The Christmas Night Miracle

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 man grimaced. ‘Then I guess there’s enough steak and fries for three.’ He turned on his heel and left the room abruptly, the sound of another door opening and then closing seconds later.

Meg gave Scott a quick glance. He seemed satisfied that his mother was okay after all and had resumed playing with his toys. ‘Scott, I’m going to help Mr Cole prepare dinner. Do you want to come or stay here and play?’ There was a guard in front of the fire, and he was playing far enough away not to come to any harm.

‘I stay here,’ he decided predictably. ‘There’s no tree, Mummy,’ he added with a frown.

No tree. No decorations. No cards. In fact, nothing to indicate it was Christmas Eve tomorrow.

‘Not everyone celebrates Christmas in the way we do, Scott,’ she explained smilingly. ‘And I’m sure Granma and Grandad will have a big tree for you to look at tomorrow.’

The tree would be in the hallway as always, with the decorations all just so, and white lights only because her mother abhorred the coloured ones, with neatly ribboned and bowed gifts nestled beneath it.

A sharp contrast to the fern they had left behind in their flat, Meg thought wistfully, with its home-made decorations and paper chains, and enough tinsel and multicoloured lights draped around it to illuminate a tree four times its size.

‘I’m just in the kitchen helping Mr Cole, darling.’ She bent to kiss her son lightly on top of his ebony head. ‘Just call if you need me.’

It wasn’t too difficult to locate the kitchen in this three-up three-down cottage. The door to the room opposite the sitting-room was open, revealing a small formal dining-room, meaning the closed door at the end of the hallway had to be the kitchen.

But even without that process of elimination, the sound of pots banging and the smell of food cooking would have told her exactly where she could find Jed Cole.

Jed Cole.

He really was something of an enigma. Even without that American accent he so obviously didn’t belong here. He was too big, or else the cottage was too small for him. Besides, the décor and furniture in the cottage were both well-worn and faded, and even if she didn’t buy expensive clothing herself Meg knew a cashmere sweater when she saw one, and the faded denims had an expensive label on the back pocket, the shoes he had put on after taking off the heavy boots made from soft black leather.

‘So tell me,’ she said brightly as she entered the kitchen to find him putting steaks, two of them, under the grill. ‘Which do you think you would have opted for if I hadn’t stopped laughing when I did—the shaking or the slap?’

Jed eyed her mockingly from beneath heavy dark brows as he leant back against one of the kitchen units, arms folded across the width of his chest as he looked down at her. ‘Actually, I’d got around to thinking that kissing you might do the trick,’ he drawled ruefully.

Embarrassed colour instantly stained her cheeks. So much for her attempt at humour.

‘But on second thoughts,’ he added hardly, ‘I decided that I’m not into kissing teenage mothers, no matter what the provocation!’

Meg’s eyes widened at this description of her. ‘Just how old do you think I am?’

He gave her a considering look. ‘Obviously old enough to legally be the mother of the—Scott,’ he amended harshly. ‘Just, probably.’

She put her hands on her hips as she eyed him incredulously. ‘For your information, Mr Cole, I’m twenty-seven years old,’ she snapped. ‘And I most certainly did not offer you any provocation.’ The wings of colour in her cheeks seemed to burn now.

His eyes narrowed at the slight emphasis she put on the ‘you’, that steely blue gaze easily holding hers for several long seconds, until finally he gave a shrug and moved away. ‘Make the salad, why don’t you?’ he instructed tersely before checking the steaks under the grill. ‘Nothing ever looks as bad with a hot meal inside you.’

‘Does that apply to you or to me?’ Meg returned ruefully as she moved to take the makings of a salad out of the cooler box in the fridge.

‘Both of us!’ he came back tersely before turning away to look at the fries.

Meg continued to look at him for several seconds. This really wasn’t an ideal situation, for any of them. Jed Cole had just been sitting here in the cottage minding his own business, looking forward to his steak dinner no doubt, and now he had a woman and her young son to feed too.

She moved to look out of the kitchen window, the light reflected outside showing her that the gusting wind was blowing the snow into deep drifts.

‘Is there really no way we can get away from here tonight?’

She only realized she had spoken the words out loud when Jed Cole slammed a knife down on the worktop. ‘No way and no how,’ he rasped with controlled violence. ‘Now if you want to eat tonight, I suggest you make the damn salad.’

Meg had turned as he’d slammed down the utensil, eyeing him warily now as she started to prepare the salad.

‘And stop looking at me like that,’ he added impatiently.

She straightened. ‘Like what?’

‘Like a mouse expecting to be mauled by that bear Scott originally thought that I was!’ He sighed his exasperation. ‘Compared to my usual demeanour I’m behaving like a goddamned pussycat, okay?’