But a week before the wedding there’d been a note from someone warning him that he wasn’t the father. Say a name, the note had said, and see how Diane reacts.
He shouldn’t have done it. He should have trusted. But…
‘Have you heard of…?’ he’d asked-and all hell had broken loose. Stunned, he’d watched as the woman he’d thought he loved turned into a raging virago. How dared he question her? How dared he imply the baby wasn’t his?
But he hadn’t implied any such thing. All he’d said was the name.
The next morning she was gone. It had been a lying, cheating con, devised to steal money from a wealthy adolescent.
And that, with the history of his parents’ failed relationship, had left him determinedly single for ever. Cara was the only person he trusted.
The farm was to have been a place where they could base themselves when life got tough. Now the farm would be only his, and the thought made him feel unbearably alone.
Which was stupid. After all, he’d constructed his life so he’d be happy alone. It had taken him thirty-three years to get this far-he didn’t intend to regret it now.
But if Molly was here, waiting…
Molly would be with Michael.
Roger Francis had phoned just before Jackson left New York and told him they’d be arriving separately. Roger was driving himself, Miss Copeland was being driven by her chauffeur, and Molly and Sam and Michael were coming together.
Great!
Hell, he’d helped orchestrate her reconciliation with Michael, he thought savagely. He should be pleased.
He was pleased, he forced himself to decide. Sam would have a secure base. A secure family.
But with a man who’d been prepared to rob Molly blind…
It was none of his business! Hadn’t he learned anything from the past?
He looked out of the chopper and saw the eager faces of Doreen and Gregor waiting to greet him. They were his future. No one else. With a sigh he summoned up a matching smile.
This was a great buy. He should get on with it.
‘Michael, the road to Birraginbil’s to the north. You should have turned off back there.’
‘Are we going to Birraginbil?’
‘Of course we are.’
‘Look in the glove compartment, sweetheart. I have a surprise for you.’
‘A surprise?’
‘An engagement ring. And plans for a wedding.’
Things weren’t going to plan.
Hannah Copeland was receiving in state, seated formally in the vast front parlour, and her displeasure was obvious the moment Jackson walked in.
‘So you’re alone,’ she snapped. ‘What have you done with your fiancée, young man?’
‘I thought I told you,’ he said quietly, crossing to shake her hand, ‘Cara’s not my fiancée.’
Where was Molly?
‘Yes. But she’s someone you have an arrangement with.’
‘I did have an arrangement with her,’ he said honestly, and watched her face. Her displeasure grew.
‘You mean you haven’t now?’
‘No.’
‘Can I ask why not?’
‘I think that’s my business.’
She rose, matriarchal in her annoyance. ‘Then I’m not prepared to sell you my property. The arrangement was that I’d meet your intended.’
‘I don’t have an intended.’ He spread his hands. ‘There’s only me.’
Where the hell was Molly?
He managed a smile and decided honesty was the best policy here. His precious privacy could take a back seat.
‘Hannah, Cara is my half-sister,’ he told her. ‘She and I had arranged to share your farm, but she’s fallen in love with a Frenchman. So I’m alone. I love this place, and I’m prepared to look after it as you’d want it looked after. But I can’t give more than that. I can’t claim relationships that won’t happen.’
The old lady stared at him in bewilderment, and Jackson thought she could decide either way.
But then Roger Francis appeared at the door.
‘What is it?’ Clearly Hannah had no time for the smart lawyer and she was seriously displeased. ‘Have you heard anything from Miss Farr?’
‘Where’s Molly?’ For the first time Jackson voiced his thought. His brows clipped together. The agreement was that she’d be here well before him. Hell, if she didn’t even come…
‘I’m sorry.’ Roger Francis spread his hands in helpless anger. ‘Of all the inept… Mr Baird, I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I should never have let you look at this property in the first place.’
‘What is it?’
‘Your realtor has taken off for her honeymoon-taking your contract and your titles with her.’
