The Christmas Night Miracle. Кэрол Мортимер

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