Lone Wolfe by Kate Hewitt Page B

flexed his arms, his hands on the
wheel, and Mollie could tell how uncomfortable the whole conversation made him.
He wasn’t a man used to talking—or even thinking—about himself. ‘I did some
building work, and had a look at the designs. I thought I could improve them,
and so I tried. The developer liked my suggestions, and it sort of went from
there.’
                 Mollie
thought it sounded like an incredibly oversimplified version of what she was
sure would be an engrossing and inspiring story, but she decided not to press.
‘J Design does a lot of work for charity, doesn’t it? Is that your choice?’
                 ‘I
like to help those less fortunate,’ Jacob replied with a shrug. He glanced at
her, his eyes narrowing. ‘I noticed you haven’t cashed your cheque.’
                 ‘Am
I less fortunate, then?’ Mollie asked lightly, although his implication stung
just a little.
                 ‘That’s
not what I meant. Although I consider it unfortunate that your father worked
for so long without being paid. Why didn’t you deposit the cheque?’
                 Mollie
shrugged. ‘It didn’t feel right.’
                 ‘You
deserve that money, Mollie—’
                 ‘Do
I?’ she challenged quietly. ‘I might have flung a few accusations at you, but
the truth is my father didn’t work a full day for years. He was too ill.’
                 ‘And
why do I think that you carried his slack?’ Jacob questioned, his voice soft.
                 Mollie
looked away. ‘Besides, it’s not as if a gardener was necessary when no one
lived in the house and it was half falling down anyway. It was only Annabelle’s
charity that gave us a place to stay. We didn’t need to be there.’ She took a
breath and let it out slowly. ‘And you certainly don’t need to pay us for the
privilege.’
                 ‘I’m
sorry if I insulted you by giving you the money,’ Jacob said after a moment.
                 ‘It
was very generous of you,’ Mollie said quickly. ‘I wasn’t insulted.’ She had
been, bizarrely, hurt. As if money could fix the heartache and loneliness of
those years. Write a cheque and be done with it.
                 ‘I’m
sorry,’ Jacob said quietly. ‘I hurt more people than I even realised by
leaving.’ Mollie’s heart twisted. For so many years she’d imagined Jacob
leaving carelessly, without a thought or concern for the people he’d left
behind. She’d seen Annabelle check the post every day for letters, and when
none had come Mollie had assumed Jacob didn’t care
enough to write. She’d pictured him partying in some glamorous city, too
involved in his own pleasure to think of his family or Wolfe Manor. She had,
Mollie knew, tarred Jacob with the same brush as his father, and she knew now that
wasn’t fair.
                 Yet
why had he left? How could he have
done such an agonising thing, knowing the pain it would cause his family? She
still didn’t know him well enough to understand, or ask the question.
                 ‘It’s
okay,’ she said now. ‘It’s time to move on.’ She paused, then dared to add, ‘For both of us.’ Jacob didn’t reply.
                 They
didn’t speak for a while after that, and Mollie was glad. She’d much rather
enjoy the day, as Jacob forewent the motorway for country lanes with their
bright hedgerows, the fields dotted with primroses and buttercups, and the sun
shone down benevolently upon them.
                 Mollie
started to relax, the tension slipping away from her the farther they travelled from Wolfe Manor. Jacob seemed to relax as well, for his
grip on the steering wheel loosened and he draped one arm along the back of the
seat, so his fingers nearly brushed her shoulder.
                 Not
that she should be so achingly aware of his nearness,