Silence. The silence went on for so long that it became jarring. Miss Copeland stared her displeasure at both of them, and Roger Francis coughed and stole a glance out of the window, avoided looking at Jackson. As well he might. Jackson’s face was stony and remote-like chiselled granite.
‘What happened?’ he asked at last, and Roger spoke again. Too fast.
‘She rang from the airport a couple of hours ago. I tried to catch you before you left Sydney but your mobile must have been switched off. So now I have to tell you. The phone call was from your Miss Farr… She sounded giggly and apologetic and altogether too foolish for words. It seems this Michael arrived last night with tickets to Hayman Island for himself, Molly and the boy. And plans for their marriage. He wouldn’t take no for an answer and, as she said, it’s not often you get an offer like that. So they left.’
So they left.
‘They were on the nine o’clock flight from Sydney.’
They’d almost passed in transit, Jackson thought, and he felt sick.
Why? Because of the farm?
No. He knew damned well that the farm didn’t come into it at all.
‘And what of the contracts?’ Hannah demanded, but her eyes were on Jackson’s face. She wasn’t interested in contracts-or farms-either. There were undercurrents here that she’d have to be obtuse not to understand.
Roger Francis spread his hands. ‘I have no idea what she’s done with them. Neither has her boss. I phoned him just now. He was playing golf with no idea of what had happened, and the news hit him as hard as it’s hit me. It seems she just dropped everything and went.’
More silence.
‘That’s that, then.’ Hannah’s voice was bleak and final. ‘No contracts. No partner. No Miss Farr. It seems I can’t sell you my farm even if I want to, Mr Baird. Maybe when we get back to Sydney we can-’
‘I don’t think we can.’ Jackson raked his fingers through his thick black hair and closed his eyes. His voice was as bleak as midwinter. ‘Hell.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Roger said, and Jackson opened his eyes again and focused on his lawyer.
‘You say you spoke to her?’
‘Yes.’
‘And she sounded happy?’
‘Yes, sir. Exceedingly happy.’
‘Damn.’ He swore. ‘I should have…’
‘But you didn’t.’ It was Hannah, looking at him with open curiosity and seeing where his mind was headed. ‘How about a fast trip to Hayman Island?’
‘I’d never make it in time. And if she loves the man…’
‘But what if she loves you?’ she suggested gently-and waited.
‘I don’t know.’ He groaned. And then he caught himself. After all, he’d been trained since birth to receive blows. To receive hurt. He knew how to handle it.
Withdrawal. It was the only way.
‘I’m sorry for wasting your time, Miss Copeland,’ he told her and his voice was now strictly formal. Back to business. The shield had been put up again and it wasn’t about to be lightly put aside. ‘But it seems the fault’s not entirely mine. You’ve obviously chosen an extremely unreliable realtor to represent you.’
‘You can say that again.’ That was Roger Francis. He eyed his employer sideways. ‘If
you want a place that’s just for yourself, then the Blue Mountain property is far superior,’ he said smoothly. ‘You know it appealed enormously before you heard about this place. It’s only an hour’s drive from Sydney. I spoke to the owners only yesterday and your option’s still valid.’
‘I bet it is.’
‘I’d be happy to show it to you again. We could take the chopper right now. I could organise someone to fetch my car-’
‘Enough.’ Jackson spread his hands and stepped back. ‘Enough. I need time to think.’
‘I have the Blue Mountain brochure in my briefcase,’ Roger said smoothly. ‘Shall I tell the helicopter pilot you’d like to leave?’
‘No. Yes!’
And then he paused.
There was the sound of a vehicle approaching from the main track. It was being driven far too fast, and by the sound of the engine the car had seen far too many days to be travelling at this speed.
All eyes were drawn to the French windows as a battered and dusty sedan drew to a halt in a screech of brakes and a cloud of dust.
Out tumbled Molly. Closely followed by Angela and Guy and Sam.
‘Are we too late? Has he gone?’
Molly burst into the room with her arms full of documents. Then, as she saw Jackson, she stopped dead.
