The Christmas Night Miracle Read online

  It was a challenge Jed had no problem accepting. ‘Instead of which, you and the kid there are now my guests!’ Unwelcome guests, he could have added, but knew that his tone of voice said it all.

  Her mouth set stubbornly. ‘The kid’s name is Scott,’ she corrected tersely, obviously smarting from his comments. ‘And I’m sure there must be some way the two of us can get out of here and leave you to your privacy.’ The last word came out scornfully.

  That privacy wasn’t something to be scorned as far as he was concerned; it had been hard won.

  But it was hard not to admire this petite woman. Not only had she kept her head through blizzard conditions—simply pulling over to the side of the road and sitting out the storm could have resulted in her and her son freezing to death—and maintained that calm after the crash, but she still had enough courage left to stand up to her reluctant rescuer.

  And he was reluctant, had no idea what he was going to do with the pair of them for what he knew, even if Meg Hamilton hadn’t realized it yet, was going to be an overnight stay, at least.

  Jed Cole to the rescue. It wasn’t a role he, or indeed many of his friends, would ever have imagined him in. Humanity, he had decided this last year—even ebony-haired green-eyed waifs—left a lot to be desired, and should be avoided, if possible.

  Something, in this particular situation, he simply couldn’t do. Which only increased his bad temper.

  ‘Really?’ He dropped down into the unoccupied armchair, draping a leg over the arm as he looked up at her enquiringly. ‘I would be very interested to hear it?’ He quirked dark brows.

  ‘Maybe we could walk to—’

  ‘There’s a blizzard raging outside,’ Jed cut in impatiently. ‘Some of the drifts are already four feet high; if the kid—Scott,’ he amended dryly as she glared at him. ‘If he fell into one of those drifts you’d never find him.’

  Once again he watched as the emotions raging inside her showed on her face; good manners versus impatient anger this time, rather than her earlier panic at her predicament.

  Anger won out as she glared at him. ‘I would find him,’ she assured him grimly.

  He would just bet that she would too, reminding him at that moment of a lioness protecting her cub.

  He shrugged. ‘You got lost driving a car; what chance do you think you stand on foot?’

  That glare turned to a frown as she moved to stand protectively in front of her son before answering him softly. ‘Are you deliberately trying to frighten me?’

  Jed eyed her speculatively. ‘Am I succeeding?’ he prompted dryly.

  ‘You’re being unnecessarily cruel, if that’s what you mean,’ she came back tartly.

  Giving a good impression of one of the bantam hens back home on his parents’ farm as she defended her ground against one of the larger species of livestock. A defence that was usually successful, he recalled wryly.

  ‘Look, I realize we’ve inconvenienced you, turning up like this…’

  ‘You drove into the side of the damned cottage,’ he reminded with some of the incredulity he had felt at the time. Relaxing beside the log fire, staring broodingly into the flickering flames as he sipped a glass of whisky, he had heard an almighty bang as the whole cottage had seemed to shudder. He had thought the side of the cottage was going to fall in on him.

  ‘Well. Yes…I know, but—’ she gave a pained grimace ‘—I didn’t mean to,’ she added ruefully. ‘And could you please not swear in front of Scott?’ she said softly. ‘They aren’t words I want added to his vocabulary.’

  Not only had he been severely ‘inconvenienced’, he was now being told what he could or couldn’t say.

  He scowled darkly. ‘Is there a Mr Hamilton somewhere anxiously awaiting your arrival?’ If there was, he would quite happily pass on the responsibility of rescuing his wife and son to the other man.

  She looked stunned for a moment, as if reminded of something she had forgotten as the angry flush faded from her cheeks, making her look all eyes again. Defenceless eyes, Jed recognized uncomfortably.

  She chewed on her bottom lip before answering him. ‘Yes, there’s a Mr Hamilton.’

  ‘Nearby, I hope?’ Jed prompted harshly, not happy with the protective emotion this woman was starting to engender in him. If he could just get her back to her life he could return to his.

  ‘And a Mrs Hamilton,’ she continued distractedly. ‘My parents,’ she supplied at his quizzical frown.

