Their Christmas Family Miracle

by Caroline Anderson

  ‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘The dog. My grandmother had one like him. What’s his name?’

  ‘Rufus,’ she said, and the little dog’s tail wagged hopefully. ‘Please don’t say he has to be outside in a kennel or anything awful, because he’s old and not very well and it’s so cold at the moment and he’s no trouble—’

  ‘Millie—what does that stand for, by the way?’

  ‘Amelia.’

  He studied her for a second, then nodded. ‘Amelia,’ he said, his voice turning it into something that sounded almost like a caress. ‘Of course the dog doesn’t have to be outside—not if he’s housetrained.’

  ‘Oh, he is. Well, mostly. Sometimes he has the odd accident, but that’s only if he’s ill.’

  ‘Fine. Just don’t let him on the beds. Right, I’m done. If you could find me a glass, the malt whisky and my flight bag, I’d be very grateful. And then I’m going to lie down on my sofa and go to sleep.’

  And, getting to his feet with a grunt of pain, he limped slowly towards her.

  ‘You really did mess yourself up, didn’t you?’ she said softly, and he paused just a foot away from her and stared down into her eyes for the longest moment.

  ‘Yes, Amelia. I really did—and I could do with those painkillers, so if you wouldn’t mind—?’

  ‘Right away,’ she said, trying to remember how to breathe. Slipping past him into the kitchen, she found a glass, filled it with water, put the kettle on, made a sandwich with the last of the cheese and two precious slices of bread, smeared some chutney she found in the fridge onto the cheese and took it through to him.

  ‘I thought you might be hungry,’ she said, ‘and there’s nothing much else in the house at the moment, but you shouldn’t take painkillers on an empty stomach.’

  He sighed and looked up at her from the sofa where he was lying stretched out full length and looking not the slightest bit vulnerable despite the cast, the bruises and the swelling under his eye. ‘Is that right?’ he said drily. ‘Where’s the malt whisky?’

  ‘You shouldn’t have alcohol—’

  ‘—with painkillers,’ he finished for her, and gave a frustrated growl that probably should have frightened her but just gave her the urge to smile. ‘Well, give me the damned painkillers, then. They’re in my flight bag, in the outside pocket. I’ll take them with the water.’

  She rummaged, found them and handed them to him. ‘When did you take the last lot? It says no more than six in twenty-four hours—’

  ‘Did I ask you for your medical advice?’ he snarled, taking the strip of tablets from her and popping two out awkwardly with his good hand.

  Definitely not vulnerable. Just crabby as hell. She stood her ground. ‘I just don’t want your family suing me for killing you with an overdose,’ she said, and his mouth tightened.

  ‘No danger of that,’ he said flatly. ‘I don’t have a family. Now, go away and leave me alone. I haven’t got the energy to argue with a mouthy, opinionated woman and I can’t stand being fussed over. And find me the whisky!’

  ‘I’ve put the kettle on to make you tea or coffee—’

  ‘Well, don’t bother. I’ve had enough caffeine in the last twenty-four hours to last me a lifetime. I just want the malt—’

  ‘Eat the sandwich and I’ll think about it,’ she said, and then went out and closed the door, quickly, before he changed his mind and threw them all out anyway…

  CHAPTER THREE

  EDWARD was waiting for her.

  He was sitting on the top step, and his eyes were full of trepidation. ‘Well?’

  ‘We’re staying,’ she said with a smile, still not really believing it but so out of options that she had to make it work. ‘But he’d like us to spend the time up here unless we’re down in the breakfast room or kitchen cooking for him, so we don’t disturb him, because he had an accident skiing and he’s a bit sore. He needs to sleep.’

  ‘So can I unpack my things again?’ Kitty asked, appearing on the landing, her little face puzzled and a bulging carrier bag dangling from her fingers.

  ‘Yes, darling. We can all unpack, and then we need to go downstairs very quietly and tidy up the kitchen and see what I can find to cook us for supper.’

  Not that there was much, but she’d have to make something proper for Jake, and she had no idea how she’d achieve that with no ingredients and no money to buy any. Maybe there was something in his freezer?

