A Christmas Miracle. Amy Andrews

You hungry?’

      ‘I could eat a bear,’ he said. He made claws with his hands and gave a little roar for Oscar’s benefit. Oscar giggled.

      ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘Really. I don’t need to be thanked. C’mon, Oscar.’ She reached for his hand again. ‘Say goodbye to Eddie.’

      ‘Oh, but I want to go with Eddie and eat a bear.’

      The kid looked as if he could do with a bear-sized meal. So did she. ‘Sorry, we really must be going. We have plenty to do today.’

      Oscar’s eyebrows practically hit his hairline; he was clearly surprised at the announcement of such a full day. Reid suspected that was because there wasn’t one. But the kid didn’t push, just sighed and shuffled over to Pops.

      ‘See ya later, alligator,’ he said, his voice chirpy despite the resigned slump to his shoulders.

      Pops stuck out his hand and they shook. ‘In a while, crocodile.’

      She said a quick goodbye too, ignoring Reid as she bundled her son into his safety seat in the back of the car. It was possibly the oldest car Reid had seen in a long time—about thirty years if his guess was right. Back in the days when cars were heavy and solid and not made to crumple. The paint job was faded and peeling around the edges and there were several small dings in the panelling where rust had invaded like cancer.

      He’d noticed it parked here yesterday afternoon as he and Pops had gone for some fish and chips at Bondi. It had still been here on their way back last night. And as he’d left this morning.

      It was rare to see bomby old cars in this street. Reid doubted there was a car in the entire neighbourhood that was more than three years old. He glanced inside as Trinity buckled Oscar in. The car was bulging with black garbage bags. On the back seat, in the foot wells and along the back dash. It was a similar situation in the front, the passenger seat and foot well crammed with plastic bags.

      It looked as if everything they owned was in the car.

      His scalp prickled some more. He was starting to get a very bad feeling about Trinity’s situation.

      She backed out of the car and shut Oscar’s door. ‘Goodbye,’ she said, the cheerfulness forced as she smiled at Pops and flashed him a quick glance of acknowledgement before sliding into the driver’s seat and pulling the door closed. Her seat belt was on quicker than he could blink.

      Reid almost laughed out loud. This was a first. Women didn’t usually object to spending time in his company. Not even the tats turned them off. In fact, these days, that usually drew them like a magnet.

      But this chick couldn’t get away from him fast enough.

      Before she had a chance to escape, he knocked on her window. She shot him an impatient look but rolled the window down. ‘If there’s ever anything I can do for you.’ He handed over his card. ‘Please don’t hesitate.’

      She took it to be polite but Reid had no doubt she’d toss it the first chance she got. He’d known her for fifteen minutes but he already knew that. She reminded him of some of the village women he’d met in Afghanistan. All he’d been able to see of them were their eyes but they’d told him plenty about their relief and resentment.

      ‘Thank you,’ she said and rolled the window up.

      She jammed the key in and turned it. The engine didn’t roar to life. In fact the only sound coming from the front of the car was a click. Her knuckles whitened around the steering wheel as she turned the key again. And again. And again.

      Click. Click. Click.

      She undid her belt and Reid took a step back as she opened the door. ‘It does this sometimes,’ she said, her face tight as she reached down and pulled a lever before exiting the car. ‘It’s a battery thing.’

      It sounded like a starter motor to Reid. He’d tinkered with enough engines in his life—cars, motorbikes and military vehicles—to know the sound of a dead one. Although if the battery connection was dodgy then that was possible too.

      She walked to the bonnet and slid her fingers under the lip, lifting the heavy metal lid. Her biceps tensed beneath the weight of it as she secured it in place. Reid joined her. The engine looked as old as the exterior. None of the clean, sleek functionality of a modern engine. Just a greasy, blackened chunk of metal with years of built-up grime and neglect.

      His arm brushed hers as he peered into the mess. He didn’t miss her sideways step as she tightened all the battery terminals.

      ‘That should do it,’ she announced as she unlatched the bonnet and clicked it shut, giving him a wide berth as she all but sprinted into the car.

      Reid stood on the footpath next to his grandfather as she tried again.

      Click.

      Click. Click. Click.

      ‘Sounds like the starter motor,’ Pops said.

      Reid smiled to himself. His grandfather was getting more and more forgetful but, a car enthusiast from way back, those memories were still fresh and vivid. ‘Yes.’

      He strode over to the car. Trinity, gripping the wheel, appeared to be praying for it to work. He knocked on the window. It was a few seconds before she acknowledged him with a straight-out glare. But she rolled the window down anyway.

      ‘Sounds like the starter motor.’

      She blew out her breath, staring at the bonnet through the windscreen. ‘The starter motor.’ The lines on her forehead furrowed a little deeper.

      Reid crouched by the car door, searching for the right thing to say. A wild animal was always at its most dangerous when it was cornered. And that was how Trinity seemed at the moment—wild.

      ‘I’ve got a mate who’s a mechanic. He’ll fix it pronto.’

      She seemed to contemplate that for a few seconds. ‘Do you know how much it would cost?’

      Reid shrugged. ‘A few hundred dollars.’

      She looked away but not before he saw the quick flash of dismay in her gaze. Her knuckles went so white around the wheel he was worried they were going to burst through her skin. He knew in that moment Trinity was just barely keeping her shit together.

      ‘I can pay for it.’

      ‘No.’ She shook her head vehemently.

      Reid put his hands up in a placating manner. ‘Just hear me out. I said that I owed you and I meant it. Let me do this for you. As a thank you. I can arrange it right away and give you a lift home.’ He flicked a glance to Oscar sitting quietly in the back seat as if he was used to such breakdowns. ‘What do you reckon, little dude?’

      ‘We don’t have a home.’

      Reid blinked at the matter-of-fact revelation as Trinity admonished her son with a quick, ‘Oscar!’

      He glanced at the interior of the car, packed to the rafters with bulging black garbage bags. He’d suspected as much...

      ‘Ignore him,’ she said, her laughter so brittle he was surprised it didn’t shatter into pieces around her. ‘Kids say the damnedest things.’ Her gaze was overly bright, the smile plastered to her face so big it looked painful.

      Reid didn’t know why fate had landed Trinity and her son in his lap today. But he was standing at a crossroads. He could take her assurances at face value and walk away. Or he could step in. As she’d done for Pops earlier.

      Reid was a big believer in fate. His faith in any kind of God had been destroyed a long time ago but he’d seen too many incidences of people being in the right or wrong places at the right or wrong time to dismiss the mystical forces of predetermination. Trinity and Oscar had crossed his path for a reason and if he could help them in some way, he would.

      Part of his job was advocating for homeless veterans—why wouldn’t he afford