‘Why will you scream?’ Sam asked, interested, and Molly almost groaned. How on earth was she going to get out of this one?
But Jackson relented. Laughing, he took Sam’s hand-and there went Molly’s insides again in their familiar lurch-and drew him out of the room. He propelled Guy with him.
‘We men will be out in the living room when you’re up to receiving visitors,’ he told her, still laughing. ‘Meanwhile, Sam-unless you’d like to see your aunty Molly have an apoplexy, which I admit is a very interesting prospect but maybe risky for all concerned-we’d better vamoose.’
‘Vamoose?’
‘Leave your aunty Molly to recover.’
‘Angie?’
No answer.
‘Angela!’ Molly had hauled on a wrap and pulled a comb through her curls-she was now almost respectable-but she wanted support if she was to go into that living room. Supper last night had been Angela’s idea, so Angela could help her face the consequences.
‘Angie!’ The two bedrooms were off a central passage leading to the living room. As she tried Angela’s door Molly was acutely aware of the silence, and she just knew everyone was listening. She twiddled the doorknob and found it locked.
‘Come on out. I refuse to face this lot by myself.’
Nothing.
‘I’ll fix you.’ Angela was sleeping-sleeping-ha!-in Sam’s room, and the door had a child lock on it. That was, it could be locked, but in an emergency Molly could slip a nail file or a pair of scissors into the tiny slot and…
And the door opened first go.
But inside there was no Angela. There was only an empty bed and a wide open window with drapes blowing outward. With a sinking heart Molly peered out-in time to see her friend hiking off down the street as fast as her legs could carry her. She was wearing her mini-skirt of the night before, buttoning her blouse as she went and carrying her stilettos under one arm.
‘Don’t do this to me!’ she yelled to Angie’s retreating back, but just then a taxi pulled up and Angela clambered in with the speed of light. There was a wave of a frantic hand and the taxi headed out of sight.
Her friend had left her without a backward glance.
‘Oh, Angela, you fink…’
And then she turned and faced the living room door.
Help.
Sink or swim. There was no choice. She went to face the music. Alone.
It was far easier to concentrate on Guy than it was to even think about Jackson. Jackson and Sam were surrounded by construction plans, but Guy was standing by the coffee table, staring down at the ring as if it meant the end of the world as he knew it.
‘Hell.’ He lifted the ring and stared down at it, then peered down the passage. ‘Is Angie still there?’
Molly shook her head. ‘She’s gone.’
Guy sighed, his big shoulders slumping. He might be a very boring accountant, Molly thought, but right at this minute she felt sorry for him. He stood in his blue pinstripe suit with matching waistcoat, looking the very epitome of a successful accountant-and he looked as if he’d lost the world.
‘Maybe you should go after her,’ she suggested.
‘She won’t let me into her apartment. I was practically sure she was home, but she hasn’t been answering her door all weekend.’
Molly thought that through and nodded, but an idea was forming. ‘You know, Guy, you may well have an advantage.’ She motioned to the keys on the sideboard. ‘Those are Angie’s keys.’
Guy stared. ‘Her keys?’
‘They’re her car keys and her apartment keys. She left here with nothing.’ She managed a smile. ‘So she’s in trouble. Her handbag’s also still here, and she’s caught a taxi. She won’t have the money to pay and she won’t be able to get into her apartment. Guy, if you were intent on doing a spot of rescuing, now’s the time to do it.’
Guy thought this through, his accountant’s mind adding it all up. But it didn’t compute. Behind him Jackson had ceased reading plans and was watching. Waiting… ‘I don’t understand.’
She smiled at him. ‘Guy, do you need to understand to be a hero?’
Silence. Finally he lifted the engagement ring and squared his shoulders-then glanced to the construction site. ‘If you can do without me…?’
‘We’ll manage without you,’ Jackson said magnanimously. He cast Molly a curious look. ‘No keys and no money. Angie’s needs sound a lot more dire than ours.’
‘And Guy?’ Molly said gently, and he paused, hand on the doorknob.