  Her parents, Mr and Mrs Hamilton. Which meant there wouldn’t be a husband rushing to the rescue, because there wasn’t a husband.

  ‘I was on my way to see them for Christmas when I—’ her bottom lip trembled slightly before she drew in a deeply controlling breath and continued ‘—before I got lost. Do you think I might use your telephone to call them?’ That pointed chin was once again raised challengingly. ‘My father hasn’t been well, and they would have expected us to have arrived by now.’

  Jed frowned. Not ‘they will be worried about me and their grandson’, just they would have ‘expected us to have arrived by now’.

  He shook the observation off impatiently; he was probably just reading too much into it. What the hell business of his was it, anyway?

  ‘Sure.’ He made a sweeping gesture to where the telephone sat on the table by the door.

  The old-fashioned kind of telephone before push buttons. But, then, everything about this cottage was a bit dated, he had discovered when he’d arrived here nine weeks ago. From the sheets and blankets on the beds rather than duvets, to the fire. And he had lost count of the amount of times he had cracked his head on one low-beamed ceiling or another during the first couple of weeks here, before he’d learnt to duck automatically as he stood up.

  Not that Meg Hamilton had that problem, he noted a little sourly as she moved to pick up the receiver, her ebony head at least a foot lower than those innocuous-looking, but actually lethal, beams.

  No, her nervousness seemed to be for another reason entirely.

  He stood up. ‘Would you like me to take Scott into the kitchen and give you some privacy for your call?’ He had no idea what made him make the offer, only that he sensed her reluctance to make the call.

  She gave him a startled look before glancing past him to where her son was still playing with his tractor. ‘No, I…That’s okay. Thank you.’ She gave a brief smile. ‘I only need to let them know I won’t be arriving in time for dinner, after all.’ She picked up the receiver and dialled.

  Jed made no answer as he lowered his considerable height back into the armchair. But he thought about what that told him. For instance, if his mother had been expecting him to arrive in the middle of a snowstorm, and he hadn’t done so, she would have called out the local police, probably the FBI, plus sent his father and two brothers out to search for him. A bit over the top, maybe, but in those circumstances dinner would be the last thing on his mother’s mind.

  ‘Mother?’ Meg Hamilton queried tautly as her call was answered. ‘Yes, I’m sorry. It will probably be some time tomorrow now. Yes, I realize that. Of course I’ll let you know if we intend arriving in time for lunch.’ There was a slight pause as she listened to a lengthy reply. ‘Did she?’ Meg’s voice had become somewhat brittle now. ‘Yes, I probably should have come by train, too, but I had Scott’s things to bring too, and…Yes, I’ll definitely call you tomorrow to confirm our arrival.’ Her hand, Jed noticed frowningly, was shaking slightly as she replaced the receiver.

  It sounded as if his instincts had been correct. Mrs Hamilton, at least, was more concerned with her dining arrangements than she was with the welfare of her daughter and grandson.

  He glanced at Scott as he sat in front of the fire arranging his farm animals on the rug. As far as Jed was aware his grandmother hadn’t said one word about him.

  Jed straightened in the chair as he recognized what he was doing. He would not get involved. This girl and her son would be on their way as soon as he could get them there, and that would be t
he end of them as far as he was concerned.

  He would not get involved.

  Chapter 2

  Meg deliberately kept her back to the room for several seconds after the call had ended, taking the time to try and compose herself.

  Her palms were damp and yet she felt an icy shiver down her spine—not an unusual reaction after talking to her mother.

  She had no idea how her mother did it; perhaps the tone of voice her mother used rather than the actual words spoken, she thought. All Meg knew was that after a five-minute conversation with her mother she felt five years old again, rather than a grown woman with a young son of her own.

  But that wasn’t all of it, of course. Her sister Sonia would be there for Christmas, indeed, as her mother had just told her, was already there, having sensibly taken the train, her skiing trip cancelled because her husband had sprained his ankle on the golf course and so couldn’t ski.

  Sonia, of the designer clothes, the successful career, and the eminently suitable marriage.

  Everything, as their mother was so fond of reminding, that Meg wasn’t, and didn’t have.

