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.
“What would you call it?” she challenged.
“Mismanagement!”
“Natural disasters!”
“Not the fire.”
For a moment there was a restless silence; Sheila felt the muscles in her jaw tightening. She made a vain effort to cool her rising temper. It was impossible. “What are you inferring?’ she demanded.
“That your father wasn’t exactly the businessman he should have been,” Noah snapped. He was angry at himself, at Ben and at Oliver Lindstrom. “I’m not just talking about the fire,” he amended when he noticed that the color had drained from her face. “That loan to him from Wilder Investments. What was it used for—improvements in the winery? I doubt it!”
Sheila felt the back of her neck become hot. How much did Noah know about her? Would she have to explain that most of the money her father had borrowed was given to her?
Noah’s tirade continued. “I don’t see how you can possibly expect to turn the business around, considering your lack of experience.” His fingers tightened around his glass.
Sheila’s thin patience snapped, and she rose, intending to leave. “Oh, I see,” she replied, sarcastically. “Cascade Valley doesn’t quite hold up to the sanctimonious standards of Wilder Investments. Is that what you mean?”
His eyes darkened before softening. Despite his foul mood a grim smile tugged at the corners of Noah’s mouth. “Touché, Miss Lindstrom,” he whispered.
Sheila was still prepared for verbal battle and was perplexed by the change in Noah’s attitude. His uncompromising gaze had yielded. When he smiled to display straight, white teeth and the hint of a dimple, the tension in the air disintegrated. Sheila became conscious of the softly pelting rain against the windowpanes and the heady scent of burning pitch. She felt her heart beating wildly in her chest, and she had the disturbing sensation that the enigmatic man watching her wistfully could read her mind. He wanted to touch her…breathe the scent of her hair…make her forget any other man in her life. He said nothing, but she read it in the power of his gaze. Was she as transparent as he?
Sheila felt an urgency to leave and a compulsion to stay. Why? And why did the needs of Cascade Valley seem so distant and vague? The closeness of the cozy room and the unspoken conversation began to possess her, and though she didn’t understand it, she knew that she had to leave. Noah Wilder was too powerful. When he took hold of her with his eyes, Sheila wanted never to be released. She reached for her purse. When she found her voice, it was ragged, torn with emotions she didn’t dare name. “Is…is it possible to meet with you next week?”
Noah’s eyes flicked to her purse, the pulse jumping in the hollow of her throat and finally to her face. “What’s wrong with right now?”
“I…have to get back…really.” Who was she trying to convince? “My daughter is waiting for me.” She started to turn toward the door in order to break the seductive power of his gaze.
“You have a daughter?” The smile left his face, and his dark brows blunted. “But I thought…” He left the sentence unfinished as he got out of the chair.
Sheila managed a thin smile. “You thought I wasn’t married? I’m not. The divorce was final over four years ago. I prefer to use my maiden name,” she explained stiffly. It was still difficult to talk about the divorce. Though she didn’t love Jeff, the divorce still bothered her.
“I didn’t mean to pry.” His sincerity moved her.
“I know. It’s all right.”
“I’m sorry if I brought up a sore subject.”
“Don’t worry about it. It was over long ago.”
The sound of tires screaming against wet pavement as a car came to a sudden halt cut off the rest of her explanation. Sheila was grateful for the intrusion; Noah was getting too close to her. The engine continued to grind for a moment and then faded into the distance. Noah was instantly alert. “Excuse me,” he muttered as he strode out of the room.
Sheila waited for just a minute and then followed the sound of Noah’s footsteps. She had to get out of the house, away from the magnetism of Noah Wilder. As she walked down the hallway, she heard the sound of the front door creaking open.
“Where the hell have you been?” Noah demanded. The worry in his voice thundered through the hallways. At the sound Sheila stopped dead in her tracks. Whoever he had been waiting for had finally arrived. If only she had managed to leave earlier. Whey hadn’t she listened to her common sense and left Noah Wilder the moment she had met him? The last thing she wanted was to be caught up in a family argument.
There was a muted reply to Noah’s demand. Sheila couldn’t hear the words over the pounding of her heartbeat. She was trapped. She couldn’t intrude into a very personal confrontation. She had to find a way to escape.
Noah’s voice again echoed through the house. “I don’t want to hear any more of your pitiful excuses! Go upstairs and try to sleep it off. I’ll talk to you in the morning, and believe you me, there are going to be some changes in your behavior! This is the last time you stumble into this house drunk on your can, Sean!”
Sheila let out a sigh of relief. It was Noah’s son who had come home, not his wife. Why did she feel some consolation in that knowledge? Sheila retreated to the library, but Noah’s harsh words continued to ring in her ears. Why was Noah so angry with his son, and why did it matter to her? It was better not to know anything more about Noah Wilder and his family. It was too dangerous.
Once back in the den, Sheila fidgeted. She knew that Noah was returning, and the knowledge made her anxious. She didn’t want to see him again, not here in this room. It was too cozy and seemed seductively inviting.
