Chapter 11
Though never mentioned again, the argument hung over Noah and Sheila like a dark, foreboding cloud. Noah had decided to spend another week at the winery to double-check Anthony Simmons’s conclusions concerning the fire. Sean was entrusted with Noah’s car and sent back to Seattle to pick up a couple of changes of clothes and some documents from the office of Wilder Investments. The boy was back at Cascade Valley as he had promised, the car intact.
For his part, Noah was a whirlwind. He decided it was in the best interests of Wilder Investments to reopen the winery, and he began a full-scale cleanup of the estate. It took some fast talking, but even the local sheriff’s department had reluctantly complied with his demands that the west wing be completely reconstructed. By late Friday afternoon D & M Construction, a subsidiary of Wilder Investments, had moved in, and the foreman was working with an architect to redesign the building.
Days at the winery were spent preparing for the autumn harvest; the nights making love. Noah didn’t mention Jeff again, and Sheila hoped that the harsh words shouted in the heat of anger would soon be forgotten.
Noah began a furious study of viticulture, with Sheila and Dave Jansen as his tutors. Dave was a young man whose serious, plain face was offset by laughing brown eyes. He took Noah on a tour of the vineyards and explained, endlessly, the reasons that wine production was suited for the valley.
“Thirty years ago, few people thought that western Washington could hold a candle to California for wine production,” he declared, proudly showing off a hillside covered with vinifera wine grapes.
“But you’re changing their minds, right?” Noah asked.
“You got it. Everybody thinks it rains all the time in Washington, or that it’s overcast, but that’s because they haven’t seen the eastern part of the state. Over here our summers are warm and dry with extremely low precipitation and cloud cover. This allows for a unique combination of moderate heat, high light intensity and long days that produce vinifera fruit with an excellent sugar-acid balance. All of our wines have a distinctive varietal character.”
“But what about the winters? A couple of years ago the late snow just about wiped out the crop.”
Dave nodded gravely. “That can happen,” he admitted. “We try to select our vineyard sights as close as possible to the Columbia River. We use southern slopes above the valley floor to further decrease the risk of low temperatures. Recently we’ve been planting a hardier grape, a vinifera that can stand colder temperatures.”
Noah’s gaze ran skeptically over the vineyards.
“Really, this is a great place to produce wine,” Dave stated firmly. “Look, Mr. Wilder—”
“Noah.”
Dave smiled and inclined his head. “I know that Sheila’s had a run of bad luck here, but for my money, Cascade Valley will produce the best wine in the country.”
“That’s a pretty broad statement.”
Dave pursed his lips and shook his balding head. “I don’t think so.” He held up his fingers to add emphasis to his point. “Eastern Washington has a good climate, the right amount of light, loamy soils and is relatively free of pests and disease. I don’t think you can do better than that.”
Noah squatted and ran his fingers through the soil. “So what’s to prevent a competitor from building next to Cascade Valley?”
“Name familiarity and reputation,” Dave replied quickly.
“A reputation that has been tarnished over the last few years.”
“Yeah. I can’t deny that, much as I’d like to,” Dave conceded, opening the door to his pickup. “Want a lift back to the house? I’d like you to take a look at our latest investment, French oak barrels for aging instead of American white oak. They were Oliver’s idea. He used a few of them several years ago and the end result is our reserve Cabernet Sauvignon, which we hope to market late this year.”
“I think I’ll walk back to the house,” Noah decided. “I’ll catch you tomorrow because I would like to see the reserve bottles.”
“All right. See you then.” The battered old pickup took off, leaving a plume of dust in its wake. Noah placed his hands, palms outward, in the back pockets of his jeans as he walked back to the house. He was lost in thought, considering all of the disasters that had struck Cascade Valley in the past few years. No one could be blamed for the volcanic eruption of Mount Saint Helens. The tonnage of ash and soot that had fallen on Cascade Valley and destroyed the harvest would have to be attributed to an act of God, or natural disaster. But the tampered bottles found in Montana were a different story. The contamination had been planned rather than accidental. Needle marks found in the corks of some of the damaged bottles proved that someone had to have been behind the sabotage.
