Beth Cornelison - The Christmas Stranger

Helping Matt felt good. Though she volunteered at the Community Aid Center a couple days a month, dishing up lunch to the masses and reading books to young children didn’t seem as valuable a contribution as giving Matt a chance to clean up and have a hot meal. The personal connection made all the difference.

She’d seen Matt be a friendly, helpful man and been compelled to respond in kind. Considering he had saved Tommy’s life, a shower and supper were the least Matt deserved.

As Holly scraped the chopped tomato onto the salad, her phone rang.

“Hello?” She cradled the receiver between her shoulder and ear, while she started peeling carrots.

“Hey, sis! Happy Halloween!”

The youngest of the three Bancroft sisters, Zoey, sounded as bubbly and full of life as ever. Holly could well imagine Zoey decked out in some outrageous costume befitting her wild and rebellious personality. “Hey yourself. What’s the plan for the Bancroft sisters down in Lagniappe this Halloween?”

“Well, I’m going to a party, but Paige’s wimping out. I tell you, Hol, that stuffed shirt she’s marrying is sucking all the fun outta our sister. She’s trying to conform to some Stepford Wife mentality that he’s brainwashed her with and never does anything without his approval. It’s sick.”

Given that Zoey was prone to hyperbole, Holly didn’t let this report on their newly engaged older sister concern her. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that.”

“Oh, but it is! She spends all her time with Brent. I can barely get her on the phone anymore, because he’s keeping her so busy with the most ridiculous wedding details. I mean, who really cares if she wears white stockings or tan? No one sees her legs under her gown anyway.”

“Give her a break, Zoey. When I married Ryan, I wanted everything to be perfect, too. Remember?”

“But at least you spent time with your sisters before you let your husband drag you off to North Carolina.”

Holly laughed. “You make it sound like Ryan brought me to Siberia.”

“Might as well be. I miss not having you here in Lagniappe.”

Holly sighed and experienced a tug of nostalgia for her family home in Louisiana. “I miss you, too, kiddo. Remember, the invite to come see me for Thanksgiving is still open.”

“Thanks, but you know I don’t plan that far in advance.”

That was Zoey—the rebel, the party girl, living in the moment.

Holly sensed the change in Zoey’s mood even before the familiar question came. “How are you doing, Holly?”

In other words, how was the poor widowed sister managing alone? Holly pinched the bridge of her nose and took the question in the spirit it was intended. Her family loved her and worried about her. Especially since Ryan’s murder. They’d been surprised when she’d opted to stay in North Carolina after his death rather than return to her parents’ home in Lagniappe. She may have grown up in Louisiana, but Morgan Hollow and the farmhouse she’d bought with Ryan were her home now.

“I’m fine, Zoey. Really.” Holly heard footsteps on the stairs and added, “And I have company right now, so I need to go.”

“You’re ditching me, too?”

“Sorry. I’ll call you later to hear all about that Halloween party. Meantime, try to cut Paige some slack. Okay?”

“Right.” The resignation in Zoey’s voice gave Holly pause. Was there more going on with her younger sister than feeling abandoned by Paige?

“Bye, sis. Love you.” But Zoey had hung up and silence answered Holly. She replaced the receiver with a sigh and walked back to the chopping board.

“Do you have my clothes?”

Startled by the voice behind her, Holly fumbled the knife and nicked her finger. She set the blade down and turned. “I put them in the washing ma—”

The man standing in the door of her kitchen stole her breath, her thoughts, her balance. Reaching behind her, she caught the edge of the sink, wheezing, “Wow.”

Wow was an understatement. Matt’s piercing blue eyes, Colgate-perfect smile and broad shoulders had only been the tip of the proverbial iceberg. Holly gaped at the man who could have been an L.L. Bean model in another life.

Ryan’s khaki slacks rode low on Matt’s hips, and he’d combed back his damp, collar-length hair from his now clean-shaven face. His narrow feet were bare, and the crisp scent of soap wafted to her from where he stood.

Matt’s brow furrowed. “Something wrong?”

“Uh, no. I…you…Wow. I barely recognize you!”

Matt smoothed a hand down the front of Ryan’s old blue polo shirt. “Thanks for the clothes. You’re sure you want to give them up?”

“They’re not doing me any good in his closet. Someone should use them. Why not you?” She let her gaze take in the breath-stealing sight he made once more, then cleared her throat. “They seem to fit well.”

He tugged at the waist of the slacks and nodded. “Darn close. Thanks.” When he glanced up again, the vivid blue of his eyes, such a stark contrast to his dark hair and tanned skin, hit her with the force of a fist in the gut.

So bright, so clear, so piercing. Yowza.

His eyebrows lowered as he frowned. “Hey, you’re bleeding.”

“Huh?” She glanced down at her hands and saw the blood smeared on her finger. “Oh, that’s nothing. I—”

He moved across the kitchen, his gait smooth and loose limbed. Taking her hand in his, he brought her cut finger up to eye level for inspection. Her pulse thrummed at his touch, and the soapy-clean scent that clung to him teased her nose and left her light-headed.

“Do you have some antibiotic cream or hydrogen peroxide for this? We should clean it.”

Holly snatched her hand back and flashed a nervous grin. “Um, yeah…I’ll get it.”

Drawing deep breaths to calm herself, Holly hurried to the laundry room to fetch her first-aid kit.

“How old are your kids?”

Captivated by the melodic quality of his deep voice, Holly didn’t immediately register the question he’d asked until she returned from the back room and handed him the kit. “I’m sorry. What?”

He motioned to her refrigerator, covered with the artwork of young hands. “I asked about your kids. I saw the drawings and various other cartoon-themed stuff around the house and was wondering about your family.”

“Oh, I…The kid stuff is actually mine. You know the saying, ‘Growing old is mandatory, growing up is optional’? That’s me. A big kid.” When he quirked an eyebrow and an amused grin, her cheeks heated, and she returned a sheepish smile. “But I think my active inner child helps me relate better to my students. The drawings are from my class. I teach kindergarten at Pine Grove Elementary.” She paused, a stab of regret pricking her heart before adding, “I don’t have any kids of my own.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up a touchy subject.” His soft tone washed over her like a balmy breeze. “I just assumed—” He frowned as he dabbed antibiotic ointment on her cut. “But I should know better than anyone not to assume anything,” he added under his breath.

She lifted a curious gaze to study the knit in his brow as he worked on her finger. “What do you mean by that? That you know better than anyone about assumptions?”

His gaze collided with hers, and she held her breath, mesmerized by the emotions that flickered across his face in rapid succession. “Just that…unsubstantiated assumptions can lead to trouble. False presumptions, my own and other people’s, pretty much destroyed my old life.”

A swarm of questions buzzed in Holly’s brain. Perhaps, like bees, the questions were better avoided. Matt’s history was his own business, not hers.