by Lisa Jackson
“Fine.” Emily was suddenly shy as she found herself the center of attention.
“You’re sure now? How about that ankle?”
“It’s okay.”
“Good…that’s good. Are you going to tell me all about your fall in the creek?”
“Do you really want to know?” Emily asked skeptically.
Jeff’s thin smile wavered. “Of course I do, precious,” he replied, patting the top of her hand nervously. He led her over to the chaise lounge and indicated that she should sit with him. “Why don’t you tell me all about it?” He pressed the tip of his finger awkwardly against her nose.
Noah felt his stomach lurch at Coleridge’s stumbling attempts at paternity. While the man turned all of his attention upon his child, Noah took his leave, heading in the direction of the west wing.
Sheila watched Noah stride angrily across the yard, and she had to suppress the urge to run after him. Until she was assured that Emily was comfortable with Jeff, Sheila felt her responsibility was to remain with her child.
Noah was soon out of sight and Sheila swung her eyes back toward Jeff and Emily. Her gaze met the brittle dark stare of her ex-husband. “How long has he been here?” he sneered.
“About a week.”
“Do you think that’s such a good idea?”
“He’s helping me reestablish the winery.”
“I bet he is.” The insinuation in Jeff’s flat statement couldn’t be ignored.
“Look, Jeff. I like Noah…. I like him a lot. Not that it’s any concern of yours.”
“He’s an arrogant SOB, don’t you think?”
Sheila’s eyes flew to Emily’s young face and then back to Jeff, silently warning him against any further derogatory remarks while Emily was close at hand.
“I think he’s a very kind and considerate man.”
“And I’m not?”
“I didn’t say that.” Sheila shot Jeff another threatening glance. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” Somehow she had to change the course of the conversation, for Emily’s sake.
Jeff tried to relax and appear comfortable. “Got anything stronger?” he inquired, running a shaky hand through his neatly combed hair.
“I think so.”
“Good.” He let out his breath. “Make it a vodka martini.”
“All right. It will take me a few minutes.” He didn’t argue. He, too, must have been looking for a way to avoid further disagreement. Sheila turned toward the house, her eyes still searching for Noah, when Jeff’s voice reached her. “With a twist, okay?”
She nodded curtly without glancing back in his direction, muttering under her breath, “With a twist…with a twist.” Sheila had forgotten how demanding Jeff could be—a real pain in the neck. Damn him for ruining the peaceful afternoon. Damn him for interrupting what she had hoped would be an intimate family meal.
That was the problem, wasn’t it? She considered Noah and Sean as part of the family, while she looked upon Jeff as an outsider, an intruder who would only cause trouble.
Her chestnut hair swept across her shoulders as she shook her head at her own foolishness. What had she expected? she asked herself as she walked into the den.
She was startled to find Noah sitting at the desk, going over the original blueprints for the west wing of the château. A pencil was in his hand, its lead point tapping restlessly on the yellowed paper. He didn’t move when he heard the sound of Sheila’s sandaled feet enter the room, nor did he speak. Instead he stared broodingly at the blueprints, seemingly engrossed in the faded drawing. Sheila could feel the rift between them deepen, and she wondered if she had the courage to bridge it.
“I’m sorry you had to witness all of that,” she began as she moved across the room to the bar to pull out a bottle of vodka. The pencil stopped its erratic tapping on the desk.
Noah’s voice was controlled to the point of exasperation. “Don’t apologize to me. It’s none of my concern.”
“But it is,” she disagreed. “And I didn’t mean for it to turn into a circus.”
“Didn’t you? Don’t kid yourself, Sheila. You were the one who invited him here. How could you possibly expect things to turn out differently?”
“I had no choice. I had to tell him about Emily and invite him to visit her.”
“Save it, Sheila. I’ve heard all this before.”
She could read the anger in the crunch of his shoulders, feel his questions begging for answers, see the pride in the lift of his chin. “Please, Noah,” she pleaded, setting the mixed drink aside. “Don’t shut me out.”