Originally Noah had assumed that Oliver Lindstrom had executed the poisoning of the bottles; now he wasn’t so sure. The image painted by people he had spoken with told him that Oliver Lindstrom wasn’t the kind of man who would destroy all that he had worked so hard to build. If, as Sheila and the staff maintained, Cascade Valley Wines and the winery itself were Oliver Lindstrom’s lifeblood, why would he want to tarnish a reputation it had taken years to establish?
Noah squinted against the setting sun and kicked a stone out of the rutted dirt road. It just didn’t make sense. If a man needed money, he wouldn’t consciously taint his product, thereby causing an expensive recall and losing consumer trust. Could Lindstrom really have been as desperate as Anthony Simmons wanted Noah to believe: desperate enough to take his own life in an arson attempt? The damned fire—always that damned fire—continued to plague Noah with doubts. As he walked up the final crest of the hill supporting the château, he stopped to look at the wreckage.
A disappearing sun cast red-gold rays over the charred timbers of the west wing. A yellow bulldozer was parked near the blackened building, waiting to raze the sagging skeleton. Noah ran his fingers through his hair as he studied the destruction. If only he didn’t care about Sheila, it would be much easier.
* * *
Sheila was tearing the old wallpaper off the walls in the dining room when the doorbell rang.
“Emily,” she called, pulling at an obstinate strip, “could you get that? Emily?” There was no immediate response, and Sheila remembered Emily mentioning something about going outside with Sean. Her ankle was much better and she was feeling more than a little cooped up in the house.
The doorbell rang again impatiently. “Coming,” Sheila called as she wiped her hands on a nearby towel. Who could be calling today? she wondered. It was nearly the dinner hour, and she was a mess. Her jeans and blouse smelled like the sooty walls she had been cleaning, and her hair was piled in a bedraggled twist on the top of her head. She pulled out the pins and ran her fingers through it as she made her way to the door.
Before she could open it, the door swung open and Jeff Coleridge poked his head into the foyer. “So there is someone home after all,” he remarked dryly, his eyes giving Sheila a quick head to heels appraisal.
Sheila managed a thin smile. “Sorry—I thought Emily would get the door.”
“And I thought she was laid up,” he replied with a smirk. “Or was this just one of your rather obvious attempts to see me?”
Sheila’s gray eyes didn’t waver. “That was a long time ago.”
“Not that long.”
Sheila stood in the entryway, not letting him pass. “I assume you came here to see Emily.”
“Who else?” His smile was as devilish as ever, his dark eyes just as flirtatious. He was still handsome; living the good life seemed to suit him well. His lean torso reflected hours on the tennis courts, and his devil-may-care attitude added to his cunning charm. After all of these years, Sheila was immune to it.
“I hope no one. Emily’s outside. I’ll go and get her.”
“Sheila, baby.” He reached out a hand and touched her wrist. “What is our darling daughter doing out of bed—I thought she had some horrible ankle sprain. At least that’s the story you gave me.”
Trying desperately not to be baited, Sheila withdrew her wrist and pasted a plastic copy of his saccharine smile on her face. “That was no story, and if you would have shown up a few days ago, you would have found her in bed. Fortunately she’s young and heals quickly.”
“Now, now,” he cajoled, noting the sarcasm dripping from her words. “Your claws are showing, sweetheart. You know I couldn’t come any sooner.”
“You could have called.”
“Is that what you wanted?”
“What I wanted was for you to show some interest in your child. She’s not a baby anymore, Jeff, and she’s beginning to understand how you feel about her.”
“I’ll just bet she does,” he snapped, losing his calm veneer of self-assurance. “With you poisoning her mind against me.”
“You know I don’t do anything of the kind.” Sheila’s face was sincere, her gray eyes honest and pained. “You handle that part of it well enough on your own.”
