Risky Christmas: Holiday Secrets / Kidnapped at Christmas

When she’d heard the deep rumble of a man’s voice, she’d panicked. She turned off the shower and leapt out of the stall in a surge of adrenaline. Wrapping a towel around her body, she burst from the bathroom and rushed down the hall.

Seeing a strange man inside her house had brought back terrible memories. Eighteen months ago, she’d walked in on her husband’s murderer. She’d dropped her groceries and run out of the house, calling 911 on her cell phone.

The criminal was still at large—and Leah prayed he’d never find her.

Her neighbor looked nothing like the cold villain who’d shot John in the head. He was taller, leaner, not quite as dark. As soon as he introduced himself, she recognized him as the surfer next door. She saw the man coming back from the beach almost every morning. He was always barefoot, surfboard under one arm, wet suit pulled down to the waist. Something about him made her uncomfortable.

Unsettled by the surprise encounter, she peeked through the horizontal blinds, studying her neighbor’s driveway. He’d moved in about a month ago. His beat-up white truck said Cosgrove Construction on the passenger side. His house was small and rundown; she was surprised it hadn’t been razed.

He was just another down-on-his-luck handyman.

She let the blinds snap shut, aware that she’d overreacted and embarrassed him. She’d also yelled at the girls in front of him, which made her feel lousy. Mandy, in particular, was sensitive to loud voices. Alyssa was too young to remember the fights.

After she secured the lock on the front door, Leah went to her bedroom and pulled on her bathrobe. In her manic state, she hadn’t even thought about donning it. She must have looked like a crazy woman.

She’d also forgotten to set the security alarm before she hopped in the shower. An unforgivable oversight.

Shaking her head, she padded to the girls’ room. Mandy had slammed the door shut, which wasn’t allowed but she let it pass, turning the knob and slipping inside. The space was cramped, filled with two single beds. Alyssa was playing with an ABC puzzle on the floor. Mandy lay on her bed, arms crossed over her chest.

She was mad. Well, so was Leah.

Knotting the belt at her waist, she sat down on Alyssa’s bed, addressing both daughters. “What have I told you about opening the door to strangers?”

“Not to do it,” Alyssa answered promptly.

“So why did you?”

Mandy stared up at the ceiling, petulant.

“It wasn’t a stranger,” Alyssa pointed out. “It was Santa.”

“It wasn’t Santa, dummy,” Mandy said.

“Hey,” Leah scolded. “Be nice.”

“Who was it?” Alyssa asked.

“A man pretending to be Santa,” Leah said.

“Was he a bad man?”

“Probably not, but you girls need to be more careful. I don’t want anyone to hurt you or take you away from me.”

Hearing the quiver in Leah’s voice, Alyssa looked up from her puzzle. She scrambled to her feet and gave Leah a hug. “Okay, Mommy. I love you.”

Leah pressed her lips to the top of Alyssa’s head. “I love you, too, sweetie.”

Mandy let out an exaggerated sigh. She pretended not to like displays of affection. When Alyssa let go, Leah leaned over Mandy, kissing her nose before she could squirm away. “I’m counting on you to watch over your sister.”

Mandy’s expression softened. She was already protective of Alyssa, and enjoyed being responsible. “He wasn’t bad, Mom.”

“How do you know? Because he had presents?”

“He liked your cookies.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” she said, her cheeks heating. If she wasn’t mistaken, she’d also seen a hint of masculine appreciation in his gaze. Brian Cosgrove liked full-grown women. And he knew a good cookie when he tasted one. She felt guilty for throwing him out of her house.

Taking a deep breath, she removed the Dear Santa letter from her front pocket. “Why did you put this in his mailbox?”

“I didn’t want you to see it before the mailman came.”

She looked from one daughter to the other, pressure building behind her eyes. “You know that your daddy isn’t coming back, right?”

Alyssa’s face fell. She nodded once and returned to her floor puzzle. Mandy focused on the ceiling, her chin quivering. This was a subject they’d all rather avoid. John hadn’t been a perfect husband or an ideal father, but they missed him.

On days like this, the loss was almost unbearable.

Leah couldn’t scold them for writing the letter, or for wanting their father back. She felt powerless over the situation. If only John had been able to control his gambling addiction. If only Leah had discovered his secret earlier.

Pushing aside her regrets, she rose from the bed and went back to her room to get ready. She had to apologize to Brian. Her stomach tightened at the prospect and she nibbled on the edge of her fingernail, wondering what to wear. She’d planned to spend the day toiling in the kitchen. The choices were limited because she owned few nice outfits. After rifling through her clothes, she put on her best jeans and a dark green tank top.

Vanity had her reaching for the makeup kit in the back of her underwear drawer. She applied a touch of mascara and a hint of lip gloss, her hands trembling. After shoving her feet into black flats and running a brush through her damp, shoulder-length hair, she walked down the hall to retrieve the presents.

Brian had bought her daughters exactly what they’d asked for. The toys were from two different stores, and had probably cost him a day’s hard labor. She took the half-wrapped gifts to the girls’ bedroom, watching their eyes brighten with hope. “I’m going next door to say sorry. You both stay right here.”

“Can we play with our new toys?”

“I suppose,” she said, setting them down. If Brian didn’t accept her apology, she’d offer to pay him back for the gifts.

“Thanks, Mommy!”

“We’ll have to write a thank-you note.”

They both agreed, tearing into their presents. Leah never left them unsupervised but she’d only be gone a minute. Tugging on the hem of her shirt, she walked outside, squinting at the strong California sunshine.

In Kansas City, they’d have had a white Christmas.

Her pulse fluttered as she approached his screen door. The thin barrier was torn in several places, and had a flimsy-looking frame. If she wanted to, she could slip her hand inside and reach the latch. She felt a twinge of resentment over his lackadaisical security. Single women couldn’t afford to be so careless.

As she raised her hand to knock, she saw Brian standing in the kitchen. He’d ditched the fur-trimmed coat and not bothered to put on a shirt. His skin was smooth and tanned, his torso etched with muscle.

While she watched, her mouth going dry, he lifted a plastic water bottle to his lips and took a long drink. Her eyes traveled from his strong brown throat, which worked as he swallowed, to the fine sheen of perspiration on his chest. The red Santa pants he was wearing rode dangerously low on his waist, held up by a thin white drawstring, and his stomach looked as flat and tight as a drum. This was no bowl full of jelly.

She might have made a noise, because he caught sight of her and startled, the bottle slipping from his hand. It bounced off the tile floor, spilling everywhere.

“Damn!”

“I’m sorry,” Leah said, clapping a hand over her eyes. Maybe if she didn’t stare at his naked chest, she could remember what she’d walked over here for.