A Christmas Miracle - Amy Andrews Mills & Boon Medical

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her voice, not wanting to hurt the man’s feelings ‘...confused.’

      ‘Goddamn it,’ the man cursed, low and growly. ‘I’ll be there in fifteen.’ And the phone cut out in her ear.

      * * *

      The low rumble of a motorbike engine always put an itch up Trinity’s spine and today was no different as, fifteen minutes later exactly, a big black bike pulled up at the kerb not far from where she, Oscar and Edward—he’d asked her to call him Eddie—were standing.

      ‘Ah, here he is,’ Eddie announced with palpable relief and obvious pleasure.

      Trinity watched as the guy on the bike, dressed in top-to-toe black leather, dismounted with a long-legged ease that spoke of many hours in the seat. His helmet was a sleek black dome—gleaming and aerodynamic.

      A little hand tugged at her pants and Trinity glanced down at her son, who was even more bug-eyed than he had been witnessing her drop two beefy teenagers to the ground.

      ‘Mummy,’ he whispered. ‘It’s the black Power Ranger.’

      Trinity almost laughed—he did look very Power Ranger-esque in his boots, leathers, gloves and helmet. But then he took the gloves and helmet off, unzipped his jacket and completely destroyed that theory.

      Reid Hamilton was more lumberjack than superhero. He certainly looked like no doctor she’d ever met and she’d met many. He had endless blue eyes, a wild mane of dirty-blond hair, pushed back off his forehead, and a full, thick beard that was neatly trimmed rather than long and scruffy. He was big and rangy like his grandfather and she could just make out tattoos on the backs of his hands.

      ‘Hey, Pops,’ he said, smiling at his grandfather as he strode towards them. When he drew level he enveloped Eddie in a big bear hug, holding him close for long moments before clapping him on the back a couple of times in a very manly demonstration of his affection.

      He pulled back and flicked a glance at Trinity. ‘Ma’am,’ he said.

      Trinity, who despised everything to do with beards, tats and bikes and hadn’t had an orgasm in five years, almost came on the spot.

       CHAPTER TWO

      THE NAUSEATING SLICK of adrenaline that had been threatening Reid on his ride from the hospital dissipated instantly at the sight of his grandfather. Pops looked pleased to see him and there was strength in the old man’s arms as he returned the hug. He seemed to be in good shape.

      But clearly Reid was going to have to get someone in to care for him in the mornings while he worked now he was becoming more mobile after his fractured neck of femur. Or at least keep an eye on him. This was the third time he’d wandered. Reid had figured with the cricket on the television nothing short of a bomb would shift his grandfather from the living room.

      Obviously he’d been wrong.

      ‘Thank you so much for ringing,’ he said to the woman who stood staring at him with a mix of unease and something akin to distaste on her face.

      He was used to the look. A lot of people didn’t trust dudes who rode bikes and had tats. And, God knew, some of them had reason. It didn’t usually bother him.

      For some reason, with her, it did.

      She was probably a foot shorter than his six-foot-four frame and holding on tight to a kid’s hand. The boy was skinny with hair as white and feathery as Pops’. He craned his neck, staring up at Reid all goggle-eyed.

      ‘No problem,’ she said. Her voice was cool, her expression tight, but, even so, two full, sensuous lips drew his gaze. There was an intriguing set to her jaw. Something told him this chick had gumption. ‘I’m just glad it all ended well. I was worried.’

      ‘You were?’

      She started as if she’d said too much but she recovered quickly. ‘Yes.’ It was prickly and defensive.

      ‘Are you a Power Ranger, mister?’

      He dragged his attention from the woman to the child. His voice was small but it rang clear, full of awe. Reid laughed.

      ‘Nope, sorry, little dude. But they are my favourites.’ He presented his fist to the kid, who bumped it enthusiastically with his own pale, puny one.

      ‘Mummy fought off the men who were being mean to Eddie like a Power Ranger,’ the kid said conversationally.

      The words were like a punch to Reid’s abdominals. He glanced sharply at the woman who until a minute ago had been a complete stranger.

      ‘Shh, Oscar,’ she dismissed, shaking her head at her son, her cheeks flushed.

      Instincts that had kept him alert and alive in the Middle East on two tours of duty went into overdrive. His scalp pricked. ‘What happened?’

      ‘It was nothing,’ she insisted, her gaze darting to the nearby car.

      Reid glanced at his grandfather, who was smiling blankly. Clearly he’d forgotten the events already.

      ‘There were three of them and they were all pushing Eddie and Mummy threw one on the ground—’

      The kid let go of his mother’s hand to demonstrate, making a pshwoar noise as he lunged with his legs, dropping an imaginary person in front of him.

      ‘And then she karate-chopped another one.’ The kid sliced his hand through the air with a hai ya! ‘Then she told them to leave and they ran away.’

      Reid blinked at the revelations. He believed them. Not because the kid was so convincing but because the woman wasn’t quite meeting his eye. ‘Really?’ he mused, lifting an eyebrow in her direction.

      ‘They were just teenagers. Anyone would have done the same.’

      Sadly, Reid knew that wasn’t true. Over a decade in the military had taught him that most people did nothing. But not this woman. This woman had taken on three people—guys—in defence of his grandfather. He took a moment to look a little closer at his grandfather’s guardian ninja.

      She wasn’t exactly big and strong. There were fine lines around her eyes and on her forehead and he thought she might be about thirty. She didn’t look tough, especially not with a mouth that could have been perfectly at home on a catwalk model.

      She looked...tired.

      But he’d definitely picked up on an inner resilience. The kind that people in war zones displayed. And he knew enough about the world to know that war zones came in many guises.

      What kind of war zone had made her so tough? Crappy childhood? Dangerous relationship? He slid his gaze to her left hand. No ring. Not even a white line or indentation where one might have been.

      Not that lack of tan line meant anything necessarily.

      But he had a feeling in his gut about her. Something told him her resilience had come from bitter experience. And Reid always went with his gut.

      ‘Reid,’ he said, reaching out his hand.

      She eyed it warily before slipping her hand into his. ‘Trinity.’ She shook briefly—firm and sure—before quickly withdrawing.

      ‘And you’re Oscar, right?’ Reid said, turning his attention to the kid.

      Oscar nodded and held out his hand for a shake. Reid smiled but obliged, shaking the kid’s hand. Also firm and sure considering he looked as if a puff of wind would blow him over.

      He glanced at the woman. ‘Well, Trinity, it seems I am in your debt.’

      Her eyes, tawny brown with flecks of amber, widened as she drew Oscar closer. Most women he knew would have flirted with him over that but she looked as if she wanted to bolt.

      ‘No, of course not,’ she dismissed, her gaze darting towards the car again.

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