Jeff’s frown turned to a pout. “I thought we were supposed to have a ‘friendly divorce,’ isn’t that what you wanted?”
“When I was naive enough to believe it.”
“I suppose you think that’s my fault, too.”
“Not really. We couldn’t get along while we were married; I should never have expected that the divorce would change anything.”
“You act as if it’s carved in stone.”
“I wish I thought it wasn’t,” Sheila sighed, leaning against the door.
“So what do you want now, Sheila?” His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he looked down upon her.
“I want you to be an interested father, Jeff. And I don’t want it to be an act. Is that too much to ask?”
Jeff took in a deep breath, attempting to stem the rage that took hold of him every time he saw Sheila and was reminded of her quiet beauty. It unnerved him. Perhaps it was her fiery spirit coupled with her wide, understanding eyes. There had been a time in his life when he had been proud to show her off as his wife. But she wanted more—she wanted a child, for God’s sake. Not that Emily wasn’t a great kidche just didn’t like the idea of fatherhood. It made him feel so old. If only Sheila would have given a little more, seen things his way, maybe the two of them would have made it.
Even in dusty jeans and a sooty blouse, with a black smudge where her hands had touched her cheek, she looked undeniably beautiful. Her hair fell in a tangled mass around her face, the way he liked it, and she still carried herself with an elegance and grace he had never seen in another woman—even Judith. Whereas Judith’s beauty was beginning to fade, Sheila’s was just beginning to blossom.
Jeff cleared his throat and tried to ignore Sheila’s intent stare. He coughed before answering her question. “You know I care about Emily,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “It’s just that I’ve never been comfortable with kids.”
“You’ve never tried. Not even with your own.”
Jeff shook his head, and he looked at the boards of the porch. “That’s where you’re wrong, Sheila. I did try, honestlyc”
“But you couldn’t find it in your heart to love her.”
“I didn’t say that.” His eyes lifted to meet the disgust and rage simmering in hers.
“You have never loved anyone in your life, Jeff Coleridge, except yourself.”
“That’s what I’ve always liked about you, Sheila: your sweet, even-tempered disposition.”
Sheila was shaking, but she attempted to regain her poise. If only she could look at Jeff indifferently. If only she didn’t see a man who rejected his infant when she looked into his eyes. “This argument is getting us nowhere,” she said through tight lips. The strain of trying to communicate with Jeff was getting to her. “Why don’t you come into the kitchen and wait while I get Emily. She’s just on the patio.”
Jeff hesitated, as if he wanted to say something more, but decided against it. Sheila stepped backward, allowing him to pass, and tried to calm her anxious nerves. When she found Emily, she didn’t want to infect the child with her worries about the disintegrating relationship between father and daughter.
She stepped onto the patio and drew in a steadying breath. Emily was watching Noah and Sean trying to outdo one another in a Frisbee throwing contest. Emily was giggling in excitement, Noah was concentrating on the returning Frisbee and Sean was smiling with satisfaction, sure that the plastic disc would elude his father. It was a tender scene, a family scene, and it pulled at Sheila’s heartstrings knowing she had to destroy it.
“Emily,” she called softly. “Someone’s here to see you.”
“Who?” Emily demanded, riveted to her spot and eyeing Noah’s ungraceful catch. He flipped the Frisbee back at his son.
“Daddy’s come to see you.”
Emily’s smile faded. “My daddy?”
Sheila’s grin felt as phony as it was. “Isn’t that great?”
“He’s not going to take me with him to Spokane, is he?”
“Of course not, honey,” Sheila said with unfelt enthusiasm. “He just came to see how you’re doing with that ankle of yours.” Pushing aside an errant curl around her daughter’s face, Sheila continued. “Come on. He’s waiting in the kitchen.”
