The Christmas Stranger Read online

  “Holly…”

  Matt rasped her name as he cupped his palms against her cheeks and angled his head for a deeper kiss.

  A rumble of satisfaction issued from his throat when Holly swept her tongue into his mouth to duel with his.

  The heavy beat that her heart had pounded as they danced now thundered, shaking her to the core. Her skin flushed hot, and a coil of desire tightened inside her.

  She tasted the cinnamon and cloves of the spiced cider on his lips and longed to savor Matt’s kiss for hours.

  But the jarring ring of her phone jangled from the kitchen.

  She didn’t want to move, didn’t want to talk to anyone. She wanted only to step back into Matt’s arms and continue the heavenly kiss.

  Dear Reader,

  I love Christmas! As soon as the first cool nip hits the air in the autumn, I start counting down the days until the Christmas season when I can decorate, bake, sing carols, shop, send cards and watch all the beloved Christmas movie classics. So what could be better than writing a Christmas book? Maybe the chance to write a Christmas book that I’d had swimming around in my head for years and kick off a new trilogy of stories about three sisters’ perilous journeys to the altar.

  The Christmas Stranger is the first book in my new miniseries, THE BANCROFT BRIDES, in which each of the Bancroft sisters (Paige, Holly and Zoey) finds danger and adventure before they walk down the aisle to happily ever after. And fate has a few surprises in store regarding their Mr. Rights!

  Set during the Christmas season in the beautiful Smoky Mountains of North Carolina, The Christmas Stranger is a story of my heart. I hope you will love Matt and Holly’s emotional story as much as I did. Then watch for Paige’s and Zoey’s exciting stories coming in 2010!

  Let me be the first this year to wish you a merry Christmas!

  Happy reading,

  Beth Cornelison

  BETH CORNELISON

  The Christmas Stranger

  Books by Beth Cornelison

  Silhouette Romantic Suspense

  To Love, Honor and Defend #1362

  In Protective Custody #1422

  Danger at Her Door #1478

  Duty to Protect #1522

  Rancher’s Redemption #1532

  Tall Dark Defender #1566

  *The Christmas Stranger #1581

  BETH CORNELISON

  started writing stories as a child when she penned a tale about the adventures of her cat, Ajax. A Georgia native, she received her bachelor’s degree in public relations from the University of Georgia. After working in public relations for a little more than a year, she moved with her husband to Louisiana, where she decided to pursue her love of writing fiction.

  Since that first time, Beth has written many more stories of adventure and romantic suspense and has won numerous honors for her work, including a coveted Golden Heart award for romantic suspense from Romance Writers of America. She is active on the board of directors for the North Louisiana Storytellers and Authors of Romance (NOLA STARS) and loves reading, traveling, Peanuts’ Snoopy and spending downtime with her family.

  She writes from her home in Louisiana, where she lives with her husband, one son and two cats who think they are people. Beth loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her at P.O. Box 5418, Bossier City, LA 71171, or visit her Web site at www.bethcornelison.com.

  In memory of my grandmother Alice Miles.

  I miss you and think of you often.

  North Carolina holds a special place

  in my heart because of you.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Ryan’s killer was most likely a vagrant.

  With her brother-in-law’s assessment echoing in her head, Holly Bancroft Cole suppressed a shiver. Rubbing her arms, she cast an appraising glance around the Halloween party at the Community Aid Center in Morgan Hollow, North Carolina.

  New faces dotted the crowd. But were any of them killers?

  A loud cheer turned her attention to the festivities. The center’s volunteers had all dressed up in goofy, creative and occasionally creepy costumes to entertain the city’s homeless and underprivileged children. At the moment, two clowns led the kids on a wild scavenger hunt for candy, while Holly, wearing her bridal gown, oversaw the refreshments. The children’s parents hovered along the walls, as well as a few men who were regulars at the donated clothing room or the center’s soup kitchen. While the party was billed as a children’s Halloween bash, no one had been turned away.

  Flipping back her bridal veil for a better view, Holly scanned the unshaven, bedraggled faces of the vagrants who’d gathered this Friday for free hot cider, entertainment and a warm place to pass the chilly October afternoon. Could one of these men have killed Ryan for his watch, wallet and Reeboks?

  Apprehension and suspicion crawled up her spine.

  Little evidence had been collected at the crime scene just over a year ago when her husband had been murdered and robbed. The local police, including her brother-in-law Robert, called Ryan’s death a tragic, random attack. Robert held out little hope that Ryan’s killer would ever be caught.

  But Robert’s gloomy outlook didn’t sit well for Holly. She wanted resolution to the many mysteries concerning Ryan’s attack. She wanted justice. And she needed closure. While she’d come to grips with Ryan’s death and had begun picking up the pieces of her shattered life, she hated all the blanks in the account of what happened the night Ryan was killed.

  Maybe the police wouldn’t ever have enough evidence to bring a suspect to trial, as Robert projected. But any tiny shred of understanding would go a long way in settling the nagging questions she had.

