A Millionaire For Molly

‘I’ve an option on another property until Monday, so I’d like to come to a decision before then. And I leave the country on Tuesday. Seeing the place for the first time on Monday hardly leaves time for negotiation.’

Trevor thought this through and backtracked fast. Negotiation—a wonderful word. It meant the man was a serious buyer. ‘Of course. I’ll just have to reschedule—’

‘I don’t believe I’ll bother you,’ Jackson told him, his voice cool and direct. ‘I don’t need you to show me the place. One of your employees will do just as well—’

‘You still have time for another tour of the Blue Mountain property,’ his lawyer interrupted, and was shot a look of dislike for his pains.

‘Thanks, but I’m more interested in the Copeland place. Now, seeing as Miss Farr has just suffered an injury and a shock, what better way to help her recover than to take her away for the weekend? Mr Farr, I assume you weren’t serious about sacking an employee for something so minor as bringing a frog to work?’

‘No…’ Trevor thought it through, and for Trevor thinking was a chore. ‘Yes. But—’

But Jackson was no longer listening. ‘Miss Farr, I would very much appreciate it if you could escort me to the property. Mr Farr, if your employee was to make such a sale I feel sure you’d be in a position to offer her her job back.’

Trevor gasped, but he wasn’t completely stupid. Once again he could see a fortune in commission flying out of the window, and he grabbed at it with both hands.

‘Maybe not. But I’ve just remembered I can come after all.’

‘I don’t wish to bother you.’ Jackson’s eyes were chilling. He turned to his lawyer. ‘Or Mr Francis, for that matter. If the Copeland place is the farm I’m thinking of, then frogs are the least of the temptations for Mr Francis’s ruthless shoe. So I believe Miss Farr and I will dispense with the middle men. Miss Farr, can you escort me to the Copeland property at the weekend?’

Molly took a deep breath. She stared wildly around—at Trevor—at the lawyer—and then at the tiny green frog sitting pathetically in Jackson Baird’s big hand.

Jackson’s eyes were gentle—kind, even—and she had no choice. Obnoxious cousin or not, she needed this job, and Jackson was offering her a way to keep it.

‘It’ll be my pleasure,’ she told him. And she couldn’t believe that she’d done it.

There was no disputing who was in charge. Ineffectual at the best of times, Trevor was completely overruled. Jackson was in organisational mode, and he hadn’t been declared Australia’s Businessman of the Year for nothing. The man exuded power.

‘I’ll meet you at Mascot Airport tomorrow at nine,’ he told her, and she blinked.

‘Um…we’re flying?’

‘I’ll charter a helicopter.’

Oh, of course.

‘You’ll have a Section Thirty-Two prepared?’

A Section Thirty-Two… It would be a miracle if their lawyer could finalise the title and bill of sale by tonight, Molly thought, but Jackson Baird was expecting expertise to match his. ‘Of course,’ she told him.

‘The house is set up so we can stay?’

‘I believe there’s a skeleton staff.’ Trevor was fighting to stay in charge of a situation he had no control over. ‘Mrs Copeland did say they’d welcome you, but I—’

Jackson wasn’t in the mood for buts. ‘Then that’s fine.’

‘I’m not happy about Molly going,’ Trevor blurted out, and Jackson raised a mobile eyebrow.

‘Isn’t she competent?’

‘She’s extremely competent,’ Angela shot at him, and received a look of approval from the millionaire for her pains.

‘Maybe you’re worried about the propriety of the situation?’ Jackson’s smile eased all before him. ‘I should have thought of that. Miss Farr, if you’re concerned about the propriety of escorting me to an unknown farm for the weekend I suggest you bring a chaperon. But no middle men. No cousin. An aunt, perhaps? Especially if she’s another frog-lover?’

He was laughing at her, Molly thought, but she was too stunned to react. A chaperon. Where on earth would she find one of those overnight?

But Jackson had moved on. ‘That’s all, then. Mascot airport, nine tomorrow, with or without a chaperon.’ His eyes glinted suddenly with wicked laughter. ‘Is that enough to take your mind off your sore hand and your frog?’

He thought it was, Molly thought numbly. He thought he just had to say jump and she’d put everything else aside and purr with pleasurable anticipation. And maybe normally she would. But there was still Lionel. Sam had trusted her with his frog. How was she going to tell him what had happened?

‘Fine,’ she said tonelessly, and his brows furrowed.

‘You’re still worried about your frog?’

‘Of course.’

‘You know, frogs do die.’

Damn the man, he was still laughing. ‘You said you can fix him.’

‘I did. And I can.’ He turned to Angela. ‘Will you take your friend to have her hand attended to now?’

But Molly wasn’t moving. ‘After Lionel is fixed.’

‘You know…’ His eyes were still puzzled. ‘I hate to seem callous, but he is just a frog.’

‘Just fix him,’ she said wearily. Her hand was starting to throb and the shock of the last half-hour had taken its toll. Sure, Lionel was just a frog, but to Sam he was everything. Lionel had produced the first flicker of an outside interest she’d seen in the child since his parents’ death, and that was so important.

‘Just fix him,’ she said again, and Jackson’s dark eyes probed hers with something akin to confusion. What he saw in her face didn’t help at all.

But he had a job to do.

‘Okay, Miss Farr, I’ll concede that your frog is important.’ He put out a hand and touched her cheek. A fleeting gesture of reassurance. Nothing more. ‘But so are you. If you won’t go and get your hand seen to straight away then I’ll do it for you. And then I’ll fix your frog.’

‘My frog first.’

‘Your hand first,’ he said in a voice that brooked no argument. ‘Lionel’s not dripping blood on the carpet. So sit and be cared for. Now!’

It was the strangest sensation.

Sit and be cared for… How long had it been since she’d done just that? Since her sister’s accident the caring had all been on her side, and the sensation of cares being lifted from her shoulders was almost overwhelming.

‘It’s not deep.’ Ignoring her protests, he was probing the abrasion on her knuckles, approving what he saw. ‘I’m sure it doesn’t need stitches.’ He’d sent Angela down to the nearby dispensary and she’d come back with his requirements—lint, antiseptic, bandages and a soft reed—then stayed on to watch.

As did the rest of their audience. The cleaners had departed, as had Sophia Cincotta, but Trevor and Jackson’s lawyer were going nowhere. Both of them, for different reasons, were bristling with disapproval.

But Molly was oblivious. She sat while this big man with the gentle eyes and the even gentler fingers knelt before her and probed and cleaned and carefully dressed her hand. It was unnerving, to say the least. It was…

Heck, she didn’t know what it was. This man had a reputation a mile long where women were concerned and she was starting to see how he’d acquired it. He just had to touch her and…