The Christmas Night Miracle

by Mortimer, Carole

  The kitchen, small at best, with barely enough room for the two of them to move around it, suddenly didn’t even seem big enough for that, with no room for her to hide, to avoid the piercing intrusion of Jed Cole’s gaze.

  Because he was right. Not once during that brief conversation had her mother bothered to ask why Meg and Scott had been delayed, merely commenting that her sister had managed to get there, also from London, because she had sensibly come by train.

  It simply hadn’t been worth the effort of explaining that, unlike Sonia, who had probably got all her Christmas presents for the family in one elegant designer-label bag after being gift-wrapped by the store they were bought from, Meg had all Scott’s Father Christmas presents to bring too. Gifts lovingly bought and wrapped by Meg herself, this being the first Christmas that Scott, aged three and a half, had really appreciated and looked forward to. She had even gone to the expense of hiring a car so that she could transport the things here.

  The car that was now crumpled into the side of the cottage.

  She would have to call the hire company in the morning and explain what had happened, sincerely hoping that the insurance would cover the costs of the damage.

  She managed to give Jed Cole a casual shrug as he stood waiting for an answer to his questions. ‘Mothers are like that,’ she evaded. ‘Feeding their family is of high priority.’

  Which might have been true of her mother if she did the cooking herself, but ever since Meg had been born, probably before that too, Mrs Sykes—Bessie—had presided over the Hamilton kitchen. But as Jed Cole would never meet her mother, let alone eat a meal in the Hamilton household, he didn’t need to know that.

  ‘I’m sure your mother is the same,’ she dismissed.

  There was a slight softening of his expression. ‘For as long as I can remember my mother has always had enough extra food in the house to feed a family of ten, and often has, and if she hadn’t she’d send my dad out to kill a cow.’

  ‘She sounds nice,’ Meg murmured wistfully, almost able to imagine the warm kitchen and the motherly figure there caring for her family.

  ‘She is.’ Jed nodded. ‘So’s my dad. And my two younger brothers. And their wives, and the numerous offspring they’ve produced.’

  Meg gave him a considering look. ‘So why aren’t you there for Christmas, instead of—well, here, alone?’

  His mouth twisted. ‘Maybe because I prefer “alone” to my Mum and Dad, two younger brothers, their wives, and numerous offspring.’

  Maybe.

  And then again, maybe not.

  She certainly hadn’t imagined that softening when he’d spoken of his family, or the slightly wistful tone in his voice.

  But she didn’t have time to probe any further before he snapped, ‘Will you stop asking so many questions, woman, and dish the food up?’

  In other words, end of discussion about his family.

  But that didn’t stop Meg’s curiosity about them, about whether or not Mum, Dad, two brothers, their wives and their numerous offspring were sad because one of their number was missing from their Christmas this year.

  Somehow, and she didn’t know why she felt that way, she had a feeling that they were.

  Mistake, Cole, Jed remonstrated with himself even while he inwardly acknowledged that the dressing on the salad was just as he liked it. But he should never have mentioned the idea of kissing Meg. Because now he couldn’t take his eyes off her mouth. It was a rather nice mouth, too, the lips full, with a permanent tilt at their corners, as if this woman liked to smile a lot.

  As she was smiling now at her small son as they all sat at the dining table and Scott manfully tried to tackle his own small piece of steak, fries and salad.

  And she most definitely was a woman, and not a girl, he accepted self-derisively, her smart comeback before dinner that of an adult. And the soft swell beneath the dark green sweater she wore over faded denims was adult too, as was the curve of her hips. And as for those full, inviting lips.

  Damn it, he should never have mentioned kissing her, because now he couldn’t think of anything else!

  Two months he had been holed up here, that was all, and now he was looking at Meg Hamilton as if she were a bottle of water in the desert. A carton of ice cream in a heatwave.

  ‘Is the food not to your liking?’

  Jed focused on her scowlingly. ‘What?’

  She gave him a quizzical smile. ‘You were glaring at your steak as if it had done something to offend you,’ she teased.

