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“Youimpliedit!”
“Not at all. I’m only pointing out the insurance company’s position . . . nothing else.”
“Then I’ll have to talk to someone at Pac-West,” Sheila said. “One of those claims adjusters, or whatever they are.”
“I don’t think that will do any good.”
“Why not?”
His smile didn’t touch his eyes. “Because, for one thing, I’ve already tried that. The insurance company’s position is clear.”
“Then what can we do?” Sheila asked herself aloud.
Noah hedged for a moment. How much could he tell her? Was she involved in the arson? Had her father been? He rubbed his thumbnail pensively over his lower lip and stared at Sheila. Why did he feel compelled to trust this beguiling woman he didn’t know? As he studied the innocent yet sophisticated curve of her cheek, the slender column of her throat, and the copper sheen to her thick, chestnut hair, he decided to take a gamble and trust her just a little. His intense eyes scrutinized her reaction, watching for a flicker of doubt or fear to cross her eyes.
“What we can do is investigate the cause of the fire ourselves,” he explained thoughtfully.
Her eyebrows furrowed. “How?”
“Wilder Investments has a private investigator on retainer. I’ve already asked him to look into it.”
“Do you think that’s wise? Doesn’t the insurance company have investigators on its staff?”
“Of course. But this way we can speed things up a little. Unless you’re opposed to the idea.”
If she heard a steely edge to his words, she ignored it and dug her fingernails into the soft flesh of her palm. “I’ll do anything I can to clear my father’s name and get the winery going again.”
“It’s that important to you?” he asked, slightly skeptical. “Why?”
“Cascade Valley was my father’s life, his dream, and I’m not allowing anyone or anything to take away his good name or his dreams.”
“You want to carry on the Lindstrom tradition, is that it? Follow in your father’s footsteps?”
“It’s a matter of pride . . . and tradition; I suppose.”
“But your father bought his interest in the winery less than twenty years ago. It’s not as if Cascade Valley has been a part of your family’s history,” he observed, testing her reaction. How much of what she was saying was the truth? All of it? Or was she acting out a well-rehearsed scene? If so, she was one helluva convincing actress.
Sheila was instantly wary. The doubts reflected·in Noah’s eyes lingered and pierced her soul. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged indifferently. “Running the day-to-day operation at the winery is a hard job. You’ll have to be an accountant, manager, personnel director, quality control inspector . . . everything to each of your employees. Why would a woman with a small child want to take on all of that responsibility?”
“For the same reasons a man would, I suppose.” Her eyes lighted with defiance.
His voice was deathly quiet as he baited her. “A man might be more practical,” he suggested, inviting her question.
“How’s that?”
“He might consider the alternatives.”
“There are none.”
“I wouldn’t say that. What about the option of selling out your interest in the winery for enough money to support you and your daughter comfortably?”
Sheila tried to keep her voice steady. “I doubt that anyone would be interested in buying. The economy’s slow, and as you so aptly pointed out earlier, Cascade Valley has had more than its share of problems.”
Noah set his empty glass on the mantel. “Perhaps I can convince the board of directors at Wilder Investments to buy out your share of the winery.”
Jonas Fielding’s warning echoed in Sheila’s ears. Noah was offering to buy out her interest in Cascade, just as the crafty lawyer had predicted. A small part of Sheila seemed to wither and die. In her heart she had expected and hoped for more from him. In the short time she had known him, she had learned to care for him and she didn’t want to let the blossoming feelings inside her twist and blacken with deceit. She couldn’t be manipulated, not by Ben Wilder, nor by his son. “No,” she whispered nearly inaudibly as she lifted her eyes to meet his piercing gaze. “I won’t sell.”
