Christmas Miracle. Линда Гуднайт

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.’

      He nodded, his mouth twitching into a slight smile, and she felt relief flood through her at this tiny evidence of his humanity. She went into the kitchen and spooned formula into a bottle, then poured hot water from the kettle on it, shook it and plonked it into a bowl of cold water. Thankfully there had been some water in the kettle so it didn’t have to cool from boiling, she thought as she ran back upstairs and collected the children, suddenly ludicrously conscious of how scruffy they looked after foraging in the woods, and how apprehensive.

      ‘Hey, it’s all right, he wants to meet you,’ she murmured reassuringly to Kitty, who was clinging to her, and then pushed the breakfast room door open and ushered them in.

      He was putting wood on the fire, and as he closed the door and straightened up, he caught sight of them and turned. The smile was gone, his face oddly taut, and her own smile faltered for a moment.

      ‘Kids, this is Mr Forrester—’

      ‘Jake,’ he said, cutting her off and taking a step forward. His mouth twisted into a smile. ‘I’ve already met Edward. And you must be Kitty. And this, I take it, is Thomas?’

      ‘Yes.’

      Thomas, sensing the change of atmosphere, had gone obligingly silent, but after a moment he lost interest in Jake and anything except his stomach and, burrowing into her shoulder, he began to wail again.

      ‘I’m sorry. I—’

      ‘Go on, feed him. I gave the bottle a shake to help cool it.’

      ‘Thanks.’ She went into the kitchen, wondering how he knew to do that. Nieces and nephews, probably—although he’d said he didn’t have any family. How odd, she thought briefly, but then Thomas tried to lunge out of her arms and she fielded him with the ease of practice and tested the bottle on her wrist.

      Cool enough. She shook it again, tested it once more to be on the safe side and offered it to her son.

      Silence. Utter, blissful silence, broken only by a strained chuckle.

      ‘Oh, for such simple needs,’ he said softly, and she turned and met his eyes. They were darker than before, and his mouth was set in a grim line despite the laugh. But then his expression went carefully blank and he limped across to the kettle. ‘So—who has tea, and who wants juice or whatever else?’

      ‘We haven’t got any juice. The children will have water.’

      ‘Sounds dull.’

      ‘They’re fine with it. It’s good for them.’

      ‘I don’t doubt it. It’s good for me, too, but that doesn’t mean I drink it. Except in meetings. I get through gallons of it in meetings. So—is that just me, or are you going to join me?’

      ‘Oh.’ Join him? That sounded curiously—intimate. ‘Yes, please,’ she said, and hoped she didn’t sound absurdly breathless. It’s a cup of tea, she told herself crossly. Just a cup of tea. Nothing else. She didn’t want anything else. Ever.

      And if she told herself that enough times, maybe she’d start to believe it.

      ‘Have the children eaten?’

      ‘Thomas has. Edward and Kitty haven’t. I was going to wait until you woke up and ask you what you wanted.’

      ‘Anything. I’m not really hungry after that sandwich. What is there?’

      ‘I have no idea. I’ll give the children eggs on toast—’

      ‘Again?’ Kitty said plaintively. ‘We had eggs on toast for supper last night.’

      ‘I’m sure we can find something else,’ their host was saying, rummaging in a tall cupboard with pull-out racking that was crammed with tins and jars and packets. ‘What did you all have for lunch?’

      ‘Jam sandwiches and an apple.’

      He turned and studied Kitty thoughtfully, then his gaze flicked up to Amelia’s and speared her. ‘Jam sandwiches?’ he said softly. ‘Eggs on toast?’

      She felt her chin lift, but he just frowned and turned back to the cupboard, staring into its depths blankly for a moment before shutting it and opening the big door beside it and going systematically through the drawers of the freezer.

      ‘How about fish?’

      ‘What sort? They don’t eat smoked fish or fish fingers.’

      ‘Salmon—and mixed shellfish. A lobster,’ he added, rummaging. ‘Raw king prawns—there’s some Thai curry paste somewhere I just saw. Or there’s probably a casserole if you don’t fancy fish.’

      ‘Whatever. Choose what you want. We’ll have eggs.’

      He frowned again, shut the freezer and studied her searchingly.

      She wished he wouldn’t do that. Her arm was aching, Thomas was starting to loll against her shoulder and if she was sitting down, she could probably settle him and get him off to sleep so she could concentrate on feeding the others—most particularly their reluctant host.

      After all, she’d told him she could cook—

      ‘Go and sit down. I’ll order a takeaway,’ he said softly, and she looked back up into his eyes and surprised a gentle, almost puzzled expression in them for a fleeting moment before he turned away and limped out. ‘What do they like?’ he asked over his shoulder, then turned to the children. ‘What’s it to be, kids? Pizza? Chinese? Curry? Kebabs? Burgers?’

      ‘What’s a kebab?’

      ‘Disgusting. Anyway, you’re having eggs, Kitty, we’ve already decided that.’

      Over their heads she met his eyes defiantly, and saw a reluctant grin blossom on his firm, sculpted lips. ‘OK, we’ll have eggs. Do we have enough?’

      We? Her eyes widened. ‘For all of us?’

      ‘Am I excluded?’

      She ran a mental eye over the meagre contents of the fridge and relaxed. ‘Of course not.’

      ‘Good. Then we’ll have omelettes and oven-baked potato wedges and peas, if that’s OK? Now, for heaven’s sake sit down, woman, before you drop the baby, and I’ll make you a cup of tea.’

      ‘I thought I was supposed to be looking after you?’ she said, but one glare from those rather gorgeous slate grey eyes and she retreated to the comfort of the fireside, settling down in the chair he’d been using with a sigh of relief. She’d have her tea, settle Thomas in his cot and make supper.

      For all of them, apparently. So—was he going to sit and eat with them? He’d been so anti his little army of squatters, so what had brought about this sudden change?

      Jake pulled the mugs out of the cupboard and then contemplated the lid of the tea caddy. Tea bags, he decided, with only one useful hand, not leaves and the pot, and putting the caddy back, he dropped tea bags into the mugs and poured water on them. Thank God it was his left arm he’d broken, not his right. At least he could manage most things like this.

      The stud on his jeans was a bit of a challenge, he’d discovered, but he’d managed to get them on this morning. Shoelaces were another issue, but he’d kicked his shoes off when he’d got in and he’d been padding around in his socks, and he had shoes without laces he could wear until the blasted cast came off.

      But cooking—well, cooking would