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.’
‘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