The Christmas Night Miracle. Carole Mortimer
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She hoped.
It would be just her luck to have crashed into the side of the house—yes, she could see it now, the lights burning warmly inside, she had actually hit the side of a house!—of an eccentric recluse who didn’t like women and children, and had no intention of helping them, either.
Although at this particular moment she didn’t really care who or what the man was; she was too weary, too upset, to do more than look up at him with huge shadowed green eyes and say, ‘Is there any room at the inn?’
Which was a totally ridiculous thing for her to have said, she realized, still cringing inwardly a few minutes later when she and Scott, after a quick visit to the loo for her small son, sat together in front of a warm, crackling log fire drinking hot chocolate.
Although their rescuer had simply looked at her with mocking blue eyes and replied, ‘Sorry to break with tradition, but, yes, there’s room at the inn,’ before all but picking her and Scott up in his arms—no little weight, she was sure—and carrying them inside the house.
Well, it wasn’t exactly a house, Meg noted as she took a look around her, more of a cottage with its low beamed ceilings and small rooms. Not that it mattered what it was; it was warm, and dry, and out of the snowstorm still raging outside.
A storm their unexpected host had gone back out into after making them the hot chocolate.
Scott, safely ensconced on her denim-clad knees, peered shyly around her shoulder towards the door. ‘Where did the man go, Mummy?’
Good question. But apart from ‘outside’, she had no idea.
‘The name’s Jed,’ the man drawled as he stepped back into the small sitting-room, looking more like a bear than ever, the heavy coat and hood liberally covered in the same snow that dripped off in lumps from the huge boots he wore. ‘Yours.’ He handed Meg the handbag that she had left on the passenger seat of the car. ‘And yours,’ he added more gently as he gave Scott a small knapsack that contained the toys he had brought along to play with on the journey. ‘Your car keys.’ He dropped them into Meg’s waiting palm. ‘Not that I think anyone is going to steal your car any time soon,’ he added dryly as he shrugged out of the heavy coat. ‘You dinged the front pretty bad.’
Two things had become obvious during that conversation, or should that be monologue? Because Meg’s teeth were still chattering too badly for her to be able to answer him. One, that the man’s accent was American, two, that he didn’t look much less formidable without the bulky coat.
At well over six feet in height, with shaggy dark hair; his shoulders were wide beneath the black sweater, faded denims fitting snugly on narrow hips and powerful thighs, those deep blue eyes set in a face of teaked mahogany, the squareness of his jaw giving him an air of complete self-assurance.
Meg’s arms tightened instinctively about Scott as that vivid blue gaze moved over the two of them with the same deliberation, knowing what he would see: a woman of five feet two inches tall, with a mane of straight dark hair that reached almost to her waist, a small, heart-shaped face, green eyes, with a sprinkling of freckles across her nose, the little boy on her knee with the same colouring and freckles.
And the silence in the room, apart from the crackling of the logs on the fire, was starting to become oppressive.
Meg stirred herself. ‘I’m really sorry to have disturbed you and your family in this way, Mr—er, Jed,’ she amended awkwardly.
‘No family, just me,’ he dismissed easily, moving into a crouched position to place another log on the fire. ‘Hey,’ he murmured steadyingly as Meg and Scott moved further to the back of the chair. ‘I realize I haven’t been near a barber for a couple of months, but I don’t really look like a bear, do I?’ He gave what Meg was sure was meant to be a reassuring smile, but only succeeded in making him look more wolfish rather than harmless.
Meg moistened dry lips. The storm and crash must have made her oversensitive; this man was their rescuer, not their attacker. ‘I really can’t thank you enough for helping us like this, Mr—Jed,’ she said again ruefully, placing Scott back on the chair as she stood up. ‘Without your help Scott and I may just have…well, I can’t thank you enough.’ She decided not to go into the details of what could have befallen Scott and herself out there alone in the storm. Scott was probably going to have nightmares about this as it was, without making things worse.
‘You’re welcome,’ he drawled dryly as he stood up to tower over her once again.
Meg blinked up at him. He really was extremely large for this tiny room. ‘If you could provide me with the telephone number of a local garage, I’ll give them a call and see if they can perhaps tow my car away before taking us to the nearest…No?’ she said uncertainly as the man gave a derisive shake of his head.
‘No,’ he confirmed. ‘It’s after five-thirty, so the workshop at the garage in town will be closed. And even if it wasn’t I doubt very much they would come out in this weather. Don’t you?’ He glanced pointedly out of the cottage window where the snow was still falling heavily.
She glanced at Scott who, having lost interest in this adult conversation, was now taking toys out of his bag to play with. Which was probably just as well—there was absolutely no need for him to see his mother’s worry.
What was she going to do? The car, from what this man said, was undriveable. The snow was still falling, and even the few minutes she had spent outside between the car and cottage were enough to tell her she couldn’t expect Scott to walk anywhere in that.
Besides which, she had absolutely no idea where she was.
Jed watched as the emotions flickered across the woman’s face, although ‘woman’ was perhaps stretching things a bit. Despite the small boy who called her ‘Mummy’, she didn’t look much more than a child herself, barely five feet tall, her face appearing bare of make-up, her only colour the freckles across her nose and the emerald-green eyes surrounded by the longest black lashes he had ever seen, her long, glowing black hair unstyled except for a few wisps on her forehead.
And she appeared to be quietly panicking from her pained expression and continuing pallor.
Not that he was all that happy with this turn of events himself. He hadn’t deliberately placed himself out of circulation here in the middle of nowhere to have his peace and solitude shattered by a green-eyed imp and her kid.
But whatever panic she was still feeling over her predicament was placed firmly under control as she introduced herself. ‘I’m Meg Hamilton—’ she even managed a slight curve of those full lips as she held out a slender hand ‘—and this is my son, Scott,’ she added with a certain amount of pride as she gazed down at the little kid now busily playing with a tractor and some farm animals.
Trust the English, Jed mused ruefully. Even in the middle of a blizzard, good manners couldn’t be ignored.
‘Jed Cole,’ he returned abruptly, searching her face for any sign of recognition of his name as he shook her hand.
‘Mr Cole.’ But she only seemed relieved to have the formalities covered, as though these minor pleasantries reassured her, at the same time releasing her hand from his.
She didn’t recognize either his name or him, then. That, or else she was a very good actress, followed the cynical thought.
Over the last nine months, since his life had suddenly become public property, women had tried all sorts of tricks to meet him, one of them even sneaking into the sports club he belonged to and accosting him in the shower. Apparently all the other men present in the changing-room had been too dazed by the woman being there at all to ask her what she thought she was doing.
Although perhaps dragging a kid along, in the middle of a snowstorm, was going a little far, even for the most ardent fan. And from the totally unknowing look on Meg Hamilton’s face, she wasn’t one of those.
‘Is there perhaps a hotel nearby?’ Meg queried with what he