A Millionaire For Molly

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.’