Suspicions: A Twist of Fate\Tears of Pride (40 page)

“Let go of me,” she said through her sobs.

“You can’t go. You don’t understand….”

“I understand perfectly! You may have been able to get what you wanted from Marilyn by paying her off, but you can’t buy me, Noah Wilder! No man can. I’ll go bankrupt before I’ll sell you one bottle of my cheapest wine!” She wrenched free of his hold on her and backed toward the door.

He watched her leave, not moving from the foyer where he had held her in his arms. They felt strangely empty as his eyes followed the path of her flight. The door slammed shut, closing her out of his life. He fought the vain urge to follow her and tried to convince himself that everything was for the best. If she trusted him so little, he was better off without her.

Chapter 13

For five long weeks Sheila tried futilely to get the image of Noah Wilder out of her mind. It had been an impossible task. Everywhere on the estate she was reminded of him and the bittersweet love they had shared. There wasn’t a room in the château where she could hide from him or the memories of the nights of surrendered passion they had shared together. She couldn’t even find solace in her own room, the sanctuary where they had held each other dear until the first stirrings of dawn. Now the room seemed pale and empty, and Sheila was alone. She attempted to convince herself that she never had really loved him, that what they had shared was only a passing fancy, an affair to forget. It was a bald-faced lie, and she couldn’t deceive herself for a minute. She had loved Noah Wilder with a passion time and deceit couldn’t erase. She loved him still.

The winery had become a ghost town. Reconstruction of the west wing had been halted by one fell stroke: an executive order from Ben Wilder himself. Gone was the whine of whirring saw blades consuming wood, vanished were the shouts and laughter from the construction crew. The air was untainted with the smell of burning diesel or the scent of freshly cut lumber. The west wing of the winery was as defeated as her dreams.

Sheila had tried, ineffectively, to tell Emily about Noah. As comfortingly as possible she had mentioned that Noah and Sean wouldn’t be back to Cascade Valley as they had originally planned and that her marriage to Noah would probably never happen. If Sheila had hoped not to wound her child, she had failed miserably. Emily was heartbroken. When Sheila had explained that she doubted if Noah and Sean would return to the winery, Emily had burst into tears, screamed that it was all her mother’s fault and raced from the dinner table to hide in her room. It had taken several hours for Sheila to get through to her and calm her down. The child had sobbed on her shoulder bitterly, and it was difficult for Sheila to hold back the tears stinging the backs of her eyes.

Part of Emily’s reaction was due to incredibly bad timing. The girl had just returned from a dismal trip to visit her father, a vacation that was to have lasted a week and was cut down to five regretful days. It seemed as if Jeff and his wife, Judith, just didn’t have the time or the inclination to take care of a busy eight-year-old. Emily felt rejected not only by her father but by Noah as well.

The final blow to Sheila’s pride had come from a local banker she had dealt with for years. Regardless of the winery’s past record, Mr. Stinson couldn’t justify another loan to Cascade Valley. It had no reflection on Sheila, but the winery just didn’t qualify. There was simply not enough collateral to back up a quarter of a million dollars of the bank’s money. He was kind and told her that he would talk to his superiors, although he was sure that her request was next to impossible. There was a distinct note of inflexibility in his even voice.

Sheila found it increasingly difficult to sit idle. Time seemed to be slipping by without purpose or meaning. Within a few short weeks Emily would be enrolled in the fall semester of school and the autumn harvest of grapes would be ripe. Sheila had no alternative but to sell the crop despite Dave Jansen’s protests. He was convinced that this was the best year Cascade Valley had seen in a decade. The yield per acre was ten percent better than the previous year’s, and the grapes held the highest sugar and acid content he had seen in several years. All in all it looked like a bumper crop. But Sheila had no choice. She was backed into a corner by Ben Wilder and his son.

She sighed wearily and ran her fingers through her hair as she picked up the telephone and dialed the number of Mid-Columbia Bank. A cheery receptionist put Sheila through to Jim Stinson. Sheila could envision the perplexed look of dismay that must have crossed his features when he learned that she was calling. He probably wanted to avoid this conversation as much as she did.

“Good afternoon, Sheila,” Jim greeted heartily. “How’ve you been? Busy, I’ll bet.”

Sheila was taken aback at his friendly response to her call. “It’s about that time of the year,” she agreed.

“How’s the construction going?” Jim asked good-naturedly. “Are you going to get the west wing finished before harvest?”

