THE CHRISTMAS NIGHT MIRACLE
CAROLE MORTIMER

MARRIAGE AND MISTLETOE

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

MILLS & BOON

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For Peter

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER ONE

‘IT’S snowing again, Mummy!’ Scott cried excitedly from the back of the car.

What an understatement.

It wasn’t just snowing, it was blowing and gusting towards blizzard proportions. Which, in fact, the radio station Meg was listening to as she drove along had already warned that it would become some time this evening.

It had just been a flurry of delicate white snowflakes when they had left London three hours ago, pretty in its delicacy, to be admired and enjoyed, but standing no chance of actually settling on the streets of the busy city, even though some of it had clung determinedly to the rooftops.

Unfortunately, the further Meg had driven out of London, the heavier the snow had begun to fall, until it was now a thick layer on the ground, the road in front of her almost indistinguishable from the hedgerow, the snow hitting the windscreen so thickly the wipers were having a problem dealing with it.

As was Meg herself, finding it increasingly difficult to control the car as the wheels slipped and slid on the growing layer of snow, the fall of darkness just over an hour ago making things worse, the headlights just seeming to hit a wall of white rather than light the way.

Scott, at three and a half, and awake after sleeping in the back of the car for the last hour, could only see the potential fun and not the danger of this novelty in his young life.

Something Meg was at great pains to maintain as she glanced at him briefly in the rear-view mirror, her smile warm and loving as she looked at his tousled head of dark hair and still-sleepy features; one of them feeling worried and panicked was quite enough.

‘Isn’t it lovely?’ she agreed as she hastily returned her attention to the road, the car having slewed slightly sideways in that moment of distraction.

She shouldn’t have come by car. The train would have been so much easier. And at least if there had been a problem with snow on the rails she would have had adult company in her misery.

Because she hadn’t seen another car, or even a truck, in the last half an hour.

Of course, that could have something to do with the warning being given out on the radio station for the last hour by the police for people ‘not to travel unless absolutely necessary’. A warning that had come far too late for Meg, already more than two thirds of the way towards her destination.

‘Can I build a snowman when we get to Granma and Grandad’s?’ Scott prompted hopefully, thankfully still totally unaware of their precarious situation.

‘Of course, darling,’ she agreed distractedly.

The relevant word in Scott’s statement was ‘when’—because Meg was very much afraid they weren’t going to make it to her parents’ house this evening, as planned.

She could barely see where she was going now, the headlights of the car only seeming to make the snow whiter and brighter, and blinding. If she could just see a house, or even a public house, anything that showed signs of habitation, then she could stop and ask them for help.

‘I need the toilet, Mummy.’

Her hands tightened instinctively on the steering wheel; this was, Meg had quickly learnt after toilet-training her young son two years ago, the age-old cry guaranteed to put any mother into a panic. Because it always came when you were standing in a long queue at the supermarket, or sitting on a bus, or trying on shoes—or in the middle of a blinding snowstorm.

And something else she had also learnt very quickly: it was no good telling a small child that they would have to wait a few minutes while you finished what you were doing—when children said they needed the toilet, then they needed it now.

Nevertheless, like many other mothers before her, Meg tried. ‘Can you hang on a few minutes, Scott? We aren’t too far from Granma and Grandad’s now,’ she added with more hope than actual knowledge; she had absolutely no idea where they were, as she hadn’t been able to see a signpost for miles.

‘I need the toilet now, Mummy,’ Scott came back predictably.

She was already so tense from concentrating on her driving that her shoulders and arms ached, this added pressure only making the tension worse. Not that it was Scott’s fault. He had been asleep for over an hour; of course he needed the toilet.

But she could hardly pull over to the side of the road, even if she could find it, take Scott outside and just let him go to the loo there. This wasn’t the middle of summer, it was the evening before Christmas Eve, with a temperature below zero. She could hardly expect him to expose himself to the elements.

If only she could find somewhere, a building of some kind, a barn, even, so very appropriate for this time of year, somewhere they could go and sit this thing out.

Even as the thought played across her frantic mind she felt the steering go from her completely, the car moving sideways as it slid across the snow.

‘Hang on, Scott,’ Meg had time to warn before she saw a dark shape looming towards her in the darkness, the car coming to a shuddering halt as it hit an immovable object, the noise of the impact almost deafening in the otherwise eerie silence created by the blanket of snow.

‘Mummy? Mummy!’ Scott’s voice rose hysterically at her lack of response.

‘It’s all right, Scott,’ she soothed reassuringly even as she put up a hand to where seconds ago her head had made painful contact with the window beside her.

Amazingly, although the engine had stalled on impact, the headlights were still on, and when Meg turned she could see Scott strapped into his seat in the back of the car, tears streaming down his cheeks as he tried to reach forward and touch her.

‘It’s all right, baby.’ She choked back her own tears as she saw and felt his fear, fumbling with the clasp of her seat belt, desperate to get out of the car and go to him, to hold him, to reassure him they were both okay.

But before she could do any of that the door beside her was wrenched open, letting in a blast of icy-cold air, Meg’s face white with shock as she let out a scream at the apparition she saw looming there.