  Oh, very funny. Ha, bloody ha.

  It was okay for her to laugh, she wasn’t the one sitting here having carnal thoughts about a woman who had arrived on his doorstep in distress, her young fatherless son in tow.

  ‘The food’s fine,’ he rasped curtly. ‘It’s all fine.’ As if to prove his point he stabbed a piece of steak on his fork and shoved it into his mouth and began chewing.

  And chewing.

  Maybe cutting the steak down a little in size might have been a good idea, Jed, he berated himself, aware that both Meg and her son were now looking at him, Meg surreptitiously Scott with the frank intensity of a child.

  ‘It’s rude to stare, Scott,’ his mother remonstrated as she noticed his intensity of concentration.

  The little boy turned away obediently. Only to turn back again seconds later when his mother wasn’t looking, those green eyes studied on Jed’s face.

  Obviously he had never seen a man try to eat half a cow in one mouthful before.

  ‘Mr Cole, why don’t you have a tree?’ Scott finally asked, a frown marring his creamy brow.

  Ah, it wasn’t the steak that was bothering him at all.

  ‘Or decorations?’ The little boy looked disapproving now. ‘We like decorations, don’t we, Mummy? An’ there’s no cards, either,’ Scott continued before his mother could answer him. ‘With robins on. We like robins, don’t we, Mummy?’ He gave his mother a beatific smile.

  As little kids went, this one was a cute little devil, Jed allowed as he finally managed to swallow the steak. In fact, with his dark hair, green eyes, the freckles on his little nose, he was a tiny version of his mother.

  Not again.

  Meg Hamilton, even without the extra baggage, was most definitely not his type.

  At thirty-eight, he liked his women to be tall and sophisticated, older women, who were only interested in the brief relationship he was willing to give. Meg had the look of a woman who had already taken enough blows to her girlhood dreams, without another selfish bastard coming along to shatter them some more.

  ‘I did explain, Scott—’ Meg spoke quietly to her son now ‘—that not everyone celebrates Christmas.’

  ‘Do you celebrate Christmas, Mr Cole?’ Scott questioned guilelessly.

  ‘Well…Yes. Usually.’ Talk about putting him on the spot. ‘But, you see, I don’t actually live here, Scott. I live in a place called New York.’ He predicted what the next question would be and answered it. ‘Very far away from here, in a place called America.’ Where, no doubt, dozens of cards and gifts would be waiting for him to deal with when he returned.

  But even in New York he wouldn’t have put up a tree and decorations, had never seen the need for them when there was only him living there, the modern chrome and leather of his apartment not lending themselves to such frivolity.

  Scott’s eyes were wide now, surrounded by the same incredibly long lashes as those of his mother. ‘Then why are you here and not there?’

  Exactly like his mother, Jed identified impatiently, who had asked him a similar question before dinner.

  But the difference here was that with cute little kids like Scott you didn’t feel comfortable either fobbing them off or lying to them.

  However, at this point in time, Jed really didn’t feel like telling the little boy the truth, either. Especially as there hadn’t been so much as a flicker of recognition in Meg’s face when he’d introduced himself earlier.

  He wasn’t quite sure where Me
g had been for the last nine months while the invasion of his privacy had become a thing of nightmares, so that he had come to England and hidden away in this cottage in order to find the peace and quiet he needed to work. Not that he had worked. Well…not much, anyway. But this escape from instant recognition was better than nothing.

  ‘I think we’ve bothered Mr Cole enough for one evening, Scott.’ Meg came smoothly to his rescue at his continued silence. ‘It’s almost time for your bath and then bed.’

  ‘Oh, but, Mummy, Father Christmas comes tomorrow night,’ the little boy protested.

  She smiled. ‘All the more reason for you to get lots of sleep tonight. Let’s help Mr Cole clear away, and then I’ll run your bath—’ She broke off, giving Jed a wry look. ‘I take there is hot water for a bath?’

