eyes widened, and her heart leapt to her throat. What was this man saying? “What’s wrong with him?” she demanded, fear claiming her emotions.

“Pardon me?”

Sheila forgot all sense of civility. “What’s wrong with Noah? Was he hurt in an accident?” Her hands were shaking. “What happened?” How could this character out of
Upstairs Downstairs
take Noah’s health so casually? She looked past the butler into the stone house, her eyes searching for some evidence that Noah was all right.

“Miss, if you will calm down! I wasn’t speaking of Noah Wilder, but his father.”

Sheila’s eyes flew back to the butler. “Ben? Ben’s here?”

The man in the doorway raised his nose a bit higher, but Sheila sensed kindliness in his sparkling hazel eyes. “Would you kindly state your name and business?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Sheila Lindstrom,” she replied rapidly. Thank God Noah was safe. Her breath released slowly. “I’m…a friend of Noah’s. Is…is he in?”

“Yes, of course, Miss Lindstrom. This way please.” The butler seemed pleased that he had finally made sense of her appearance. He turned on a well-polished heel and escorted her into a formal living room.

It was a cold room, not at all like the warm den where she had met Noah. It was decorated in flat tones of silver and white, with only a sprinkling of blue pillows on the expensive, modern furniture. White walls, icy gray carpet and tall, unadorned windows. In the middle of it all, sitting near the unlit flagstone fireplace, was a man Sheila guessed to be Ben Wilder. He didn’t bother to rise when she entered the room, and his smile looked forced, as cold as the early morning fog that settled upon Lake Washington.

“Miss Lindstrom,” the butler announced quietly. “She’s here to see your son.”

At the mention of her name, Ben’s interest surfaced. His faded eyes looked over her appraisingly, as if she were a thoroughbred at auction. Sheila felt an uncomfortable chill.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Lindstrom. I’m Noah’s father.”

“I thought so. I think I met you once, years ago…”

Ben was thoughtful for a moment. “I suppose you did. I came to the winery to see Oliver—by the way, please accept my condolences.”

“Thank you.” Sheila anxiously fingered the clasp on her purse. Where was Noah? The man sitting in the snowy chair was not anything she had expected. When she had met Ben Wilder he was robust and bursting with energy. Though it had only been nine years, Ben Wilder had aged nearly thirty. The pallor of his skin was gray, and his hair had thinned. He still appeared tall, but there was a gauntness to his flesh that added years to his body. Ben Wilder was gravely ill.

“Did I hear someone at the door?” a female voice asked. Sheila turned to see a woman, younger than Ben by several years, walk into the room. She was graceful, and the smile that warmed her face seemed sincere.

“This is Sheila Lindstrom,” Ben said. “My wife, Katharine.”

Katharine’s smile wavered slightly. “Noah’s mentioned you,” she stated vaguely. “Would you care to have a seat?”

“Thank you, but I really did come to see Noah.”

“Of course you did. He was outside with Sean. I think George has gone to find him.”

Thank God, Sheila thought to herself as she settled onto the uncomfortable white couch. Katharine attempted to make conversation. “I was sorry to hear about your father, Sheila.” Sheila nodded a polite response. “But I hear from Noah that you’ve made marvelous strides toward rebuilding the entire operation.”

“We’re getting there,” Sheila replied uncomfortably.

“A big job for a young woman,” Ben observed dryly.

Sheila managed a brave smile and turned the course of the conversation away from Cascade Valley. “I didn’t know that you had come back from Mexico,” she explained. “I should have called and let Noah know that I was planning to visit him here.”

The silence was awkward, and Katharine fidgeted with the circle of diamonds around her thin neck while she studied the young woman in whom her son had shown such an avid interest. An interest that had taken him away from his duties of managing the business. Sheila Lindstrom was pretty, she thought to herself with amusement, but beautiful women had held no interest for her only son. What was so special about this one? She heard herself responding hollowly to Sheila’s vague apology. “Don’t worry about that,” Katharine stated with a dismissive wave of her slim, fine-boned hand. “Noah’s fond of you. Therefore, you’re welcome anytime. No invitation is necessary.”