  ‘I’ll be very, very quiet,’ Kitty whispered, her grey eyes serious, and tiptoed off to her room with bag in hand and her finger pressed over her lips.

  It worked until she bumped into the door frame and the bag fell out of her hand and landed on the floor, the book in the top falling out with a little thud. Her eyes widened like saucers, and for one awful minute Millie thought she was going to cry.

  ‘It’s all right, darling, you don’t have to be that quiet,’ she said with an encouraging smile, and Edward, ever his little sister’s protector, picked up his own bag and went back into the bedroom and hugged her, then helped her put her things away while Millie unpacked all the baby’s things again.

  He was still sleeping. Innocence was such a precious gift, she thought, her eyes filling, and blinking hard, she turned away and went to the window, drawn by the sound of a car. Looking down on the drive as the floodlights came on, she realised it was Kate.

  Of course. Dear Kate, rushing to her rescue, coming to smooth things over with Jake.

  Who was sleeping.

  ‘Keep an eye on Thomas, I’m going to let Kate in,’ she said to Edward and ran lightly down the stairs, arriving in the hall just as Kate turned the heavy handle and opened the door.

  ‘Oh, Millie, I’m so sorry I’ve been so long, but Megan was in the bath and I had to dry her hair before I brought her out in the cold,’ she said in a rush. ‘Where are the children?’

  ‘Upstairs. It’s all right, we’re staying. Megan, do you want to go up and see them while I make Mummy a coffee?’

  ‘I don’t have time for a coffee, I need to see Jake. I’ve got to try and reason with him—what do you mean, you’re staying?’ she added, her eyes widening.

  ‘Shh. He’s asleep. Go on, Megan, it’s all right, but please be quiet because Jake’s not well.’

  Megan nodded seriously. ‘I’ll be very quiet,’ she whispered and ran upstairs, her little feet soundless on the thick carpet. Kate took Millie by the arm and towed her into the breakfast room and closed the door.

  ‘So what’s going on?’ she asked in a desperate undertone. ‘I thought you’d be packed and leaving?’

  Amelia shook her head. ‘No. He’s broken his wrist and he’s battered from end to end, and I think he’s probably messed his knee up, too, so he needs someone to cook for him and run round after him.’

  Kate’s jaw dropped. ‘So he’s employing you?’

  Millie felt her mouth twist into a wry smile. ‘Not exactly employing,’ she admitted, remembering his blunt words with an inward wince. ‘But we can stay in exchange for helping him, so long as I keep the children out of his way.’

  ‘And the dog? Does he even know about the dog?’

  She smiled. ‘Ah, well, now. Apparently he likes the dog, doesn’t he, Rufus?’ she murmured, looking down at him. He was stuck on her leg, sensing the need to behave, his eyes anxious, and she felt him quiver.

  When she glanced back up, Kate was staring at her openmouthed. ‘He likes the dog?’ she hissed.

  ‘His grandmother had one. He doesn’t go a bundle on the Christmas decorations, though,’ she added ruefully with a pointed glance at the light fitting. ‘Come on, let’s make a drink and take it upstairs to the kids.’

  ‘He was going to put a kitchen up there,’ Kate told her as she boiled the kettle. ‘Just a little one, enough to make drinks and snacks, but he hasn’t got round to it yet. Pity. It would have been handy for you.’

  ‘It would. Still, I only need to bring the children down if I’m actually cooking. We’re quite all r
ight up in the playroom, and at least it’ll give us a little breathing space before we have to find somewhere to go.’

  ‘And, actually, it’s a huge relief,’ Kate said, sagging back against the worktop and folding her arms. ‘I was wondering what to do about Jake—I mean, I couldn’t leave him here on his own over Christmas when he’s injured, but my house is going to be heaving and noisy and chaotic, and I would have had to run backwards and forwards—so you’ve done me a massive favour. And, you never know, maybe you’ll all have a good time together! In fact—’

  Amelia cut her off with a laugh and a raised hand. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said firmly, remembering his bitterly sarcastic opening remarks. ‘But if we can just keep out of his way, maybe we’ll all survive.’

