The Christmas Night Miracle

She shrugged. ‘If you’re busy I can always…’

‘Always what?’ Jed Cole came back derisively, lounging in one of the armchairs but putting down the book he had been glancing through. ‘Your choices are pretty limited in this cottage.’

A flush heightened her cheeks. She felt strangely uncomfortable now that she was alone with this darkly enigmatic man. Although he was only three, Scott’s presence had acted as a buffer between the two adults, making personal conversation almost impossible. Something that was no longer true.

Especially after Scott’s statement earlier concerning his grandparents.

And her parents, her whole family, in fact, were something she would rather not discuss.

She grimaced. ‘Well, I could always go and tidy the kitchen.’

‘All done,’ Jed Cole dismissed dryly, almost as if he had guessed what she would do and had nullified it. ‘For the main part the cottage is pretty basic, but it does have a dishwasher and washing machine, and, wonder of wonders, central heating.’

Meg had already noted that the entire cottage was warm, that the log fire burning in this room was only for effect and not to provide actual heat. ‘Were they here when you bought the cottage or did you have them installed afterwards?’ She moved further into the room, feeling slightly shy with this man, as shown by the inanity of her conversation.

Not surprising really. Jed Cole was the sort of darkly handsome man who would wreak havoc with any woman’s pulse-rate at the best of times. Here, alone in a cottage with him, the snow on the ground outside creating an eerie silence, she found him nerve-janglingly attractive, his dark good looks, the intensity of his deep blue eyes, combined with the lean strength of his body, making Meg completely aware of him.

Which was quite an admission coming from a woman who hadn’t so much as accepted a date in over three years.

Jed Cole shook his head now. ‘I don’t own the cottage, Meg, it belongs to…a friend of mine,’ he dismissed abruptly. ‘I’ve just been staying here for a while.’

Not exactly helpful. And she hadn’t missed that slight pause when he’d told her whom the cottage belonged to. ‘Do you work in the area?’

He settled back in the armchair, blue gaze hooded now. ‘No.’

She gave him a quick glance, not sure whether or not to sit down herself; if they were going to continue this horribly stilted conversation, probably not. ‘Perhaps you have friends in the area?’

He grimaced. ‘Don’t know a soul.’

Hmm, talkative man, wasn’t he? Perhaps it would better if she just made her excuses and went back upstairs.

‘My turn now,’ Jed drawled hardly. ‘Why has Scott never met your parents?’

She had known by the narrow-eyed way he’d looked at her at the time that he wasn’t going to let that statement pass, but the directness of his question now threw her into some confusion. Most people, most polite people, wouldn’t have pursued the subject, but Jed Cole had made no effort to be polite, so why should he start now?

‘I was about to have a glass of red wine,’ he continued lightly. ‘Would you care to join me?’

Why not? She’d had a long and stressful day, and she somehow didn’t think it was going to get too much better if Jed Cole was going to start asking her questions like the one he just had.

He stood up now, careful to avoid the dark wooden beams on the ceiling as he did so.

She should have known that he didn’t own this cottage. It was like trying to fit a round peg into a square hole; he simply didn’t fit.

‘Perhaps you’ll be able to think of an answer to my question while I go and get the wine,’ he told her mockingly as they stood together in the doorway for several seconds.

Several seconds too long for Meg’s comfort, her awareness of this man becoming more acute with every minute that passed. Which would never do. Despite what this man might think to the contrary, because she had Scott, she did not get involved in brief, meaningless affairs. Even with attractive men she met in snowstorms.

Neither did she have an acceptable answer to his question, she admitted with dismay. And his slightly mocking smile before he disappeared down the hallway to the kitchen seemed to say that he already knew she didn’t.

Well, she did have an answer, but it wasn’t one she could give without being unkind to her parents, and she didn’t think they deserved that. It wouldn’t have been easy for them to accept their daughter turning up on their doorstep with their illegitimate grandchild. Not that she ever had.