“Did Noah tell you all the details that Anthony Simmons dug up on the fire?” Ben asked, bored with social amenities. It was time to get down to business. He reached for a cigar and rotated it gently in his fleshless hand.

Sheila felt her spine stiffen. “Only that the report was inconclusive,” she replied, meeting his gaze squarely.

Ben smiled, still watching her over the cigar. He reached for a match, but was halted by his wife’s warning glare. “I figured as much.”

“Pardon me?” Sheila inquired, pressing the issue.

“I didn’t think he told you everything….”

“Ben!” Katharine’s smooth voice held a steely note of caution. She lowered it slightly. “Let’s not bore Miss Lindstrom with all this talk about business. Sheila, would you like to stay for dinner? It really would be no imposition….”

Her voice faded as the sound of heavy, quick footsteps caught her attention. A wavering smile broadened her lips. “Noah, guess who dropped by?” she asked.

“What are you doing here?” Noah asked fiercely. Sheila turned to see if his question was intended for her. It was. His face was hard, set in rigid lines. A muscle near his jaw pulsed.

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“You did!”

Sheila felt something wither inside her under his uncomfortable stare. He appeared more gaunt than the last time she had been with him. The circles under his blue eyes gave his face a harsh, angular appearance. His inflamed gaze moved from her face to that of his father’s. Ben’s old lips twisted with private irony. “What have you been telling her?” he demanded, advancing upon his father.

“Noah, please…” Katharine interjected.

“I asked you a simple question,” Noah said through tightly clenched teeth. “If you won’t answer it, then fine. I’d like to talk to her…alone.” He looked away from his father to meet Sheila’s confused gaze. For a moment his face softened, and the defeat in his eyes seemed to fade. “Let’s go into the den and talk,” he suggested softly.

Sheila understood. He had changed his mind about her and the winery and the marriage. He was going to tell her that all of her dreams had turned to dust. A sinking sensation of doom, like that of falling into a bottomless black hole, enveloped her. Noah’s persuasive hand was on her shoulder, encouraging her to her feet. Slowly, she rose. She felt dizzy, sick.

“No reason to shuffle her out of here, son,” Ben said with sarcastic familiarity. “One way or another, she’s got to know.”

“I’ll handle it,” Noah spat. The pressure on Sheila’s back increased as he tried to guide her out of the sterile living room.

“I’m sure you will, my boy,” Ben agreed with a mirthless laugh.

“What’s he talking about?” Sheila asked impatiently.

“Tell her,” Ben demanded.

“Ben…let Noah handle this his own way,” his wife whispered.

The pressure in Sheila’s head got to her. She stopped her exit from the long living room with the cold carpet and announced in a calm, hushed voice. “Don’t talk as if I can’t hear you, because I can. What’s this all about?”

She had to know, had to hear his words of rejection, waited with head held high for the final blow. Noah’s lips compressed into a thin, uncompromising line. “I’ll tell you everything, but it will be best if we’re alone.”

“Oh, hell, boy! Stop pussyfootin’ around, for God’s sake.” The old man rose shakily from his chair and rubbed his freckled scalp. “What Noah is trying to tell you, honey, is that your father started that damned fire and it cost the company one helluva lot of money, let me tell you. The insurance company hasn’t paid us a dime; there’s a doubt that they ever will!”

Sheila’s face turned ashen, her stomach lurched and she thought she might faint. She turned her eyes to Noah’s and read the guilt and remorse in his look. He had known. From the time that Anthony Simmons had turned in his preliminary report Noah Wilder had known about her father and the fire.

“No!” she attempted to shout. But no sound escaped from her constricted throat. His deceit was too much for her to accept.