‘Yes?’
‘If you want my advice you’d think about the desirability of elopement, you’d cut back on bridesmaids, you’d buy yourself a pair of white shoes and you’d stop on the way and buy out a florist.’
He thought that through. ‘You mean buy her a bunch of flowers?’
The man was thick as Sam’s frogs. ‘No, Guy, I do not mean a bunch. What Angela needs is a statement. You need to buy a carload of flowers. Or a truckload, for that matter.’
‘What…? Why…?’
She sighed. ‘Guy, she’s left her jacket here and it’s cold. She’ll be sitting on the landing, feeling bereft and sorry for herself.’ What was she doing? Molly thought. This had to be one of the most magnanimous gestures of her adult life. Angie had done the dirty on her. She didn’t deserve help like this.
Nevertheless… ‘What she needs is a hero on a white charger,’ she told him. ‘Or her wonderful Guy loaded with so many flowers that she’s blanketed with them.’
‘It seems a bit excessive,’ he said cautiously, and Molly almost brained him with a leg of the froghouse.
‘Fine, then. Be boring. See where that gets you.’
‘You really think that would work?’
‘I really think so.’
He sighed and spread his hands. ‘I’ll do it.’
‘Great. Oh, and Guy?’
‘Yes?’
‘Try to let her think that it was all your idea-and if anyone in this room ever tells her it wasn’t then I’ll personally nail them to the floor by their toenails.’
‘Um…right.’
She grinned and flipped the door open for him. ‘Go for it, kid. James Bond to the rescue.’
‘Oh, and Mr Bond…?’ Jackson pushed himself to his feet and grinned at Guy, and then at Sam. ‘Young Sam here is in his school uniform.’ He addressed Sam, who’d been fiddling with the aluminium legs. ‘Does wearing your uniform signify you should be in school, Sam?’
‘I ought to be,’ Sam told him truthfully. ‘But it doesn’t matter if I’m late ’cos I promised Molly I can still be a brain surgeon and Molly said it’s National Frog Day.’
Not many men could take that on board as quickly as Jackson but he did it without a blink. ‘National Frog Day?’ An eyebrow quirked upward. ‘Very original. But, Sam, brain surgery takes real application and you can’t start too young. Do you have everything ready for school?’
‘Yes,’ Sam admitted, reluctantly. ‘But we haven’t finished the froghouse.’
‘I’ll finish the froghouse. Guy, how do you feel about giving Sam a ride to school on your way to rescue your damsel?’
‘But-’
‘You know,’ he said gently, ‘Molly has given you the means to do the rescuing. You do owe her.’
And Guy relented. Boring or not, he really was a very nice man. He sighed. ‘Sure. Of course I can. That’s fine, Sam. If it’s okay with you.’
‘That’s great.’ Jackson beamed at this very satisfactory outcome for all concerned and swung the door wide. ‘Off you go, then, children. Drive carefully. Off to learn to be a brain surgeon and rescue maidens in distress. What better way to face the world?’
Which left Guy and Sam disappearing hopefully out through the door and Jackson firmly closing the door behind them.
And turning to face Molly.
CHAPTER NINE
SILENCE.
The silence went on and on. Let the floor open up and swallow me, Molly pleaded to someone who ob
viously wasn’t listening. How can I be stuck alone with him?
‘Thank you for the froghouse,’ she managed at last. ‘But there’s no need for you to stay.’
‘On the contrary, there’s every need. We’re going out for lunch and we haven’t finished building.’
‘I can put it together myself.’ She swallowed and fought for some dignity. ‘Thank you for giving it to Sam. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.’
‘And you won’t?’
‘Yes,’ she snapped, abandoning dignity forthwith. ‘You’re putting it in front of the television. Great. I like watching a tank of frogs instead of television.’
‘I knew you would.’ He grinned. ‘You look that sort of girl.’
‘You have no idea of what sort of girl I am.’
‘Now, that’s where you’re wrong,’ he told her, his voice growing serious. ‘Because I’ve got it figured.’
