Lone Wolfe (2 page)

 
          
The
dreams were the worst, for he was vulnerable in sleep. For years he’d kept the
old nightmare at bay and it had ceased—almost—to hurt him. Yet since he’d returned
to Wolfe Manor the nightmare had returned in full force, and even worse than
that. Even in its aftershocks he could feel his clenched fist, hear the echo of
trembling, wild laughter.

 
          
He
took another breath and stilled his body, stilled his mind. The thoughts
retreated and the memories crouched, silent and waiting, in the corners of his
heart. Jacob flicked on the torch and began to walk.

 
          
He
knew most of the gardens now, for he’d taken to walking through them at night.
He doubted he’d ever cover every corner of the vast Wolfe estate, but the neat
paths, admittedly now overgrown, soothed him; the simple order of flowers,
shrubs and trees calmed him. He walked.

 
          
The
air cooled his heated skin, and his mind blanked, at least for a little while.
He thought of nothing. He walked with purpose, as if he were going somewhere,
yet in reality he had no destination.

 
          
Renovating the manor to sell it? You’re just
running away again
.

 
          
His
brother Jack’s scathing condemnation echoed emptily within him. Jack was still
angry with him for leaving in the first place; Jacob had expected that.
Understood that.
He’d already seen the flickers of
disappointment and pain in all of his siblings’ eyes during their various
reunions, even though they’d forgiven him. He’d reconciled with everyone except
Jack, and while he’d steeled himself to accept the pain he’d caused, he hadn’t
realised how much it would
hurt
.

 
          
How
the regret and guilt he’d pushed far, far down would rise up and threaten to
consume him, so he couldn’t think of anything else, feel anything else. He’d
abandoned his brothers and sister, and even though he’d accepted the fact and
even the need of it long ago, the reality of the hurt and confusion in their
faces near crippled him again with the old guilt.

 
          
Where
was his precious control now?

 
          
Jacob
stopped, for something danced in the corner of his vision. His senses prickled
to awareness, and he turned his head.

 
          
Light.

 
          
Light
was flickering through the trees, dancing amidst the shadows. Had teenagers
broken in again and started something in the woods? Fires, Jacob knew from his
long experience on building sites, could easily get out of control.

 
          
He
strode through the copse of birches that divided the once-ordered,
once-organised garden from a separate untamed wilderness. Determination drove
him; he had a purpose now.

 
          
He
stopped short when he emerged through the trees into another, smaller garden, a
place he’d never been before. In the centre of the garden a little stone
cottage was huddled like something out of a fairy tale, complete with a
miniature turret. And the fire was coming from inside, illuminating the
window-panes with its flickering light.

 
          
Jacob
had never even known about the existence of this cottage, but he sure as hell
knew it was on his property. And so was the trespasser inside it. The dream
he’d just escaped still flickered at the edges of his mind and fuelled the
anger that made him march towards the cottage.

 
          
He
stopped in front of a stable door whose top half was made of pretty mullioned
glass, and in one brutal, effective movement, kicked it open.

 
          
He
heard the scream first, one short, controlled shriek before it stopped, and in
the gloom of the cottage’s small front room he blinked, his vision focusing
slowly. A woman stood by the fireplace hearth, half bent over as she tended to
its flickering flames. The light from the fire danced over her hair, turning it
the same colour as the flames.

 
          
She
straightened now, a log still held in her hands.
A weapon.

 
          
Of
course, as a weapon it posed no threat. With nearly twenty years’ training in
the martial arts, Jacob knew he could disarm the trespasser in a matter of
seconds. But he wouldn’t hurt her. He wouldn’t hurt anyone ever again.

 
          
His
gaze flicked over her appearance; she was not what he’d expected. Auburn curls
cascaded down her back in an untamed riot, and her skin was as pale as milk.
She wore some stylish, trendy outfit, utterly unsuitable for a life in the
country.

 
          
What
was she doing here?

 
          
And
then her eyes, already dilated with shock, widened even further and the log
dropped from her hands.

 
          
‘Jacob?’

 
          
Mollie
hadn’t recognised Jacob Wolfe when he’d burst through her front door like a
madman from a horror film. She’d only screamed once, the sound abruptly cut off
as truth dawned, and with it shock. Jacob Wolfe—the lord of Wolfe Manor—had
returned. He was older, of course, and bigger, his body sinewy and yet with the
muscles of a man. Even in her shocked state Mollie took in the way the faded
grey T-shirt and old jeans clung to his powerful frame. His hair was dark and
rumpled and just a little long, his eyes dark too, black and cold. He held a
torch in his hand, and its beam was pointed directly at her.

 
          
It
was impossible. He was gone, maybe dead, disappeared in one afternoon, leaving
seven siblings broken-hearted. He hadn’t been seen or even heard from in twenty
years.

 
          
And
yet now he was here.
Here
, and as
Mollie stared at him, she felt a confusing welter of emotions: surprise,
relief, even a strange joy. And then, suddenly, a sharp needle of anger stabbed
her. She’d seen how Jacob’s departure had affected his siblings; from afar
she’d witnessed their own sorrows and struggles. And she’d struggled herself;
in the long, lonely years since Jacob had left, Mollie had wondered if the
crumbling of the manor and the wild ruin of the garden had speeded her father’s
own descent into dementia. She’d often imagined the seductive
what-ifs
… what if Jacob had stayed, if
all the Wolfes had stayed, if the manor had remained loved and lived in, and
the gardens as well …?