“No, I’m not,” Jeff’s cheery voice called as he walked out the door. He smiled down at his daughter. “It’s been a long trip, and I couldn’t wait any longer.” It was then, when his eyes lifted from his daughter’s serious gaze, that he noticed Noah and Sean. The game had ended and Noah was staring intently at the man who had once been Sheila’s husband. “Pardon me,” Jeff announced with a wary, well-practiced smile. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Noah strode slowly up to the patio, his blue eyes challenging Jeff’s dark ones. Sheila could see that every muscle in Noah’s body had become rigid, the skin drawn taut. “The name’s Wilder,” he stated. “Noah Wilder. This—” he cocked his head in the direction of the blond boy in cut-off jeans
“—is my son, Sean.” He extended his hand, took Jeff’s and gave it a short, but firm, shake.
“Jeff Coleridge.”
Noah’s smile twisted as if smiling at a private irony. “I assumed as much.”
“Wilder?” Jeff’s eyes followed Noah’s movements as he placed his body between those of ex-husband and wife. The move was subtle, but not lost on either Sheila or Jeff. “You’re connected with Wilder Investments?”
“My father’s company.”
“Ben Wilder is your father?” A note of genuine respect and surprise entered Jeff’s voice.
“That’s right.” Noah didn’t return Jeff’s growing smile.
“Ohcso you’re here because of the winerycas a business partner to Sheila?” Jeff assumed. He seemed relieved.
“Partly.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Noah is Mommy’s friend,” Emily interjected.
“Is that right?” Jeff’s thin eyebrows raised, and his accusing dark eyes impaled Sheila.
There was an awkward silence while Sheila struggled with the proper words. Both men regarded her intently. From the corner of her eye, Sheila noticed that Sean was walking toward the orchard, away from the uncomfortable scene. An embarrassed flush crept up her neck, but her eyes never wavered, and her voice was surprisingly steady. “Yes, that’s right. Noah is a friend of mine, a very good friend.”
The nasty retort forming on Jeff’s lips died under the power of Noah’s stare and the innocent, wondering eyes of his child. He didn’t want to appear the fool. “I see,” he returned vaguely, as if he really didn’t understand at all. Then, as if dismissing the entire conversation as something that should have been swept under the rug, he pulled at the crease in his pants and bent on one knee to talk to his daughter. He took one of Emily’s little hands and pressed it between his own. He considered it a very fatherly gesture. “So tell me, Emmy, how’re you feeling?”
“Fine.” Emily was suddenly shy as she found herself the center of attention.
“You’re sure now? How about that ankle?”
“It’s okay.”
“Goodcthat’s good. Are you going to tell me all about your fall in the creek?”
“Do you really want to know?” Emily asked skeptically.
Jeff’s thin smile wavered. “Of course I do, precious,” he replied, patting the top of her hand nervously. He led her over to the chaise lounge and indicated that she should sit with him. “Why don’t you tell me all about it?” He pressed the tip of his finger awkwardly against her nose.
Noah felt his stomach lurch at Coleridge’s stumbling attempts at paternity. While the man turned all of his attention upon his child, Noah took his leave, heading in the direction of the west wing.
Sheila watched Noah stride angrily across the yard, and she had to suppress the urge to run after him. Until she was assured that Emily was comfortable with Jeff, Sheila felt her responsibility was to remain with her child.
Noah was soon out of sight and Sheila swung her eyes back toward Jeff and Emily. Her gaze met the brittle dark stare of her ex-husband. “How long has he been here?” he sneered.
“About a week.”
“Do you think that’s such a good idea?”
“He’s helping me reestablish the winery.”
“I bet he is.” The insinuation in Jeff’s flat statement couldn’t be ignored.
“Look, Jeff. I like Noahc. I like him a lot. Not that it’s any concern of yours.”
“He’s an arrogant SOB, don’t you think?”
Sheila’s eyes flew to Emily’s young face and then back to Jeff, silently warning him against any further derogatory remarks while Emily was close at hand.
“I think he’s a very kind and considerate man.”
“And I’m not?”
“I didn’t say that.” Sheila shot Jeff another threatening glance. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” Somehow she had to change the course of the conversation, for Emily’s sake.
