‘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…

‘There. Okay?’ He looked up at her and smiled, and she felt her heart do a crazy shift beneath her ribcage. Oh, for heaven’s sake!

‘Yes. Thank you. Now—’

‘Now your frog.’ He was still smiling at her, and it was a killer smile.

Angela handed over Lionel’s box, where he’d been placed for safekeeping. She looked at her friend strangely as she did so. It wasn’t like Molly to be this flustered. Interesting…

But Molly was still oblivious to anyone but Jackson. He had her mesmerised. He placed Lionel into her good hand and proceeded to do exactly what he’d promised, whittling a tiny splint, adjusting the leg so it was straight against the reed and then tying it carefully in place.

‘It’s as if he knows you’re helping him,’ Molly said, awed, and Jackson cast her another curious glance.

‘Yes.’

‘How long does he need to wear it?’

‘Maybe a couple of weeks. You’ll see the leg heal over.’

‘I can’t thank you enough.’

‘My lawyer did the damage.’ He lifted Lionel’s box and seemed to approve of what he saw. Sam had lined the box with plastic and soggy plant litter for the frog’s bed. ‘This is a great little recuperation unit.’ He lowered Lionel in and closed the box. ‘All done.’

‘Fantastic.’

‘And now you. You’ve had a shock. Would you like Mr Francis and I to drop you home?’

But enough was enough. The man was starting to seriously unnerve her, and she had a business relationship to maintain.

‘Thank you, but I’ll be fine.’

‘She’d like you to take her,’ Angela volunteered, but got a glower from Molly. Molly took a deep breath and took hold of the situation. Somehow.

‘I’ll see you at nine tomorrow,’ she told him.

He paused and looked down at her, still with that trace of confusion in his eyes.

‘With a chaperon?’

There was only one answer to that. ‘Certainly with a chaperon.’

He smiled at that, and once again his hand came out and touched her cheek.

‘Very wise. Okay, Miss Farr. I’ll see you tomorrow at nine. Take care of your hand. And your frog.’

And with that he was gone, leaving everyone in the office staring after him.

‘Molly, can I come? Please, can I come? You’ll need help and I can help you. I won’t even cramp your style.’ Jackson was no sooner out of the door than Angela’s clutch on her arm intensified. ‘I’d make a great chaperon.’

‘Thanks, but I’ll find my own chaperon.’ Molly managed a smile, albeit a weak one.

‘I need to go with you,’ Trevor told her. ‘This is my real estate firm.’

It might be, but it didn’t seem like it. The family firm had been handed down to this, the third Trevor Farr, and under his expert guidance it showed every sign of heading for bankruptcy. Trevor’s father had spoken to Molly at her sister’s funeral and persuaded her to give the place a try.

‘If you need a job in the city then I’d be grateful if you could join the family firm. Work under Trevor for a while as you get used to the city. You can learn the city trade from him—and he can certainly learn things from you. You’re the best.’

Until then she’d worked selling farms from her base on the south coast. Selling city property was a very different thing, she’d discovered, and her cousin was proving to be a millstone around her neck. Weak and ineffectual, he’d resented her competence from the start.

‘I can cope on my own,’ she told him now. She gave him a sympathetic smile. ‘I have a strong feeling that Mr Baird doesn’t want you or Mr Francis involved, and if his preferences mean a sale… How much did you say Mrs Copeland has on the place?’

Trevor swallowed. ‘Three million.’

Molly practically gaped. Three million. Whew.

‘Don’t mess it up.’

‘I won’t.’

‘Do you have someone respectable to take as a chaperon?’ Trevor might be a dope but he wasn’t completely heartless. Or he knew he’d have his father to answer to if anything went wrong. ‘The man’s got a reputation a mile long. Angela’s not suitable.’

‘Angela’s definitely not suitable,’ she agreed, managing a twinkle at her friend.

‘You have someone in mind?’

‘I do.’