‘Mummy, it’s a bear!’ Scott cried from the back of the car.

A big hairy grizzly bear.

A blue-eyed grizzly bear, Meg realized as the man pushed back the hood of the heavy coat he was wearing, snow instantly falling on the dark thickness of his hair.

‘Are you okay?’ he barked concernedly, the narrowed blue gaze turning to Scott as he began to cry in the back of the car.

‘I have to go to him!’ Meg muttered anxiously as she scrambled out of the car, the man stepping back as she pushed past him to wrench open the back door and almost fling herself inside. ‘It’s okay, Scott. We’re okay.’ She held him close to her, feeling his shuddering tears. ‘This nice man has only come to help us.’ She hoped.

It would be just her luck to have crashed into the side of the house—yes, she could see it now, the lights burning warmly inside, she had actually hit the side of a house!—of an eccentric recluse who didn’t like women and children, and had no intention of helping them, either.

Although at this particular moment she didn’t really care who or what the man was; she was too weary, too upset, to do more than look up at him with huge shadowed green eyes and say, ‘Is there any room at the inn?’

Which was a totally ridiculous thing for her to have said, she realized, still cringing inwardly a few minutes later when she and Scott, after a quick visit to the loo for her small son, sat together in front of a warm, crackling log fire drinking hot chocolate.

Although their rescuer had simply looked at her with mocking blue eyes and replied, ‘Sorry to break with tradition, but, yes, there’s room at the inn,’ before all but picking her and Scott up in his arms—no little weight, she was sure—and carrying them inside the house.

Well, it wasn’t exactly a house, Meg noted as she took a look around her, more of a cottage with its low beamed ceilings and small rooms. Not that it mattered what it was; it was warm, and dry, and out of the snowstorm still raging outside.

A storm their unexpected host had gone back out into after making them the hot chocolate.

Scott, safely ensconced on her denim-clad knees, peered shyly around her shoulder towards the door. ‘Where did the man go, Mummy?’

Good question. But apart from ‘outside’, she had no idea.

‘The name’s Jed,’ the man drawled as he stepped back into the small sitting-room, looking more like a bear than ever, the heavy coat and hood liberally covered in the same snow that dripped off in lumps from the huge boots he wore. ‘Yours.’ He handed Meg the handbag that she had left on the passenger seat of the car. ‘And yours,’ he added more gently as he gave Scott a small knapsack that contained the toys he had brought along to play with on the journey. ‘Your car keys.’ He dropped them into Meg’s waiting palm. ‘Not that I think anyone is going to steal your car any time soon,’ he added dryly as he shrugged out of the heavy coat. ‘You dinged the front pretty bad.’

Two things had become obvious during that conversation, or should that be monologue? Because Meg’s teeth were still chattering too badly for her to be able to answer him. One, that the man’s accent was American, two, that he didn’t look much less formidable without the bulky coat.

At well over six feet in height, with shaggy dark hair; his shoulders were wide beneath the black sweater, faded denims fitting snugly on narrow hips and powerful thighs, those deep blue eyes set in a face of teaked mahogany, the squareness of his jaw giving him an air of complete self-assurance.

Meg’s arms tightened instinctively about Scott as that vivid blue gaze moved over the two of them with the same deliberation, knowing what he would see: a woman of five feet two inches tall, with a mane of straight dark hair that reached almost to her waist, a small, heart-shaped face, green eyes, with a sprinkling of freckles across her nose, the little boy on her knee with the same colouring and freckles.

And the silence in the room, apart from the crackling of the logs on the fire, was starting to become oppressive.

Meg stirred herself. ‘I’m really sorry to have disturbed you and your family in this way, Mr—er, Jed,’ she amended awkwardly.

‘No family, just me,’ he dismissed easily, moving into a crouched position to place another log on the fire. ‘Hey,’ he murmured steadyingly as Meg and Scott moved further to the back of the chair. ‘I realize I haven’t been near a barber for a couple of months, but I don’t really look like a bear, do I?’ He gave what Meg was sure was meant to be a reassuring smile, but only succeeded in making him look more wolfish rather than harmless.

Meg moistened dry lips. The storm and crash must have made her oversensitive; this man was their rescuer, not their attacker. ‘I really can’t thank you enough for helping us like this, Mr—Jed,’ she said again ruefully, placing Scott back on the chair as she stood up. ‘Without your help Scott and I may just have…well, I can’t thank you enough.’ She decided not to go into the details of what could have befallen Scott and herself out there alone in the storm. Scott was probably going to have nightmares about this as it was, without making things worse.

‘You’re welcome,’ he drawled dryly as he stood up to tower over her once again.

Meg blinked up at him. He really was extremely large for this tiny room. ‘If you could provide me with the telephone number of a local garage, I’ll give them a call and see if they can perhaps tow my car away before taking us to the nearest…No?’ she said uncertainly as the man gave a derisive shake of his head.

‘No,’ he confirmed. ‘It’s after five-thirty, so the workshop at the garage in town will be closed. And even if it wasn’t I doubt very much they would come out in this weather. Don’t you?’ He glanced pointedly out of the cottage window where the snow was still falling heavily.