Jeff tried to relax and appear comfortable. “Got anything stronger?” he inquired, running a shaky hand through his neatly combed hair.
“I think so.”
“Good.” He let out his breath. “Make it a vodka martini.”
“All right. It will take me a few minutes.” He didn’t argue. He, too, must have been looking for a way to avoid further disagreement. Sheila turned toward the house, her eyes still searching for Noah, when Jeff’s voice reached her. “With a twist, okay?”
She nodded curtly without glancing back in his direction, muttering under her breath, “With a twistcwith a twist.” Sheila had forgotten how demanding Jeff could be—a real pain in the neck. Damn him for ruining the peaceful afternoon. Damn him for interrupting what she had hoped would be an intimate family meal.
That was the problem, wasn’t it? She considered Noah and Sean as part of the family, while she looked upon Jeff as an outsider, an intruder who would only cause trouble.
Her chestnut hair swept across her shoulders as she shook her head at her own foolishness. What had she expected? she asked herself as she walked into the den.
She was startled to find Noah sitting at the desk, going over the original blueprints for the west wing of the château. A pencil was in his hand, its lead point tapping restlessly on the yellowed paper. He didn’t move when he heard the sound of Sheila’s sandaled feet enter the room, nor did he speak. Instead he stared broodingly at the blueprints, seemingly engrossed in the faded drawing. Sheila could feel the rift between them deepen, and she wondered if she had the courage to bridge it.
“I’m sorry you had to witness all of that,” she began as she moved across the room to the bar to pull out a bottle of vodka. The pencil stopped its erratic tapping on the desk.
Noah’s voice was controlled to the point of exasperation. “Don’t apologize to me. It’s none of my concern.”
“But it is,” she disagreed. “And I didn’t mean for it to turn into a circus.”
“Didn’t you? Don’t kid yourself, Sheila. You were the one who invited him here. How could you possibly expect things to turn out differently?”
“I had no choice. I had to tell him about Emily and invite him to visit her.”
“Save it, Sheila. I’ve heard all this before.”
She could read the anger in the crunch of his shoulders, feel his questions begging for answers, see the pride in the lift of his chin. “Please, Noah,” she pleaded, setting the mixed drink aside. “Don’t shut me out.”
“Is that what I’m doing?” He tossed the pencil down on the desk and rubbed his hands wearily against the back of his neck.
“Aren’t you?”
“No!” He got out of the chair and faced her for the first time since she entered the room. Ignoring the pain in her eyes, he wagged an accusing finger in her face. “I’ll tell you what I’m doing,” he stated hoarsely, “I’m sitting on the sidelines, hoping to hold on to my patience, which isn’t exactly my long suit to begin with, while the woman I love clings to some faded, rose-colored memories of a past and a marriage that didn’t exist.”
“I’m not—”
“I’m trying not to throw out a conniving jerk whose fumbling attempts at being a father border on the pathetic, for the sake of holding up appearances!”
“Jeff’s just trying to—”
“And,” his voice increased in volume, “I’m attempting, Lord knows I’m not good at this sort of thing, but I’m trying damn it, to understand how a beautiful, sensitive woman like you could have ever gotten tangled up with a creep like Jeff Coleridge in the first place.” The cords in Noah’s neck were bulging, the muscles in his shoulders tight, the line of his mouth curled in distaste. He looked as if at any moment all of his simmering anger might explode.
Sheila picked up the martini with trembling hands. “I think that’s enough,” she whispered, her wide eyes unseeing. Her voice shook with the wounded tears of pride that had settled in her throat as she turned toward the door.
Noah was beside her in an instant, and his powerful arm reached out to impede her departure. He twisted her back to face him and the drink fell to the floor, breaking the glass and spilling the colorless liquid.
“No, Sheila,” he stated through clenched teeth, “you’re wrong.” He ignored the shattered glass and the pooling liquid. He gave her arm a shake to make sure she was giving him all of her attention. “I love you,” he admitted, the hardness in his gaze beginning to soften. “I didn’t want to fall in love with you. I fought itcI fought it like hellcbut I lost.” His grip loosened on her arm, but she didn’t move as she was spellbound by the honesty in his eyes. “And I have no intention of letting you go—not to that snake you once called a husband. Not to anyone.”