  He nodded. ‘And a shower, of sorts.’ He stood up. ‘You’ll need your bags from the car?’ He didn’t particularly relish the idea of going back out into the cold and wet, but neither did he think it a good idea for Meg to be wandering about naked upstairs later. It might be fun, but after the thoughts he had been having about the curviness of her hips, and the soft warmth of her body, it probably wasn’t the best idea.

  In fact, having this unlikely pair here at all wasn’t a particularly good idea, but as none of them had any choice in the matter he would have to make the best of it. And that included providing Meg with nightclothes.

  ‘Please.’ She nodded. ‘Just the one bag in the boot of the car.’

  ‘Travelling light?’ He raised dark brows, remembering all the clutter his sisters-in-law always seemed to carry around for their kids.

  ‘We’re only staying at my parents’ until Boxing Day,’ Meg answered him as she collected the plates together, at the same time, it seemed, carefully avoiding his gaze.

  They didn’t have Boxing Day in the States, made do with Christmas Eve and Christmas Day for the holidays over there, but it seemed to him that Meg had travelled a long way for a three-day, now two-day, visit. Why?

  ‘We’re going to see my granma and grandad,’ Scot told him brightly.

  ‘So I understand.’ Jed nodded, finding himself smiling at the little boy in spite of himself.

  Children, especially little ones like this, were not part of his everyday life. Although, despite what he might have said earlier, he was fond enough of his nieces and nephews.

  ‘Do you know my granma and grandad?’ Scot looked up at him expectantly.

  He gave a shake of his head. ‘I can’t say that I’ve ever met them, no.’

  ‘Scott, it really is time for your—’

  ‘Neither have I.’ Scott spoke at the same time as his mother, his expression wistful now.

  Curiouser and curiouser, Jed mulled frowningly. Scott had to be at least three, perhaps a little older, and yet he claimed never to have met his own grandparents. Jed could understand the lapse where the boy’s father’s parents were concerned, but not with his maternal grandparents.

  What sort of people were the Hamiltons never to have even met their own grandson?

  Chapter 3

  ‘Is it all right if I come in?’ Meg hesitated in the doorway to the sitting room.

  She had just put Scott up to bed in the guest bedroom—a guest bedroom with a double bed that she and Scott could share, thank goodness. Scott was a restless sleeper, and she hadn’t relished being kicked all night in the confines of a single bed with him. Although perhaps she should think herself lucky she was sleeping in a bed at all tonight; she and Scott could so easily have ended up huddled together in the car somewhere.

  She shrugged. ‘If you’re busy I can always…’

  ‘Always what?’ Jed Cole came back derisively, lounging in one of the armchairs but putting down the book he had been glancing through. ‘Your choices are pretty limited in this cottage.’

  A flush heightened her cheeks. She felt strangely uncomfortable now that she was alone with this darkly enigmatic man. Although he was only three, Scott’s presence had acted as a buffer between the two adults, making personal conversation almost impossible. Something that was no longer true.

  Especially after Scott’s statement earlier concerning his grandparents.

  And her parents, her whole family, in fact, were something she would rather not discuss.

  She grimaced. ‘Well, I could always go and tidy the kitchen.’

  ‘All done,’ Jed Cole dismissed dryly, almost as if he had guessed what she would do and had nullified it. ‘For the main part the cottage is pretty basic, but it does have a dishwasher and washing machine, and, wonder of wonders, central heating.’

  Meg had already noted that the entire cottage was warm, that the log fire burning in this room was only for effect and not to provide actual heat. ‘Were they here when you bought the cottage or did you have them installed afterwards?’ She moved further into the room, feeling slightly shy with this man, as shown by the inanity of her conversation.

  Not surprising really. Jed Cole was the sort of darkly handsome man who would wreak havoc with any woman’s pulse-rate at the best of times. Here, alone in a cottage with him, the snow on the ground outside creating an eerie silence, she found him nerve-janglingly attractive, his dark good looks, the intensity of his deep blue eyes, combined with the lean strength of his body, making Meg completely aware of him.

  Which was quite an admission coming from a woman who hadn’t so much as accepted a date in over three years.