‘Here we are.’ Jed came back with two glasses and an opened bottle of red wine. ‘Thought of an answer yet?’ he taunted as he poured the wine into the two glasses before handing one to Meg. ‘Why don’t we sit down, hmm?’

If he was trying to put her at her ease, then he wasn’t succeeding.

Although after one glance at his face, at those mockingly raised brows, she realized that perhaps he wasn’t trying to do any such thing, that he was a man who rarely, if ever, tried to make things easy for other people. In fact, as Meg was quickly learning, he wasn’t a man it was easy to relax around at all. And it didn’t help that he was so sure of himself, that he wore his obviously expensive clothing with a complete disregard for their worth—or that he was so rakishly attractive.

Admit it, Meg, she mocked herself, it was the latter about him that bothered her the most. She was alone here, with only the sleeping Scott for chaperon, with a man it was impossible not to be completely physically aware of.

‘Still trying to think of an answer?’

And who also happened to be purposefully blunt to the point of rudeness.

‘We aren’t usually this—inquisitive, into other people’s personal lives, in this country.’ She eyed him sternly, a look usually guaranteed to subdue Scott, but which only succeeded in making this somewhat older man smile.

He shrugged those broad shoulders unapologetically. ‘These aren’t usual circumstances.’

No, they weren’t, were they? Because in the normal course of things single mothers like Meg wouldn’t even be noticed by a man who was probably more at home with highly sophisticated New York types.

Which posed the question Scott had asked him earlier—why was he here and not in New York?

‘In that case…’ she paused to take a sip of her wine ‘…perhaps you wouldn’t mind explaining to me—’

‘Oh, no, little Meg,’ he cut in tauntingly, totally relaxed as he watched her from beneath hooded lids. ‘You’ve already asked enough questions for one evening. Or do you want me to repeat the question?’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ she snapped tautly.

‘I’m still waiting, Meg,’ he prompted softly seconds later at her tight-lipped silence.

She was as disturbed by his use of her first name as she was by his persistence. Although it would be slightly ridiculous, given the circumstances, for them to continue to stand on formality.

This time her sip of wine was more from necessity than for effect. ‘You would have to know my parents to understand.’

‘Oh, I can believe that,’ he drawled scathingly.

‘My father has been ill.’

‘How old is Scott?’ he prompted hardly.

‘Three and a half. But—’

‘Your father has been ill for three and a half years?’ he said disbelievingly.

‘Of course not,’ she snapped agitatedly. ‘I was just…Our parents are in their sixties.’

‘Our?’ Jed picked up frowningly. ‘You have siblings too?’

‘One. A sister,’ she supplied reluctantly, knowing that the sophisticated Sonia wouldn’t have found herself blushing and stumbling in conversation with this wildly attractive man, that her sister would have known exactly what to do and say.

‘Older or younger?’ he prompted softly.

‘Older. Just,’ she added with a sigh, knowing she had succeeded in disconcerting him by the way his eyes widened.

‘You have a twin sister?’

‘No need to sound so surprised.’ It was her turn to mock him now. ‘They say everyone has a lookalike somewhere in the world, my sister just happens to be mine.’

He frowned. ‘You’re identical?’

‘Yes,’ she confirmed brightly. ‘Or, at least, we were,’ she added slowly.

‘Either you are or you aren’t,’ Jed derided, obviously not one to be disconcerted for long.

‘We are,’ Meg confirmed abruptly. No need to mention that Sonia had had her teeth whitened and capped, the freckles on her nose minimized, and wore an all-year-round tan. ‘But Sonia wears her hair short, and is—well, she’s a lawyer. I’m the arty one.’ She sighed. ‘I’m an interior designer,’ she explained as he seemed to be looking at her hands for signs of paint.

‘Wow.’ He gave a derisive smile as he looked around the room. ‘You must be itching to change things in here.’

She wasn’t sure she would know where to start.

