Lone Wolfe (21 page)

 
          
Love
had nothing to do with it. She didn’t even know Jacob well enough to love him,
or wonder if she could love him. They’d spent a handful of days together, days
out of time, out of reality. It was ridiculous to think it could amount to
anything. It was absurd to still feel so bereft.

 
          
Yet
she did. Memories played through her mind like music, haunting, discordant
notes that created a symphony of longing. She saw Jacob’s small smile, that
little tug on the corner of his mouth that reached right down inside of her.
She remembered how he’d thought to show her her father’s rose, and how he’d
given her the gift of boots after the rip in her own had ruined his rug. And
then the more painful memories of lips and hands and skin, of feeling complete
and whole and
known
in his arms, and
wanting it again, wanting it for ever.

 
          
Groaning
aloud, Mollie changed quickly and dragged a brush through her unruly curls.

 
          
‘Stop
it, stop it, stop it,’ she muttered, and hurried towards the narrow, twisting
staircase she’d gone up and down a thousand times. Her foot caught on the
broken brass runner at the top of the stair and in slow motion, so she almost
felt as if she were witnessing the whole excruciating episode from a distance;
she fell down those steep, narrow stairs, head over heels, feeling each jarring
bump in every bone in her body, before she landed at the bottom, smacking her
temple hard against the stone hearth of the fireplace.

 
          
She
heard the resounding thwack; it was the last thing she heard. Before she could
even register a thought besides
That
hurt
, her
world went black.

 
          
Jacob
had been feeling out of sorts ever since he had returned from London and left
Mollie storming off in the rain.

 
          
He
hadn’t seen her since. He’d glimpsed her from a distance, working in the
garden, and he’d wanted to go out there and snatch her into his arms, kiss away
his reservations and regrets, forget the past and its awful secrets, or at
least pretend they didn’t matter.

 
          
He
didn’t.

 
          
He
couldn’t.

 
          
Instead
he immersed himself in work, overseeing the design of a new eco-friendly office
building in Rio de Janeiro. He checked on the work on Wolfe Manor, telling
himself he was relieved to see that it was progressing nicely. He could put the
place on the market by the end of the month.

 
          
Why
did that thought now make him ache in a way he never had before? He’d never had
an affection
for this place, never wanted to darken
its door again. Yet the thought of leaving it, leaving all the memories behind
as if they’d never been, suddenly seemed both unwanted and impossible.

 
          
How can you start fresh, without first
dealing with the past?

 
          
He’d
asked that question of Mollie. He’d convinced her she needed to stay and make
the garden whole, that it would be a way of redeeming those lost, lonely years
with her father.

 
          
Redemption
was possible for her.

 
          
He’d
never thought it was for him. He couldn’t start fresh; he couldn’t deal with
the past.

 
          
You’ve got all these terrible secrets, but
you won’t even tell me what they are …

 
          
The
only way he could deal with the past was to speak of it. Admit the truth to
Mollie. Even if he lost her, at least he would have been honest.

 
          
You know what that makes you, Jacob?
A coward
.

 
          
Yes,
Jacob thought, Mollie was right. He
was
a coward. He’d told Mollie she didn’t know or understand him, and he knew why.

 
          
Because you never gave her a
chance
.

 
          
The
sound of someone knocking at the front door of the manor jolted him out of his
thoughts, and he strode to it, feeling relief at the interruption.

 
          
‘Mr
…’
The
man on the doorstep looked down at his work
order dubiously. ‘Wolfe?’

 
          
‘Yes?’

 
          
‘I
was supposed to meet your landscaper at two o’clock at the garden gate. Nobody
showed up and she hasn’t answered her mobile so I wondered if you knew what was
going on?’ His voice lilted upwards hopefully, and Jacob frowned as he checked
his watch. It was half past two. If Mollie had made an appointment, he knew
she’d keep it. She’d been working feverishly these past few days. He’d seen her
in the garden as dawn lit the sky and as dusk settled.

 
          
‘She’s
not here,’ he told the tree surgeon tersely. ‘She’s probably in the gardens
somewhere, and she lost track of time.’ Yet he realised he was speaking as much
to himself as to the man in front of him, and he heard the thread of fear in
his voice, felt it snake coldly through his body. ‘I’ll go have a look,’ he
said, and the man followed him around the house to the gardens.

 
          
By
silent, mutual agreement, they separated, moving in different directions to
cover more of the extensive grounds. Jacob strode through the terraced gardens,
their neat rows open and exposed, seeing quickly that Mollie wasn’t there. He
went to the Children’s Garden, remembering how she’d sat musing under the lilac
bush, her smooth forehead puckered into a frown, the way she’d smiled when
she’d seen him. She wasn’t there. The Rose

 
          
Garden
was completely empty, the beds still neatly ploughed under.
Where was she?

 
          
Finally
he headed to the place he probably should have checked first: the cottage. It
sat in its hidden little garden, dark and still. He knocked on the front door,
but the sound just echoed.

