Free Lone Wolfe by Kate Hewitt Page B

until she was in the cottage, the door slammed and
bolted, as if Jacob was the big bad wolf and she was Little Red Riding Hood.
                 She
laughed humourlessly at her rather bad pun. Jacob was a Wolfe, and he had been chasing her, after a fashion. Unlike Little Red Riding Hood, however, she
hadn’t stood her ground.
                 The
electricity had thankfully come back on, and Mollie quickly put the kettle on
and built up the fire. She stripped off Jacob’s clothes and kicked them in a
corner, knowing she would have to wash and return them at some point but not
able to think of it now.
                 A
cup of tea would soothe her. Stabilise her. A cup of tea, Mollie thought as she
swathed herself in her father’s old terry robe, could make everything better.
                 Yet
when she had finally seated herself in the rickety rocking chair by the fire, a
steaming mug cradled in her hands, she felt neither stabilised nor soothed.
                 She
felt like a complete ninny.
                 What
would Jacob think of her, running from the room like a spooked little girl, a
frightened child? Why on earth couldn’t she have said something cutting and
clever, worldly and wise? Instead she’d blushed and stammered and ran .
                 Groaning,
Mollie leaned her head against the back of her chair as the memory of what had
just happened washed over her in a shaming wave. She hadn’t had enough
experience of men, of people , in the
past five years to be able to handle a proposition like Jacob’s with the ease
and grace she wanted to. For too long the only person she’d really talked to had been her father, and he hadn’t always been able to
remember her name. The heavy toll of the past five years weighed on her now,
crippled her with its memory. She wanted to throw it off, had been about to
throw it off when she’d returned from Italy, yet with Jacob’s return and her
enforced stay at Wolfe Manor she found herself spinning on the same endless
wheel as before. Only this time she spun alone.
                 Tears—sudden,
stupid—pricked her eyes. When was she going to get over the hand life had dealt
her? When would she come to terms with the pain and loss of her parents’ deaths
and her own resulting loneliness? When could she start to live out the dreams
she’d woven so optimistically, dreams she’d detailed and embroidered during her
time in Italy, when she’d been so ready to take up the reins of her life again
and really start living?
                 Now
they felt completely wrecked, their fragile threads unravelling and frayed.
                 Restlessly
Mollie rose from the rocking chair, her mug forgotten on the side table. The
cottage felt cramped, its walls pressing in on her with its memories and
regrets. She could almost picture her father standing by the door, dressed in
his work clothes, expecting to walk out into the gardens he’d loved like
another child, Wolfe Manor in its heyday. Instead she’d had to lull him back to
this very rocking chair, take off his boots and tell him lies about how it was
raining or a holiday because he didn’t understand the truth: Wolfe Manor was
falling apart and the only people left amidst the shambles were the two of
them.
                 Master William needs me, Mollie. He’s
expecting me .
                 Sometimes
her father had remembered that William was dead, that the children were
fatherless: Master Jacob needs help,
Mollie. We need to help him the best way we can, by tending the gardens in our
care… .
                 Yet
by then Jacob had been long gone, as had all the other Wolfe children. Save
Annabelle, none of them had said goodbye. None of them had even really known
she or her father existed.
                 Groaning
aloud, Mollie shook her head as if she could banish the painful memories. She’d
spent too