On his property.
Why had Mollie Parker gone off to Italy the moment her father had died? Why had she returned? And what was he going to do with her now? The look of uncertainty and fear in those soft, pansy-brown eyes annoyed him, because he didn’t want to deal with it. He didn’t want to deal with the outraged Miss Mollie Parker. He had enough to worry about, managing the renovation and sale of Wolfe Manor, and attempting, as best as he could, to repair his fractured family. Concerning himself with a stranger’s well-being was not on his agenda. He didn’t need the feeling those proud yet pleading eyes stirred in him: something between curiosity and compassion, something real and alive. He hadn’t felt anything like that in … years. Nineteen years.
And he wasn’t about to feel it again.
He watched her gaze steal to the boots by the door. Her father’s boots, he suspected. Seven months on, she would still be grieving. He felt an uncomfortable jab in his conscience as he realised he could have been more sensitive; the unexpectedness of her presence, and her vulnerability, had caught him on the raw. For a single moment, with her fancy clothes and her trip to Italy, he’d assumed the worst. It had not taken long to realise his mistake, but then, it never did.
Still, Jacob didn’t want to have to deal with her. Think of her. Be affected by her. And yet something in her eyes reached out to him, spoke to him, and despite his misgivings and even his fear, he answered that silent call.
He would help her and at the same time assuage his own conscience. He’d given her the commission of a lifetime.
‘Work for you?’ Mollie repeated incredulously. She felt another sharp stab of anger. ‘My father worked for you for fifty years, and for the past fifteen he didn’t even get a pay cheque.’
Jacob stilled. Mollie realised she’d surprised him. She wondered if he’d thought of her father at all in the past nineteen years. He obviously hadn’t concerned himself for a moment with her. ‘I’m not talking about your father,’ he replied after a moment. ‘You are the one in need of a place to stay, and I happen to be in need of—’
‘I won’t be your maid. Or your cook. Or—’ ‘Landscape designer?’ Jacob finished softly. Mollie almost thought she heard laughter lurking in his voice. She must have imagined it, she decided, for Jacob’s expression was as coldly foreboding as ever.
‘Landscape designer?’ she repeated, testing the words. ‘You can’t—’
‘You told me you were planning to start a garden design business. And I happen to need someone to landscape the estate’s gardens.’
Mollie blinked, realisation dawning. ‘That’s—that’s a huge job,’ she replied faintly.
Jacob lifted one shoulder in an indifferent shrug. ‘So?’
‘But … a job like that …’ She paused, her heart beating with sudden, frantic desperation. She didn’t want to disqualify herself for such an amazing opportunity, but her own conscience required that she explain to Jacob the absurdity of what he was suggesting. ‘An offer like that should go to a much more experienced landscaper,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s a huge commission.’
‘I know,’ Jacob replied drily. ‘And you do too, apparently, yet you’re throwing it away with both hands.’
‘Why are you asking me?’ Mollie persisted. She could not fathom why Jacob Wolfe, after so many years away, would now offer her such a huge commission, and without even reviewing a CV or reference! Looking into his cold, hard eyes, he did not seem like a man to be moved by pity. So what did he want?
‘Because you’re here,’ Jacob replied, his voice edged with impatience, ‘and I need a landscape designer. I also need to turn around this place quickly, and I don’t have time to trawl through endless CVs of hopeful gardeners.’
‘Turn around?’ Mollie repeated. ‘You’re selling Wolfe Manor?’
Jacob’s mouth curved in a smile that was both bitter and mocking; there was nothing warm or funny or even human about it. Yet somehow the sight of that cruel little smile made Mollie feel only sad. No one should smile like that. She couldn’t even imagine the feelings that lay behind it, inside him. ‘Too much space for just one person,’ he said softly.
Heat flooded her face as she recalled the words she’d thrown at him. You don’t have enough space up at the manor. Well, she’d been angry. And she still didn’t know what Jacob Wolfe was about. Was he doing her a favour? Was this really pity? The thought made her want to throw the commission right back in his face, even if it was the stupidest thing she’d ever do in her life. ‘Still—’
‘It’s late,’ Jacob cut her off. ‘And frankly, when I went for a relaxing midnight stroll, intruders were not on my mind. If you’re so concerned about your own abilities, you can show me some initial designs tomorrow.’ He turned to the door he’d so unceremoniously kicked in just moments before. ‘And if you don’t, you can start packing tonight.’
Mollie watched him leave, his tall frame swallowed up by the darkness, and she sagged against the fireplace hearth. She glanced at the cosy glow she’d created moments before; all that was left was smoking ash.
Her mind spun in dizzying circles. It was all too much to process: coming back home, seeing her father’s things, meeting Jacob Wolfe again and now this commission… . The past and the present had come together with an almighty crash.
Sighing wearily, Mollie pushed her tumbled thoughts to the back of her already disordered mind and, after closing the door—Jacob had as good as vanished into the night—she retrieved her torch and headed upstairs. It didn’t matter that there was no light, or water, or even food in the non-working refrigerator. There were sheets on the bed, only a little musty and damp, and she was exhausted.
Kicking off her Italian leather boots, shedding the clothes that she’d never truly felt comfortable in, Mollie tumbled into bed and then gratefully, blissfully, into sleep.
She woke to bright summer sunlight streaming in through the diamond-paned windows of her bedroom. She blinked, groggily, yet within seconds it all came crashing back: the cottage, the job, Jacob.
She leaned back against her pillow and closed her eyes, yet the image of Jacob danced before her closed lids. He’d looked so much older, so much more rugged and weary somehow. What had he been doing for the past nineteen years? Why had he come back now? Was he in need of a little cash? Was that why he was selling Wolfe Manor?
Mollie told herself not to rush to conclusions. She’d thrown enough accusations at Jacob last night. She’d tried and judged him years ago, even when Annabelle, who as his younger sister had far more cause, had not. Annabelle, when she’d talked of her family, which had been rarely, had always seemed willing to forgive Jacob, to assume the best.
Last night Mollie had assumed the worst.
Had Annabelle seen Jacob? Did she know he was back? Did any of the Wolfe siblings know? So many questions. So few answers. And, Mollie acknowledged, sighing, none of it really concerned her anyway. She’d always danced on the farthest fringes of the Wolfe family, watching as Jacob and Lucas took their younger siblings out for a picnic, or played hide-and-seek amidst the vast grounds. No one had ever known she existed, until Jacob had left and Annabelle, scarred both inside and out, had retreated to the manor, refusing to show her face in public again. Then Mollie had been a friend, because she didn’t have any others.
But the other Wolfes—Jacob included—had never so much as looked in her direction. And they’d never considered what it would mean to her or her father to let Wolfe Manor fall into such desperate disrepair.
Shrugging these