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Emily shook her head. “He’s just walkin’ around.”
“Then we’ll wait for him.” Again Sheila picked up the tray, and with Emily in tow, walked out to the brick patio that was flanked by Oliver’s rose garden.
Noah had been familiarizing himself with the layout of the winery. His walk also gave him the excuse to vent some of the frustration and tension that had been boiling within him since he had left Seattle. The trip over the mountains had been strained; Sean had brooded because his weekend plans were canceled by his father’s hastily organized trip. Sean had pleaded to be left alone in Seattle, and when Noah had refused, Sean had ridden the entire distance with his head turned away from his father while he pretended interest in the passing countryside. He had responded to Noah’s questions with monosyllabic grunts. By the time they reached the winery, Noah’s tension was wound tighter than the mainspring on a watch.
Noah had hoped that Sean would loosen up by the time they had come within sight of the winery, but he had been wrong—dead wrong. Sean was more petulant than ever. It was as if he were intent on punishing his father with his abrasive behavior.
Noah’s frown twisted into a wry grin as he thought about Sheila’s reaction to his strong-willed son. The embarrassment Noah had experienced at the table had faded into admiration for Sheila as he had witnessed the effective manner in which she had handled Sean. Even Sean had been set on his heels by Sheila’s indifferent and coolly professional attitude. She had refused to be goaded by anything Sean had done. Noah had to hand it to her: she knew how to handle kids. Her own daughter was proof of that. It occurred to him that perhaps he would never be able to control his son. It was all too evident that Sean needed a mother as well as a father. Noah had been a fool to think that he could raise a son of his own. Ben’s warning, issued sixteen years before, rang in his ears. “You want to raise that bastard on your own? You’re an even bigger fool than I thought!”
The screen door slammed, breaking into Noah’s thoughts. He lifted his eyes to observe Sean racing angrily from the house. There had obviously been another battle and it seemed as if Sean had lost one more round to Sheila. Noah shook his head as he watched his athletic son run across the backyard, hoist himself effortlessly over a pole fence without once breaking stride, and continue at a breakneck pace into the fringe of woods beyond the orchard.
Noah’s thoughts returned to Sheila. There was more grit to her than met the eye. Stunningly beautiful, she was also independent and intelligent. Noah raked his fingers impatiently through his hair as he wondered if he had made a grave mistake in seeking her out. She was more intriguing than he had remembered, and seeing her in the setting of the burned winery seemed to add an innocent vulnerability to her large eyes. Noah felt as if he wanted to protect her, when in fact he had come to Cascade Valley expecting to confront her with the knowledge that her father did, in fact, start the fire at the winery. As yet, Noah hadn’t found the right opportunity to broach the subject. The more he was with Sheila, the less he wanted to talk about the fire.
Anthony Simmons’s report had been short and concise. Though the detective had produced no concrete evidence to name Oliver Lindstrom as the arsonist, the case Simmons had built against Sheila’s father had been complete. Noah knew that the insurance company was bound to reach the same conclusion as he had: Based on circumstantial evidence, it was proven that Oliver Lindstrom set fire to Cascade Valley hoping to collect the insurance settlement and pay off a sizable debt to Wilder Investments. Inadvertently Mr. Lindstrom got caught in his own trap, was overcome by fumes of noxious gas and died in the blaze.
Noah’s stomach knotted as he wondered how involved Sheila had been in her father’s scheme. Had she known about it beforehand? Was she involved? Or was she, as she claimed, looking for a solution to the dilemma? According to Simmons, Sheila had been polite, but hadn’t gone out of her way to help with the investigation. It had been like pulling teeth to get her to divulge anything personal about her father . . . or herself. Was she hiding something? Simmons seemed to think so. Noah didn’t. Still, it didn’t matter; the bottom line was that he had to tell her about her father and then gauge her reaction to the news. It wasn’t going to be easy. Either way she lost. If she already knew that her father was a fraud, she would come out of this mess at the very least a liar; at the most an accomplice. If she didn’t know that her father had started the fire, her dreams and respect for the dead man would be shattered. No doubt she would blame Noah for digging up the dirt on Oliver Lindstrom.
As Noah walked back to the patio he tried to find a way to help her rather than hurt her.
Chapter Eight
Noah paced back and forth across the red bricks of the patio. The anxieties of the day were etched across his face in long lines of worry. It was nearly ten. The sun had set over an hour before and Sean hadn’t returned. He was obviously back to his old tricks of vanishing without a word of explanation.
Emily was already asleep in her bed. Since overhearing Sean’s unkind remarks, she had been quiet. The girl hadn’t even put up an argument about going to bed, and Sheila’s heart broke when Emily reasserted her earlier assessment of the situation. “Sean doesn’t like me, and it’s not because I’ve got a mommy. He doesn’t like anybody.”
“He’s just trying to find out who he is,” Sheila had responded.
“That’s silly. He’s Sean. He just doesn’t like me.”
“Maybe he doesn’t like himself.”
Emily hadn’t been convinced as she snuggled under her comforter. Sheila had attempted to hand the child her favorite furry toy, but Emily pushed it onto the floor. “I don’t need Cinnamon,” Emily had stated. “Toys are forlittle kids.”Sheila hadn’t argued, wisely letting her child cope with the struggle of growing up. Instead she picked up the toy dog with the floppy ears and set him on the nightstand near Emily’s bed.
“Just in case you change your mind.” After her parting remarks she had kissed Emily lightly on the cheek and left the room.
“Is she all right?” Noah asked.
“I think so.”
“What was bothering her?”
“She took offense to Sean’s notion that she was a little kid. She thinks she has to grow up all in one evening.”
“Sean’s the one who has to grow up,” Noah argued. “I don’t know if he ever will!”
“It will get better,” Sheila said quietly.
“How do you know?”
“It has to. Doesn’t it?” The gray intelligence in her eyes reached out to him.
“What makes you so certain? How do you know I don’t have the makings of a hardened criminal on my hands?”
Sheila smiled, and her face, captured in the moon-glow, held a madonna-like quality that was only contradicted by the silver fire of seduction in her eyes. “Sean’s not a bad kid,” she pointed out. “He’s just not certain of himself.”
“He could have fooled me.”
“That’s exactly what he’s trying to do.”