He took one step towards her. She dropped the documents from nerveless fingers. They scattered over the floor and in less than a second she was being held in his arms-as if she’d never be released again.
After that there was chaos. Angela and Guy and Sam were all crowding into the door behind Molly. Sam was clutching his frog box as if his life depended on it. But his attention-all attention-was on Molly. Who was sobbing her heart out on Jackson’s shoulder.
‘What the…?’
It was all Jackson had to say.
‘I never thought he’d do it.’ Molly was talking through tears into the soft linen of his shirt and he had to stoop to hear. ‘I thought he was just playing games, so I figured I’d go along with it to see what he was up to. I didn’t think it’d get serious. And then he got really nasty and tried to hold me back and I had to fight him…’
‘Whoa!’ He held her at arm’s length at that. There was an angry bruise spreading from under her eye to her chin. She looked dishevelled and tearful and angry-and altogether far, far too lovely. ‘Slow down. What happened?’
‘It was Michael,’ Angela burst out from behind them. She pointed to the hapless Roger Francis. ‘And this…this weed.’
All attention swung to Roger Francis. Who looked suddenly pallid. And smaller somehow.
‘What-?’
But Angela was mid-tirade, accepting no interruptions. ‘He rang Molly and said Michael wanted a reconciliation-but Molly didn’t believe it for a minute. So then she wondered-why was he so pushy? And why was Michael so pushy as well? Then she figured, Hang on, they’re practically the same age, and how many law schools are there in this state? So she did a search-and guess what? She discovered Roger and Michael were in the same year at the same university studying the same subjects.’
‘Which doesn’t mean anything,’ Roger said, but he was edging towards the door.
Molly had recovered enough to take over. ‘And then Michael arrived and he was so nice.’ Her voice was faltering but she was managing to put in her bit. Something about the way Jackson’s arms were holding her was feeding her strength by the minute. ‘I smelled the biggest rat. But he plied me with dinners and he gave Sam gifts.’
‘Nothing as cool as the froghouse,’ Sam volunteered, and Molly managed a smile.
‘No. Silly, over-the-top presents. And the more Michael schmoozed up to us the more suspicious I got. And then he practically insisted he bring me down here today.’
‘And he’s got a nice car, and Molly hasn’t got a car at all, and she didn’t want to ask for a ride in your helicopter. Which I thought was stupid,’ Sam said scornfully. ‘You would have brought us-wouldn’t you Mr Baird?’
‘Yes,’ he said promptly, and his hands tightened on Molly’s waist. She looked up at his face with an expression that said she couldn’t quite believe what was happening.
Where was Cara? she thought frantically.
Concentrate on the story. Not on the body against hers. Not on the eyes looking down at her, full of concern…
Only she knew the sheer effort of will it took to continue. To stop herself sinking into his embrace as if she’d never let go. But they were all still confused and she had to explain. Somehow.
‘I didn’t have a clue what was happening, but I talked it over with Angela and we decided the only thing to do was go along with him. So we duplicated the contracts and-’
‘You duplicated the contracts?’ Roger Francis’s face was reflecting pure shock.
‘Of course. I’m not stupid. So Angela had the duplicate papers ready with instructions to get them down here today if anything happened, no matter what. We even had Guy and his car on standby. Though…’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘We hadn’t quite counted on Guy trading his sedan for honeymoon tickets and a car older than he is. No matter.’ She hauled herself back to the matter in hand. ‘Then Michael arrived.’
‘And instead of bringing us here Michael took us to the airport,’ Sam said, incensed. ‘He said he was taking us on a holiday to Hayman Island.’
‘It was the whole sweeping-me-off-my-feet routine,’ Molly said grimly, and turned within the circle of Jackson’s arms to stare at Roger Francis. ‘You must think I’m really, really dumb.’
‘Some girls would have accepted,’ Angela said blithely. She and Guy had moved as one to block the door, leaving the hapless Roger no escape. ‘Michael’s a good-looking man and he was offering the holiday of a lifetime. And marriage…’
‘As if I’d believe him.’
