eyes scanned the crowd of teenagers as it dispersed over the school yard. Nowhere did he see his blond, athletic son. The thought that Sean might have stood him up crossed Noah’s mind, but he pushed it quickly aside. Surely the kid wouldn’t be that stupid! Sean knew the importance of today’s meeting with the juvenile officer. He wouldn’t blow it. He couldn’t!
Noah continued to wait. His hands gripped the steering wheel more tightly with each passing minute. There was no sign of his son. The teenagers on the steps thinned as they dashed across the lawn, heads bent against the wind and rain. The roar of car engines and rattling school buses filled the air. Still no Sean. Noah’s impatience was beginning to surface, and he raked his fingers through the thick, coarse strands of his near-black hair. Where the devil was that kid? The appointment with the juvenile officer was in less than thirty minutes, and Sean was nowhere in sight.
Angrily Noah opened the car door, pulled himself to his full height, slammed the door and pushed his hands deep into his pockets. He leaned against the car, oblivious to the rain that ran down his back. His eyes skimmed the empty school yard. No sign of his son. He checked his watch once, uttered a low oath and continued to lean against the car.
CHAPTER THREE
IT WAS DUSK WHEN SHEILA found the address listed on the torn envelope, and even though twilight dimmed her vision, she could tell that the house Ben Wilder called home was immense. The three-story structure stood high on a cliff overlooking the banks of Lake Washington, and the grounds surrounding the manor encompassed several acres. The stately stone house was surrounded by a natural growth of sword ferns and ivy. To Sheila, the building seemed strangely cold and uninviting. Even the sweeping branches of the fir trees and the scarlet blossoms of the late-blooming rhododendrons didn’t soften the hard, straight lines of the manor.
An uneasy feeling that she was intruding where she didn’t belong nagged at Sheila’s mind, and she considered retreating into the oncoming night. She chided herself for her case of nerves. What would it hurt to knock on the door and inquire as to the whereabouts of Ben Wilder? Nothing ventured; nothing gained. Wasn’t that the phrase?
It was obvious that someone was home. Not only was there smoke rising from one of the chimneys, but also, several windows in the stone mansion glowed brightly from interior lights. Even the porch lanterns were lit. It was almost as if her presence were expected. A cold chill of apprehension skittered up her spine.
Ignoring her mounting misgivings, Sheila parked her car behind the silver Volvo sitting in the long, circular drive. Before she could think twice about the consequences of what she was about to do, she slid out of her car, gathered a deep breath of damp air and walked to the door. A quiet rain had begun to settle over the city, and droplets of moisture clung to Sheila’s hair. After hiking the collar of her raincoat more tightly around her throat, she knocked softly on one of the twin double doors. As she nervously waited, she wondered who would answer her knock and what his reaction would be to her inquiry. Would she really be able to procure information as to the whereabouts of Ben Wilder or was this just one more leg in the wild goose chase she had been participating in all afternoon?
The door opened suddenly. Sheila wasn’t prepared to meet the forceful man standing in the doorway. In a house the size of a Tudor, she had expected a servant to greet her, but she had been mistaken. The tall, well-built man standing in the light from the hallway presented himself with an arrogance that spoke of power rather than servility. His face was handsome, though not in a classical sense. His features were even, but severe. The angle of his jaw was strong, and dark, ebony brows hooded deepset delft-blue eyes. The lines of worry on his face intensified his masculinity and the power of his gaze. His eyes sparked with interest as he looked down on Sheila. Involuntarily her pulse quickened and fluttered in the hollow of her throat. Surely he could sense her unease.
“Is there something I can do for you?” he asked with practiced boredom. Sheila instantly recognized his voice. It belonged to Noah Wilder. Of course! Why hadn’t she expected him…or had she? Had her subconscious sought him out? She swallowed with difficulty while her heart clamored in her chest.
“I was looking for Ben Wilder,” was her inadequate response.
“Ben?” He cocked a wary black eyebrow before crossing his arms over his chest and leaning on the doorjamb. The light fabric of his shirt strained over his shoulder muscles. A lazy smile softened the severe planes of his face. “You want to see Ben? Who are you?”
There was something disturbing in Noah’s deep blue eyes, something that took hold of Sheila and wouldn’t let go. With difficulty she drew her eyes away from the alluring depths of his gaze. She drew in a steadying breath and ignored both her racing pulse and the strong desire to run back into the safety of the night. “My name is Sheila Lindstrom. I believe I spoke with you earlier this afternoon.”
He didn’t seem surprised by her announcement. His smile broadened to show the hint of a dimple. He was interested but cautious. “You’re the lady with the urgent problems at Cascade Valley, right?”
“Yes.” At least he remembered her. Was he amused? Why the crooked, knowing grin?
“You called the office and Maggie told you where you could reach me?” he guessed, rubbing his chin while his eyes inched slowly up her body. What was it about her that he found so attractive?
Before she could answer his question, his eyes left her face. A car engine whined on a nearby road, and Noah’s head snapped upward. His eyes followed the sound, and every muscle in his body tensed as he looked past her toward the sound.
The car drove past the main gates and turned into another driveway. “No,” Sheila said, responding to his question of a few moments before.
“No?” Noah’s interest was once again on the conversation. His eyes searched hers.
“I told you I’m looking for your father.”
“And I told you he was out of the country.” Something in his gaze seemed to harden.
“I was hoping that someone here might be able to give me an address or a telephone number where he might be reached,” she admitted, pressing onward despite the chill in Noah’s gaze.
His lips tightened into a scowl, and his voice became still colder. “Come in, Miss Lindstrom, and get out of the rain. You were right. Earlier today you indicated that we have a few things to iron out, and I agree with you. Let’s get on with it.” He moved out of the doorway as if he expected her to enter.
Sheila hesitated for a moment as her resolve faltered. When his eyes had darkened in disdain, she felt her poise crumbling. She was the intruder. “I think it would be better if I talked to your father. If you could just give me the number….”
“I asked you to come inside! I think it’s an excellent suggestion, as it’s getting dark and the wind is beginning to pick up. I’m not about to stand here and get wet while I argue with you. The choice is yours; either you can come into the house and talk to me or you can stand out on this porch alone. I’m not going to stand out here much longer. You were the one who was so desperate to talk to me this afternoon. Now you have the opportunity. Take it!”
It was a mistake to enter this man’s home. Sheila could feel it, but she was cornered. With what little dignity she could piece together, she reluctantly accepted Noah’s invitation and quietly strode into the formal entry hall. Antiques and portraits adorned the walls of the expansive foyer. A large crystal chandelier warmed the entrance in a bath of filtered light, which reflected against the polished wood floor and the carved walnut
