The Christmas Stranger. Beth Cornelison
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bathroom door. “Don’t tell me you’re superstitious.”
“Let’s just say I’ve had enough bad breaks to know better than to tempt fate.”
“Touché,” she tossed over her shoulder as she glided toward the bedroom door.
Matt fell in step behind her, then hesitated when a picture on her nightstand caught his eye. A wedding portrait.
Pricked by curiosity, he eased closer to her bed and bent to get a closer look at Holly, wearing the same dress she’d donned as a costume for the party today. Her sculpted face had been captured skillfully by the photographer’s lens. Her hair and makeup perfect, she positively glowed. But what truly made Holly beautiful was the love in her eyes as she beamed at her husband.
Matt gave the man a cursory glance.
And froze.
Recognition tickled his spine, and icy fingers of shock and dread squeezed his chest. Matt’s limbs felt leaden. His blood roared in his ears.
If he could point to one person who had caused him the most trouble, the most anguish, the most loss in his life, he’d have to point to the man in Holly’s wedding picture.
Had Holly told him her last name? Should he have figured it out before now?
Matt shook his head, struggling for oxygen. Fighting back the bitter taste of bile that rose in his throat.
He’d told Holly he’d help her with renovations. They’d shaken on it, and Matt wouldn’t go back on his word. He wouldn’t break the trust she’d placed in him.
Even if Holly’s late husband had ruined Matt’s reputation and destroyed his life. Ryan Cole was the ruthless ADA who’d disputed Matt’s sworn statement that Jill’s death was suicide and prosecuted him for murder.
“Jeepers, my arms are killing me!” That Saturday, Holly rolled her tired shoulders and shook the ache from her arms. After almost two hours of reaching above her head, scraping the stubborn old wallpaper off her bathroom walls, her muscles throbbed. She glanced across the small room, where Matt tackled the hard-to-reach parts of the wall behind the claw-foot tub. “This is taking way longer than it should. What did they use to glue this paper up, anyway? Some revolutionary super epoxy?”
He grinned up at her from his awkward position on the floor. “My dad used to say, ‘You can do it quickly, or you can do it right.’ Quality work takes time.”
“Your dad must have known my husband. Ryan was a perfectionist.”
When she mentioned her husband, Matt stilled, his mouth tightening slightly before he forced a grin and turned back to the wallpaper in the corner. She’d noticed a similar reaction earlier in the day and mentally bit her tongue. She probably talked about Ryan too much, especially considering Matt had lost his wife not too long ago. Perhaps the reminder of her late spouse stirred painful memories for Matt of his loss. She’d have to be more careful about raising touchy subjects.
After stretching the muscles in her hand, she picked up her scraper and attacked the dingy, stuck-on wallpaper again.
“Tell me about your family,” Matt said, breaking the awkward silence a moment later. “You said earlier you moved to Morgan Hollow when you married Ryan. Where is your home?”
“Well, I consider Morgan Hollow home now. But my family is in Lagniappe, Louisiana. That’s where I grew up.”
Matt propped on one elbow to glance up at her and wrinkled his nose. “Lan…yap? That’s kind of a funny name for a town.”
She laughed. “Lagniappe is a Cajun French word that means something extra. It’s a great place to live, to raise a family, to grow old.”
Matt turned up a palm. “So why haven’t you moved back?”
She drew a deep, thoughtful breath. “I’ve considered it. But…it felt like a step backward somehow. Like admitting defeat after Ryan died.” Her gaze darted to Matt’s when she realized how quickly she’d broken her silent pledge not to keep bringing up Ryan. But Matt stared at a spot on the side of the bathtub, his gaze distant, so she continued, “Besides, I love this old house—pain-in-the-butt that the renovations are—and I have a job here I love, so…”
Her gaze connected with his, and the brilliant blue shade of his eyes stole her breath. How could she forget from one moment to the next how stunningly bright and piercing his eyes were? A tingle raced through her blood, and she let her gaze drift to the angular cut of his jaw, dusted again with dark stubble, and the definition of his muscled arms. Matt Rankin positively exuded masculinity, and the confines of her tiny bathroom only made Holly more aware of the man in her presence.
“Don’t you miss your family?” he asked, his voice pitched low.
She shook herself from the thrall of his sexy lure and focused on his question as she returned to scraping. “Sure. I’m especially close to my sisters, but we talk on the phone all the time. I go back to Lagniappe for special occasions. My older sister, Paige, just got engaged, so there’ll be bridal showers and her wedding coming up…plenty of reasons to head back to Louisiana for a long weekend here or there.”
“And your parents?”
“Dad is the founder and CEO of Bancroft Industries, a medical research company. He plans to retire in the next couple of years, and he’s been grooming Paige’s fiancé, Brent, as his replacement. He and Mom have been married for forty years, and they’re just as much in love today as they were when they got married.” She paused and rubbed her aching shoulder. “As much as I love my folks, they can be a little bit overprotective. It was actually kind of nice to move to North Carolina when I married Ryan. As a newlywed, I needed a little breathing space. My parents mean well, but they would’ve tried to run my life and Ryan’s for us.”
“Your family sounds great. You’re lucky to have their support.” He paused, and a sadness drifted over his face that arrowed to her heart. “Don’t ever take that for granted.”
She acknowledged his admonition with a slow nod. Ryan’s death had taught her that lesson well. “So how about you? Are you from Morgan Hollow?”
He hesitated then grunted, “Naw.”
“Then where are you from? How’d you end up here?” When he didn’t respond, she glanced over at him. “Matt?”
He scooted out from behind the tub and sat up, leaning against the wall with his legs bent, his arms propped casually on his knees. He stared hard at the scraper in his hand, furrowing his brow as if contemplating a troubling topic.
She shifted her weight awkwardly, uneasy with the silence. What had she said that had darkened his mood? “If you’d rather not discuss—”
“I’m originally from Charlotte. That’s where I practiced for ten years…until my wife—”
When he paused again, Holly waited patiently for him to continue, giving the wallpaper removal a half effort. She made a mental note of the term practiced regarding his career but was loath to interrupt him for an explanation now.
“After Jill died, I…moved to Iona Falls, because I wanted to be closer to my kids, even if my in-laws wouldn’t let me see them. Then I found a job working construction here in Morgan Hollow a few months later, so I moved again. I guess I was looking for a fresh start in a new town where no one knew—” He stopped abruptly and darted a sharp glance at her. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, then he rolled one palm up. “Where no one knew about Jill’s death, where I could start rebuilding my life.”
The grief in his eyes stabbed Holly, stole her breath for a moment. She knew exactly the pain that had motivated his longing for a change of scenery. “Dozens of times in the past few months, I’ve wanted to flee my life and start over