A Millionaire For Molly

‘And Guy?’ Molly said gently, and he paused, hand on the doorknob.

‘Yes?’

‘If you want my advice you’d think about the desirability of elopement, you’d cut back on bridesmaids, you’d buy yourself a pair of white shoes and you’d stop on the way and buy out a florist.’

He thought that through. ‘You mean buy her a bunch of flowers?’

The man was thick as Sam’s frogs. ‘No, Guy, I do not mean a bunch. What Angela needs is a statement. You need to buy a carload of flowers. Or a truckload, for that matter.’

‘What…? Why…?’

She sighed. ‘Guy, she’s left her jacket here and it’s cold. She’ll be sitting on the landing, feeling bereft and sorry for herself.’ What was she doing? Molly thought. This had to be one of the most magnanimous gestures of her adult life. Angie had done the dirty on her. She didn’t deserve help like this.

Nevertheless… ‘What she needs is a hero on a white charger,’ she told him. ‘Or her wonderful Guy loaded with so many flowers that she’s blanketed with them.’

‘It seems a bit excessive,’ he said cautiously, and Molly almost brained him with a leg of the froghouse.

‘Fine, then. Be boring. See where that gets you.’

‘You really think that would work?’

‘I really think so.’

He sighed and spread his hands. ‘I’ll do it.’

‘Great. Oh, and Guy?’

‘Yes?’

‘Try to let her think that it was all your idea-and if anyone in this room ever tells her it wasn’t then I’ll personally nail them to the floor by their toenails.’

‘Um…right.’

She grinned and flipped the door open for him. ‘Go for it, kid. James Bond to the rescue.’

‘Oh, and Mr Bond…?’ Jackson pushed himself to his feet and grinned at Guy, and then at Sam. ‘Young Sam here is in his school uniform.’ He addressed Sam, who’d been fiddling with the aluminium legs. ‘Does wearing your uniform signify you should be in school, Sam?’

‘I ought to be,’ Sam told him truthfully. ‘But it doesn’t matter if I’m late ’cos I promised Molly I can still be a brain surgeon and Molly said it’s National Frog Day.’

Not many men could take that on board as quickly as Jackson but he did it without a blink. ‘National Frog Day?’ An eyebrow quirked upward. ‘Very original. But, Sam, brain surgery takes real application and you can’t start too young. Do you have everything ready for school?’

‘Yes,’ Sam admitted, reluctantly. ‘But we haven’t finished the froghouse.’

‘I’ll finish the froghouse. Guy, how do you feel about giving Sam a ride to school on your way to rescue your damsel?’

‘But-’

‘You know,’ he said gently, ‘Molly has given you the means to do the rescuing. You do owe her.’

And Guy relented. Boring or not, he really was a very nice man. He sighed. ‘Sure. Of course I can. That’s fine, Sam. If it’s okay with you.’

‘That’s great.’ Jackson beamed at this very satisfactory outcome for all concerned and swung the door wide. ‘Off you go, then, children. Drive carefully. Off to learn to be a brain surgeon and rescue maidens in distress. What better way to face the world?’

Which left Guy and Sam disappearing hopefully out through the door and Jackson firmly closing the door behind them.

And turning to face Molly.

CHAPTER NINE

SILENCE.

The silence went on and on. Let the floor open up and swallow me, Molly pleaded to someone who obviously wasn’t listening. How can I be stuck alone with him?

‘Thank you for the froghouse,’ she managed at last. ‘But there’s no need for you to stay.’

‘On the contrary, there’s every need. We’re going out for lunch and we haven’t finished building.’

‘I can put it together myself.’ She swallowed and fought for some dignity. ‘Thank you for giving it to Sam. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.’

‘And you won’t?’

‘Yes,’ she snapped, abandoning dignity forthwith. ‘You’re putting it in front of the television. Great. I like watching a tank of frogs instead of television.’

‘I knew you would.’ He grinned. ‘You look that sort of girl.’

‘You have no idea of what sort of girl I am.’

‘Now, that’s where you’re wrong,’ he told her, his voice growing serious. ‘Because I’ve got it figured.’

‘I don’t want to hear.’

But he was brooking no interruption, talking almost to himself. ‘You’re the sort of girl who’d drop everything when her nephew’s orphaned-drop the life you love-come to a city that you hate. Put up with your nerdy cousin and put your life on hold…’

‘For my nephew,’ she snapped. ‘And a great guardian I make, I don’t think. I slept in today. I drank too much last night and I didn’t even get Sam to school on time. Social welfare would have a field-day.’

‘So how many times have you drunk too much since Sam was orphaned?’

‘Just last night.’

‘Then stop the self-blame. Anyone could see you had an excuse last night. It doesn’t take an Einstein to figure out what happened. Angela arrived, having broken off her engagement. You were keeping her company.’ His mouth quirked in laughter. ‘Berating men in general.’ He looked at her, his eyes searching and seeing maybe more than she wanted him to. ‘And now Angela bolts, leaving you to face the music, yet you do your best to repair her relationship. Her man’s off to buy the city out of flowers…’

She let herself get distracted. ‘Do you think he will?’

‘If he doesn’t, he’s a fool. You’ve handed him his salvation on a platter-and, considering the fact that Angela did the dirty on you, I’d call it a very generous salvation at that.’ He grinned and motioned to the sideboard. ‘Pity about the keys.’

The keys! Molly’s gaze swung to the sideboard, where he was pointing. Oh, for heaven’s sake, Guy had left the keys behind.

‘You saw! You let him go!’

‘Let’s just say I didn’t think Angela should be let off scot-free…’

Silence again. Molly tried a glower but it didn’t come off. He was smiling at her, and his smile was enough to unwoman her completely. It made her want to melt…

Melting was hardly appropriate.

‘It’s stupid,’ she said inconsequentially, to no one in particular. ‘It’s not Angela I’m mad at. You’re the one who’s the rat.’

‘I’m a rat?’ Those mobile eyebrows rose. ‘How can I be a rat? I’m buying a farm from you, and I saved your job, and I brought you a froghouse.’

She took a deep breath, searching for the words, and in the end only three would do. ‘You kissed me.’

There. The thing was said. It hung between them, a bald statement of fact with nowhere to go.

‘I kissed you.’ His smile faded. He eyed her warily and Molly thought-not for the first time-a scanty bath-wrap with moonbeams all over it was hardly the most dignified covering for the discussion she was having.

No matter. She forged on with resolution. ‘Yes.’

‘Does kissing you make me a rat?’

There was only one answer to that. ‘When you’re committed to another woman it does.’

He thought that through. The newspaper, he thought. Hell, she’d seen it.