Tears Of Pride

“I think you could persuade me to do anything,” Noah said.

His finger trailed down her throat to rest against her collar. Her heart fluttered.

She stepped away and eyed him suspiciously. “What would it take for you to listen to my side of the story?”

He shrugged. “Not much.”

“How much?”

Noah’s eyes gleamed devilishly. “Why don’t we start with dinner?”

“All right, Noah. Why not?” Sheila countered. “But I insist we keep the conversation on business.”

“Just come with me,” he suggested wickedly. “The conversation and the night will take care of themselves.”

Discover why Lisa Jackson is a reader favorite!

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Tears of Pride

Lisa Jackson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Mary Clare, my editor,

with love and affection.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

HE STOOD ALONE, and his vibrant blue eyes scanned the horizon, as if he were looking for something…or someone. The cold morning fog on the gray waters of Elliott Bay hampered his view, but the lonely, broad-shouldered man didn’t seem to notice. Haggard lines were etched across his forehead and an errant lock of dark brown hair was caught in the Pacific breeze. Noah Wilder didn’t care. Though dressed only in a business suit, the icy wind blowing across Puget Sound couldn’t cool the anger and frustration burning within him.

Realizing that he had wasted too much time staring at the endlessly lapping water, he began to walk along the waterfront, back to a job he could barely stomach. He gritted his teeth in determination as he continued southward and tried to quiet the anger and fear that were tearing him apart. Just half an hour earlier he had been notified that his son was missing from school. It had happened before. Noah closed his mind to the terrifying thoughts. By now, he was used to the fact that his rebellious son hated school—especially the school into which he had been transferred just two months before. Noah hoped that Sean wasn’t in any real trouble or danger.

He paused only once as he walked back to the office and that was to buy a newspaper. Knowing it was a mistake, he opened the paper to the financial section. Although this time the article was buried, Noah managed to find it on the fourth page. After all this time, he had hoped that the interest in the scandal would have faded. He was wrong. “Damn,” he muttered to himself as he quickly scanned the story.

It had been four weeks since the fire, but that had been time enough for Noah Wilder to have the opportunity to curse his father too many times to count. Today was no exception. Actually the fire and the scandal surrounding it were only a couple of problems on a long list that seemed to grow daily. The fire and the suspected arson complicated matters for Noah, and until the entire business was resolved, he knew that he would suffer many more long hours in the office and endure countless sleepless nights. It was just his luck that the blaze had started while his father was out of the country. At the thought of Ben Wilder, Noah’s frown deepened.

The early morning was still thick with fog, the air thick with the smell of the sea. A few shafts of sunlight pierced the gray clouds and reflected on the water collected on the concrete sidewalk, but Noah was too preoccupied with his own black thoughts to notice the promise of spring in the brisk air.

An angry horn blared, and a passing motorist shouted indignantly at Noah as he stepped onto the street against the traffic. He ignored the oath and continued, without breaking stride, toward the massive concrete and steel structure that housed Wilder Investments, his father’s prosperous holding company. Damn his father! This was one helluva time for Ben to be recuperating in Mexico, leaving Noah to clean up all of the problems at the company. If it weren’t for his father’s recent heart attack, Noah would be back in Portland where he belonged, and perhaps Sean wouldn’t be missing from school again. At the thought of his rebellious son, Noah’s stomach tightened with concern. The lines deepened on his forehead, and his thoughtful scowl gave him a ragged, anxious appearance. Unfortunately, Noah could blame no one but himself for his son’s attitude.

Noah should never have let Ben talk him into taking control of Wilder Investments, not even for a short period of time. It had been a mistake, and Sean was the person who was paying for it. Noah shouldn’t have let his emotions dictate the decision to move to Seattle, and Ben’s heart attack shouldn’t have made any difference in that decision. Noah uttered an oath under his breath and slapped the rolled newspaper against his thigh in frustration. It had been difficult enough trying to raise a son alone in Portland. But now, in Seattle, along with the problems of managing Wilder Investments, it was nearly impossible for Noah to find enough time for his son.

