The Christmas Stranger

by Beth Cornelison

  Robert took a slow sip of his drink then set it aside. “Aren’t you interested to know what we found?” he asked, his words beginning to slur a bit.

  She was, but she refused to condone their snooping by asking. “No! If there’s anything about Matt’s past that he wants me to know, then he’ll tell me when he’s ready. I can’t believe you invaded his privacy and abused your position this way!”

  “He’s not who he says he is.”

  Holly jerked her attention back to Jon when he spoke. “What?”

  Jon set his fork down and sent her a concerned look. “Robert couldn’t find any record of a Matt Rankin before three years ago. At least not this Matt Rankin.”

  “So? I already knew he didn’t have a criminal record. We established that the day I met him.”

  “I’m not just talking about a criminal record. I mean, there’s no public record of him at all before three years ago when he showed up in Morgan Hollow.”

  She shook her head. “Then you’re not looking in the right place. He said he lived in Charlotte before he moved here. I can’t believe you checked every public record in Charlotte before coming to your conclusions.”

  “Better than that,” Robert slurred. “I checked the state’s databases. Tax records, school records, welfare records, you name it. I accounted for every Matt Rankin listed.” Robert aimed his glass at her, and his wine sloshed onto the tablecloth. “He ain’t there.”

  Holly frowned, her dinner sitting like a rock in her stomach. “There must be some mistake.”

  “I don’t make mistakes,” Robert growled. “The guy’s not who he says he is.”

  “Which raises the question, who is he?” Jon added.

  Holly took the napkin from her lap and slapped it on the table. “I don’t know if any of this is true, but it doesn’t matter to me. I like Matt. I trust Matt. I don’t care—”

  “Are you sleeping with him?” Robert asked with a sneer.

  “Robert!” Jana swatted her husband’s arm and sent Holly an apologetic look.

  Shoving her chair back from the table, Holly stood. “Jana, thank you for inviting me,” she said in clipped tones. “The meal was delicious, but I think I’ll be leaving now.”

  Jon caught her arm. “Holly, don’t get mad. I did this for you. If you’re not going to look out for your best interests then someone has to.”

  “Who appointed you my protector? I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.”

  “Ryan would’ve wanted me to make sure you were all right.”

  “I’m fine! And I don’t need a keeper.” She yanked her arm from his grip and stormed to the door.

  Jana hurried after her. “Holly, I’m so sorry. Please don’t go.”

  Still clutching his drink, Robert caught up with them. “If I were you, I’d ask Rankin about where he came from, what he was doing five years ago. Ten years ago.” He sipped his wine, then added, “And I wouldn’t be hoppin’ in the sack with him until I had some answers.”

  Fury blazed through Holly’s veins, and she barely made it out the door without saying something she knew she’d regret later. She didn’t want to cause a rift between her and Ryan’s family. But then, she hadn’t started this. Robert and Jon had.

  All the way home, Jon’s and Robert’s allegations haunted her.

  How was it possible there was no record of Matt in any of the state’s databases prior to three years ago? Assuming Robert had known what to look for. Matt had said he’d been a pediatrician. Surely there was some record of his medical practice with the state medical board. A license to practice.

  Perhaps to protect their assets in case of a malpractice suit, he and Jill had registered all of their property in her name. Maybe he’d set up a corporation to facilitate his taxes with a name like ABC Pediatrics.

  Plenty of options were possible to explain why Robert and Jon had not found information about Matt. Holly took a deep calming breath and loosened her grip on the steering wheel. When she got home, she’d do a little searching of her own.

  No. She exhaled harshly, frustrated with herself. Looking for information on Matt without his knowledge would make her as guilty as Jon and Robert. She would simply ask Matt about her brothers-in-law’s findings and give him a chance to explain.

  When she got home, Holly hurried upstairs to the master bathroom, where Matt was chiseling up the old bathroom tile.

  “It is a holiday, you know. You’re allowed to take a day off every now and then.”