Sheila choked on her response. Jim, better than most people, knew of her plight, and it wasn’t like him to rub salt into a wound. He actually sounded as if he thought she were running the winery as she had planned. “I can’t do that, Jim, because construction has stopped on the west wing.”

There was a moment’s hesitation before Jim laughed. “Is this some kind of a joke? Haven’t you begun to rebuild yet?”

“As a matter of fact, no. I was hoping that Mid-Columbia would give me a loan, remember?”

“But that was before you got your other loan.”

Once again silence.

“Other loan?” What the devil was Jim talking about? He wasn’t usually one to talk in circles.

He acted as if she were incredibly dense. “You know, the quarter of a mil.”

“The loan I requested from you.”

She heard an exasperated sigh. “Just a minute.” She was put on hold for a minute and then he was on the phone again. “Is there some mistake?”

Before she could ask what in the world he was muttering about, he spoke again. “No…no, everything looks right. You do know that a deposit of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars was made to the winery’s account on the thirtieth of August, don’t you?”

Sheila’s mind was reeling, her voice faint. “What deposit?” she asked.

“Let’s see…it was a cashier’s check drawn on Consolidated Bank of Seattle. Didn’t you get a loan from them…Sheila?”

Sheila felt as if she were melting into the kitchen floor. Noah! Noah had deposited the money. From somewhere in her conscious mind, she was able to respond to Jim Stinson. “Of course I did…I just wasn’t aware that they had transferred the money so quickly. My statement hasn’t come yet.”

“But didn’t they call you?” Stinson asked.

“I’ve been out a lot lately…down in the vineyards.” She lied, trying to find a way to get off the phone politely. “Thank you very much.”

“No trouble, but you might think about putting some of that money into savings or another account. Deposits aren’t insured for that large a sum.”

“You’re right. I will. Thanks, Jim.”

She hung up the phone and leaned against the wall. Hot beads of perspiration dampened the back of her neck. “That bastard!” she muttered between her teeth. Why couldn’t he leave her alone? He must have deposited the money out of a guilty conscience from the coffers of Wilder Investments, perhaps as incentive for her to sell. But that didn’t explain everything. Why would she have to sell anything? The money was hers, or so it appeared.

Her anger grew white hot. Ben Wilder might have bought Marilyn Summers sixteen years ago, but no man, not even Noah, could purchase her or her father’s dream. She balled a small fist and slammed it into the wall. “Emily,” she called as she raced to the back door.

Emily was playing distractedly with a fluffy white kitten. She turned her head to watch her mother nearly run out of the back door. “What?”

Sheila tried to hold her fury in control. “Get your overnight case and pack your pajamas and a change of clothes. We’re going to Seattle.”

“Seattle?” The girl’s dark eyes glittered with expectations. “To see Noah and Sean?” she asked hopefully.

“I…I don’t know if we’ll see Noah, honey.” The trembling in her voice belied her calm. “And I really doubt that Sean will be where we’re going.”

The smile on Emily’s face fell. “Then why are we going to Seattle?”

“I have some business to discuss with Noah and his father.”

Emily’s brows drew together, and her rosy cheeks flushed. “Then why can’t we see Sean? Won’t he be with Noah?” She was genuinely concerned…and expectant.

“Another time. But we’re going to Noah’s office. Sean’s probably at home.”

Emily’s lower lip stuck out in a pouty frown. “Can’t we go see him? We don’t go to Seattle very often.”

Sheila shook her head but muttered a quick “We’ll see,” hoping to change the subject. “Hurry up and get your things.” She left Emily in her room, packing, and did the same herself. She was out the door before she remembered the checkbook. Cascade Valley’s checkbook. The one with a balance of over a quarter of a million dollars in it.

She tried to smile as she imagined herself self-righteously scribbling out a check for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars and dropping it theatrically on Noah’s desk. Her smile faded as she visualized the scenario. Where was the justice she would feel? Where the triumph? And why, dear God, why wouldn’t this ache leave her heart?

* * *

It was nearly five o’clock when they arrived in Seattle. The drive had been tedious due to the combination of roadwork on the winding mountain roads and Sheila’s thinly stretched nerves. Her palms were damp on the steering wheel, her lips tight over her teeth. Emily had been quiet for most of the trip, but as they got closer to the heart of the city and she caught a few glimpses of Puget Sound, she began to chatter, asking Sheila questions about Seattle. The questions were intended to be innocent. Each one wounded Sheila anew.

“Where does Sean live?”

“Not down here. His house is near Lake Washington.”

“Have you been there?”

“A couple of times.”

“Can we go to Sean’s house together?”

