she supposed to mean something to me?”
“She’s Oliver Lindstrom’s daughter. He died in that fire a few weeks ago.”
The lines of concentration furrowing Noah’s brow deepened. He rubbed his hands through the thick, dark brown hair that curled above his ears. “She’s the woman who keeps insisting I release some insurance money to her, isn’t she?”
Maggie nodded curtly. “The same.”
All of Noah’s attention was turned to the secretary, and his deep blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Lindstrom died in the fire, and according to the reports, arson is suspected. Do you suppose that Lindstrom set the fire and inadvertently got trapped in it?” Without waiting for a response from Maggie, Noah reached for the insurance report on the fire. His eyes skimmed it while he posed another question to the secretary. “Didn’t I write to this Lindstrom woman and explain our position?”
“You did.”
“And what did I say? Wasn’t it a phony excuse to buy time until the insurance investigation is complete?” He rubbed his temple as he concentrated. “Now I remember…I told her that everything had to wait until Ben returned.”
“That’s right.” Maggie pursed her lips in impatience. She knew that Noah had complete power over any business decision at Wilder Investments, at least until Ben returned from Mexico.
“Then why is she calling me again?” Noah asked crossly. That fire had already cost him several long nights at the office, and the thought of spending more time on it frustrated him. Until the insurance report was complete, there wasn’t much he could do.
Maggie’s voice was tiredly patient. She had become familiar with Noah’s vehement expressions of disgust with his father’s business. The insurance problem at the winery seemed to be of particular irritation to him. “I don’t know why she’s calling you, Noah, but you might speak to her. This is the fifth time she’s called this afternoon.”
Guiltily, Noah observed the tidy pile of telephone messages sitting neglected on the corner of his desk. Until this moment he had ignored them, hoping that the tiny pink slips of paper might somehow disappear.
“All right, Maggie,” he conceded reluctantly. “You win. I’ll talk to—”
“Miss Lindstrom,” the retreating secretary provided.
In a voice that disguised all of his irritation, he answered the phone. “This is Noah Wilder. Is there something I can do for you?”
Sheila had been waiting on the phone for over five minutes. She was just about to hang up when Ben Wilder’s son finally decided to give her a little portion of his precious time. Repressing the urge to slam the receiver down, she held her temper in tight rein and countered his smooth question with only a hint of sarcasm. “I certainly hope so—if it’s not too much to ask. I’d like to make an appointment with you, but your secretary has informed me you’re much too busy to see me. Is that correct?”
There was something in the seething agitation crackling through the wires that interested Noah. Since assuming his father’s duties temporarily last month, no one had even hinted at disagreeing with him. Not that Noah hadn’t had his share of problems with Wilder Investments, but he hadn’t clashed with anyone. It was almost as if the power Ben had wielded so mightily had passed to Noah and none of Ben’s business associates had breathed a word of opposition to Ben’s son. Until now. Noah sensed that Miss Lindstrom was about to change all of that.
“On the contrary, Miss Lindstrom. I’d be glad to meet with you, but we’ll have to make it sometime after next week. Unfortunately, Maggie’s right. I’m booked solid for the next week and a half.”
“I can’t wait that long!” Sheila cried, her thin patience snapping.
Her response surprised Noah. “What exactly is the problem? Didn’t you get the letter I sent?”
“That’s precisely why I’m calling. I really do have to see you. It’s important!”
“You’re hoping that I’ll reverse my decision, I suppose?” Noah guessed, wondering at the woman’s tenacity. He thumbed through his phone messages. Maggie was right. Sheila Lindstrom had called every hour on the hour for the past five.
“You’ve got to! If we hope to rebuild the winery and have it ready for this season’s harvest, we’ve got to get started as soon as possible. Even then, we might not make it—”
Noah interrupted. “I understand your problem.” There was a hint of desperation in her voice that bothered him. “But, there’s really nothing I can do. You understand that my father is out of the country and—”
“I don’t care if your father is on the moon!” Sheila cut in. “If you’re in charge of Wilder Investments, you’re the man I have to deal with. Surely you can’t be so much of a puppet that you can’t make a simple business decision until your father returns.”
“You don’t understand,” Noah began hotly in an attempt to explain, and then mentally cursed himself for letting this unknown woman force him into a defensive position. It really was none of her business.
“You’re right, Mr. Wilder. I don’t understand. I’m a businesswoman, and it seems utterly illogical to me that you would let a growing concern such as Cascade Valley sit in disrepair, when it could be productive.”
Noah attempted to keep his voice level, even though he knew that the woman was purposely goading him. “As I understand it, Miss Lindstrom, Cascade Valley has been running at a loss for nearly four years.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line, as if Sheila Lindstrom was studying the weight of his words. Her voice, decidedly less angry, commanded his attention. “I think it’s evident from this discussion that you and I have a lot to talk over,” Sheila suggested. Though she sounded calm, a knot of tension was twisting her stomach. “If it isn’t possible for you to meet with me today, perhaps you could come to the winery this weekend and get a firsthand impression of our mutual problem.”
For a moment the soft, coaxing tone of her voice captivated Noah, and he was tempted to take her up on her offer. He would love to leave the problems at Wilder Investments, if only for a weekend, but he couldn’t. There were situations in Seattle that he couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t just the business; there was Sean to consider. A note of genuine regret filled his voice. “I’m sorry, Miss Lindstrom,” he apologized, “It’s out of the question. Now, if you would like to make an appointment, how about the week after next—say, June eighth?”
“No, thank you,” was the curt reply. She was furious when she slammed the receiver back into the cradle of the pay telephone. The city of Seattle, usually a welcome sight to her, held no fascination today. She had come prepared to push her pleas on Noah Wilder, hoping to make him understand her desperate plight. She had failed. After being put off by his secretary, placed on hold forever, and making five fruitless telephone calls, Sheila wondered if it was possible to reason with the man. He was obviously just a figurehead for his father, a temporary replacement who held no authority whatsoever.
Sheila was lost in thought as she walked down the rain-washed sidewalk before wandering into a quiet bistro that had a view of Puget Sound. The cozy interior of the brightly lit café didn’t warm her spirits, nor did the picturesque view of the shadowy sound. Her eyes followed the flight of graceful seagulls arcing over the water, but her thoughts