Noah pushed open the wide glass doors of the Wilder Building and strode angrily to the elevator. It was early in the day, and the lobby was nearly empty. Silently the elevator doors parted and Noah stepped inside, grateful that he was alone. This morning he had no use for small talk with the employees of his father’s multimillion dollar corporation. Anyone or anything that reminded him of Ben Wilder only served to deepen Noah’s simmering anger.

After pushing the button for the thirtieth floor, he glared at the headlines of the financial section of the paper and reread the beginning of the article that had ruined his morning. His stomach knotted as the headline jumped up at him. “Burned” Wilder Investments Suspected of Insurance Fraud. Noah gritted his teeth and tried to control his anger. The first paragraph was worse than the condemning headline: Noah Wilder, acting president of Wilder Investments, was unavailable for comment against the rumor that Wilder Investments might have intentionally started the blaze at Cascade Valley Winery. The fire, which started in the west wing of the main building, took the life of one man. Oliver Lindstrom, the deceased, was in partnership with Wilder Investments at the time of the blaze…

The elevator stopped, and Noah drew his eyes away from the infuriating article. He’d already read it, and it only served to make him more frustrated with his father and his decision to prolong his stay in Mexico. To top things off, Sean had taken off from school this morning and couldn’t be found. Where the hell could Sean have gone? Noah bit at his lip as his eyes glinted in determination. Regardless of anything else, Noah promised himself that he would find a way to force Ben to return to Seattle to resume control of Wilder Investments. This time Sean came first. There was just no other alternative.

Noah stepped from the elevator and headed for his father’s auspicious office. He paused only slightly at Maggie’s desk to order a terse directive. “See if you can get Ben on the phone immediately.” He forced a smile that he didn’t feel and entered the spacious, window-lined office where all the decisions for Wilder Investments were made. Pitching the bothersome newspaper onto the contemporary oak desk, Noah shrugged out of his suit jacket and tossed it unceremoniously over the back of a well-oiled leather couch.

The bank of windows behind the desk overlooked Pioneer Square, one of Seattle’s oldest and most prestigious areas. Brick buildings, set on the sides of the rolling hills overlooking the sound, boasted turn-of-the-century architecture contrasting sharply to the neighboring modern skyscrapers. The area was packed with an interesting array of antique shops, boutiques and restaurants.

Beyond Pioneer Square were the soothing gray waters of Puget Sound, and in the distance were the proud Olympic Mountains. On a clear day, they stood as a snow-laden barrier to the Pacific Ocean. Today they were merely ghostly shadows hiding in the slate-colored fog.

Noah cast a glance at the calm view over the rooftops of the city before sitting stiffly down in his father’s leather chair. It groaned against his weight as he leaned back and ran an impatient hand through his thick, coarse hair. Closing his eyes, he attempted to clear his mind. Where was Sean?

He shook his head and opened his eyes to see the newspaper lying flat on the desk. The picture of the charred winery met his gaze. The last thing he wanted to think about this morning was the fire. One man was dead—arson was suspected—and the Northwest’s most prominent winery, Cascade Valley, was inoperable, caught in a lawsuit contesting the payment of the insurance proceeds. How in the world had he been so unlucky as to get trapped in the middle of this mess? The intercom buzzed, interrupting his thoughts.

“I’ve got your mother on line two,” Maggie’s voice called to him.

“I wanted to speak with Ben, not my mother,” was Noah’s clipped, impatient reply.

“I wasn’t able to reach him. It was hard enough getting through to Katharine. I swear there must be only one telephone in that godforsaken village.”

