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Sheila found it increasingly difficult to sit idle. Time seemed to be slipping by without purpose or meaning. Within a few short weeks Emily would be enrolled in the fall semester of school and the autumn harvest of grapes would be ripe. Sheila had no alternative but to sell the crop despite Dave Jansen’s protests. He was convinced that this was the best year Cascade Valley had seen in a decade. The yield per acre was ten percent better than the previous year’s, and the grapes held the highest sugar and acid content he had seen in several years. All in all it looked like a bumper crop. But Sheila had no choice. She was backed into a corner by Ben Wilder and his son.
She sighed wearily and ran her fingers through her hair as she picked up the telephone and dialed the number of Mid-Columbia Bank. A cheery receptionist put Sheila through to Jim Stinson. Sheila could envision the perplexed look of dismay that must have crossed his features when he learned that she was calling. He probably wanted to avoid this conversation as much as she did.
“Good afternoon, Sheila,” Jim greeted heartily. “How’ve you been? Busy, I’ll bet.”
Sheila was taken aback at his friendly response to her call. “It’s about that time of the year,” she agreed.
“How’s the construction going?” Jim asked good-naturedly. “Are you going to get the west wing finished before harvest?”
Sheila choked on her response. Jim, better than most people, knew of her plight, and it wasn’t like him to rub salt into a wound. He actually sounded as if he thought she were running the winery as she had planned. “I can’t do that, Jim, because construction has stopped on the west wing.”
There was a moment’s hesitation before Jim laughed. “Is this some kind of a joke? Haven’t you begun to rebuild yet?”
“As a matter of fact, no. I was hoping that Mid-Columbia would give me a loan, remember?”
“But that was before you got your other loan.”
Once again silence.
“Other loan?” What the devil was Jim talking about? He wasn’t usually one to talk in circles.
He acted as if she were incredibly dense. “You know, the quarter of a mil.”
“The loan I requested from you.”
She heard an exasperated sigh. “Just a minute.” She was put on hold for a minute and then he was on the phone again. “Is there some mistake?”
Before she could ask what in the world he was muttering about, he spoke again. “No . . . no, everything looks right. You do know that a deposit of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars was made to the winery’s account on the thirtieth of August, don’t you?”
Sheila’s mind was reeling, her voice faint. “What deposit?” she asked.
“Let’s see . . . it was a cashier’s check drawn on Consolidated Bank of Seattle. Didn’t you get a loan from them . . . Sheila?”
Sheila felt as if she were melting into the kitchen floor. Noah! Noah had deposited the money. From somewhere in her conscious mind, she was able to respond to Jim Stinson. “Of course I did. I just wasn’t aware that they had transferred the money so quickly. My statement hasn’t come yet.”
“But didn’t they call you?” Stinson asked.
“I’ve been out a lot lately . . . down in the vineyards.” She lied, trying to find a way to get off the phone politely. “Thank you very much.”
“No trouble, but you might think about putting some of that money into savings or another account. Deposits aren’t insured for that large a sum.”
“You’re right. I will. Thanks, Jim.”
She hung up the phone and leaned against the wall. Hot beads of perspiration dampened the back of her neck. “That bastard!” she muttered between her teeth. Why couldn’t he leave her alone? He must have deposited the money out of a guilty conscience from the coffers of Wilder Investments, perhaps as incentive for her to sell. But that didn’t explain everything. Why would she have to sell anything? The money was hers, or so it appeared.
Her anger grew white hot. Ben Wilder might have bought Marilyn Summers sixteen years ago, but no man, not even Noah, could purchase her or her father’s dream. She balled a small fist and slammed it into the wall. “Emily,” she called as she raced to the back door.
Emily was playing distractedly with a fluffy white kitten. She turned her head to watch her mother nearly run out of the back door. “What?”
Sheila tried to hold her fury in control. “Get your overnight case and pack your pajamas and a change of clothes. We’re going to Seattle.”
“Seattle?” The girl’s dark eyes glittered with expectations. “To see Noah and Sean?” she asked hopefully.
“I . . . I don’t know if we’ll see Noah, honey.” The trembling in her voice belied her calm. “And I really doubt that Sean will be where we’re going.”
The smile on Emily’s face fell “Then why are we going to Seattle?”
“I have some business to discuss with Noah and his father.”
