Marion Lennox: A Millionaire For Molly

Angela’s face softened. ‘So share the care. I love the kid too, you know.’

‘I know you do.’ Angela’s heart was huge. ‘But, Angie, there’s only a chink of room for loving anyone left in him, and that chink’s for me. And that’s only because I look like his mother.’

‘And where does that leave you?’

‘Right here. With him. Where I want to be.’

‘So what are you doing now?’

‘I’m going to bed.’ It was a lie. She needed to ring Hannah Copeland for the property details, read everything she could find on the place and sort out the Section Thirty-Two. But if she told Angela that she’d drop everything and help.

‘It’s only nine o’clock.’

‘I’m injured.’

‘Not very injured. Come to our party.’

‘And leave Sam? I don’t have any choice in this, Angie, so let it be.’

Angela glared at her friend. ‘It’s so unfair.’

‘Life’s not fair.’

‘It should be. You sure you won’t change your mind about going alone? Leave Sam with me for just this once?’

‘I’m sure.’

‘Then I’ll be here on Sunday night and I want a blow-by-blow description. Leaving out nothing.’

‘You and Trevor both. He’s already demanded a Sunday night debriefing.’

‘He would.’ Angela hesitated. You know…’ Her face changed and Molly knew what she was about to say. It would achieve nothing.

‘Angela, don’t.’

‘Don’t what?’

‘Try to solve the problems of the world.’ Molly gave her friend a push towards the door. ‘Go on. Back to Guy.’

‘Well, at least tell me what you’re wearing tomorrow,’ Angela demanded as she was propelled into the foyer.

‘Boring. Business. Black suit. White shirt.’

That stopped Angela in her tracks. ‘You’re never wearing boring for Jackson Baird?’

‘No. I’m wearing boring for me.’

‘This is the opportunity of a lifetime.’

‘To get myself seduced? I don’t think so.’

‘Molly, there’s seduced and there’s seduced. Boy, if Jackson Baird wanted to put his boots under my bed…’ Angela chuckled. ‘And honestly, Moll…’ She turned and faced her friend. ‘When I saw you both looking down at that little frog…’

Molly grinned at the picture that conjured up. ‘Romantic, wasn’t it?’

‘It was,’ Angela said firmly. ‘You looked like you could be the future Mrs Jackson Baird.’

‘Oh, yeah. In your dreams.’

‘Well, why not? He’s single. You’re single. He’s rich. That’s a recipe for marital bliss if ever I heard one.’

‘Angie, go!’

‘Only if you promise you won’t wear your business suit.’

‘Maybe I should wear jeans.’

‘No!’

‘What would you suggest?’

‘Something short. And slinky.’ She chuckled again and looked down at her very slinky dress, complete with slit almost to her thigh. ‘Something like this.’

‘Sure. Complete with ostrich feathers. To show a man over a farm and to care for an eight-year-old.’

‘And to marry a millionaire,’ Angela added. ‘Or a billionaire. Think big, girl.’

‘I’m thinking goodnight,’ her friend managed, and pushed her out through the door before she could say another word.

Jackson wasn’t sure who he’d expected as Molly’s chaperon. In fact if he’d thought about it at all-which he hadn’t-he would have said that he didn’t expect her to bring anyone-but the bespectacled child at her side was a shock.

As was Molly.

She looked stunning, he thought, watching her approach over the tarmac. There was no other word to describe her. She was about five feet four and neatly packaged, with a handspan waist and a halo of dark curls that bounced about her shoulders.

Yesterday she’d worn a business suit. Today she was wearing jeans and a soft white shirt that buttoned to the throat. It should have made her look prim, but instead it just made her look inviting. She looked fresh as a daisy, and as she got within speaking distance and smiled up at him it took a whole five seconds before he could answer.

‘Good morning.’ She was still smiling, but somehow he forced himself to ignore her lovely smile and tackle the issue at hand. Which was speaking. It should be easy, but it wasn’t.

‘Good morning,’ he managed.

Unknown to Jackson, Molly was doing her own double take. Yesterday in his dark business suit Jackson had seemed very much an urbane man of the world-handsome, but completely out of her league. Dressed today in soft moleskin pants and a short-sleeved shirt, his throat and arms bare, he looked…

Well, he might be having trouble keeping to the business at hand, but so was she!

At least she could concentrate on Sam. ‘Mr Baird, this is my nephew, Sam. Sam, this is Mr Baird.’

So she wasn’t a single mum, Jackson thought. But if not why bring a child? It wasn’t the sort of thing any woman he’d ever dated had done before. But then this was business, he reminded himself. Business! Not a date.

‘Sam’s brought Lionel along with us.’ Molly motioned to the box under Sam’s arm. ‘We hope you don’t mind, but we thought a convalescent farm was just what Lionel needed.’

‘Right.’ The frog. He took a grip, and held out a hand to Sam. They were standing on the helicopter pad and any minute now the machine would roar into life, drowning out all conversation until they wore headsets. ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Sam.’

Sam looked gravely up at him as they shook hands, his eyes huge behind his glasses. ‘Are you the man who trod on my frog?’

‘I told you he wasn’t,’ Molly said gently. ‘Mr Baird is the man who bandaged Lionel.’

‘Molly says he might die anyway.’

‘I didn’t say that.’ Molly sighed. ‘I just said frogs don’t live very long.’ She cast a despairing glance at Jackson.

‘I expect he will die,’ Sam said sadly, clasping his box as if there were only a few short frogbeats left to his beloved Lionel. ‘Everything dies.’

Jackson’s gaze flew to Molly’s, and Molly gave an inward shrug. There was nothing like getting to the hub of things fast.

‘Sam’s parents were killed in a car accident six months ago,’ she told him. If she’d had her way she would have warned Jackson, but it was impossible now. Her eyes didn’t leave his, searching for the right response. ‘Since then he’s had a pessimistic outlook on life.’

Jackson nodded gravely, and to her relief his response was curt and to the point. ‘I can understand that. I’m sorry about your family, Sam.’

Move on, Molly’s eyes warned him, and she led the way. ‘I told Sam that Lionel might live for ages yet.’

‘I had a pet frog when I was eight,’ Jackson said thoughtfully, rising to the occasion with aplomb. ‘He lived for two years and then he escaped to find a lady frog. Maybe Lionel will do the same.’

Sam stared at him, disbelief patent. Silence. Let the helicopter start, Molly thought. This silence was desperate. But Jackson and Sam were eyeing each other like two opponents circling in a boxing ring.

Then Jackson seemed to come to a decision. His fast brain had worked overtime and now he stooped so his eyes were at Sam’s level. Man to man.

‘Sam, I’ll tell you something else you might like to know.’ His gaze met the little boy’s and held. Molly was totally excluded. He was focused only on Sam. ‘When I was ten years old my mother died,’ he told him. ‘I thought the end of the world had come, and, like you, I expected everything else to die. I expected it and expected it. It made me desperately frightened. But you know what? No one else died until I was twenty-eight years old. Ancient, in fact.’

Silence while Sam thought this through. Then he said, ‘Twenty-eight’s the same age as Molly.’