 
          
After
a second’s pause Jacob turned the handle and poked his head around the door.
‘Mollie …?’ he called, and then he saw her.

 
          
Jacob
cursed viciously as he flung the door wide and hurried over to where Mollie lay
sprawled at the bottom of stairs, blood trickling down her cheek. For a moment
he felt a terrible sense of déjà vu; it roiled through him in a sickening wave
and he nearly stumbled.

 
          
Again.
It had happened again. And once again he’d been too
late.

 
          
He
bent, turning her over, feeling how light and fragile she seemed in his arms.
Her head lolled back and he saw the vivid purple bruise on her forehead.

 
          
She’d
fallen, he realised. She’d fallen on the damn stairs. He scooped her up,
cradling her against his body as he reached for his mobile, and with his free
hand stabbed the numbers 999.

 
          
Mollie
came slowly to consciousness, like a swimmer rising to the surface of the
water. She felt heavy, as if her limbs were weighted down. And her head
throbbed abominably.

 
          
Her
eyes fluttered open and she blinked at the bright light. She was in a hospital
room, sterile and neat, a view of sky and trees visible from the one window.
And Jacob stood next to it, his back to her, staring out at the darkening sky.

 
          
She
must have made some small sound, for he turned suddenly, gazing at her with an
intense anxiety that had emotion clogging her throat and stinging her eyes. She
tried to smile.

 
          
‘How
bad do I look?’

 
          
‘Pretty bad.’
Jacob gave her a small smile, although Mollie
could see his eyes were still dark and shadowed.
‘And
wonderful.
I was worried about you. You’ve been unconscious for six
hours.’

 
          
‘Goodness.’
Mollie closed her eyes again as the world swam sickeningly.
‘How
stupid of me.’

 
          
‘Do
you know what happened?’

 
          
‘I
think I fell down the stairs.’ She winced. ‘Rather hard.’

 
          
‘If
you hadn’t had that appointment with the tree surgeon …’ Jacob said, breaking
off suddenly. Mollie opened her eyes and saw his face tense, twist.

 
          
‘What
…?’ she whispered.

 
          
‘You
could have lain there for hours,’ Jacob said savagely. ‘And nobody would have
known. You could have died.’

 
          
She
tried to smile, but even that hurt. ‘I would have woken up and crawled to the
phone.’

 
          
‘I’m
serious, Mollie. I’ve been staying away from you for both of our sakes and look
what happened.’

 
          
‘Tell
me you’re not going to blame yourself for this too,’ Mollie said. ‘Please.’
Jacob felt silent, and she shook her head. ‘Jacob, you cannot take the whole
bloody world on your shoulders. You’re not God. You’re not even Atlas.’ His
mouth tightened, his eyes flashing, but she continued anyway. ‘I fell down the
stairs. It was an
accident.’
She
thought of Annabelle, and how her father had whipped her at the bottom of the
manor stairs. She knew that much. ‘It’s not like before, Jacob,’ she whispered.
‘It’s not your fault.’

 
          
‘If
I—’

 
          
‘No
ifs.’ She cut him off, even though it made her head throb. ‘What were you going
to do? Check up on me every half-hour? Tuck me into bed?’
That
made her think
of other things, other memories, so she hurried on. ‘I’m
an adult. Accidents happen. I’m just glad the tree surgeon had the foresight to
seek you out when I didn’t show up.’ She smiled at him, wanting to smooth the
deep crease between his eyebrows. ‘And that you had the tenacity to look for
me—and find me.’

 
          
Jacob
met her gaze, saw her smile. Mollie felt the tug between them; it was still
there. It had always been there, perhaps even when she’d been a child. Even
then she’d been drawn to him, to his tall, dark presence, to the strength and
stability of him. ‘Even so,’ Jacob said, his words final, ‘it won’t happen
again.’

 
          
Mollie
leaned her head back against the pillow. ‘Well, I’ll try not to trip. I need to
fix the runner.’

 
          
‘No,’
Jacob replied. ‘You’re not going back to the cottage. You’ll stay at Wolfe
Manor with me.’

 
          
‘What?’
Mollie struggled up to a sitting
position, only to fall back against the pillows, exhausted. ‘That’s not
necessary—’

 
          
‘Yes,
it is.’

 
          
‘For
you, maybe, and your overblown sense of duty,’ she snapped. She was tired of
Jacob’s staggering sense of responsibility for everyone and everything. She
couldn’t compete with it. ‘I’m perfectly fine without you.’ That wasn’t
completely true, but she could certainly live alone like any normal adult.

 
          
‘That
may be, but I’m not risking something like this happening again.’

 
          
‘Why
don’t you just put a monitor on me?’ Mollie demanded waspishly. ‘Or imbed a
computer chip in my head?’

 
          
Jacob
smiled faintly, although his eyes were hard with determination. ‘That’s not a
bad idea.’

 
          
Mollie
let out a short, dry laugh and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath.
‘Jacob,’ she said, opening them, ‘you are not responsible for me.’