Trevor paused, baffled at her lack of communication. ‘I suppose it’s all right, then.’

‘I suppose it is.’

‘Your hand’s not too sore to keep working? You’d better get moving if you want a Section Thirty-Two prepared.’

‘I’ll do it now.’ She flexed her fingers and winced, but Trevor was the only other person here capable of sorting the paperwork for such a property, and help from Trevor was the last thing she’d get.

‘Right,’ she said. ‘Let’s get on with selling Mr Baird a farm.’

CHAPTER TWO

THANK heaven Lionel wasn’t dead.

Sam was stoic, as Molly had known he would be. He’d been stoic for six months now. He’d taken every bit of dreadful news on the chin. Now his face was pinched, but blank, and when Molly tried to hug him he held back. As always.

‘I shouldn’t have kept him in the first place,’ he said miserably.

No. But then there was a no pets rule in their highrise apartment, so Sam had had nothing. They’d found the frog while they’d been crossing a busy Sydney street. It had been raining, there had been traffic everywhere, and Lionel had been sitting right in the middle of the road. He was a suicidal frog if ever there was one, and when Sam had pocketed him Molly hadn’t protested. Where he’d been, the frog would have been doomed.

May he not be doomed now, she thought, looking at the intricate arrangement of ponds Sam had rigged up on the bathroom floor.

‘I’ll have to clean all this up when he dies.’ The little boy put his hands in his pockets and tucked his chin into his chest. Molly knew there were tears waiting to get out. They’d wait a while. Molly cried. Sam didn’t.

‘He won’t die. Mr Baird said so.’

‘I guess frogs don’t live very long anyway.’

Darn, it was so unfair. If Molly had her way, frogs would live for ever. But she had to be truthful. ‘I guess they don’t,’ she agreed, and laid a hand tentatively on his arm. But, as always, he pulled away. He was such an isolated child. It was as if losing his parents had made him afraid to trust.

And why should he trust? Molly thought bitterly. She couldn’t even keep a frog safe.

‘We’ve been asked to go to a farm for the weekend,’ she said, trying to divert him. ‘We’ll take Lionel. It can be a convalescent farm.’

‘A farm?’

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t like farms.’

‘Have you ever been to one?’

‘No.’

‘Then—’

‘I don’t like them. I want to stay here.’

Sure. And lie on his bed and stare at the ceiling as he did in every spare minute. ‘Sam, Mr Baird has invited both of us.’

‘He doesn’t want me.’

‘I’m very sure he does.’

‘I don’t want to go.’

‘You’re going,’ Molly said with more determination than she felt. ‘We’re both going and we’ll enjoy it very much.’

A weekend with Jackson Baird. Could she enjoy it?

There was a dangerous part of her mind that was telling her she could enjoy it very much indeed.

‘Cara?’

‘Jackson. How nice.’ Cara might be on the other side of the Atlantic but her pleasure was tangible. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’

‘I think I might have found a property that could suit both our needs.’

‘Really?’

‘Really. It’s been used as a horse stud in the past. It’s in a magnificent location and it sounds wonderful. Do you want to get on a plane and come and see it?’

Silence. Then, ‘Darling, I’m so busy.’

When was she not? Jackson grinned. ‘You mean you’ll leave it to me?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘And if I buy it and you don’t like it?’

‘Then you’ll just have to buy me another one.’

‘Oh, right. Cara—?’

‘Darling, I really can’t come. There’s something… Well, there’s something happening that’s taking all my attention, and I daren’t say anything about it yet in case it evaporates in the mist. But I trust you.’

He grinned again. Another scheme. His half-sister always had schemes, but he trusted her implicitly, as he knew she trusted him. ‘Millions wouldn’t,’ he told her.

‘But you’re one in a million. And don’t you know it?’

‘Yeah, and I love you, too.’

A chuckle and the line went dead, leaving Jackson staring down at the receiver.

Was this really a good idea?

