‘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.’
‘Is it run down?’ Jackson’s brows creased, but Doreen’s face stiffened and she offered him another scone as if to say-Does this look like the product of a farm let go?
‘It most certainly isn’t. Miss Copeland would never stand for that. We run over three thousand head of cattle. At mustering we have over a dozen men. And once a month I have a girl in from town to do the house from stem to stern. If you wanted to fill those bedrooms tomorrow you’d find nothing amiss.’
‘I’m sure I wouldn’t.’ Jackson looked appreciatively about him. The kitchen was just as farm kitchens ought to be-big and warm and welcoming, with a vast firestove that stretched almost from wall to wall. It gleamed with cleanliness-no mean feat, he guessed, when the house was well over a century old.
Cara would like this kitchen.
No, she wouldn’t. He gave a rueful inward grimace. What was he thinking of? Cara wouldn’t step foot in a kitchen unless she was dragged.
But she’d love the rest of the place. The house was fabulous. Vast bluestone walls were ringed by a wide veranda that ran the full perimeter of the house. Every room seemed to have French windows. The curtains wafting outwards in the breeze looked fresh and new, and the whole place had instant appeal.
He looked across the table and found Molly’s eyes on him, assessing, and he guessed she was right in business mode.
‘It’s great, isn’t it? You know, you’re the first person we’ve shown it to.’
‘I know that.’
‘You won’t be the last.’ She turned to Mrs Gray and smiled. ‘I hope you bake scones every time I bring prospective buyers down here. These are delicious.’
It was a tactful way of saying Jackson was first in a queue and there were others who’d be interested if he wasn’t. He smiled, acknowledging she had a point but refusing to be hurried. ‘But I have first option, right?’
‘I believe you have first option until Monday.’
‘Very generous.’
‘We aim to please.’ She smiled across the table at him, and he found himself staring. She was charming. Intelligent. Organised. Beautiful…
He found himself looking down at the ring finger on her bandaged left hand-just in case-and felt a ridiculous twinge of pleasure when he discovered it was bare. And then he had to jolt himself back to hear what she was saying.
‘Mr Jackson would like to see over the farm,’ she told Gregor. ‘Can you show him around?’
‘Oh, my dear…’ The elderly farmer’s face fell.
‘Is there a problem?’
‘I can’t do it,’ Gregor said heavily. ‘My legs won’t take me.’
‘I didn’t mean walk,’ Molly told him. ‘I assume there’s a vehicle?’
‘The Jeep’s in for a service. If we’d known you were coming… But Miss Copeland only rang last night to tell us you were on your way.’
‘There’s the farm bike,’ Doreen said. ‘But it only holds one. Then there’s the horses, but Gregor’s hip can’t take it.’
It nearly killed them, Molly saw, to admit that they were getting old and needed help. Gregor’s face was anguished.
‘I can go by myself,’ Jackson said gently, reacting to the old man’s distress. ‘Miss Farr…’ He cast Molly a sideways look and decided on informality. ‘Molly’s given me excellent maps, and if you have a horse then I can ride.’
‘But you could fall off.’ Doreen was practically wringing her hands. ‘There’s rabbit holes and heaven knows what else. You’ll want to see everything, and the only way to see it properly is by horse, but…’
‘You can’t go alone,’ her husband added. He turned to Molly and she could see what an effort it cost him to ask. ‘Unless you ride, miss?’
‘I ride,’ she said briefly, and received another look of astonishment from Jackson. One surprise after another… City realtors, it seemed, were not expected to ride.
She hesitated. Sam was right beside her, pressing close. His insecurity was almost tangible. ‘But Sam can’t.’
‘We’ll look after Sam.’ Doreen beamed at this easy solution to the problem. ‘It would be our pleasure.’ Then she addressed Sam, adult to adult. ‘I’m making a pavlova for supper,’ she told him. ‘Have you ever made one?’
Sam hesitated. ‘No, I…’
‘Would you like to learn? I need help to pick the strawberries for the top.’
‘And we’re hand-rearing a calf,’ Gregor added, seeing where Doreen was headed and putting in his two bobs’ worth. ‘She needs bottle-feeding. Seems to me you’re just the sort of lad who’d be able to do that.’
‘And did you say you have a frog in that box?’ Doreen asked. ‘After we’ve done our jobs, Gregor and I will walk you to where there are a thousand frogs. And tadpoles to match.’
It was too much. Sam gave a shy nod and the tension in the room eased like magic.