“Is that what I’m doing?” He tossed the pencil down on the desk and rubbed his hands wearily against the back of his neck.
“Aren’t you?”
“No!” He got out of the chair and faced her for the first time since she entered the room. Ignoring the pain in her eyes, he wagged an accusing finger in her face. “I’ll tell you what I’m doing,” he stated hoarsely, “I’m sitting on the sidelines, hoping to hold on to my patience, which isn’t exactly my long suit to begin with, while the woman I love clings to some faded, rose-colored memories of a past and a marriage that didn’t exist.”
“I’m not—”
“I’m trying not to throw out a conniving jerk whose fumbling attempts at being a father border on the pathetic, for the sake of holding up appearances!”
“Jeff’s just trying to—”
“And,” his voice increased in volume, “I’m attempting, Lord knows I’m not good at this sort of thing, but I’m trying damn it, to understand how a beautiful, sensitive woman like you could have ever gotten tangled up with a creep like Jeff Coleridge in the first place.” The cords in Noah’s neck were bulging, the muscles in his shoulders tight, the line of his mouth curled in distaste. He looked as if at any moment all of his simmering anger might explode.
Sheila picked up the martini with trembling hands. “I think that’s enough,” she whispered, her wide eyes unseeing. Her voice shook with the wounded tears of pride that had settled in her throat as she turned toward the door.
Noah was beside her in an instant, and his powerful arm reached out to impede her departure. He twisted her back to face him and the drink fell to the floor, breaking the glass and spilling the colorless liquid.
“No, Sheila,” he stated through clenched teeth, “you’re wrong.” He ignored the shattered glass and the pooling liquid. He gave her arm a shake to make sure she was giving him all of her attention. “I love you,” he admitted, the hardness in his gaze beginning to soften. “I didn’t want to fall in love with you. I fought it…I fought it like hell…but I lost.” His grip loosened on her arm, but she didn’t move as she was spellbound by the honesty in his eyes. “And I have no intention of letting you go—not to that snake you once called a husband. Not to anyone.”
Sheila felt her anger beginning to wither. Her gray eyes were colored by her conflicting emotions. “Then, please…please try and understand that I’m only putting up with Jeff because of Emily.”
“Do you think you’re fooling that child?”
“I’m not trying to fool her. I’m just trying not to bias her opinion of her dad.”
“By letting him intrude where he’s not wanted?” His eyes left hers to stare at the spilled drink. “By jumping at his every whim?” He touched her cheek tenderly. “Or by covering up his mistakes and omissions?”
“By letting her make her own decision.”
“Then let her see him as he really is.”
The muscles in his jawline tensed. “How important to you is Jeff Coleridge?” he demanded.
“He’s the father of my child.”
“Nothing more?”
“He once was,” she admitted. “I can’t deny that, and I wouldn’t try to. But that was a long time ago. Please believe me, Noah, I’m not in love with him. I don’t know if I ever was.”
Noah wrapped his arms tightly around her slim shoulders, and she could feel the warmth of his body where his arms touched
her. Tenderly he brushed the smudge of soot from her cheek. “All right, Sheila,” he said with a reluctant sigh. “I’ll try and tolerate that jerk. But, believe me, if he gets obnoxious with you or Emily, I’m not going to apologize for throwing him out on his ear. Fair enough?”
Sheila’s smile spread slowly over her lips, showing just a hint of her white teeth. “Fair enough,” she agreed.
“Now, why don’t you work on dinner, let Jeff and Emily alone, and I’ll finish up with the blueprints.”
“Only if you promise to clean up this mess,” she suggested, flipping her open palm toward the spilled drink, “and pour Jeff another vodka martini.”
“Not on your life, lady. Doting on that man is where I draw the line. If he wants a drink badly enough, he can damn well come in and mix his own.”
Sheila laughed and clucked her tongue. “Not very hospitable, are you?” she teased.