“It’s all right, Maggie,” Noah conceded. “I shouldn’t have snapped. Of course I’ll talk to Katharine.” Noah waited, his temper barely in check. Although he was furious with himself and his father, there was no reason to take it out on Maggie. He told himself to calm down and tried to brace himself against the wall of excuses his mother would build for his father. After pushing the correct button on the telephone, he attempted to sound casual and polite—two emotions he didn’t feel at the moment. “Hello, Mother. How are you?”

“Fine, Noah,” was the cool automatic response. “But your father isn’t feeling well at all.” Beneath Katharine’s soft, feminine voice was a will of iron.

Noah’s jaw tightened involuntarily, but he managed to keep his voice pleasant and calm. “I’d like to speak to him.”

“I’m sorry, Noah. That’s out of the question. He’s resting right now.” His mother’s voice continued to drone in low, unemotional tones, giving Noah an updated prognosis of his father’s condition. As he listened, Noah rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and began to pace angrily in front of the desk. He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand while he clutched the other in a death grip around the telephone receiver. His knuckles whitened in annoyance as Katharine continued to speak tonelessly to him from somewhere in northern Mexico. Noah cast a dark glance out of the window into the rising fog and hoped for a break in the one-sided conversation.

It was obvious that Katharine Wilder was protecting her husband from the demands of his son. Noah could envision the tight, uncompromising line of his mother’s small mouth and the coldness in her distant blue eyes as she spoke to him from some three thousand miles distance.

“So you can see, Noah, it looks as if we have no other choice but to stay in Guaymas for at least another two months…possibly three.”

“I can’t wait that long!”

There was a long unyielding sigh from his mother. Her voice sounded a little more faint. The frail telephone connection to Mexico seemed to be failing. “I don’t see that you have much of a choice, Noah. The doctors all agree that your father is much too ill to make the exhaustive trip back to Seattle. There’s no way he could hope to run the company. You’ll just have to hang on a little longer.”

“And what about Sean?” Noah demanded hotly. There was no response. Noah’s voice quieted slightly. “Just let me talk to Ben.”

“You can’t be serious! Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said? Your father is resting now—he can’t possibly come to the phone!”

“I need to talk to him. This wasn’t part of the bargain,” Noah warned, not bothering to hide his exasperation.

“Perhaps later…”

“Now!” Noah’s voice had risen as his impatience began to get the better of him.

“I’m sorry, Noah. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Don’t hang up—”

A click from a small town in Mexico severed the connection.

“Damn!” Noah slammed the receiver down and smashed one fist into an open palm. He uttered a stream of invectives partially aimed at his father, but mainly at himself. How could he have been so gullible as to have agreed to run the investment firm while Ben was recuperating? It had been an emotional decision and a bad one at that. Noah wasn’t prone to sentimental decisions, not since the last one he had made, nearly sixteen years before. But this time, because of his father’s delicate condition, Noah had let his emotions dictate to him. He shook his head at his own folly. He was a damned fool. “Son of a…”

“Pardon me?” Maggie asked as she breezed into the office in her usual efficient manner. Nearly sixty, with flaming red hair and sporting a brightly colored print dress, she was the picture of unflappable competency.

“Nothing,” Noah grumbled, but the fire in his bright blue eyes refused to die. He slumped into his father’s desk chair and attempted to cool his smoldering rage.

“Good!” Maggie returned with an understanding smile. She placed a stack of correspondence on the corner of the desk.

Noah regarded the letters with a frown. “What are those?”

“Oh, just the usual—except for the letter on the top of the pile. It’s from the insurance company. I think you should read it.” Maggie’s friendly smile began to fade.

Noah slid a disgusted glance at the document in question and then mentally dismissed it as he looked back at the secretary. She noticed his dismissive gesture, and a perturbed expression puckered her lips.

“Would you put in a call to Betty Averill in the Portland office? Tell her I won’t be back as soon as I had planned. Have her send anything she or Jack can’t handle up here. If she has any questions, she can call me.”

Maggie’s intense gaze sharpened. “Isn’t your father coming back on the first?” she asked. Maggie normally didn’t pry, but this time she couldn’t help herself. Noah hadn’t been himself lately, and Maggie laid most of the blame on his strong-willed son. The kid was sixteen and hell-on-wheels.