Molly let her breath out in a rush. Darn, everywhere she looked the
re were conflicting demands, but these two lovely old people had given her time off. Wonderful…
‘Can you really ride?’ Jackson demanded. ‘Or do you mean you can sit on a riding school hack?’
The toad! ‘Try me,’ she retorted, and turned to Gregor, excluding Jackson nicely. He deserved to be excluded. ‘According to my livestock lists you have some fine horses.’
‘They’ll be frisky,’ Gregor warned. ‘They haven’t been ridden since muster.’
‘The friskier the better,’ she told him. ‘I can’t wait.’
And the thing was settled.
‘It’ll take you the best part of the day to get around,’ Doreen added. ‘I’ll put together a picnic for your saddlebags. You have a lovely day for it.’ She beamed. ‘There. That’s settled. You have a lovely ride and see the property and Sam will have fun with us. Isn’t that lovely?’
What was her story?
Jackson watched as Molly helped catch and saddle the horses, and by the time they were mounted he knew she hadn’t spoken lightly when she’d said she could ride. She looked as if she’d been born in the saddle. Her roan mare was skittish as be damned, but she held her as steadily as Jackson held his bay. Then, as Gregor let them go and the mare skittered sideways, she turned a laughing face towards him.
‘They won’t settle until they’ve had a gallop, and the home paddocks are safest. Race you to the far gate.’ Before he knew what she was about she was off, the mare galloping like the wind and Molly riding her with an attitude that spoke of sheer joy at being alive.
Or more. Of release.
It was quite a sight. It took Jackson about ten valuable seconds before he recovered himself enough to turn his attention to his own horse-by which time she had an unassailable lead, and she’d paused and was waiting when he reached her at the far end of the paddock.
‘What kept you?’ she demanded.
‘I thought businesswomen always let their clients win,’ he complained, and received another of her lovely, throaty chuckles.
‘Whoops. But I’m on a sure thing here. If the rest of this property is as good as this then it’ll sell itself.’
She had a point. The more he saw the more he liked. But he wasn’t just assessing the property!
‘You’re not a bad horseman,’ she was saying, and it drew a grin.
‘Gee, thanks,’ he told her dryly. ‘If I didn’t just know that flattery was good for business…’
‘Didn’t I tell you this wasn’t business? The property will sell itself, with no need for idle compliments to get a buyer in the mood.’
‘So you did.’ His mood was lightening by the minute. She was making him feel free of the restrictions he usually surrounded himself with.
Those restrictions were his by choice, he told himself. His life, his work. Cara. They were all his choice.
But it didn’t hurt to take a break.
‘Where did you learn to ride?’ he asked as they turned their now amenable mounts towards the hills.
‘On the back of a dairy cow.’
That had his eyebrows hiking upwards. ‘You’re kidding?’
‘Nope. My parents ran a small country newsagency. I was jealous of all the kids who had farms, so when they saddled up their horses I made do with Strawberry. Strawberry was our house cow.’
His lips twitched. ‘Don’t tell me. You rode her to school?’
‘Well, no. I couldn’t ride her when Dad was looking. It put her off her milk.’
‘I’d imagine it would.’ He was feeling more and more dazed. A sudden vision of Molly on a dairy cow crossed his mind and he blinked it away. It had the power to unsettle him completely.
But she was unaware. ‘This next bit’s the murky bit,’ she told him, motioning to a tract of swamp land. ‘I’d guess this is where the leeches are. You want to stop and look closer? If so I’ll go over to the next hill and wait.’
‘What-scared of a few leeches?’
‘Yes,’ she said firmly. ‘Despite my salt canister. But off you go. Tread where no man has trod before. After all, isn’t that your reputation?’
‘Is it?’ he demanded, startled, and to his surprise she took him seriously, her gaze raking him from head to toe. Assessing. It was a strange kind of glance and it unnerved him.
‘They say you’re ruthless. In business you’ll stop at nothing.’ Her tone was uncommitted.
‘You’re a businesswoman yourself.’ Her unspoken criticism rankled.
‘So I am.’
‘But you have limits?’ His tone was probing.
‘As I imagine you have.’
‘Like leeches.’
‘As you say.’ She grinned, and the sudden unexplained tension eased a bit. ‘Does that mean you’re not hiking through the swamp like a true hero?’
‘I can see everything I need to see from up here,’ he said with what he hoped was dignity, and her chuckle unnerved him all over again.