Noah raised an inquiring eyebrow. “Can you blame me?”
“No,” she admitted with a trace of wistfulness, “I really can’t. But, do try to be civil.”
“If that’s what you want,” he conceded. “But for the life of me, I don’t understand why.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and stood on her toes. “It won’t kill you,” she pointed out.
“No, I suppose not. But watching him drool over you might.”
“You’re imagining things.” She kissed him lightly on the lips.
The muscles in his body reached out to hers. She felt his thighs straining against hers, his chest flattening her breasts, his arms pressing against the small of her back. “The kinds of things I imagine with you are very private. They have nothing to do with your ex-husband.” His lips brushed against hers and his tongue rimmed her lips. “Let’s get rid of him and put the kids to bed early.”
Sheila laughed against his mouth. “Somehow I don’t think Sean would take kindly to going to bed at six-thirty.”
“Spoilsport.” Slowly he released her.
She started toward the door, but paused to look over her shoulder at him and give an exaggerated wink. “Later,” she promised throatily.
The rest of the evening was uncomfortable but tolerable. Jeff stayed for dinner and looked stiff and ill at ease with Noah, Sean and Emily. His perfectly pressed suit had become wrinkled, his hair unruly and his eyes begged Sheila to find some excuse to get him away from Noah’s intense, uncompromising stare. Noah was polite but quiet, and his blue eyes very rarely strayed from Sheila’s ex-husband. It made Jeff uncomfortable; the man’s stare bordered on the eerie.
Jeff made his excuses, begged off dessert and was back on his way to Spokane long before eight o’clock. Even Emily seemed relieved that she didn’t have to go back to her father’s sterile apartment and persnickety old wife, Judith, at least for a few more weeks.
For the first time in over a week the dark cloud of argument between Sheila and Noah had disappeared, and they made impassioned love without the shadow of Jeff Coleridge hanging over their heads.
Chapter 12
The end of Noah’s stay came much too quickly for Sheila. The fact that he hadn’t been clear about his decision concerning the status of the winery worried her. She knew that he wanted to rebuild the west wing—the construction crew that had been razing the old structure was proof enough of that—but still he was hesitant. It was as if he were keeping something from her. She could feel his reluctance whenever she would broach the subject of the fall harvest. As far as she could tell, it had to be something to do with the fire.
It was morning on Noah’s final day at Cascade Valley when Sheila summoned the courage to bring up the fire and Anthony Simmons’s report. Over the past week Noah had managed to dodge the issue, but this morning Sheila told herself she had to have answers—straight ones.
The first rays of dawn filtered through the terrace doors to bathe Sheila’s room in a golden aura of dim morning light. Dewdrops clung to the underside of the green leaves of the clematis that grew against the glass doors, and the chill of the mountain night hadn’t disappeared.
Noah was still asleep, his face pressed against the pillow. Sheila slowly extracted herself from his embrace, and while still lying near to him on the antique bed, stared at his sleeping form. The dark profile of his face, etched in relief against the ice blue sheets, seemed innocent in slumber. The powerful muscles were relaxed, the corners of his eyes soft. His near-black hair was unruly and would seem almost boyish if it hadn’t been for the contrast of his shadowy beard.
Sheila felt her throat tighten at the sight of him sleeping, oblivious to any of the anxieties that aged his face. He seemed incredibly vulnerable, and it touched the deepest, most feminine part of her. She wanted to smooth back his hair and comfort him. I love him, she thought to herself. I love him too much. This is the kind of blind love that can be dangerous, the kind of self-sacrificing, unreturned love that can only cause pain. It’s a love that causes dependency and inspires jealousy, like a drug addiction. More than anything else in the world, I want to be with this man, to be a part of him. I want my life to blend with his, my family to be one with his, my blood to run in his body.
She bent over and kissed him softly on the forehead. I know he cares for me—he says he loves me—but I know that he is hiding something from me. He won’t let himself trust me.