A pause. The lump in Sheila’s throat made speech impossible. She tried to concentrate on shifting down as the car dipped along the hillside streets.

“Can we? Will you take me?” Emily repeated, looking at her mother with the wide-eyed innocence of only eight years.

“Maybe someday.”

The water of Puget Sound shimmered in the brightness of the warm summer sun. Seagulls dipped and dived over the salty water; huge, white-hulled ferries with broad green stripes down their sides plowed through the water, churning up a frothy wake and breaking the stillness with the sound of their rumbling engines.

Sheila parked the car across from the waterfront and stared out at the open water. Perhaps when all of this business with Wilder Investments was over, she would be able to take Emily out to dinner on one of the piers. Perhaps…

“Come on, Em,” she stated with renewed determination. “Let’s go.”

The Wilder Building was an imposing structure. A concrete and steel skyscraper that towered over the neighboring turn-of-the-century buildings, it proudly boasted smooth modern lines and large, reflective windows. Sheila’s stomach began to wind into tight, uncomfortable knots as she and Emily rode the elevator to the thirtieth floor.

The elevator doors parted, and they stepped into a reception area. A plump woman of about a sixty greeted Sheila and Emily with a cool but efficient smile.

“Good afternoon. May I help you?”

Sheila gathered in her breath. “I’m looking for Mr. Wilder…
Noah
Wilder. Is he in?”

The secretary, whose nameplate indicated that her name was Margaret Trent, shook her perfectly coiffed red tresses. “I’m sorry Miss…”

“Lindstrom,” Sheila supplied hastily. “I’m Sheila Lindstrom, and this is my daughter, Emily.” The daughter smiled frailly.

Maggie showed just the hint of a dimple. So this was the Lindstrom woman all the fuss was about. “I’m Maggie Trent,” she said warmly. Then, remembering Sheila’s request, continued, “I’m sorry, Miss Lindstrom, but Noah doesn’t work here any longer.” Her reddish brows drew together behind her glasses. “Didn’t you know? Things haven’t…” Maggie quickly held her tongue. She had been on the verge of divulging some of the secrets of Wilder Investments to this slender young woman with the intense gray eyes, but she quickly thought better of it. She hadn’t gotten to be Ben Wilder’s personal secretary by idly wagging her tongue at anyone who walked through the door. Quite the opposite. Maggie was a good judge of character and could tell from the looks of the determined woman in the soft blue dress and the well-mannered child that she could trust them, but prudence held her tongue.

The look of disappointment in Sheila’s eyes did, however, give her pause. “I think that Noah was planning to go back to Portland,” she offered, leaving the rest of the sad story unsaid. It wouldn’t do to gossip.

Sheila had to swallow back a dozen questions that were determined to spring to her lips. Intuitively she knew that Maggie was privy to the workings of the Wilder household. The thought that Noah was actually leaving staggered her, and the blood drained from her face. She had to know more. Suddenly it was incredibly important that she see him. “Is it possible to speak with Noah’s father?” she asked, tonelessly.

The secretary looked as if Sheila had hit her. “Ben?” she repeated, regaining her composure. “No…Mr. Wilder isn’t in.” The warmth in the woman’s eyes faded as she turned back to her typewriter. She looked at Sheila over the top of her glasses. “Was there anything else? Would you like to leave your name and number?”

“No,” Sheila said, her voice beginning to quiver. “Thank you.”

Together she led Emily to the elevator, and they began the descent. “Mom, are you okay?” Emily asked as they walked back to the car.

“Sure I am.”

“You don’t look so good.”

Sheila forced a smile and gave her daughter a playful pat on the shoulders. “Is that any way to talk to your mother?”

They slid into the car simultaneously, and Sheila turned the key to start the engine. Emily looked out the passenger window, but Sheila saw the trace of a tear in the corner of her daughter’s eye. “Emily?” she asked, letting the engine die.

“What?” Emily sniffed.

“What’s wrong?”

Emily turned liquid eyes to her mother and her small face crumpled into a mask of despair. “He’s gone, really gone, isn’t he?”

“Honey…what?”

“Noah!” Emily nearly shouted, beginning to lose all control. “I heard that lady at his office. She said he’s gone, and I know that he took Sean, too! He left, Mommy, just like Daddy did. He doesn’t love me either…” Her small voice broke, and her shoulders began to heave with her sobs.

Sheila reached out for her child and wrapped comforting arms around the limp form. “Hey, Em, shhh…don’t cry.” Her own voice threatened to break. “It’s not like that, you know. Noah loves you very much.”