The swamp was the worst of the whole place. The rest was sheer magic. They skirted the swamp and made their way to the sea. Here the paddocks butted the dunes and the lush pasture was cropped by sleek, well-fed cattle. They looked the most contented cattle Jackson had ever seen, and he thought, Well, why not? I’d be pretty happy if this was my lot.
They drifted down onto the sand without speaking. A kind of contented silence had built between them. Jackson headed his horse wherever the urge took him and Molly was content to follow. Down on the sand, he headed for the shallows and then, letting that same urge do as it willed, urged his horse into a gallop. Molly followed. They rode side by side, the waves splashing up over their feet and the salt spray misting their faces. When they finally drew to a halt Molly was flushed and laughing and bright with happiness.
‘That was wonderful.’
‘You never learned to do that on a cow.’
‘I did get a horse,’ she admitted. ‘Eventually.’
‘So what in heaven’s name are you doing in the city?’
‘I work in the city.’
‘Your whole attitude screams farm girl.’
‘Gee, thanks. I thought I’d hidden the hayseeds well.’
‘We had a farm ourselves,’ he told her. ‘When I was a kid. My mother owned a holding north of Perth and I spent every moment I could there. And you don’t spend years of your life on a farm without learning a city slicker from a…’
‘From a hayseed?’ Her eyes danced. Honestly, she was gorgeous. He had a sudden almost irresistible temptation to lean over, take her face in his hands and-
Whoa. Where was this headed?
Business. Back to business, Baird. Now!
‘From a hayseed,’ he agreed weakly, and her sudden thoughtful expression had him wondering. Was she feeling what he was feeling? How much a woman of the world was she? Would it hurt to…?
Hell. Business!
‘We’d get a view of the whole place from the cliffs,’ he managed, motioning sideways, and if she could tell his thoughts were disordered she didn’t let on. ‘And it’d be a great spot for lunch.’
‘So it would,’ she said equitably. ‘Okay, MacDuff. Lead the way.’
But the tension didn’t ease.
He didn’t react like this to women, he thought as he finished off the last of Doreen’s sandwiches. Molly had abandoned him on the picnic rug. She’d moved a little way away, aiming to give him space to admire the view. Which was spectacular. He should be concentrating on it entirely instead of being so darned conscious of her that he couldn’t think straight.
Damn, he was never like this with women. He didn’t have to be. There’d always been a woman by his side, ever since his first date aged about fifteen. His combination of money and looks and power proved a powerful magnet that few could resist. And after the last disaster…
Play it light, he told himself, and then he thought, Well, maybe a swift liaison wouldn’t do any harm. Molly wasn’t exactly a teenager. The laughter glinting in the back of her eyes told him she was very aware of his attrib
utes and was sizing him up. She was no fool. She wouldn’t get the wrong impression, as had…
Whoa!
‘There’s wine here,’ he called to her, hauling his thoughts back to practicalities. She was a whole twenty feet away, perched on the branch of a low-growing gum. Below them were the cattle pastures and the slow-moving river drifting out to the sea. The sun was on her face and her eyes held a strange tranquil expression.
How to describe it? It was as if she was hungry, he thought. But not hungry for food. Hungry for life? It was as if she was soaking in every minute of this as if it’d have to last a lifetime.
‘I don’t need wine,’ she told him, hardly changing expression. ‘I don’t need anything.’
Her expression intrigued him. ‘Why do you work in the city?’ he asked curiously. ‘When it’s obvious your love is here?’
‘Sam’s home is in the city.’
‘You moved there when Sam’s parents died?’
‘Wouldn’t you?’
The question took him aback. Would he? He didn’t know, he thought. As the privileged child of wealthy parents he’d never been asked to make the sort of sacrifice Molly was making. Any kind of sacrifice, for that matter.
‘Kids are adaptable,’ he told her, thinking things through. ‘I assume you were living in the country at the time of the accident. Couldn’t Sam have moved there with you?’
‘I tried,’ she said briefly. ‘It was a disaster.’ Should she tell him the whole sad story of Michael? No way. She’d let herself love a rat and it had taken a tragedy to show that to her. She could no longer live in the same small town as Michael. It was hard enough to know he was in the same country.
‘Sam’s parents lived in a plush city apartment and he goes to an inner city school,’ she told him. ‘He needed continuity. So I moved.’
As simple as that. ‘But aren’t you-?’
‘Did you note the carrying capacity of those pastures?’ she demanded, switching track with a definite purpose. ‘It’s amazing. I’ve never read such figures for non-dairy country, and that’s without putting added nutrients on the pastures-something that hasn’t been done for years. If you were to invest in superphosphate-’
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