  “You know, you should have smeared some blood on your face or worn a scary mask.”

  Carol Hamburg’s comment yanked Holly from her morose thoughts.

  “That wedding dress is great, but you could have come as the Bride of Frankenstein or something.”

  Tucking a stray wisp of her blond hair behind her ear, Holly shrugged as she faced the Community Aid Center’s petite director. “I’d considered fake blood, but I really didn’t want to risk getting makeup on the dress. I wore this gown when I married Ryan, and I’ve worn it every year since for Halloween. It’s a tradition.”

  “Really? How’d that get started?”

  Holly smiled wistfully. “After our wedding, I complained to Ryan about how much the dress cost, to be worn only once. So, frugal and practical man that he was, he dared me to use it every Halloween as my costume.” She paused and sighed. “I almost didn’t put it on today. But I’m glad I did. It makes me feel closer to him.”

  Carol blinked her surprise. “I’m just jealous you’re still the same size you were when you got married.”

  Before Holly could reply, a loud cry rose over the chatter in the room. She and Carol exchanged a concerned look before moving together in the direction of the commotion. The crowd of curious children, startled mothers and homeless men shrank away from a little boy in superhero pajamas lying on the floor unconscious.

  His lips were blue.

  Icy horror washed through Holly in concentric waves as the reality of what was happening sank over her.

  “Call 9–1-1!” she shouted to Carol as she dashed to the boy’s
side and dropped to her knees.

  “He’s not breathing!” the child’s mother screamed. The woman dragged the child up by the arms and began pounding on his back.

  “Don’t do that!” One of the unshaven men separated from the others and rushed forward. He placed a hand on the frightened mother’s shoulder and met her eyes. “Let me have him.”

  The woman hesitated only a second before relinquishing her son to the dark-haired man. “Please! Save him!”

  “I’ll do my best,” he replied, his voice deep and calm. He gently laid the boy back on the floor. After feeling for a pulse in the boy’s neck, he leaned close to listen and look for signs of breathing.

  Glancing at Holly, he said, “Watch his chest for me. Tell me if it rises.”

  Nodding, Holly scooted back to give the man room to work as he angled the boy’s head and blew two breaths in the boy’s mouth.

  “Anything?”

  Holly shook her head. “I didn’t see it move.”

  The man frowned. “Something’s obstructing the airway.”

  Quickly he moved to straddle the boy’s legs and stacked his hands on the child’s abdomen. “Come on, sport. Stay with me,” he mumbled as he gave five sharp upward thrusts with his palms. Crawling to the boy’s side, the dark-haired man did a visual check of the boy’s mouth then swept his finger inside. With a deep sigh of relief, he withdrew a piece of hard candy and tossed it aside.

  But the boy didn’t move, didn’t draw a breath.

  Pressing his lips in a taut line, the man glanced up and drilled a hard glare at Holly. His sky-blue eyes were clear and intense. “You, the bride. Help me.”

  Holly blinked, rallying from her fear-based daze. “How?”

  “Give him two full breaths in his mouth, five seconds apart, every time I say now.”

  She nodded her understanding and scrambled closer as the man started chest compressions. Adrenaline spiked her pulse as she watched the man working to save the young boy.

  “Now.” His clear blue eyes met hers, echoing his command.

  Holly bent low and covered the boy’s mouth with hers. Blew. Counted five and blew again.

  “Good. Just like that.” Jerking a nod, he resumed compressions.

  Holly studied the boy now. His lips had regained a bit of their color, but he remained unconscious. She glanced up at his panicked and crying mother. “He’s going to be okay. I promise.”

  Why she was so certain, she couldn’t say. It was risky to assure the mother when she didn’t truly know how this rescue effort would go. But a strange assurance and confidence in the man working on the little boy flowed through her, calming her own frayed nerves.

  Holly moved her gaze to Carol, who held a cell phone to her ear. With a look, Holly asked for an update.

  “An ambulance is on its way. The operator is still on the line,” Carol said softly.

  “Now.”

  Holly met the man’s eyes briefly before dipping her head to give another breath. Count five. Breath.

  As she raised her head from the last puff, the boy coughed, gasped in air.

  “Tommy!” his mother cried and tried to hug him.

  “Give me a minute,” the boy’s rescuer instructed, sidling between the mother and child. Again he checked the boy’s pulse, lifted his eyelids to check his pupils, examined the child’s fingernails. “Tommy, can you hear me? Can you talk?”

  “I want Mommy,” the boy whimpered.

  The man smiled, flashing a set of perfect white teeth as he backed up. “She’s right here, sport.”

  Holly dropped back on her heels, her muscles going limp with relief. She stared at the man who’d saved the boy, mulling the inconsistencies in his appearance. While she knew better than to judge anyone by how they looked, little about this man fit the profile of the average homeless client who came to the Community Aid Center. Though his cheeks and chin were covered in a few days’ growth of beard like many of the other men the center served, his hair was much cleaner, his beard shorter and his skin healthier. In fact, despite needing a shave and a haircut, the square cut of the man’s jaw, sharp angles of the man’s cheeks and straight nose gave him an ironically patrician appearance.