“Apparently not,” Noah muttered in response.

“Then you’ll be staying for a few more months?”

Noah narrowed his eyes. “It’s beginning to look that way, isn’t it?”

Maggie tried to ignore the rage in Noah’s eyes. She tapped a brightly tipped finger on the correspondence. “If you’re staying on as head of Wilder Investments—”

“Only temporarily!”

Maggie shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, but perhaps you should read this insurance inquiry.”

“Is it that important?” Noah asked dubiously.

Maggie frowned as she thought. “It could be. That’s your decision.”

“All right…all right, I’ll take a look,” Noah reluctantly agreed. Before Maggie could back out of the office, he called to her. “Oh, Maggie, would you do me a favor?” She nodded. “Please keep calling the house, every half an hour if you have to. And if you do happen to get hold of my son, let me know immediately. I want to talk to him!”

Maggie’s smile was faintly sad. “Will do.” She closed the door softly behind her.

When Maggie was gone, Noah reached for the document that she had indicated. “What the hell is this?” he muttered as his dark brows pulled together in concentration. He scanned the letter from the insurance company quickly and several phrases caught his attention: non-payment of benefits…conflict of interest…lawsuit contesting the beneficiary…Cascade Valley Winery.

“Damn!” Noah wadded the letter into a tight ball and tossed it furiously into the wastebasket. He pushed down the button on the intercom and waited for Maggie’s voice to answer. “Get me the president of Pac-West Insurance Company on the phone, now!” he barked without waiting for her response.

The last thing he needed was more problems with the insurance proceeds for the winery located in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains. He had hoped that by now the insurance company would have straightened everything out, even with the suspected arson complicating matters. Apparently he had been wrong, very wrong. Maggie’s efficient voice interrupted his conjecture.

“Joseph Gallager, president of Pac-West Insurance, is on line one,” she announced briskly.

“Good.” He raised his hand to connect with Gallager, but paused. Instead he spoke to the secretary. “Do you have the name of the private investigator that my father uses?”

“Mr. Simmons,” Maggie supplied.

“That’s the one. As soon as I’m off the line with Gallager, I might want to talk to Simmons.” An uneasy feeling settled over him at the mention of the wily detective. “Oh, Maggie…did you call the house?”

“Yes, sir. No one answered.”

Noah’s blue eyes darkened. “Thanks. Keep trying,” he commanded through tightly clenched teeth. Where was Sean? Noah turned his dark thoughts away from his defiant son and back to the problems in the office. Hopefully, the president of Pac-West Insurance could answer a few questions about the fire at the winery and why the insurance benefits hadn’t been paid to Wilder Investments. If not, Noah would be forced to contact Anthony Simmons. Noah’s lip curled into an uncompromising frown as he thought about the slick private investigator that Ben insisted upon keeping on the company payroll. Though he hated to rely on the likes of Simmons, Noah didn’t have much of a choice. If the insurance company refused to pay because of the suspected arson, maybe Simmons could come up with a culprit for the crime and get rid of any lingering suspicion that Wilder Investments had had something to do with the blaze. Unless, of course, Ben Wilder knew something he wasn’t telling his son.

THE LAW OFFICES OF Fielding & Son were sedately conservative. Located on the third floor of a nineteenth-century marble bank building, they were expensively decorated without seeming garish. Thick rust-colored carpet covered the floors, and the walls gleamed with finely polished cherrywood. Verdant Boston ferns and lush philodendrons overflowed the intricately woven baskets suspended from the ceiling. Leather-bound editions of law texts adorned shelves, and polished brass lamps added a warmth to the general atmosphere.

Despite all of the comfortable furnishings, Sheila was tense. She could feel the dampness of her palms, though they were folded on her lap.