  Matt shifted from his knees to sit on the floor and rolled his shoulders. Holly couldn’t help but notice the play of muscles under his flannel work shirt. “Not if we’re going to get everything done by Christmas, I can’t.”

  Holly propped against the door frame and grinned at him. “I hope you don’t think I’m paying you overtime or holiday pay.”

  He chuckled. “As long as I get a piece of that pecan pie, I’ll be fine.”

  She grimaced. “I left the pie at Jana’s.”

  Matt clapped a hand over his heart and sent her a comically crestfallen look. As he got to his feet and dusted his hands on the seat of his jeans, his brow dipped in a puzzled frown. “You’re back kind of early, aren’t you? Everything okay?”

  “I—” Sighing, she raked the hair back from her face with her fingers. “Actually, there is something I’d like to talk to you about.”

  His expression grew wary. “All right. Give me a chance to clean up, and I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  Holly headed to the kitchen, where she started a pot of coffee brewing. Pulling a pan of leftover lasagna out of the refrigerator, she fixed a plate to reheat for Matt. A few minutes later, she heard him on the staircase and met him in the family room.

  Stacked in one corner were a number of large plastic storage boxes. When she gave the boxes a curious look, Matt said, “I was down in the basement earlier, looking in the tools, and I saw your Christmas decorations in a back corner. I went ahead and brought them upstairs to save you the effort.”

  “Thank you.” His thoughtfulness touched her. Reconciling this considerate man with the portrait of deception Jon and Robert painted of him became all the more difficult for her when her insides turned warm and mushy around him.

  “I’m something of a Christmas fanatic. It’s my favorite time of year, and I love dressing up the house for the holidays the minute Thanksgiving is over.” She straightened a bow on the wreath on top of the stack and flashed him a self-conscious grin. “I do try to keep the two holidays separate, if only by a matter of hours.”

  He returned a breathtaking smile. “Somehow I guessed that about you.” Poking his hands in his back pockets, he faced her, his expression open. “You wanted to talk about something?”

  Her gut clenched. Questioning him about his identity, about his history, in light of his continued kindness toward her seemed petty. Her heart told her that she could trust Matt, so why did she listen to Jon and Robert? Why did she let them confuse her and make her doubt her instincts?

  “This is going to seem really rude and nosy…and I wouldn’t ask except…” She rubbed her palms on the legs of her slacks. “It seems Jon and Robert were concerned about you living here…about them not knowing much about you. Since Ryan died, they’ve been a bit overprotective of me. Their hearts are in the right place, but their methods at times—”

  “Holly, stop.” His low, quiet tone jolted her as much as if he’d shouted. Matt’s eyes were dark, his mouth pressed in a taut, somber line. “I think I know where this is going.”

  She crossed the floor to him in three quick steps, catching his hands in hers. “I don’t want to pry into things that are none of my business, Matt. I know there are things in your past that are too painful to talk about, but…if I don’t answer their questions about you, if I don’t give them something to answer their suspicions, they’ll only keep digging and causing trouble and—”

  He cupped her jaw with his palm, stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Tell me what they said
. What upset you?”

  His gentle touch calmed her jitters a little, but she was still uncomfortable with putting him on the spot this way. “They…ran a search for you in the state databases, and they claim there’s no record of a Matt Rankin matching your description before three years ago.”

  He inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring and the muscle in his jaw twitching. “That’s because before three years ago, Matt Rankin didn’t exist.”

  Holly’s heart thundered. Surely she had heard him wrong. “What are you talking about?”

  “My real name isn’t Matt Rankin. It’s Matt Randall.”

  Chapter 8

  His muscles taut, Matt waited for some flicker of recognition in Holly’s expression, but all he saw was hurt and confusion. If his name meant anything to her, she was playing her cards close to the vest. Considering that the Holly he’d gotten to know over the past few weeks wore her emotions on her sleeve, he found it difficult to believe she was hiding her reaction now.

