A Millionaire For Molly
‘But maybe you will.’
Sam considered. ‘I’ve only got Molly left. And Lionel.’
‘They both look healthy to me.’
‘Yeah…’
‘You’re keeping them well fed? Lionel looks good and plump to me, and so does Molly.’
‘Hey!’ That was Molly, but she was far from minding.
For the first time Sam let himself relax. The corners of his mouth twitched into a quickly suppressed smile. ‘That’s silly.’
‘Good feeding is important,’ Jackson told him seriously. ‘You can never overlook it. That and plenty of exercise. I hope you don’t let Molly watch too much TV.’
Sam was grinning now, and the tension had disappeared like magic. ‘She watches yucky programmes. With love and stuff.’
‘Very unhealthy. I’d put a stop to that at once.’ Jackson grinned with the wide, white smile that made Molly know exactly why the women of the world fell in love with him. Oh, for heaven’s sake, the way he was treating Sam she was halfway to falling in love with him herself! She felt like hugging the man! He rose and held out his hand again to Sam. ‘You want to come in my helicopter?’
Sam considered, and the whole world seemed to hold its breath. Then, as if coming to a major decision, Sam put out his hand and placed it in Jackson’s.
‘Yes, please,’ he said.
Molly smiled and smiled, and Jackson looked at her smile and thought suddenly, It’s going to be a great weekend.
He hadn’t expected efficiency. From the time he’d walked into Trevor Farr’s office, Jackson had suspected if he wanted to find anything about Hannah Copeland’s property he’d have to do it himself. But Molly’s preparation stunned him. As soon as they were in the air she handed over titles, building plans, profit and loss statements, staff lists…
‘How did you do this?’
‘We do the same for all our clients.’
‘Now, why don’t I believe that?’
She threw him a wry grin. In truth this was the sort of property deal she loved—a farm with broad acres. She’d had to work until three this morning, but the presentation he had was first rate. Just like old times.
‘Stop casting aspersions and read,’ she ordered, so he did. But more and more he was aware of Molly and Sam in the seat opposite. Woman and child against the world…that was how they seemed, and their presence touched him as he hadn’t been touched in a long time.
They?
She was a business acquaintance, he told himself, and Sam was nothing to do with him at all.
The Copeland place was stunning. The pilot took them on a wide sweep of the property. The farm started where the mainland formed a narrow strip and then broadened out to a vast spit reaching into the sea.
‘The whole spit’s the Copeland place,’ Molly told him through the headsets, and he smiled and held up her printed plans. He already knew.
But no plans or photographs could do justice to this place. The sea lapped around the spit in sparkling sapphire glory. The beach was a wide ribbon of golden sand, and the hills and plains, dotted with placidly grazing cattle, looked lush and wonderful.
From the helicopter they saw streams trickling through hilly bushland towards the sea. There were waterfalls and tiny islands. As they came in to land a mob of kangaroos bolted for cover, and Jackson thought—This is paradise!
Paradise or not, he had to be businesslike, he told himself. This was a future for him and for Cara. He didn’t make decisions with his heart. He made them with his head.
‘It looks…well kept,’ he said, and his words sounded lame even to him. He looked back to find Molly and Sam both gazing at him in surprise.
‘Didn’t you see the waterfall?’ Sam demanded. ‘It looks ace. Don’t you think it looks ace?’
‘Ace,’ he agreed, and Molly grinned.
‘I won’t have to be a saleswoman if Sam’s here.’ She gazed out as the helicopter blades whirled to a halt. ‘In fact, I don’t think I have to be a saleswoman at all. If you have the money then this place will sell itself.’ Her eyes danced, teasing. ‘And if you don’t have the money I can arrange a very appealing finance package.’
‘I’m sure you can.’ He said it dryly, but he was impressed for all that. She’d done her homework.
‘There’s no other property like this on the market anywhere else in Australia,’ she told him. ‘I don’t know what you want this place for…’ She let the question hang, but she wasn’t enlightened so she let it slide. ‘But whatever it is I think you’ll find Birraginbil will provide it.’
‘Birraginbil?’
‘You know that Birraginbil is the name of the property?’ She grinned. ‘Now, ask me why I haven’t put that in big letters at the top of your presentation.’
He looked at her, considering. She looked supremely self-assured, he thought and it hit him suddenly that she was doing something she loved. Despite the appalling Trevor, the woman before him was an astute professional.
He grinned back at her, joining the game. ‘So tell me what it means.’
‘Place of leeches.’ She chuckled at the look on his face, and the matching look on Sam’s. ‘Don’t tell me you’re scared of a few itty-bitty leeches!’ She foraged in her handbag. ‘Look.’ She held out a small canister. “‘Be prepared” is what they taught us in property sales school. Salt. If there’s leeches here I’m ready for them.’
‘Wow!’ He was growing more and more impressed. She was some saleswoman!
‘Are there really leeches?’ Sam’s voice was tremulous and Molly hugged him close.