She glanced at Scott who, having lost interest in this adult conversation, was now taking toys out of his bag to play with. Which was probably just as well—there was absolutely no need for him to see his mother’s worry.

What was she going to do? The car, from what this man said, was undriveable. The snow was still falling, and even the few minutes she had spent outside between the car and cottage were enough to tell her she couldn’t expect Scott to walk anywhere in that.

Besides which, she had absolutely no idea where she was.

Jed watched as the emotions flickered across the woman’s face, although ‘woman’ was perhaps stretching things a bit. Despite the small boy who called her ‘Mummy’, she didn’t look much more than a child herself, barely five feet tall, her face appearing bare of make-up, her only colour the freckles across her nose and the emerald-green eyes surrounded by the longest black lashes he had ever seen, her long, glowing black hair unstyled except for a few wisps on her forehead.

And she appeared to be quietly panicking from her pained expression and continuing pallor.

Not that he was all that happy with this turn of events himself. He hadn’t deliberately placed himself out of circulation here in the middle of nowhere to have his peace and solitude shattered by a green-eyed imp and her kid.

But whatever panic she was still feeling over her predicament was placed firmly under control as she introduced herself. ‘I’m Meg Hamilton—’ she even managed a slight curve of those full lips as she held out a slender hand ‘—and this is my son, Scott,’ she added with a certain amount of pride as she gazed down at the little kid now busily playing with a tractor and some farm animals.

Trust the English, Jed mused ruefully. Even in the middle of a blizzard, good manners couldn’t be ignored.

‘Jed Cole,’ he returned abruptly, searching her face for any sign of recognition of his name as he shook her hand.

‘Mr Cole.’ But she only seemed relieved to have the formalities covered, as though these minor pleasantries reassured her, at the same time releasing her hand from his.

She didn’t recognize either his name or him, then. That, or else she was a very good actress, followed the cynical thought.

Over the last nine months, since his life had suddenly become public property, women had tried all sorts of tricks to meet him, one of them even sneaking into the sports club he belonged to and accosting him in the shower. Apparently all the other men present in the changing-room had been too dazed by the woman being there at all to ask her what she thought she was doing.

Although perhaps dragging a kid along, in the middle of a snowstorm, was going a little far, even for the most ardent fan. And from the totally unknowing look on Meg Hamilton’s face, she wasn’t one of those.

‘Is there perhaps a hotel nearby?’ Meg queried with what he thought was more hope than expectation.

‘I hate to disappoint you, Mrs Hamilton.’ And he really did, already resenting this intrusion into his privacy.

Not that he would have just left her and the kid outside to freeze—he just wished she had chosen someone else’s cottage to drive in to.

But having been secluded here for two months now—not very productive months, he had to admit—he had got out of the habit of polite conversation. If he had ever had it. Which he probably hadn’t, he acknowledged ruefully. He didn’t suffer fools gladly at the best of times, and driving in this weather, with a little kid in tow, had to be the height of foolishness.

‘No hotel,’ he rasped. ‘In fact, apart from this cottage, no anything,’ he bit out harshly.

A frown marred that creamy brow now. ‘But we can’t be too far from Winston. Can we…?’ she added uncertainly, those small, slender hands betraying her nervousness as she ran them against denim-clad thighs.

She should be nervous, risking her own life and that of the kid’s, to drive in weather like this, and for what? He had no idea, but it wasn’t worth it, whatever the reason.

His impatient anger was audible in his tone. ‘About ten miles or so, though it might as well be a hundred,’ he added harshly as her expression brightened. ‘You must have taken a wrong turning half a mile or so away, because this is a private road that leads to this cottage only. And even if they get the snowploughs out tomorrow the road to the cottage will remain snowbound.’

Tell it like it is, why don’t you, Cole? he berated himself disgustedly as tears swam now in those deep green eyes.

But if she hadn’t deliberately come here to meet him—and he was inclined to believe that she hadn’t, her distress was too genuine—then what was this woman/child doing out here in the middle of nowhere two days before Christmas?

He scowled heavily. ‘Where have you driven from?’

‘London,’ she said flatly. ‘It wasn’t snowing when we set out—well, not much, anyway,’ she amended with a grimace as her son would have spoken.

Out of the mouths of babes. But Jed accepted that it probably hadn’t been snowing anything like this in the capital; he had never known snow to settle for long during his own frequent trips to that busy metropolis. But London was over a hundred and twenty miles away from here, at least.

‘Didn’t you have the good sense to pull over and stop somewhere when you could see the weather was worsening?’ he snapped his impatience with the situation, what was he supposed to do with this unlikely pair of visitors?

‘Obviously not!’ A flush brightened her cheeks. ‘I realize now that I should have done,’ she continued awkwardly, those green eyes glittering with anger now rather than tears. ‘But I didn’t.’ She angled her pointed chin challengingly, as if daring him to criticize her again.

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 the end of them as far as he was concerned.

He would not get involved.

CHAPTER TWO

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 take 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.’

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 Meg 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?

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