  When she only stared at him with an incredulous expression, he delved into his explanation. “I started using the name Rankin three years ago in an attempt to put some distance between me and the ugliness that my life had become. The name Matt Randall had a stigma attached to it, and that stigma followed me wherever I went. I couldn’t get a job, couldn’t write a check at the grocery store without getting dirty accusing looks.” He shook his head. “Not that I really cared what the people at the store thought of me. But I figured out pretty quick that for the foreseeable future, my name had been ruined.”

  Holly tipped her head, her eyes brightening with insight. “The false allegations you mentioned earlier….”

  He sighed. “Yeah.”

  “What—”

  He raised a hand to cut her off. “Let’s sit. It’s a complicated story.”

  With a hand under her elbow, he guided her to the couch. He settled beside her, his legs splayed and his arms propped on his thighs. Dragging a hand down his face, he struggled for the courage to tell her what he knew he must. He owed her the truth.

  He just prayed she wouldn’t hate him when he’d finished spilling his soul, his darkest secret to her. Matt angled his head toward her and met her worried gaze squarely. “I was accused of murder, Holly.”

  She gasped, and her eyes rounded in horror. “Murder? But…who? A patient?”

  He shook his head. “They thought I’d killed Jill. The spouse is always the first suspect in a violent and untimely death. When Jill died, I automatically became suspect number one for the police. That’s the false allegation I told you about. That’s how I lost my pediatric practice, my kids, my good name.”

  Color drained from her face, and despite her shock, he could see that she was sorting through a flood of questions, assimilating this new information with everything he’d told her in the past, grappling with the mind-blowing ramifications that crashed down on her like a devastating meteor shower. When her hands trembled, he longed to hold them in his own and soothe the tremors that shook her.

  But his comfort would be rebuffed, no doubt. Until he’d explained the whole sordid truth, his touch would be unwelcome, tainted. He grieved the loss of the small intimacy they’d shared, that tentative level of trust and affection.

  Holly drew a slow deep breath, the confusion and betrayal in her gaze sliced him to the quick. “Matt…you said Jill killed herself, that it was suicide.”

  “It was. But there was enough circumstantial evidence the night of her death for the police to arrest me. I didn’t help my case much, either. I told them her death was my fault.”

  Holly stiffened and fisted her hands on the edge of the sofa cushion. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because I believed it. On some levels, I still do.”

  She shook her head. “You lost me. If Jill’s death was suicide, how can you believe you killed her?”

  “I didn’t say I killed her. I didn’t pull the trigger, but I’m responsible for the state of mind she was in that night. My inattention to her needs, to her feelings, to our marriage was the reason she felt so alone that night.” The bleakness and loss he’d known that night reverberated in his voice and revived the blackness that ate at his soul. “If I’d paid more attention to my wife’s despondency and been less wrapped up in my job, I could have done something to stop her. I could have gotten her help. I could have fixed our marriage. I could have shown her what she meant to me before she took her life.

  “But I was too self-absorbed, too busy with my patients and too certain that the depression she’d slipped into was just a passing mood swing or a bad case of PMS. I was an insensitive jerk who left his wife alone at home most nights while I stayed late at the hospital. I neglected her needs, and when she felt she had nowhere left to turn, she took her own life.” His voice cracked, and he swiped at the moisture that had crept into his eyes. He sucked in a restorative breath and exhaled through his lips. “I’ve spent the past five years coming to terms with my responsibility, my guilt.”

  Holly grabbed his arm and squeezed. “Matt, stop. You can’t blame yourself.”

  He lifted a hand to interrupt. “Believe me, I’ve heard all the denials and rationalizations before, Holly. I know what they say about survivor guilt, but…this is different.”

  “No, it’s not. Jill and only Jill is responsible for her actions.” The fierce determination that laced her tone sent a wisp of warmth to the icy hollowness deep inside him. If he’d had someone on his side, bolstering him, defending him, believing in him all those years ago, how differently would his life have turned out?