‘Yes, but only in the low-lying swamp. The estuaries around the beach are clear, and the deeper dams by the homestead are great for swimming.’
‘And for frogs?’ Jackson asked, and Molly raised her eyebrows. She smiled, grateful for his bringing Sam into the equation.
‘I’ll bet for frogs.’
‘Can we show Lionel?’ Sam was immediately interested.
‘Yep.’ She turned away from Jackson and he was aware of a sense of… He wasn’t sure. Pique? Jealousy? Surely not. He thought he’d brought the frog into the conversation to make Sam smile, but now knew that he’d done it so Molly would smile. It was a strange way of getting a woman’s attention—but women’s attention was something Jackson didn’t usually have to work at.
And now Molly had turned away. Molly was only giving him the business side of her while the personal side was directed purely at Sam. Which was fair enough. Sam needed her and Jackson didn’t.
So why the sense of pique?
‘We’ll ask the farm manager to take Mr Baird on a sightseeing tour. While he does that we’ll find out where the frogs live,’ she told Sam, and the irrational sensations Jackson was feeling only deepened. He tried to make it rational. After all, Molly was a realtor; surely it was her job to show the client around…
He’d work on it, he decided. And suddenly it seemed almost as important as seeing the farm. Seeing the farm with Molly…
CHAPTER THREE
THE arrangement was that the helicopter would collect them the following day, and no sooner had it lifted from the pad and roared off into the sun than an elderly couple appeared. At the sight of Jackson, Molly and Sam, their faces almost split with delight.
‘A family,’ the elderly lady breathed, and she gripped her partner’s hand. ‘See, Gregor, what did I tell you? A family!’
‘We’re not a family.’ Molly spoke swiftly and Jackson felt an irrational pang of disappointment. Misconception or not, it had felt good—for a moment. Which was irrational. Wasn’t it?
But of course Molly was right. If he was seriously interested in this property then he had to get off on the right foot from the start.
‘Miss Farr’s acting as realtor for Miss Copeland,’ he told them. ‘I’m Jackson Baird, the potential buyer.’ He smiled at Sam, half hidden behind Molly. ‘And this is Sam, Molly’s nephew. He and his pet frog, Lionel, have come along for the ride.’
The elderly woman took a deep breath and made a recovery. ‘Then, family or not, we’re very pleased to meet you,’ she told them. ‘I’m Doreen Gray, Miss Copeland’s housekeeper, and this is my husband, Gregor. Come on in. I’ll make us a cup of tea and we can get to know each other.’
And that set the tone for the weekend. Doreen and Gregor had no concept of formality. Jackson, Molly and Sam were treated as very special guests. Indeed, they might have been family for the welcome they received.
‘You don’t see many people?’ Molly ventured over her third scone, and she knew straight away that she’d hit the nail on the head.
‘No, dear, we don’t,’ Doreen told her. ‘Time was when the Copelands used to have every important family in Australia staying here. We have nineteen bedrooms, would you believe? And we filled them all. But Mr and Mrs Copeland passed away almost thirty years back and Miss Copeland never was one for socialising. She moved to Sydney ten years ago and the place has been almost abandoned.’
‘Is it run down?’ Jackson’s brows creased, but Doreen’s face stiffened and she offered him another scone as if to say—Does this look like the product of a farm let go?
‘It most certainly isn’t. Miss Copeland would never stand for that. We run over three thousand head of cattle. At mustering we have over a dozen men. And once a month I have a girl in from town to do the house from stem to stern. If you wanted to fill those bedrooms tomorrow you’d find nothing amiss.’
‘I’m sure I wouldn’t.’ Jackson looked appreciatively about him. The kitchen was just as farm kitchens ought to be—big and warm and welcoming, with a vast firestove that stretched almost from wall to wall. It gleamed with cleanliness—no mean feat, he guessed, when the house was well over a century old.
Cara would like this kitchen.
No, she wouldn’t. He gave a rueful inward grimace. What was he thinking of? Cara wouldn’t step foot in a kitchen unless she was dragged.
But she’d love the rest of the place. The house was fabulous. Vast bluestone walls were ringed by a wide veranda that ran the full perimeter of the house. Every room seemed to have French windows. The curtains wafting outwards in the breeze looked fresh and new, and the whole place had instant appeal.
He looked across the table and found Molly’s eyes on him, assessing, and he guessed she was right in business mode.
‘It’s great, isn’t it? You know, you’re the first person we’ve shown it to.’
‘I know that.’
‘You won’t be the last.’ She turned to Mrs Gray and smiled. ‘I hope you bake scones every time I bring prospective buyers down here. These are delicious.’
It was a tactful way of saying Jackson was first in a queue and there were others who’d be interested if he wasn’t. He smiled, acknowledging she had a point but refusing to be hurried. ‘But I have first option, right?’
‘I believe you have first option until Monday.’
‘Very generous.’
