Jill Sorenson - Risky Christmas

“What are you doing?” she gasped, staring at him. She had frantic blue eyes and a smattering of freckles across her nose.

Brian tried to chew the bite of cookie, which had turned to sawdust in his mouth.

“You opened the door to a stranger?” she asked the girls.

Mandy set aside the cookies, appearing stricken.

“Go to your room,” she said, clutching the towel in a white-knuckled grip. “Both of you!”

“Can we keep the presents?” Alyssa asked.

“No!”

They ran away, little faces crumpled in dismay.

Brian managed to swallow. “I’m sorry. I had no idea this would be a problem—”

“Get out,” she said, pointing her finger. Although her stance was strong and self-assured, her lips trembled, betraying her fear.

He retreated in surprise, unaware that he’d stepped over the threshold. “I’m sorry,” he said again, tugging the fake beard down his chin. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Brian Cosgrove, from next door.”

Her gaze darted from him to the half-opened presents on the floor. “Have you visited my children before?”

Brian was so astounded by her question that he almost didn’t catch its meaning. Was she implying that he wanted to harm her daughters? His stomach curled in revulsion. “No,” he said, shaken by the charge. “Hell, no.”

“Then how could you know what they wanted for Christmas?”

He reached into his front pocket, bringing out the Dear Santa letter. “They left this in my mailbox.”

She took the note from him and scanned it, her mouth thin.

It was on the tip of his tongue to explain that he thought he was doing her a kindness. His only impression of her before now was that of an overworked parent. He’d watched her leave the house early in the morning and trudge home late. Her girls had sad eyes. Intuition, and the Dear Santa letter, told him they were struggling.

He’d also studied his own reflection in the mirror often enough to know what a wounded soul looked like.

But the empty place inside him gaped wider than ever at her harsh treatment. Instead of trying to reach out to her, he distanced himself further. “I’m sorry for stopping by unannounced. It won’t happen again.”

She kept her attention on the letter, silent.

He turned and walked away, crushing the delicate cookie in his closed fist.

Leah read the message three times, her heart aching.

Dear Santa,

Mommy can’t by a lot of presints this year. She said not to ask you for new toys. But Alyssa wants a doctor Elmo and I want a Hello Kitty camera. We also want Daddy back from heaven.

Love,

Mandy and Alyssa

She folded the paper in half, her vision blurring with tears. Her neighbor’s visit had shaken her to the core.

When she’d heard the deep rumble of a man’s voice, she’d panicked. She turned off the shower and leapt out of the stall in a surge of adrenaline. Wrapping a towel around her body, she burst from the bathroom and rushed down the hall.

Seeing a strange man inside her house had brought back terrible memories. Eighteen months ago, she’d walked in on her husband’s murderer. She’d dropped her groceries and run out of the house, calling 911 on her cell phone.

The criminal was still at large—and Leah prayed he’d never find her.

Her neighbor looked nothing like the cold villain who’d shot John in the head. He was taller, leaner, not quite as dark. As soon as he introduced himself, she recognized him as the surfer next door. She saw the man coming back from the beach almost every morning. He was always barefoot, surfboard under one arm, wet suit pulled down to the waist. Something about him made her uncomfortable.

Unsettled by the surprise encounter, she peeked through the horizontal blinds, studying her neighbor’s driveway. He’d moved in about a month ago. His beat-up white truck said Cosgrove Construction on the passenger side. His house was small and rundown; she was surprised it hadn’t been razed.

He was just another down-on-his-luck handyman.

She let the blinds snap shut, aware that she’d overreacted and embarrassed him. She’d also yelled at the girls in front of him, which made her feel lousy. Mandy, in particular, was sensitive to loud voices. Alyssa was too young to remember the fights.

After she secured the lock on the front door, Leah went to her bedroom and pulled on her bathrobe. In her manic state, she hadn’t even thought about donning it. She must have looked like a crazy woman.

She’d also forgotten to set the security alarm before she hopped in the shower. An unforgivable oversight.

Shaking her head, she padded to the girls’ room. Mandy had slammed the door shut, which wasn’t allowed but she let it pass, turning the knob and slipping inside. The space was cramped, filled with two single beds. Alyssa was playing with an ABC puzzle on the floor. Mandy lay on her bed, arms crossed over her chest.

She was mad. Well, so was Leah.

Knotting the belt at her waist, she sat down on Alyssa’s bed, addressing both daughters. “What have I told you about opening the door to strangers?”

“Not to do it,” Alyssa answered promptly.

“So why did you?”

Mandy stared up at the ceiling, petulant.

“It wasn’t a stranger,” Alyssa pointed out. “It was Santa.”

“It wasn’t Santa, dummy,” Mandy said.

“Hey,” Leah scolded. “Be nice.”

“Who was it?” Alyssa asked.

“A man pretending to be Santa,” Leah said.

“Was he a bad man?”

“Probably not, but you girls need to be more careful. I don’t want anyone to hurt you or take you away from me.”

Hearing the quiver in Leah’s voice, Alyssa looked up from her puzzle. She scrambled to her feet and gave Leah a hug. “Okay, Mommy. I love you.”

Leah pressed her lips to the top of Alyssa’s head. “I love you, too, sweetie.”

Mandy let out an exaggerated sigh. She pretended not to like displays of affection. When Alyssa let go, Leah leaned over Mandy, kissing her nose before she could squirm away. “I’m counting on you to watch over your sister.”

Mandy’s expression softened. She was already protective of Alyssa, and enjoyed being responsible. “He wasn’t bad, Mom.”

“How do you know? Because he had presents?”

“He liked your cookies.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” she said, her cheeks heating. If she wasn’t mistaken, she’d also seen a hint of masculine appreciation in his gaze. Brian Cosgrove liked full-grown women. And he knew a good cookie when he tasted one. She felt guilty for throwing him out of her house.

Taking a deep breath, she removed the Dear Santa letter from her front pocket. “Why did you put this in his mailbox?”

“I didn’t want you to see it before the mailman came.”

She looked from one daughter to the other, pressure building behind her eyes. “You know that your daddy isn’t coming back, right?”

Alyssa’s face fell. She nodded once and returned to her floor puzzle. Mandy focused on the ceiling, her chin quivering. This was a subject they’d all rather avoid. John hadn’t been a perfect husband or an ideal father, but they missed him.

On days like this, the loss was almost unbearable.

Leah couldn’t scold them for writing the letter, or for wanting their father back. She felt powerless over the situation. If only John had been able to control his gambling addiction. If only Leah had discovered his secret earlier.

Pushing aside her regrets, she rose from the bed and went back to her room to get ready. She had to apologize to Brian. Her stomach tightened at the prospect and she nibbled on the edge of her fingernail, wondering what to wear. She’d planned to spend the day toiling in the kitchen. The choices were limited because she owned few nice outfits. After rifling through her clothes, she put on her best jeans and a dark green tank top.