The Christmas Night Miracle. Кэрол Мортимер

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,