Beth Cornelison - The Christmas Stranger

Holly’s heartbeat thudded a noisy cadence in her ears as Matt deftly wrapped a plastic Scooby Doo bandage around her cut finger. “There. All done.”

As he returned the first-aid items to the box and clicked the clasp in place, curiosity got the better of her. “What happened, Matt? How did you end up on the street?”

His gaze snapped up to hers, bright with emotion. For long seconds, he didn’t answer. He held her stare, his breathing shallow and uneven. As if he felt trapped. Panicked. Edgy.

Had she pushed too far? Crossed a boundary she shouldn’t have?

Finally she broke the spell of his steady gaze and turned away. “Forget it. It’s not my bus—”

“It was more a chain of events really. Like dominoes falling, one thing led to another until I had nothing left,” he murmured, the distant look in his eyes telling her that his mind was back in that place and time when his life took a nosedive. Seeing the pain that dimmed his expression, she regretted her nosiness.

“My life became a runaway train, picking up momentum as it careened toward a final crash and burn. I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

A viselike ache wrenched Holly’s lungs, and empathetic pain flowed through her body.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. She reached for Matt’s hand, wanting him to know she understood loss, if not the full extent of his story.

When her fingers brushed his, then squeezed, Matt’s gaze darted back to hers. He pulled his hand away, slowly shaking his head. “It’s my own fault. None of this would have happened if I’d realized…If I’d known—” A muscle in his jaw jerked as he clenched his teeth and sucked in a sharp breath. “It all started when my wife died…when Jill…killed herself.”

Holly gasped, and her eyes glittered with moisture. “Oh, Matt. You can’t blame yourself for her death.”

“Sure, I can. And so do plenty of other people.” Matt swallowed hard, choking on the bitterness and grief that swelled in his throat.

“False presumptions…” she murmured.

Matt nodded. He fisted his hands and stepped back.

Why had he said anything? He hadn’t wanted to spoil the camaraderie they’d shared this afternoon. But she’d asked the one question he’d hoped she wouldn’t, and he wouldn’t lie to her. Even if he didn’t tell her the whole truth, the whole sordid story, he owed her an honest answer in return for her kindness.

The endearing pink flush that had stained Holly’s cheeks since he’d come downstairs from his shower now drained from her face, leaving her complexion wan and bleak. Matt hated the sadness and turmoil that crept into her green eyes. His explanation, vague as it was, cast a pall over the friendly meal he’d hoped to share with Holly before going back to town. He’d been looking forward to sharing her company for a couple hours, free of the suspicion and guilt that still dogged him.

The strident ringing of her telephone startled them both out of the morose and awkward moment he’d allowed them to get mired in.

Holly sidled past him. “Excuse me. I should answer that.”

Matt scrubbed a hand over his face and shook off the haunting memories, the sights and sounds of those dark days after he found Jill’s body in his study.

With a shudder, he shifted his thoughts to Holly’s invitation to dinner. Keep it light. Keep it casual. Then get out.

Holly answered the rotary-dial wall phone and tucked it under her ear.

“Oh, hi, Jana,” Holly said, sending him an apologetic look and holding up a finger as she mouthed, “Just a minute.”

He waved off her concern and strode over to the salad she’d been fixing to continue chopping vegetables.

“Thanks, but I have plans tonight. I have company for dinner, then I need to make another quick trip to town. It was an impromptu thing…No, I don’t think you know him.” She flicked a self-conscious glance toward him and nibbled her lip. “It’s nothing like that. Don’t get any ideas. No…I—”

The pink stain returned to her cheeks, and Matt acknowledged again how attractive Holly was. But as lovely as her face and physique were, what really caught Matt’s attention was the sparkle in her green eyes, the glow in her cheeks, the joie de vivre that radiated from her—in spite of her tragic loss.

Her bright disposition was contagious. Being around her, Matt found it easier to be optimistic about his future, and he grew more determined to set his life back on an upward trajectory.

Holly finished her call and pressed a hand to her still-flushed cheek. “That was my husband’s sister inviting me over for the evening.” She curled her lips in an embarrassed grin. “I think the idea that I’d made my own plans for Halloween night shocked her. Ryan’s family has been wonderful about looking out for me since his death, but they seem surprised whenever I make steps toward moving on with my life.”

He acknowledged her with a smile, then dragged a hand along his jaw, hesitating. “Would it be rude of me to ask how your husband died?”

“No, it’s a legitimate question.” She inhaled deeply as she met his eyes. “He was murdered.”

Matt’s pulse tripped. He’d expected anything but that. Cancer. A car accident. Even suicide like Jill. But murder?

“I’m so sorry. That had to have been such a shock.”

She pressed her lips in a taut line, nodding as she turned toward the counter.

“Have they caught the person responsible?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t pushing a touchy subject.

Holly lifted the lid from the Crock-Pot to stir the chili, then paused and shook her head. “No.”

Sympathy speared his chest along with pain, honed razorsharp by his own losses. “I haven’t given up hope that his murderer will be caught one day, but I’m slowly coming to terms with the fact that we may never know what really happened. The best the police can figure is he was killed by a mugger who stole his shoes, his wallet and his watch.”

Matt’s gut tightened.

Where did you get that watch?

Flipping his wrist, he extended his arm. “A watch like this one, I take it.”