The Christmas Night Miracle

‘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?

CHAPTER THREE

‘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.