 
          
Yet
now it was too late. Now her father was dead, the Wolfes all gone, the manor a
falling-down wreck. Now Jacob was back, and Mollie wasn’t sure she was glad to
see him.

 
          
Standing
there now, staring at him, at his coldly composed face, so handsome, so blank,
she felt the bitterness rush back, filling the empty spaces in her heart and
mind.

 
          
‘You
know me?’ His words were careful, controlled and completely without emotion.

 
          
Mollie
let out a short, abrupt laugh. ‘Yes, I know you. And you know me, although you
obviously don’t remember. I know I was always easily forgotten.’ Even that
rankled. She’d watched the Wolfe siblings play together, seen them tramp off to
London to go to their fancy department store, and in some desperate corner of
her childish heart she’d been jealous. Their lives had been torn apart by
unhappiness and despair—who didn’t know that? Yet at least they’d always had
one another … until Jacob had left.

 
          
Jacob’s
eyes
narrowed,
and his gaze swept around the dismal
clutter of the cottage. Her bags still lay in a heap by the door, and Mollie
was conscious of all the things she hadn’t thrown out before she’d left,
because she hadn’t been ready to. Her father’s pipe and tobacco pouch on the
mantel, his coat hanging on the door. Even her father’s post was stacked on the
table, a jumble of flyers and bills and letters that no one would ever answer.

 
          
‘You’re
the gardener’s girl.’

 
          
Indignation
rose up inside her; it tasted sour in her mouth. ‘His name was Henry Parker.’

 
          
Jacob
turned to face her again. His eyes were cold and grey and so very shrewd.
‘Was?’

 
          
‘He
died seven months ago,’ Mollie replied stiffly.

 
          
‘I’m
sorry.’ Mollie nodded jerkily in acceptance and Jacob’s glance flicked to the
suitcases by the door. ‘You just returned …?’

 
          
‘I’ve
been in Italy.’ Mollie realised how it sounded; her father died and she swanned
off to Italy?

 
          
She
refused to explain herself. Jacob Wolfe could think what he liked. She would
not make excuses. He did not deserve explanations.

 
          
‘I
see.’ And Mollie knew just how much he thought he saw. ‘And you returned to the
cottage because …?’ It wasn’t so much a question as an accusation.

 
          
‘Because
this is my home,’ Mollie replied.
‘And has been since I was
born.
You may have run out on Wolfe Manor, but that doesn’t mean the
rest of us did.’

 
          
Jacob
tensed, his body stilling, and Mollie felt the sense of latent anger like a
shiver through the room. Then he relaxed and arched one eyebrow, the expression
eloquently contemptuous. ‘Wolfe Manor is your home?’ he inquired with a
dangerous softness.

 
          
Fury
raced through Mollie’s veins and burst in her heart. ‘Yes, it is, and always
has been,’ she snapped.
‘Even if you never thought of it that
way.
But don’t worry,’ she continued before Jacob could say something
scathing in reply, ‘I’m not staying long. I just came back to pack up my things
and then I’ll be on my way.’

 
          
Jacob
folded his arms.
‘Very well.’
His glance took in the
small, cluttered cottage. ‘That shouldn’t take too long.’

 
          
Mollie’s
mouth dropped open in indignant outrage as she realised what he was implying.
‘You want me to leave
tonight?’

 
          
‘I’m
not completely heartless, despite what you seem to think,’ Jacob said coolly.
‘You can stay the night.’

 
          
Mollie
swallowed. ‘And then?’

 
          
‘This
is private property, Miss Parker.’

 
          
Staring
at him now, his eyes so black and pitiless, his expression utterly unyielding,
every grudge and hurt she’d held against Jacob Wolfe crowded her mind and burst
from her lips.

 
          
‘Oh,
I see,’ she managed, choking a little on the words. ‘You don’t have enough
space up at the manor. You need this little cottage as well.’

 
          
‘It’s
private property,’ Jacob repeated. His expression didn’t flicker.

 
          
‘It
was my
home,’
Mollie threw at him.
Her voice shook, but only a little bit.
‘And my father’s
home.
He died in the bed upstairs—’ She stopped the words, the memory,
because she didn’t want Jacob sharing it. She certainly didn’t want him to pity
her. Besides her four years doing a degree in horticulture, this had been the
only home she’d ever known. It churned in her gut and burned in her heart that
Jacob Wolfe was going to throw her out without so much as a flicker of regret
or apology, especially considering how her father had given his very life for
the wretched Wolfe family.

 
          
Yet
how she could protest? She’d been living here rent-free for years, and Jacob
was right, it
was
private property.
It had never been hers. She’d grown up with that knowledge heavy in her heart;
she could certainly live with it now. She swallowed, lifted her chin.

 
          
‘Fine.
I need a little time to go through my father’s
things, but then the cottage is all yours.’ It hurt to say it, to act so
nonchalant, yet Mollie forced herself to meet Jacob’s hard gaze. He was just
speeding up her plans by a few days or
weeks, that was
all.