  She bought her clothes from a chain store, and her career as an interior designer kept the landlord from the door and the bills paid, with very little left over for anything else. As for marriage, she had Scott instead of the suitable husband her mother would have preferred.

  And he was better than any husband she might have had, worth all the heartache of the last three and a half years, she reflected with the same fierce protectiveness she had known from the first moment he had been placed in her arms.

  Sonia could keep her wealthy lifestyle, and her suitable marriage; Meg would much rather have Scott.

  ‘I was just about to fix supper when you arrived.’ Jed Cole spoke huskily behind her.

  Meg drew herself up, turning to face him, putting all thoughts of Sonia and her parents to the back of her mind. There would be plenty of time for her to think of them tomorrow. Or even the day after that, she acknowledged ruefully after a glance outside at the still heavily falling snow.

  Right now she had the more immediate problem of being a guest in Jed Cole’s cottage—an unwelcome guest, if her guess was correct.

  And who could blame him for feeling that way? She hadn’t exactly arrived under auspicious circumstances. Crashing into the side of the cottage like that. The poor man must have wondered what on earth was going on.

  Where the splutter of laughter came from she wasn’t exactly sure, only that it was there, and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. In fact, the more she tried to control it, the worse it became.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She shook her head helplessly. ‘I just—I can’t believe I actually drove into the side of your cottage.’ She was laughing so hard now there were tears on her cheeks.

  ‘Why’s Mummy crying?’ Scott looked across at her concernedly.

  ‘I have no idea,’ Jed Cole answered him grimly even as he took a determined step towards her. ‘Will you calm it down?’ he snapped. ‘You’re scaring the kid.’

  As Scott didn’t look scared, only puzzled by her behaviour, it was more likely she was scaring ‘the man’ rather than ‘the kid’, Jed Cole staring down at her uncertainly now, as if he weren’t sure whether to shake her or slap her.

  Neither of which particularly appealed to her, although she had a feeling he might enjoy it.

  ‘I really am sorry.’ She did her best to stop laughing, wiping the tears from her cheeks as she met his gaze. ‘You were about to make supper, you said?’ The hysteria hadn’t completely gone, was still lurking on the edges, but for the moment she seemed to have it under control.

  Jed Cole still eyed her warily, those hard hewn features appearing more arrogant than ever, his jaw clenched disapprovingly. ‘Steak and fries,’ he answered her abruptly. ‘There’s enough for two if you’re interested,’ he added tersely. ‘Although quite what you’re going to feed the kid—’

  ‘His name is Scott,’ she repeated firmly. ‘And Scott eats what I eat.’

  The man grimaced. ‘Then I guess there’s enough steak and fries for three.’ He turned on his heel and left the room abruptly, the sound of another door opening and then closing seconds later.

  Meg gave Scott a quick glance. He seemed satisfied that his mother was okay after all and had resumed playing with his toys. ‘Scott, I’m going to help Mr Cole prepare dinner. Do you want to come or stay here and play?’ There was a guard in front of the fire, and he was playing far enough away not to come to any harm.

  ‘I stay here,’ he decided predictably. ‘There’s no tree, Mummy,’ he added with a frown.

  No tree. No decorations. No cards. In fact, nothing to indicate it was Christmas Eve tomorrow.

  ‘Not everyone celebrates Christmas in the way we do, Scott,’ she explained smilingly. ‘And I’m sure Granma and Grandad will have a big tree for you to look at tomorrow.’

  The tree would be in the hallway as always, with the decorations all just so, and white lights only because her mother abhorred the coloured ones, with neatly ribboned and bowed gifts nestled beneath it.

  A sharp contrast to the fern they had left behind in their flat, Meg thought wistfully, with its home-made decorations and paper chains, and enough tinsel and multicoloured lights draped around it to illuminate a tree four times its size.

  ‘I’m just in the kitchen helping Mr Cole, darling.’ She bent to kiss her son lightly on top of his ebony head. ‘Just call if you need me.’

  It wasn’t too difficult to locate the kitchen in this three-up three-down cottage. The door to the room opposite the sitting-room was open, revealing a small formal dining-room, meaning the closed door at the end of the hallway had to be the kitchen.