Well, no, that wasn’t strictly true, although the décor in here did run to worn and comfortable rather than elegant or eye-catching. She would take out all the heavy furniture for a start, replace it with—

‘Just joking, Meg,’ he drawled. ‘As I told you, I don’t own the place. As long as it has a chair for me to sit on and a bed for me to sleep in, I’m really not too interested.’ He sat forward in his armchair, cradling his glass of wine between long, sensitive hands. ‘I am beginning to see a pattern emerging, though,’ he told her softly.

Meg gave him a startled look. ‘You are?’

‘I am.’ He gave a mocking inclination of his head. ‘Twin girls, born to older parents, one twin practical and ambitious, the other more sensitive and artistic. The older twin goes on to make a successful career for herself as a lawyer, an advantageous marriage—she is married? I thought she might be,’ he drawled at Meg’s nod of confirmation. ‘No kids, either, I suspect; plenty of time for that later, if at all. The younger twin, on the other hand, turned out to have an artistic flare, opted for art college in London rather than university before finally getting spat out into the real world, only to end up getting pregnant—’

‘I think you have said quite enough, Mr Cole,’ Meg cut in abruptly, turning away slightly so that he wouldn’t see the sheen of tears in her eyes. ‘It isn’t polite to discuss people’s personal lives in this way.’

‘British reserve, you mean?’ he derided. ‘Yeah, I’ve heard of that. We have something like it in the States too. It’s called respecting other peoples’ privacy. But I seem to remember someone asking questions about my family before dinner.’

‘It’s hardly the same.’ She turned sharply to snap at him, having brought those tears firmly under control. She had cried enough tears over the years over her family, without breaking down in front of this man.

Jed Cole looked up at her consideringly. ‘Got a little too close to home, did I?’

Far too close. Although he hadn’t been right about everything. No, not everything.

‘Hey, don’t beat yourself up about it,’ Jed chided derisively. ‘I’m the duckling in my nest of swans too: Granddad was a farmer, Dad’s a farmer, my two brothers are farmers.’

‘And you, Mr Cole, what exactly are you?’ she challenged, still stung by their earlier conversation.

‘Well, I sure as hell ain’t a farmer,’ he assured mockingly.

She already knew that, those strong, slender hands didn’t grow crops or tend animals. In his youth maybe, but certainly not for the last twenty years or so.

He gave a confidently dismissive smile. ‘We weren’t discussing me.’

‘We aren’t discussing me, either.’ Meg drank down some more of her wine before placing the almost empty glass down on the table. ‘Offering Scott and I shelter for the night does not entitle you to comment on either myself or my family.’

‘No?’ he taunted huskily, putting his own glass down on the carpeted floor before getting slowly to his feet. ‘Then what does it entitle me to?’ he challenged, that vivid blue gaze moving over her slowly, from the tips of her toes to the top of her ebony head, before moving down slightly to rest speculatively on the fullness of her lips.

For some reason he was deliberately trying to unnerve her. And he was succeeding. The atmosphere between them was now charged with expectation, the intensity of his gaze almost tangible against her lips.

He was playing with her, Meg recognized frowningly. It was there in the mocking twist to his mouth, the hard gleam of laughter in his eyes.

She drew in an angry breath. ‘It entitles you to my heartfelt thanks,’ she bit out tautly.

He gave a brief inclination of his head. ‘Which you’ve already made. Several times,’ he drawled.

Her eyes sparkled with her anger. ‘Which I’ve already made several times,’ she agreed tightly. ‘Now if you will excuse me.’ She bent to pick her handbag up from the floor. ‘It’s been a long day, and I’m very tired.’

‘Oh, I’ll excuse you, Meg,’ he told her mockingly. ‘I’m sure that most men would excuse you anything.’

Her mouth tightened. ‘Goodnight, Mr Cole,’ she told him firmly before turning on her heel to leave.

‘’Night, Meg,’ he called after her tauntingly.

Her shoulders stiffened slightly but she didn’t halt her departure, only starting to breathe again once she was out in the hallway with the door firmly closed behind her.

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