Sheila felt her anger beginning to wither. Her gray eyes were colored by her conflicting emotions. “Then, pleasecplease try and understand that I’m only putting up with Jeff because of Emily.”
“Do you think you’re fooling that child?”
“I’m not trying to fool her. I’m just trying not to bias her opinion of her dad.”
“By letting him intrude where he’s not wanted?” His eyes left hers to stare at the spilled drink. “By jumping at his every whim?” He touched her cheek tenderly. “Or by covering up his mistakes and omissions?”
“By letting her make her own decision.”
“Then let her see him as he really is.”
The muscles in his jawline tensed. “How important to you is Jeff Coleridge?” he demanded.
“He’s the father of my child.”
“Nothing more?”
“He once was,” she admitted. “I can’t deny that, and I wouldn’t try to. But that was a long time ago. Please believe me, Noah, I’m not in love with him. I don’t know if I ever was.”
Noah wrapped his arms tightly around her slim shoulders, and she could feel the warmth of his body where his arms touched her. Tenderly he brushed the smudge of soot from her cheek. “All right, Sheila,” he said with a reluctant sigh. “I’ll try and tolerate that jerk. But, believe me, if he gets obnoxious with you or Emily, I’m not going to apologize for throwing him out on his ear. Fair enough?”
Sheila’s smile spread slowly over her lips, showing just a hint of her white teeth. “Fair enough,” she agreed.
“Now, why don’t you work on dinner, let Jeff and Emily alone, and I’ll finish up with the blueprints.”
“Only if you promise to clean up this mess,” she suggested, flipping her open palm toward the spilled drink, “and pour Jeff another vodka martini.”
“Not on your life, lady. Doting on that man is where I draw the line. If he wants a drink badly enough, he can damn well come in and mix his own.”
Sheila laughed and clucked her tongue. “Not very hospitable, are you?” she teased.
Noah raised an inquiring eyebrow. “Can you blame me?”
“No,” she admitted with a trace of wistfulness, “I really can’t. But, do try to be civil.”
“If that’s what you want,” he conceded. “But for the life of me, I don’t understand why.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and stood on her toes. “It won’t kill you,” she pointed out.
“No, I suppose not. But watching him drool over you might.”
“You’re imagining things.” She kissed him lightly on the lips.
The muscles in his body reached out to hers. She felt his thighs straining against hers, his chest flattening her breasts, his arms pressing against the small of her back. “The kinds of things I imagine with you are very private. They have nothing to do with your ex-husband.” His lips brushed against hers and his tongue rimmed her lips. “Let’s get rid of him and put the kids to bed early.”
Sheila laughed against his mouth. “Somehow I don’t think Sean would take kindly to going to bed at six-thirty.”
“Spoilsport.” Slowly he released her.
She started toward the door, but paused to look over her shoulder at him and give an exaggerated wink. “Later,” she promised throatily.
The rest of the evening was uncomfortable but tolerable. Jeff stayed for dinner and looked stiff and ill at ease with Noah, Sean and Emily. His perfectly pressed suit had become wrinkled, his hair unruly and his eyes begged Sheila to find some excuse to get him away from Noah’s intense, uncompromising stare. Noah was polite but quiet, and his blue eyes very rarely strayed from Sheila’s ex-husband. It made Jeff uncomfortable; the man’s stare bordered on the eerie.
Jeff made his excuses, begged off dessert and was back on his way to Spokane long before eight o’clock. Even Emily seemed relieved that she didn’t have to go back to her father’s sterile apartment and persnickety old wife, Judith, at least for a few more weeks.
For the first time in over a week the dark cloud of argument between Sheila and Noah had disappeared, and they made impassioned love without the shadow of Jeff Coleridge hanging over their heads.