  But even without that process of elimination, the sound of pots banging and the smell of food cooking would have told her exactly where she could find Jed Cole.

  Jed Cole.

  He really was something of an enigma. Even without that American accent he so obviously didn’t belong here. He was too big, or else the cottage was too small for him. Besides, the décor and furniture in the cottage were both well-worn and faded, and even if she didn’t buy expensive clothing herself Meg knew a cashmere sweater when she saw one, and the faded denims had an expensive label on the back pocket, the shoes he had put on after taking off the heavy boots made from soft black leather.

  ‘So tell me,’ she said brightly as she entered the kitchen to find him putting steaks, two of them, under the grill. ‘Which do you think you would have opted for if I hadn’t stopped laughing when I did—the shaking or the slap?’

  Jed eyed her mockingly from beneath heavy dark brows as he leant back against one of the kitchen units, arms folded across the width of his chest as he looked down at her. ‘Actually, I’d got around to thinking that kissing you might do the trick,’ he drawled ruefully.

  Embarrassed colour instantly stained her cheeks. So much for her attempt at humour.

  ‘But on second thoughts,’ he added hardly, ‘I decided that I’m not into kissing teenage mothers, no matter what the provocation!’

  Meg’s eyes widened at this description of her. ‘Just how old do you think I am?’

  He gave her a considering look. ‘Obviously old enough to legally be the mother of the—Scott,’ he amended harshly. ‘Just, probably.’

  She put her hands on her hips as she eyed him incredulously. ‘For your information, Mr Cole, I’m twenty-seven years old,’ she snapped. ‘And I most certainly did not offer you any provocation.’ The wings of colour in her cheeks seemed to burn now.

  His eyes narrowed at the slight emphasis she put on the ‘you’, that steely blue gaze easily holding hers for several long seconds, until finally he gave a shrug and moved away. ‘Make the salad, why don’t you?’ he instructed tersely before checking the steaks under the grill. ‘Nothing ever looks as bad with a hot meal inside you.’

  ‘Does that apply to you or to me?’ Meg returned ruefully as she moved to t
ake the makings of a salad out of the cooler box in the fridge.

  ‘Both of us!’ he came back tersely before turning away to look at the fries.

  Meg continued to look at him for several seconds. This really wasn’t an ideal situation, for any of them. Jed Cole had just been sitting here in the cottage minding his own business, looking forward to his steak dinner no doubt, and now he had a woman and her young son to feed too.

  She moved to look out of the kitchen window, the light reflected outside showing her that the gusting wind was blowing the snow into deep drifts.

  ‘Is there really no way we can get away from here tonight?’

  She only realized she had spoken the words out loud when Jed Cole slammed a knife down on the worktop. ‘No way and no how,’ he rasped with controlled violence. ‘Now if you want to eat tonight, I suggest you make the damn salad.’

  Meg had turned as he’d slammed down the utensil, eyeing him warily now as she started to prepare the salad.

  ‘And stop looking at me like that,’ he added impatiently.

  She straightened. ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like a mouse expecting to be mauled by that bear Scott originally thought that I was!’ He sighed his exasperation. ‘Compared to my usual demeanour I’m behaving like a goddamned pussycat, okay?’

  Meg bit on her top lip as it twitched with laughter. At the moment he looked as Scott used to when he’d gone through ‘the terrible twos’, totally disgruntled at not being able to get his own way.

  ‘Okay,’ she agreed mildly. ‘Do you want dressing on this salad?’

  ‘Do I want…’ He closed his eyes, drawing in a controlling breath before opening them again to glare at her. ‘Who the hell are you, Meg Hamilton? And what warped quirk of fate,’ he rasped before she could reply, ‘landed you on my doorstep?’

  ‘Actually it was the side of the cottage,’ she corrected softly as she mixed a mustard dressing together. ‘But we won’t argue the details just now,’ she dismissed brightly.

  ‘We’ll save that until later, huh?’ he muttered, a grudging respect now in those deep blue eyes as he looked at her consideringly. ‘What was with your mother earlier? She seemed more concerned with her eating arrangements than whether or not you and Scott were okay.’