Jonas Fielding mopped the sweat from his receding hairline with a silk handkerchief. Although it was only late May, the weather in the valley was unseasonably warm, and the small, delicately framed woman sitting opposite him added to his discomfort. Her large gray eyes were shadowed in pain from the recent loss of her father. There was an innocence about her, though she was dressed in a tailored business suit. Jonas couldn’t help but remember Sheila Lindstrom as a little girl.

Jonas had practiced law for nearly forty years. Though he could have retired years ago, he hadn’t, and it was times like this that he wished he had left the firm to his younger associates. Looking at Sheila, he felt very old, and the burden of his seventy years seemed great.

He should have become accustomed to grieving relatives long ago, but he hadn’t, especially when the deceased had been one of his friends. Working with family members for the estate was a dismal part of his job, one that he would rather sluff off on a young associate. However, in this case it was impossible. Oliver Lindstrom had been a personal friend of Jonas Fielding. Hence, he had known Oliver’s daughter, Sheila, all of her thirty-one years.

Jonas cleared his throat and wondered why the devil the air-conditioning in the building wasn’t working properly. The offices seemed uncomfortably confining this afternoon. Perhaps it was his imagination. Perhaps dealing with Sheila was the cause of his irritability. He detested this part of his job. To give himself a little space, he stood up and walked over to the window before addressing her.

“I understand that all of this business about your father’s will and the complication with the insurance proceeds is a bit much for you now, because of your father’s death.” Sheila’s small face whitened and she pinched her lower lip between her teeth. “But you have to face facts…”

“What facts?” she asked shakily. Her voice was dry with emotions that wouldn’t leave her. “Are you trying to tell me something I already know—that everyone in this valley, and for that matter the entire Pacific Northwest, thinks my father committed suicide?” Sheila’s hands were shaking. It was difficult but she held onto her poise, holding back the tears that were burning in her throat. “Well, I don’t believe it, not one word of it! I won’t!” Nervously she ran her fingers through the thick, chestnut strands of her hair. “You were a friend of my dad. You don’t think that he actually took his own life, do you?” Round, gray eyes challenged the attorney.

The question Jonas had been avoiding made him squirm against the window ledge. He rubbed his hands on the knees of his suit pants, stalling for time to compose a suitable answer. He wanted to be kind. “I don’t know, Sheila. It seems unlikely…. Oliver had such zest for life…. But, sometimes, when his back is up against the wall, a man will do just about anything to preserve what he has worked for all of his life.”

Sheila closed her eyes. “Then you do believe it,” she whispered, feeling suddenly small and very much alone. “Just like the police and the press. They all think that Dad started the fire himself and got caught in it by mistake…or that he took his own life.”

“No one suggested—”

“No one had to! Just look at the front page of the paper! It’s been four weeks, and the newspapers are still having a field day!”

“Cascade Valley employed a lot of people from around here. Since it’s been closed, unemployment in the valley has doubled. There’s no two ways about it, Sheila. Cascade Valley is news. Big news.” Jonas’s voice was meant to be soothing, but Sheila refused to be comforted.

“I guess I don’t see why everyone seems to think that my father killed himself. Why would he do that—for the money?”

“Who knows?” Jonas shrugged his aging shoulders as he made his way to the desk. “All of the talk—it’s only speculation.”

“It’s slander!” Sheila accused, lifting her regal chin upward defiantly. “My father was a decent, law-abiding citizen, and nothing will change that. He would never…” Her voice cracked with the strain of the past month as she remembered the gentle man who had raised her. Since her mother’s death five years before, Sheila had become closer to her father. The last time she had seen him alive, just last spring vacation, he had been so robust and healthy that Sheila still found it impossible to believe he was gone. When she had visited him, he had been remote and preoccupied, but Sheila had chalked it up to the problems that the winery was experiencing at the time. Although her father had seemed distant, Sheila was sure that no problem at Cascade Valley had been serious enough to cause him to take his life. He had been stronger than that.