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“Noah, please . . .” Katharine interjected.
“I asked you a simple question,” Noah said through tightly clenched teeth. “If you won’t answer it, then fine. I’d like to talk to her . . . alone.” He looked away from his father to meet Sheila’s confused gaze. For a moment his face softened, and the defeat in his eyes seemed to fade. “Let’s go into the den and talk,” he suggested softly.
Sheila understood. He had changed his mind about her and the winery and the marriage. He was going to tell her that all of her dreams had turned to dust. A sinking sensation of doom, like that of falling into a bottomless black hole, enveloped her. Noah’s persuasive hand was on her shoulder, encouraging her to her feet. Slowly, she rose. She felt dizzy, sick.
“No reason to shuffle her out of here, son,” Ben said with sarcastic familiarity. “One way or another, she’s got to know.”
“I’ll handle it,” Noah spat. The pressure on Sheila’s back increased as he tried to guide her out of the sterile living room.
“I’m sure you will, my boy,” Ben agreed with a mirthless laugh.
“What’s he talking about?” Sheila asked impatiently.
“Tell her,” Ben demanded.
“Ben . . . let Noah handle this his own way,” his wife whispered.
The pressure in Sheila’s head got to her. She stopped her exit from the long living room with the cold carpet and announced in a calm, hushed voice. “Don’t talk as if I can’t hear you, because I can. What’s this all about?”
She had to know, had to hear his words of rejection, waited with head held high for the final blow. Noah’s lips compressed into a thin, uncompromising line. “I’ll tell you everything, but it will be best if we’re alone.”
“Oh, hell, boy! Stop pussyfootin’ around, for God’s sake.” The old man rose shakily from his chair and rubbed his freckled scalp. “What Noah is trying to tell you, honey, is that your father started that damned fire and it cost the company one helluva lot of money, let me tell you. The insurance company hasn’t paid us a dime; there’s a doubt that they ever will!”
Sheila’s face turned ashen, her stomach lurched and she thought she might faint. She turned her eyes to Noah’s and read the guilt and remorse in his look. He had known. From the time that Anthony Simmons had turned in his preliminary report Noah Wilder had known about her father and the fire.
“No!” she attempted to shout. But no sound escaped from her constricted throat. His deceit was too much for her to accept.
Ben enjoyed the scene. It was hard for an old man with a heart condition to get many thrills out of life. He enjoyed the intrigue of passions and deceit. It didn’t matter that it was his own son. The sanctimonious heir had been looking down his nose at his father’s morals for the last sixteen years—even to the point of refusing to work for the company, until he was forced to by Ben’s most recent attack. It did old Ben’s failing heart good to see the tables turned for once.
“Sheila.” Noah said softly, touching her chin. She drew away, repelled by his touch. “Things aren’t exactly what they seem.”
“But you knew about Dad!” she accused.
“Yes,” he admitted loudly.
“And you didn’t tell me!”
“I thought I could prove the report wrong . . . I was convinced that with a little time, I could sort things out, and the results would be different.”
“But you knew!”Her heart sank to the blackest depths of despair. “And you wouldn’t tell me. . . .”
“I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“So you lied to me?”
His response was quick. “I’ve never lied to you.”
“Just omitted the facts, avoided the issues. . . .”
“Tried to stop your pain.”
“I don’t want a man toprotectme from the truth. I don’t want anyone who can’t trust me. . . .” The ugliness of the situation became blindingly apparent to her, and another wave of nausea took all of the color from her pale face.“You thought I was involved, didn’t you?”
“No.”
“Didn’t you?”
“No!” he screamed. He shook his head, and his blue eyes pleaded with her to understand him. “Not after I met you. I couldn’t.”