She drew herself away from him and got out of the bed. After snuggling into the downy folds of a cream-colored velour bathrobe, she once again sat on the edge of the bed, content to watch the even rise and fall of Noah’s chest as he lay entwined in the sheets. Why won’t you tell me, she wondered. Why won’t you tell me everything about the fire? What are you hiding from me?
Noah rolled over onto his back and raised an exploratory eyelid against the invading morning sunlight. His dimpled smile slowly emerged as his gaze focused on her. “God, you look incredible,” he growled as he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her down beside him on the bed.
“Noah,” she whispered, trying to ignore the deliciously warm feel of his lips against her throat. “We have to talk.”
“Later.” His fingers found the zipper on her bathrobe and slowly lowered it.
Against the yearnings of her body, she put her hand over his to impede the zipper’s progress. “Now.”
“Let’s not waste time with talk,” he grumbled as he kissed the exposed tops of her breasts. The zipper slid lower, and the downy robe parted. “This is my last morning here,” he murmured against her bared skin. Sheila felt her pulse jump and the blood begin to heat in her veins.
She attempted to clutch the robe together. “Precisely why we have to talk now.” She tossed her hair away from her face and looked him steadily in the eye as she disentangled herself from his persuasive grip. Her breath was uneven as she eased her body off the bed.
After somewhat shakily taking a seat in one of the chairs near the terrace, she nervously ran her fingers over the open neckline of her robe. Noah propped himself on one elbow, raked his fingers through his dark hair and stared at her with amused, but smoldering, blue eyes. The sheet was draped across his body, exposing the hard muscles of his chest and leaving his lower torso covered. “All right, Sheila, out with it.”
“What?” She really didn’t know where to begin.
“The inquisition.”
“You’re expecting one?” She was surprised.
“I’d have to be a fool not to know that before I went back to Seattle, you and I would have a showdown about the fire. That is what this is all about, isn’t it?”
Sheila’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, and her fingers stopped toying with the collar of her robe. “I just want to know why you’ve been avoiding the issue of the fire and the rebuilding of the west wing.”
“Because I hadn’t made a decision.” His honest blue eyes begged her understanding and patience.
“But you have now?”
“I think so.”
“Well?”
The corners of Noah’s eyes twi
tched. “I’m going to transfer a quarter of a million dollars into an escrow account from Wilder Investments when I get back to Seattle. The money will be in escrow for the express purpose of rebuilding Cascade Valley.”
Sheila’s smile froze on her face as she read the hesitation in his gaze. “But what about the insurance company…and that report by Anthony Simmons?”
Noah waved off her questions as if they were bothersome insects. “Don’t worry about that end of it; that’s my problem.”
Sheila held back a million questions, but the one nagging doubt in her mind refused to die. Her voice was hoarse. “But what about my father’s name? Will you be able to clear it?” she asked cautiously. The look of sincere concern in her light gray eyes pierced him to the soul, and he found his deception entrapping him. He had decided not to tell her anything about the fire or Simmons’s report, knowing full well that what he would have to disclose to her would only cause her more pain. In his mind she had borne more than her share. He couldn’t add to it.
“I hope so,” he whispered, damning himself for his duplicity.
She sighed with relief and closed her eyes.
“We do have another problem to consider.”
She smiled wryly and opened her eyes to study him. “Only one?” she asked sarcastically.
He laughed aloud. How long had it been since he’d laughed in the dawn? The thought of leaving Sheila sobered him, and he realized it was an impossible task. She sat across the room from him, her toes peeking out from the folds of creamy fabric, her hair beautiful in its coppery disarray. And her eyes, a warm gray, the color of liquid silver, surrounded by thick, sexy black lashes, watched his every movement. “Maybe we have two problems,” he acquiesced with a slow smile. “The first is simple. If construction of the west wing is incomplete by harvest time, I’ll lease a facility nearby and we’ll still bottle under the Cascade label. It will be expensive, but better than selling our crop to the competition.”