‘We aim to please.’ She smiled across the table at him, and he found himself staring. She was charming. Intelligent. Organised. Beautiful…
He found himself looking down at the ring finger on her bandaged left hand—just in case—and felt a ridiculous twinge of pleasure when he discovered it was bare. And then he had to jolt himself back to hear what she was saying.
‘Mr Jackson would like to see over the farm,’ she told Gregor. ‘Can you show him around?’
‘Oh, my dear…’ The elderly farmer’s face fell.
‘Is there a problem?’
‘I can’t do it,’ Gregor said heavily. ‘My legs won’t take me.’
‘I didn’t mean walk,’ Molly told him. ‘I assume there’s a vehicle?’
‘The Jeep’s in for a service. If we’d known you were coming… But Miss Copeland only rang last night to tell us you were on your way.’
‘There’s the farm bike,’ Doreen said. ‘But it only holds one. Then there’s the horses, but Gregor’s hip can’t take it.’
It nearly killed them, Molly saw, to admit that they were getting old and needed help. Gregor’s face was anguished.
‘I can go by myself,’ Jackson said gently, reacting to the old man’s distress. ‘Miss Farr…’ He cast Molly a sideways look and decided on informality. ‘Molly’s given me excellent maps, and if you have a horse then I can ride.’
‘But you could fall off.’ Doreen was practically wringing her hands. ‘There’s rabbit holes and heaven knows what else. You’ll want to see everything, and the only way to see it properly is by horse, but…’
‘You can’t go alone,’ her husband added. He turned to Molly and she could see what an effort it cost him to ask. ‘Unless you ride, miss?’
‘I ride,’ she said briefly, and received another look of astonishment from Jackson. One surprise after another… City realtors, it seemed, were not expected to ride.
She hesitated. Sam was right beside her, pressing close. His insecurity was almost tangible. ‘But Sam can’t.’
‘We’ll look after Sam.’ Doreen beamed at this easy solution to the problem. ‘It would be our pleasure.’ Then she addressed Sam, adult to adult. ‘I’m making a pavlova for supper,’ she told him. ‘Have you ever made one?’
Sam hesitated. ‘No, I…’
‘Would you like to learn? I need help to pick the strawberries for the top.’
‘And we’re hand-rearing a calf,’ Gregor added, seeing where Doreen was headed and putting in his two bobs’ worth. ‘She needs bottle-feeding. Seems to me you’re just the sort of lad who’d be able to do that.’
‘And did you say you have a frog in that box?’ Doreen asked. ‘After we’ve done our jobs, Gregor and I will walk you to where there are a thousand frogs. And tadpoles to match.’
It was too much. Sam gave a shy nod and the tension in the room eased like magic.
Molly let her breath out in a rush. Darn, everywhere she looked there were conflicting demands, but these two lovely old people had given her time off. Wonderful…
‘Can you really ride?’ Jackson demanded. ‘Or do you mean you can sit on a riding school hack?’
The toad! ‘Try me,’ she retorted, and turned to Gregor, excluding Jackson nicely. He deserved to be excluded. ‘According to my livestock lists you have some fine horses.’
‘They’ll be frisky,’ Gregor warned. ‘They haven’t been ridden since muster.’
‘The friskier the better,’ she told him. ‘I can’t wait.’
And the thing was settled.
‘It’ll take you the best part of the day to get around,’ Doreen added. ‘I’ll put together a picnic for your saddlebags. You have a lovely day for it.’ She beamed. ‘There. That’s settled. You have a lovely ride and see the property and Sam will have fun with us. Isn’t that lovely?’
What was her story?
Jackson watched as Molly helped catch and saddle the horses, and by the time they were mounted he knew she hadn’t spoken lightly when she’d said she could ride. She looked as if she’d been born in the saddle. Her roan mare was skittish as be damned, but she held her as steadily as Jackson held his bay. Then, as Gregor let them go and the mare skittered sideways, she turned a laughing face towards him.
‘They won’t settle until they’ve had a gallop, and the home paddocks are safest. Race you to the far gate.’ Before he knew what she was about she was off, the mare galloping like the wind and Molly riding her with an attitude that spoke of sheer joy at being alive.
Or more. Of release.
It was quite a sight. It took Jackson about ten valuable seconds before he recovered himself enough to turn his attention to his own horse—by which time she had an unassailable lead, and she’d paused and was waiting when he reached her at the far end of the paddock.
‘What kept you?’ she demanded.
‘I thought businesswomen always let their clients win,’ he complained, and received another of her lovely, throaty chuckles.
‘Whoops. But I’m on a sure thing here. If the rest of this property is as good as this then it’ll sell itself.’
She had a point. The more he saw the more he liked. But he wasn’t just assessing the property!
‘You’re not a bad horseman,’ she was saying, and it drew a grin.
‘Gee, thanks,’ he told her dryly. ‘If I didn’t just know that flattery was good for business…’
‘Didn’t I tell you this wasn’t business? The property will sell itself, with no need for idle compliments to get a buyer in the mood.’
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