The Christmas Stranger Page 3

  “Rankin.”

  “Rankin. Matt Rankin. He have a record?”

  “Is this for the Center?” Robert asked.

  “Uh…yeah,” she lied. “Sorta,” she added to ease her conscience.

  “Just a minute.” She heard the click of computer keys and a silent pause. “Nope, no arrests, but—”

  “But?”

  More clicking keys.

  “Ah. He received unemployment checks at one point, so he is in the system. I show a mailing address at the Woodgate Inn. That help?”

  “Yes, thank you, Robert.”

  Unemployment checks could mean Matt was one of the workers laid off when the local paper mill shut down production, and the Woodgate Inn was low-cost, bare-bones housing near the Community Aid Center. That much of Matt’s story fit.

  “Wanna tell me what this is about?” Robert asked.

  “Not really. I’ll call you later.” She disconnected the call before her brother-in-law could protest.

  Matt lifted an eyebrow, silently asking what she’d learned.

  Holly shoved her phone back in her purse and shrugged. “Apparently Matt Rankin has no record.”

  He lifted a corner of his mouth, his smile guileless. “Then shall we catch a cat?”

  “Stand back.” Matt stood in Holly’s barn, ready to release the mother cat from the wrapping of rags they’d used to secure and transport her to Holly’s home in the country. They’d settled the kittens in a comfortable box-bed with a towel in a safe corner of the barn. Now it was Mama’s turn to see her new home. “She’s bound to be scared and confused. Who knows what she’ll do.”

  Holly nodded and inched back as Matt lowered the bundled cat to the floor and began unwinding the rag-wrapping. Already the cat’s nose, poking out of the rags, twitched and sniffed the fresh air, redolent with the scents of straw and fallen leaves. As the bindings around the cat’s legs loosened, she wiggled and sprang free, leaving a gash on Matt’s arm as she vaulted away and scurried out of the barn.

  Holly’s green eyes rounded with concern. Rushing to the door, she scanned the yard. “She ran under the front porch.”

  “She’ll be fine. She just needs to calm down. I bet in a couple weeks, she’ll be eating out of your hand.” He examined the scratch on his arm and swiped the beading blood on his pants leg. “Speaking of which, do you have food?”

  Holly pivoted on her toe and tucked a wisp of her silky blond hair behind her ear. The early evening sun bathed her in a golden light that made her hair shine and the white dress she wore glow with ethereal femininity. She’d asked if he was a guardian angel, but if he were a betting man, he’d wager she was the angel. She sure looked the part.

  She blinked and fumbled as if his question surprised her. “Oh, well, I…of course. In fact, I, um…have chili cooking in the Crock-Pot.”

  He lowered his brow. “I’m not sure the cat will like anything spicy.”

  She tipped her head at an endearing angle. “The cat? I…was inviting you to have some dinner before I drove you back to town.”

  “Oh.” Matt shifted his feet uneasily. Being on the receiving end of charity still rankled. But to survive the toughest months recently, he’d had to swallow his pride. “I wasn’t asking for myself. I meant do you have cat food?”

  Holly’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink, and she wrapped her arms around her middle, chuckling awkwardly. “Sorry. I thought…but you are welcome to have some chili before you go back to town. I have plenty.”

  “I don’t want to impose.”

  She waved off his demurral. “It’s the least I can do.”

  Matt hesitated. A hot meal in the company of a beautiful woman did sound appealing. But…

  He glanced down at his dirty clothes and grubby hands. He hated the slip in his hygiene of late. Without access to a washing machine or a working shower, he’d had to make concessions that made him cringe. He was hardly fit company for Holly in his disheveled and dingy state. His gut churned with disgust, frustration and shame. He hated where his life had ended up, but he had only to think of his children to know he’d make the same choices again if he were in the same position. His needs ranked a distant second to providing a secure, happy, healthy life for Palmer and Miles.

  “I, um…” Staring down at his hands, he turned up his palms and ground his teeth together, swallowing the bitter taste that rose in his throat. Humble pie was not a sweet dish for a man who’d once been on top and had the world at his feet.

  “You can use the shower off the guest room if you want before we eat.”

  He glanced up and found Holly watching him with a genuine openness and warmth.

  “And I still have some of my husband’s clothes that I think will fit you. You’re welcome to them. They’re not doing me any good collecting dust in my closet.”

  Matt held Holly’s gaze, searched her face. If he’d seen even a hint of pity or hesitation in her expression, he’d have refused. He’d have hit the road.

  He’d want to die on the spot.

  But her smile was friendly and warm. Honest and unassuming.

  “Okay.” He jammed his hands in his pockets and returned a grateful smile. “You’re very gracious.”

  “Maybe.” Her grin brightened with a teasing glint. “Or maybe I’m tired of all the selfishness in society and want to be a good neighbor. Like you were for me.”

  A happiness Matt hadn’t known in a long time bubbled up from beneath the layers of guilt, frustration and humiliation. A burst of laughter erupted from him. “In that case, I accept. But let me unload the stained glass for you first.”

  She winked. “Deal.”

  He followed her back to her Tacoma, indulging in a leisurely glance at her slim, swaying hips as she crossed her leaf-strewn lawn.

  Holly’s matter-of-fact acceptance was a refreshing change from the condescending glares and judgmental comments he usually received from strangers. Her kindness and honesty stirred a hopeful warmth in his gut. Her simple beauty and girl-next-door smiles awoke a purely male response that heated his blood. And the hint of sadness that lurked in her eyes spoke to the man who’d seen his own share of tragedy and loss.

  Matt wasn’t gullible enough to believe in love at first sight, but something about Holly spoke to his soul, and he treasured the opportunity to get to know her better.

  Even if he knew their current stations in life meant he had no future with her.

  As she chopped a tomato for a salad later that evening, Holly heard the upstairs water cut off. Inhaling deeply, she stared down at the vegetable on her chopping board and worked to clear her mind of the sultry images of Matt in the shower that taunted her. After changing into jeans and a Snoopy T-shirt, she’d left towels, a disposable razor, clean clothes and a few toiletry items on the guest bed for Matt. While he showered, she’d taken his dirty clothes to wash.

  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 siste
r. 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.

  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 h
and 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.”

  Chapter 3

  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.