  Jed Cole shook his head now. ‘I don’t own the cottage, Meg, it belongs to…a friend of mine,’ he dismissed abruptly. ‘I’ve just been staying here for a while.’

  Not exactly helpful. And she hadn’t missed that slight pause when he’d told her whom the cottage belonged to. ‘Do you work in the area?’

  He settled back in the armchair, blue gaze hooded now. ‘No.’

  She gave him a quick glance, not sure whether or not to sit down herself; if they were going to continue this horribly stilted conversation, probably not. ‘Perhaps you have friends in the area?’

  He grimaced. ‘Don’t know a soul.’

  Hmm, talkative man, wasn’t he? Perhaps it would better if she just made her excuses and went back upstairs.

  ‘My turn now,’ Jed drawled hardly. ‘Why has Scott never met your parents?’

  She had known by the narrow-eyed way he’d looked at her at the time that he wasn’t going to let that statement pass, but the directness of his question now threw her into some confusion. Most people, most polite people, wouldn’t have pursued the subject, but Jed Cole had made no effort to be polite, so why should he start now?

  ‘I was about to have a glass of red wine,’ he continued lightly. ‘Would you care to join me?’

  Why not? She’d had a long and stressful day, and she somehow didn’t think it was going to get too much better if Jed Cole was going to start asking her questions like the one he just had.

  He stood up now, careful to avoid the dark wooden beams on the ceiling as he did so.

  She should have known that he didn’t own this cottage. It was like trying to fit a round peg into a square hole; he simply didn’t fit.

  ‘Perhaps you’ll be able to think of an answer to my question while I go and get the wine,’ he told her mockingly as they stood together in the doorway for several seconds.

  Several seconds too long for Meg’s comfort, her awareness of this man becoming more acute with every minute that passed. Which would never do. Despite what this man might think to the contrary, because she had Scott, she did not get involved in brief, meaningless affairs. Even with attractive men she met in snowstorms.

  Neither did she have an acceptable answer to his question, she admitted with dismay. And his slightly mocking smile before he disappeared down the hallway to the kitchen seemed to say that he already knew she didn’t.

  Well, she did have an answer, but it wasn’t one she could give without being unkind to her parents, and she didn’t think they deserved that. It wouldn’t have been easy for them to ac
cept their daughter turning up on their doorstep with their illegitimate grandchild. Not that she ever had.

  ‘Here we are.’ Jed came back with two glasses and an opened bottle of red wine. ‘Thought of an answer yet?’ he taunted as he poured the wine into the two glasses before handing one to Meg. ‘Why don’t we sit down, hmm?’

  If he was trying to put her at her ease, then he wasn’t succeeding.

  Although after one glance at his face, at those mockingly raised brows, she realized that perhaps he wasn’t trying to do any such thing, that he was a man who rarely, if ever, tried to make things easy for other people. In fact, as Meg was quickly learning, he wasn’t a man it was easy to relax around at all. And it didn’t help that he was so sure of himself, that he wore his obviously expensive clothing with a complete disregard for their worth—or that he was so rakishly attractive.

  Admit it, Meg, she mocked herself, it was the latter about him that bothered her the most. She was alone here, with only the sleeping Scott for chaperon, with a man it was impossible not to be completely physically aware of.

  ‘Still trying to think of an answer?’

  And who also happened to be purposefully blunt to the point of rudeness.

  ‘We aren’t usually this—inquisitive, into other people’s personal lives, in this country.’ She eyed him sternly, a look usually guaranteed to subdue Scott, but which only succeeded in making this somewhat older man smile.

  He shrugged those broad shoulders unapologetically. ‘These aren’t usual circumstances.’

  No, they weren’t, were they? Because in the normal course of things single mothers like Meg wouldn’t even be noticed by a man who was probably more at home with highly sophisticated New York types.

  Which posed the question Scott had asked him earlier—why was he here and not in New York?

  ‘In that case…’ she paused to take a sip of her wine ‘…perhaps you wouldn’t mind explaining to me—’