‘Okay, I give up. You’re not going to ask me, are you?’

‘Sorry?’ Her friend stood on the doorstep late that night and Molly blinked. Angela was wearing a slinky, shimmery dress, her beads reached her waist and her hair was done up in some kind of fantastic arrangement of peacock feathers. Now she spun around for inspection.

‘I’m off to a Roaring Twenties party. Guy is turning thirty, poor lamb, so we’re having a last gasp at celebrating the twenties for him. Do you like my outfit?’

‘I love it.’

‘You know you could come.’

‘And you know I can’t.’

It was impossible, Molly thought. Social life was impossible.

Until Sarah died Molly had been running her estate agency on the coast. She’d been one of the most successful realtors in the business, going from strength to strength. Her love life, too, had been exceedingly satisfactory. Michael was the local solicitor and everyone had said they made the perfect couple.

Their combined life plans hadn’t included Sam, though. ‘Put him in a boarding school,’ Michael had decreed when Sarah died, but Molly hadn’t. Nor had she torn Sam away from his home in inner Sydney, though she was now starting to question the wisdom of moving here.

The city property market was hard to break into. Her cousin was a toad. Sam’s school was less than satisfactory, and she couldn’t afford to change him to a better one. Sam was miserable, and she was so darned lonely herself!

But leaving Sam with babysitters wouldn’t solve anything. He woke with nightmares and she had to be there. After all, she was all he had.

‘Hey, cheer up,’ Angela told her, watching her face. ‘You’re about to spend the weekend with Australia’s most eligible bachelor.’

She was, but the crazy thing was that she didn’t want to go.

Like Sam, Molly still felt like closing all doors. Since Sarah’s death the world had become a dangerous place. The newspapers hurled bad news at her, television shows seemed dark and threatening—and if it was like this for her, how much more so for a small boy who’d lost everything?

‘Is the frog okay?’ Angela asked.

‘He seems great.’

‘Thanks to Jackson.’

‘If it wasn’t for Jackson, Lionel wouldn’t be injured.’

But Angela was determined to state his case. ‘It was Jackson’s lawyer who did the damage. Jackson himself was kind.’

‘The man’s dangerous. He has a reputation to put Casanova to shame.’

‘Lucky you.’ Angela sighed theatrically. ‘My Guy is boring.’

‘Boring is safe.’

‘Now, that…’ Angela tottered into Molly’s living room on ridiculously high heels and fell onto a settee ‘…is why I’m here. To stop you being boring. To get back to my original question: you’re not going to ask me, are you?’

‘To do what?’

‘To be your chaperon.’

‘No.’

‘You intend to take Sam, right?’

‘Right.’

Angela took a deep breath. ‘Well, I’ve decided to forgive you for not taking me. Though why I should, I don’t know. Because with me there you wouldn’t get a look-in. I’d sweep the man off his feet in two seconds flat.’

‘But you have Guy. Your fiancé, remember?’

Angela grinned. ‘That’s right. I have Guy, and as nobility is my middle name—’

‘Oh, please!’

‘Don’t interrupt me when I’m being noble. I’ve decided to offer my services as babysitter. For Sam. And for Lionel. There.’ She beamed. ‘How noble’s that?’

‘Very noble.’ Molly winced. Her hand hurt, she was dead tired and she had mountains of paperwork to plough through before bedtime. And what her friend was suggesting was impossible. ‘Angela, thanks for the offer, but you know I can’t leave Sam.’

‘He’ll be fine with me.’

‘He’ll be stoic. He’s always stoic and it breaks my heart.’

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.’

Jackson’s deep eyes flashed up to Molly and there was the trace of laughter behind his serious gaze. ‘There you go, then. I told you. Ancient. My grandpa died when I was twenty-eight, but for the time between being ten and being twenty-eight not a sausage died. Not even a frog.’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’ He grinned. ‘So maybe you’ll be that lucky.’

‘Maybe I won’t.’

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