  She handed Kate her drink, picked up her own mug and then hesitated. No matter how rude and sarcastic he’d been, he was still a human being and for that alone he deserved her consideration, and he was injured and exhausted and probably not thinking straight. ‘I ought to check on him,’ she said, putting her mug back down. ‘He was talking about malt whisky.’

  ‘So? Don’t worry, he’s not a drinker. He won’t have had much.’

  ‘On top of painkillers?’

  ‘Ah. What were they?’

  ‘Goodness knows—something pretty heavy-duty. Nothing I recognised. Not paracetamol, that’s for sure!’

  ‘Oh, hell. Where is he?’

  ‘Just next door in the little sitting room.’

  ‘I’ll go—’

  ‘No. Let me. He was pretty cross.’

  Kate laughed softly. ‘You think I’ve never seen him cross?’

  So they went together, opening the door silently and pushing it in until they could see him sprawled full length on the sofa, one leg dangling off the edge, his cast resting across his chest, his head lolling against the arm.

  Kate frowned. ‘He doesn’t look very comfortable.’

  He didn’t, but at least there was no sign of the whisky. Amelia went into the room and picked up a soft velvety cushion and tucked it under his bruised cheek to support his head better. He grunted and shifted slightly and she froze, waiting for those piercing slate grey eyes to open and stab her with a hard, angry glare, but then he relaxed, settling his face down against the pillow with a little sigh, and she let herself breathe again.

  It was chilly in there, though, and she had refused to let Kate turn the heating up. She could do it now but, in the meantime, he ought to have something over him. She spotted a throw over the back of the other sofa and lowered it carefully over him, tucking it in to keep the draughts off until the heat kicked in.

  Then she tiptoed out, glancing back over her shoulder as she reached the door.

  Did she imagine it or had his eyelids fluttered? She wasn’t sure, but she didn’t want to hang around and provoke him if she’d disturbed him, so she pushed Kate out and closed the door softly behind them.

  ‘Can you turn the heating up?’ she murmured to Kate, and she nodded and went into his study and fiddled with a keypad on the wall.

  ‘He looks awful,’ Kate said, sparing the door of the room another glance as she tapped keys and reprogrammed the heating. ‘He’s got bruises all over his face and neck. It must have been a hell of an avalanche.’

  ‘He didn’t say, but he’s very sore and stiff. I expect he’s got bruises all over his body,’ Millie said, trying not to think about his body in too much detail but failing dismally. She stifled the little whimper that rose in her throat.

  Why?

  Why, of all the men to bring her body out of the freezer, did it have to be Jake? There was no way he’d be interested in her—even if she hadn’t upset and alienated him by taking such a massive liberty with his house, to all intents and purposes moving into his house as a squatter, she’d then compounded her sins by telling him what to do!

  And he most particularly wouldn’t be interested in her children. In fact it was probably the dog who was responsible for his change of heart.

  Oh, well, it was just as well he wouldn’t be interested in her, because there was no way her life was even remotely stable or coherent enough at the moment for her to contemplate a relationship. Frankly, she wasn’t sure it ever would be again and, if it was, it certainly wouldn’t be with another empire builder. She’d had it with the entrepreneurial type, big time.

  But there was just something about Jake Forrester that called to something deep inside her, something that had lain undisturbed for years, and she was going to have to ignore it and get through these next few days and weeks until they could find somewhere else. And maybe then she’d get her sanity back.

  ‘Come on, let’s go back up and leave him to sleep,’ she said, crossing her fingers and hoping that he slept for a good long while and woke in a rather better mood…

  He was hot.

  He’d been cold, but he’d been too tired and sore to bother to get the throw, but someone must have been in and covered him, because it was snuggled round him, and there was a pillow under his face and the lingering scent of a familiar fragrance.

  Kate. She must have come over and covered him up. Hell. He hadn’t meant her to turn out on such a freezing night with little Megan. He should have rung her back, he realised, after he’d spoken to Amelia, but he’d been high as a kite on the rather nice drugs the French doctor had given him and he hadn’t even thought about it.

  Damn.

  He rolled onto his back and his breath caught. Ouch. That was quite a bruise on his left hip. And his knee desperately needed some ice, and his arm hurt. Even through the painkillers.