‘He thought you were still in love with him.’
‘How could I be in love with him when I…?’ She faltered, and Jackson’s arm tightened even further. The gesture had stopped being a gesture of comfort. It was a gesture of pure joy.
But Jackson was looking at her face and, joy or not, his expression was grim. ‘So what happened?’
‘So when he turned off the highway into the airport I told him he had to be joking. And he said don’t be a little fool. He said…’ She paused and then met Roger Francis’s look head-on. There was hatred coming from him. Blinding, unadulterated hatred. ‘He said we stood to make heaps from the commission on the Blue Mountain property. He said Roger was a part-owner. He was set to make a mint if the sale to you went ahead, and if that happened then we’d get a cut. He said before you saw this place you’d almost bought the other property and if this sale fell through-which it would if I messed them around and made both you and Hannah angry-then we’d all be laughing.’
‘You’d be laughing? Married to Michael in Hayman Island?’
‘I’m not completely daft.’ She took a deep breath. ‘He couldn’t even get that right. He flashed the tickets at me as if that’d make it just great-but they were singles! He didn’t even think I’d read the fine print-just blindly take him on trust. As if! He had every intention of taking Sam and me to Hayman Island and dumping us there.’
‘You’re kidding!’
‘By this time we were in the airport car park. And I told him where he could put his tickets. When he told me not to be stupid, I grabbed Sam and started to leave. Then he took the contracts and tore them up. And he hit me.’
She’d been hit!
Jackson turned her then, twisting her in his hold so he could examine the bright angry bruise. And he uttered an expletive that made Molly catch her breath.
‘Yes,’ she said, but she wasn’t upset by the bruise. The tone in her voice was one of satisfaction. ‘But it did achieve one useful purpose.’
‘Which was?’
‘You don’t think I’d let him hit me and get away with it, do you? Do you have any idea how much security there is at airports these days?’
‘Well-’
‘I screamed,’ Molly carried on, considering his answer inconsequential. ‘There were loads of people about, and I screamed the place down. My nose started to bleed, which was terrific. It’s wonderful what a bit of blood can do for a drama. And then Sam head-butted him. He went to slap Sam and suddenly there were four hefty security guards holding him down and any number of witnesses. Plus a security camera. We’ve had him arrested.’
Her voice was suddenly almost joyous. ‘He’s in jail right now. Sure, he’ll get bail, but I have heaps of witnesses, and the police say if I press charges I’ll certainly get a conviction. Plus damages.’ Her hand touched her cheek. ‘For any amount of emotional trauma.’
‘You’re not emotionally traumatised at all,’ Jackson said on a note of discovery, and she chuckled and, just naturally, her arms came around and hugged him back.
‘No. I’m just very, very pleased that finally Michael has blotted his too-perfect copybook. There’s a whole bunch of stuff a lawyer can’t do once he has a conviction, and I can’t wait to get it in place.’ Then she lifted her chin and stared at Roger. ‘So Guy and Angela brought us down here-ventre à terre, as the saying goes-which was very exciting, wasn’t it, Sam? And now… I don’t know how we’ll deal with you, Roger, but Guy seems to think it’s illegal to try to sell your client something without disclosing ownership. We might just get you, too.’
And Roger was stuttering. ‘I don’t… I haven’t… The girl’s…’
‘Get out,’ Jackson said grimly. He was staring at Roger as if he was some sort of pond scum. ‘Get out!’
‘I never-’
‘You organised your thug to hurt Molly!’
And that was the nub of the matter. Everything else-the lies-the deception-they were things that would make him angry, but not to the point of white-hot fury. He looked down at Molly’s face and he wanted to kill someone. The problem was there was only this weaselly little man in front of him to be killed.
But there were better ways of punishing than murder. So, with what seemed an almost supernatural effort, he stopped himself from picking Roger Francis up by the shoulders and heaving him through the French windows and made his voice cool, controlled and icy calm.
A Millionaire For Molly Page 15