Ben enjoyed the scene. It was hard for an old man with a heart condition to get many thrills out of life. He enjoyed the intrigue of passions and deceit. It didn’t matter that it was his own son. The sanctimonious heir had been looking down his nose at his father’s morals for the last sixteen years—even to the point of refusing to work for the company, until he was forced to by Ben’s most recent attack. It did old Ben’s failing heart good to see the tables turned for once.

“Sheila,” Noah said softly, touching her chin. She drew away, repelled by his touch. “Things aren’t exactly what they seem.”

“But you knew about Dad!” she accused.

“Yes,” he admitted loudly.

“And you didn’t tell me!”

“I thought I could prove the report wrong…I was convinced that with a little time, I could sort things out, and the results would be different.”

“But you knew!”
Her heart sank to the blackest depths of despair. “And you wouldn’t tell me….”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“So you
lied
to me?”

His response was quick. “I’ve never lied to you.”

“Just omitted the facts, avoided the issues….”

“Tried to stop your pain.”

“I don’t want a man to
protect
me from the truth. I don’t want anyone who can’t trust me….” The ugliness of the situation became blindingly apparent to her, and another wave of nausea took all of the color from her pale face.
“You thought I was involved, didn’t you?”

“No.”

“Didn’t you?”

“No!” he screamed. He shook his head, and his blue eyes pleaded with her to understand him. “Not after I met you. I couldn’t.”

“Oh, Noah,” she whispered, shaking her head, running her fingers through her long, chestnut hair. “What has happened to us?”

She had forgotten there were other people in the room. When she looked up, she met Katharine’s sorrowed gaze. “I’m sorry,” Katharine murmured. “Come on, Ben, let’s leave them alone.” She tried to help her husband out of the living room, but he refused.

Ben yanked his arm out of Katharine’s grasp. “I think you should understand something, Miss Lindstrom.” Sheila raised her head to meet his cool, laughing eyes. It was as if he were enjoying some private joke at her expense. “I’m a businessman, and I can’t let you continue to operate the winery.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I’m not prepared to invest the money Noah promised you to rebuild the winery.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Noah interjected. “I’ll handle it.”

Ben continued, unruffled by his son’s visible anger. “The most prudent thing for you to do, Sheila, would be to sell out your portion of Cascade Valley to Wilder Investments.”

“I can’t do that…. I won’t.”

Ben’s toothy smile slowly turned into a frown. “I don’t think you’ll have much of a choice, considering the information in Mr. Simmons’s report—”

“Stop it!” Noah shouted, taking Sheila by the arm and nearly dragging her out of the living room. “Don’t listen to him…don’t pay any attention to any of his suggestions.”

She pulled what little shreds of dignity she could find and turned her cold eyes on Noah. “I won’t,” she assured him coolly, while extracting her arm out of his fingers. Her eyes burned, her throat ached, her heart bled, but she held her face as impassive as possible. “Nothing you or your father can say will convince me to sell my father’s winery.”

“I know that,” he admitted softly.

“But you were the first one to suggest that I sell.”

“At that time I thought it would be best.”

The unhappy smile that twisted on her lips was filled with self-defeat. “And now you expect me to believe that you don’t?”

“You know that, Sheila.” His fingers reached out to cup her chin, and they trembled as he sought to rub his thumb along her jawline. She had to turn away from him; she was too numb to feel the tenderness in his caress.

“Leave me alone, Noah,” she whispered tonelessly. “I’m tired.”

“Don’t go,” he begged, his hand dropping impotently to his side. The pain in his eyes wasn’t hidden as he watched her move slowly toward the door. “Don’t let the old man get to you.”

“The ‘old man’ isn’t the one that got to me.”

“Sheila!” He reached for the bend of her elbow, clutching at her arm and twisting her to him. He held her so savagely that she wondered for a moment if she could breathe…or if she really cared. The tears that had slid over her lips to warm them with drops of salt told her she was crying, but she couldn’t feel them. She didn’t feel
anything.
Empty. Hollow. It was as if the spirit she had once owned had been broken.