  His hands fisted, frustration and self-recrimination pumping through him. “How do I forgive myself for the fights we had, for my obliviousness to the depths of her depression? How do I forget that my inattention drove her into the arms of another man?” When Holly flinched, he nodded. “She had an affair, trying to shock me out of my daze, and afterward, she suffered a terrible guilt because of her cheating. She laid it all out in the note she left me.”

  Holly swallowed hard and rasped, “Jill left a note?”

  Clenching his teeth, he nodded once.

  As she slouched back against the sofa, Holly’s gaze drifted away as she processed all that he’d dumped on her. She pressed shaky fingers to her lips and dragged in an unsteady breath. “Wouldn’t a note in Jill’s handwriting be enough evidence that she’d committed suicide?”

  “Ordinarily, yes, but—” He hesitated, battling down the surge of fury and frustration for the foolish and rash choice he’d made in a moment of panic and turbulent emotion. “I took the note. I destroyed it before the police arrived.”

  She snapped a startled gaze toward him. “What? Why?”

  “In hindsight, I wish to God I hadn’t.” He rubbed the ache in his jaw where tension and self-reproach knotted his muscles. “At the time I wasn’t in my right mind.” Revived memories kick-started the turbulent grief that had overwhelmed him that day. “I’d come home from the hospital late, and…I found Jill in our study. She was sitting behind my desk, her body slumped forward. It was dark in the room, and at first I didn’t notice the wounds. But…I smelled the blood. I smelled death.”

  He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The grisly images flashed behind his eyelids in a gruesome slide show of memories. “She’d taken the kids to her parents’ house for a visit, and then come home alone and shot herself. She—” He swallowed hard. “I’m a doctor, so the first thing I did was try to revive her. I felt for a pulse, tried to staunch the bleeding. I moved the gun from her hand and set it aside. When it began to really sink in, that she was dead, that she was gone, I was overcome with grief and shock. Even before I found her note, I knew what she had done and why. And I lost it. I lashed out, yelling and breaking things in the study. Mad at myself, mad at her, mad at the world—and consumed with pain. With loss. With guilt. I’d let her down in the worst possible way, and she’d chosen to take her life because of it.”

  Anguish strangled him, grippi
ng his chest so tightly he couldn’t breathe. He dug his fingers into the soft cushion of the couch and struggled to regain enough composure to continue.

  A small, cold hand touched his, jarring him from his memories. His gaze darted first to his fist, where Holly had wrapped her fingers around his, offering comfort and strength. Stunned, he lifted his eyes to meet the pain and sympathy etched in her face.

  After all he’d told her about his failing Jill, about the ugliness of his past and the guilt that still tainted him, how could she feel anything for him beside disgust?

  “Go on,” she urged, her voice gentle and understanding.

  Matt gathered his thoughts and held her gaze as he continued. “She confessed to her affair in the note and apologized for it. She talked about how lonely she’d become, how confused and how overwhelmed she felt by the depression she’d sunk into. She felt she had nowhere to turn.” He grimaced and bit out an obscenity. “What kind of husband allows himself to become so distant that his wife feels she has to take her life to get his attention?”

  Holly squeezed his hand harder. “Matt, don’t do this. Haven’t you beaten yourself up long enough? There may have been trouble in your marriage, but your wife’s decision to take her life was her own. You didn’t make her do it.”

  “I’m beginning to see that…now. But at the time, I was drowning in grief and guilt. I couldn’t do anything to save her, but I made a decision that night. I wanted to protect her memory, her reputation as much as I could. I didn’t want anyone to find out about her affair—especially not her parents. And I didn’t want her friends and family to know she’d committed suicide. Her parents are Catholic, and to them, suicide is an unforgivable sin. I couldn’t heap that burden on top of the pain of losing their daughter.” His eyes held with hers, and he dropped his voice to a pained whisper. “So I burned her note.”

  Holly absorbed the heartache in Matt’s voice like a physical blow, feeling the sting all the way to her marrow. Losing Ryan had been difficult enough without feeling any responsibility for his death. She couldn’t imagine the suffering Matt had endured.