  He struggled off the sofa, eventually escaping from the confines of the throw with an impatient tug and straightening up with a wince. The gel pack was in the freezer in the kitchen. It wasn’t far.

  Further than he thought, he realised, swaying slightly and pausing while the world steadied. He took a step, then another, and blinked hard to clear his head.

  Amelia was right, he shouldn’t have too many of those damn painkillers. They were turning his brain to mush. And it was probably just as well he hadn’t taken them with whisky either, he thought with regret. Not that she’d been about to give him any, the bossy witch.

  Amelia. Millie.

  No, Amelia. Millie didn’t suit her. It was a little girl’s name and, whatever else she was, she was all woman. And damn her for making him notice the fact.

  He limped into the breakfast room and saw that Edward had done a pretty good job of removing the branches and berries from the floor in front of the fire. He felt his brow pleat into a frown, and stifled the pang of guilt. It was his house. If he didn’t want decorations in it, it was perfectly reasonable to say so.

  But had he had to be so harsh?

  No, was the simple answer. Especially to the kids. Oh, rats. He made his way carefully through to the kitchen, took the pack out of the freezer and wrapped it in a tea towel, then went back to the breakfast room and sat down in the chair near the fire and propped the ice pack over his knee. Better.

  Or it would be, in about a week. It was only a bruise, not a ligament rupture, thankfully. He’d done that before on the other knee, and he didn’t need to do it again, but he realised he’d been lucky not to be smashed to bits on the tree or the rock field.

  Very lucky.

  He eased back in the chair cautiously and thought with longing of the whisky. It was a particularly smooth old single malt, smoky and peaty, with a lovely complex aftertaste. Or was that afterburn?

  Whatever, it was in the drinks cupboard in the drawing room, and he wasn’t convinced he could summon up the energy to walk all the way to the far end of the house and back again, so he closed his eyes and fantasised that he was on Islay, sitting in an old croft house with a peat fire at his feet, a collie instead of a little spaniel leaning on his leg and a glass of liquid gold in his hand.

  He could all but taste it. Pity he couldn’t. Pity it was only in his imagination, because then he’d be able to put Amelia and her
children out of his mind.

  Or he would have been able to, if it hadn’t been for the baby crying.

  ‘Oh, Thomas, sweetheart, what’s the matter, little one?’

  She couldn’t believe he was doing this. She’d fed him just before Jake had arrived home, but now he was awake and he wouldn’t settle again and he was starting to sob into her chest, letting fly with a scream that she was sure would travel all the way down to Jake.

  He couldn’t be hungry, not really, but he obviously wanted a bottle of milk, and that meant going back down to the kitchen and heating it, taking the screaming baby with her, and by the time she’d done that, he would certainly have disturbed her reluctant host. Unless she left him with Edward?

  ‘Darling, could you please look after him for a moment while I get him his bottle?’ she asked, and Edward, being Edward, just nodded and held his arms out, and carried Thomas off towards the bedroom and closed the door.

  She ran lightly downstairs to the sound of his escalating wails. As she hurried into the breakfast room, she came face to face with Jake sitting by the fire, an ice pack on his knee and the dog at his side.

  She skidded to a halt and his eyes searched her face. ‘Is the baby all right?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes—I’m sorry. I just need to make him a bottle. He’ll settle then. I’m really sorry—’

  ‘Why didn’t you bring him down?’

  ‘I didn’t want to wake you.’ She chewed her lip, only too conscious of the fact that he was very much awake. Awake and up and about and looking rumpled and disturbingly attractive, with the dark shadow of stubble on his firm jaw and the subtle drift of a warm, slightly spicy cologne reaching her nostrils.

  ‘I was awake,’ he told her, his voice a little gruff. ‘I put a gel pack on my knee, and I was about to make some tea. Want to join me?’

  ‘Oh—I can’t, I’ve left the baby with Edward.’

  ‘Bring them all down. Maybe I should meet them—since they’re staying in my house.’

  Oh, Lord. ‘Let me just make the bottle so it can be cooling, and then we’ll get a little peace and I can introduce you properly.’