  “Thank you,” she said, laying a hand on his arm. He turned from watching the mother hug her son. “You saved his life.”

  Again his bright blue eyes burrowed deep with their cool intensity, stirring an odd swirling in her belly. “No. We did. Together. Thank you.”

  Holly shook her head. “I didn’t—”

  He wrapped a large hand around hers, and at his touch, the rest of her reply caught in her throat. A warm ripple of sensation skimmed over her. “Yes, you did.”

  She dropped her gaze to his tanned hand and wet her lips. “Really, you’re the one who—” Again her words stalled as she focused on the watch peeking out from under the sleeve of his flannel shirt.

  She knew that watch, hadn’t seen that watch since the last morning Ryan left for work. That watch had been stolen from her husband the day he’d been attacked, murdered in an abandoned church not far from the Community Aid Center.

  Gasping, she jerked a startled frown up to the man as her brother-in-law’s words reverberated in her head.

  Ryan’s killer was most likely a vagrant.

  Matt Rankin knew that look well. Disgust. Accusation. Contempt.

  The exhilaration of having saved the choking boy evaporated under the icy glare from the center volunteer. When he touched her arm, the beautiful blonde bride who’d helped him resuscitate the boy gaped at his hand, her joy and admiration morphing suddenly into something ugly and cold.

  “Where did you get that watch?” she demanded, her tone clipped and accusing. As if he had no right to own something of value.

  And maybe he didn’t. Maybe he should have sold the watch months ago to help pay for food, his rent, his child support. But he couldn’t bring himself to part with the last thing he owned that Jill had given him.

  He tamped down the swirl of emotions that still ravaged him when he thought of Jill’s death and the terrible repercussions that followed. Keeping his tone even, he met the woman’s hard green-eyed stare. “It was a Christmas gift from my wife a few years ago.”

  “Your wife?” She narrowed her eyes skeptically, as if being down on your luck and scrimping to make even a scant income meant you could never have had a wife and children, a home and career. A life to be proud of.

  “Yes, my wife.” Matt sighed. He didn’t have much to be proud of now, and he couldn’t really blame the woman for her snap judgment. In her position, he might think much the same. But the past few months had taught him how close every person was to living on the street.

  His golden life had suffered a chain reaction of tragic blows and shattered.

  An ambulance arrived, and the crowd of spectators cleared a path as the rescue workers huddled around the boy and his mother, checking the child’s vital signs.

  Matt inhaled deeply, and looking back at the blonde woman, he pushed to his feet.

  He dusted his hands off, then extended one to help the bride to her feet.

  She glanced at his proffered hand, hesitated, then let him pull her from the floor.

  “I’m sorry. I just…My husband had a watch like that one stolen, and—”

  “You thought I’d stolen this one.”

  She turned away guiltily. “It just startled me to see it. Your watch is just like Ryan’s and—” She huffed and smoothed a hand over the skirt of her wedding dress costume. “Never mind.” She backed away one step, then forced a tight smile. “Thank you…for helping with Tommy. You saved his life.” Her delicate brow furrowed, and she tipped her head. “How…how did you know what to do?”

  “Anyone can learn CPR and the Heimlich maneuver. They are valuable skills to have.” Yes, he was being evasive, cryptic, not fully forthcoming. But he didn’t feel like explaining the whole sordid story of his ignoble downfall—which he’d inevitably have to. When he mentioned his med
ical degree, his career, the question always followed.

  How did a successful doctor end up scavenging a meal from a soup kitchen on Halloween?

  “Well, thank you. You saved the day.” Her smile was brighter now, more genuine.

  Matt’s gut kicked. Her smile transformed her already beautiful face to nothing short of breathtaking. Not for the first time, his own ragged appearance left him feeling awkward and embarrassed. He nodded to the woman and turned to make his way through the crowd. He needed air, and the small room at the Community Aid Center had begun feeling cramped, stuffy.

  As he stepped out of the building, the crisp autumn breeze nipped at his lungs and bit his cheeks with a sobering reminder that winter was mere weeks away. If he didn’t want to freeze at night, he’d have to continue renting his ramshackle room at the Woodgate Inn. Which, in turn, meant he’d have to find a new source of income.

  The irony of his situation appalled him. He had a medical degree, had graduated top of his class. But thanks to his appearance, his lack of transportation or a permanent address, he couldn’t find a job that paid enough to make his child support payments and also get ahead. The tanked economy didn’t help, either. The few available jobs were grabbed up by mill workers who’d been laid off, or clean-cut, white-collar men taking second jobs to cover their mortgages.

  Pulling his collar up against the cold wind blowing off the slopes of the North Carolina Smoky Mountains, Matt squared his shoulders and headed down the street. He was through feeling sorry for himself, finished wallowing in his pain and failure.

  He wouldn’t let the tragic turn of fate defeat him. He had to rebuild his life. For his kids.