‘I don’t want to hear.’
But he was brooking no interruption, talking almost to himself. ‘You’re the sort of girl who’d drop everything when her nephew’s orphaned-drop the life you love-come to a city that you hate. Put up with your nerdy cousin and put your life on hold…’
‘For my nephew,’ she snapped. ‘And a great guardian I make, I don’t think. I slept in today. I drank too much last night and I didn’t even get Sam to school on time. Social welfare would have a field-day.’
‘So how many times have you drunk too much since Sam was orphaned?’
‘Just last night.’
‘Then stop the self-blame. Anyone could see you had an excuse last night. It doesn’t take an Einstein to figure out what happened. Angela arrived, having broken off her engagement. You were keeping her company.’ His mouth quirked in laughter. ‘Berating men in general.’ He looked at her, his eyes searching and seeing maybe more than she wanted him to. ‘And now Angela bolts, leaving you to face the music, yet you do your best to repair her relationship. Her man’s off to buy the city out of flowers…’
She let herself get distracted. ‘Do you think he will?’
‘If he doesn’t, he’s a fool. You’ve handed him his salvation on a platter-and, considering the fact that Angela did the dirty on you, I’d call it a very generous salvation at that.’ He grinned and motioned to the sideboard. ‘Pity about the keys.’
The keys! Molly’s gaze swung to the sideboard, where he was pointing. Oh, for heaven’s sake, Guy had left the keys behind.
‘You saw! You let him go!’
‘Let’s just say I didn’t think Angela should be let off scot-free…’
Silence again. Molly tried a glower but it didn’t come off. He was smiling at her, and his smile was enough to unwoman her completely. It made her want to melt…
Melting was hardly appropriate.
‘It’s stupid,’ she said inconsequentially, to no one in particular. ‘It’s not Angela I’m mad at. You’re the one who’s the rat.’
‘I’m a rat?’ Those mobile eyebrows rose. ‘How can I be a rat? I’m buying a farm from you, and I saved your job, and I brought you a froghouse.’
She took a deep breath, searching for the words, and in the end only three would do. ‘You kissed me.’
There. The thing was said. It hung between them, a bald statement of fact with nowhere to go.
‘I kissed you.’ His smile faded. He eyed her warily and Molly thought-not for the first time-a scanty bath-wrap with moonbeams all over it was hardly the most dignified covering for the discussion she was having.
No matter. She forged on with resolution. ‘Yes.’
‘Does kissing you make me a rat?’
There was only one answer to that. ‘When you’re committed to another woman it does.’
He thought that through. The newspaper, he thought. Hell, she’d seen it.
Should he deny it? His gut instinct was to do just that, but then… Hadn’t he and Cara agreed never to be in danger of love? So maybe it was safer to let Molly think he was involved elsewhere. Then he’d be protected from just what was threatening.
‘You mean Cara?’
‘Who else do you think I mean? How many significant women do you have?’
Silence. Then, ‘You think I was being unfaithful?’
Here we go, Molly thought. This man’s morals were about as divorced from hers as they could possibly be. He had no idea that he’d done anything remotely questionable. In his eyes Molly was a woman, therefore she was available to be kissed. It was as simple as that.
‘We hardly forged a relationship,’ he said, and she nodded, expecting little else.
‘No.’
‘Then what’s the big deal?’
‘Nothing.’ She was glaring at him with every ounce of glare in her possession.
‘So why are you mad?’
‘Let’s just say I feel sorry for Cara and leave it at that.’
More silence. It stretched on and on. Then, ‘Are you intending to come to lunch in that?’ with a polite motion to her bathrobe, and Molly glared some more.
‘No!’
‘Then may I suggest you get yourself dressed while I finish the froghouse?’
‘I don’t want to-’
‘Come to lunch with me? I can see that.’ His tone was polite now, businesslike and aloof. Nothing more. ‘But there’s no choice-for both of us. So I’d suggest you come down off your high horse, haul yourself back into business mode and come out to lunch. Now.’
And without another word he turned his attention back to construction, leaving Molly to react as she would.
After all, it had nothing to do with him.
Only it did.
Molly left him alone, thumping back to her bedroom and slamming the door behind her. Left to his own devices, Jackson manoeuvred the froghouse legs into position and started tightening screws. It was a fiddly job and required concentration.
And concentration was what he didn’t have.
Had he started a relationship by kissing Molly?
The question didn’t arise, he thought. Or it hadn’t until now.
So what had happened?
Very little, he told himself. Molly was a beautiful and desirable woman. They’d shared a wonderful day. It had seemed right at the time so he’d kissed her. As simple as that.
Only it wasn’t.
Damn, it was how she made him feel…
He’d never felt this way before, he thought suddenly. He’d kissed many women but he hadn’t known he could feel like this.
Like what?
As if she needed defending and he wanted to be the one who did the defending. As if he wanted to share in watching these crazy frogs jump around their tank-as long as Molly was by his side to share in the watching.
As if he wanted to kiss her again…
That was the nub of the matter.
But since Diane relationships were off the cards. Except for Cara. And the relationship he had with his half-sister was, of course, completely different. She of all people understood why he’d vowed never to fall in love with anyone again-but Cara was in Switzerland now, living her own life. She wouldn’t appreciate him interfering in her affairs-playing the protective brother.
But if someone touched Molly…
The thought brought him up with a jolt. If he thought anyone was likely to lay a finger on Molly… Hurt her…
No. Not just hurt her.
It wasn’t only a feeling of protectiveness that was consuming him. It was the thought of anyone else…any man…looking at her with desire. Because she was…
Whew! Where were his thoughts taking him?
The stupid froghouse leg wouldn’t fit and he swore.
Get this tank up, get this lunch over and get out of here, he told himself harshly. You need to clear your head, and being around this woman-
You want to be around this woman, the other half of him argued.
You don’t.
He was so confused. All he knew was that he made a very bad liar. He couldn’t even lie to himself.
And Molly?
She was dressing herself in the most severe outfit she owned. Black, black and more black. And no make-up. Not a scrap.
What was she doing? She dressed and then stared into the mirror for a very long time.
‘Anyone would think you were scared of Jackson Baird,’ she told her reflection, and stared for a while longer.
Finally she gave a little nod and the corners of her mouth twitched into a grimace.
‘Anyone would be exactly right.’
There was the small matter of completing the froghouse, but they’d run out of time.
‘I think I must need a different sort of screwdriver,’ Jackson confessed. ‘These plans look like they’re written in Swahili.’ Then he checked out Molly’s black trousers, black jacket and black shoes and his frown deepened in disapproval. ‘Plus I was hoping for someone to help me lift it into place, but the only thing you look like lifting is a coffin.’ His eyes raked her from head to toe, disapproval growing by the minute. ‘I’ve seen pallbearers look more cheerful than you.’
She hmmphed at that. ‘I’m dressed for business.’
‘And the fact that I need a lift to get this tank on its legs…’
‘Your four legs aren’t together yet,’ she pointed out. ‘Plus I need time to think about where to put it. It can’t stay in front of the television.’
‘What about in front of the bar? Will that be a problem?’
She managed a sort-of smile. Her head was aching from the night before, she was confused and tired, and the last thing she wanted to be thinking about was the bar. Or its contents. ‘Only if Angela breaks up with another fiancé,’ she said ruefully, and he smiled in sympathy.
‘Not a big drinker, then, Miss Farr?’
‘The bar’s hardly been touched since my brother-in-law’s death,’ she told him, and then wished she hadn’t as his eyes warmed with still more sympathy. The last thing she needed from this man was sympathy.
She didn’t need anything from him at all.
But he was still in sympathy mode. ‘You haven’t thought of ripping the bar out? Of changing the apartment so it’s more yours and Sam’s rather than Sam’s parents’?’
A Millionaire For Molly Page 11
