Her Mistletoe Husband

by Renee Roszel

  She fought a contrary grin at his doubtful tone. “I thought you were never afraid, Mr. D’Amour.”

  He muttered something that sounded like, “You’ve changed all that,” but Elissa wasn’t sticking around to get him to repeat himself. She didn’t like being drawn to him, and wanted the feeling to go away.

  Trying not to care if he followed her or if he dropped through a hole in the earth, she hurried outside to the front porch. Squatting beside Glory, she placed a saucepan on the floorboards and handed her a wooden spoon. “Okay, sweetie, you bang on that as loud as you can and shout, ‘Happy New Year’.”

  Glory lifted her spoon to start, but Elissa caught it, laughing. “Wait until your daddy says to.” She let go. “Okay?”

  “’kay.” Glory bobbed her head, her eyes big and expectant.

  Jack had given Milhouse a pot almost as tall as he, and a plastic spatula. “Okay, champ. Get ready.”

  Milhouse turned huge, brown eyes up to the adults, his expression as serious as a doctor just before open heart surgery. Elissa had to smile at the child. Though she felt partial to her nieces, she had to admit that Milhouse was a good-looking, bright little boy. She hoped her nieces would grow up to know him well. She had a feeling he would be special in their lives.

  Elissa heard jingling and noticed that Gilly held two sets of measuring spoons. Apparently unable to wait, she waved them around, making a delicate noise, giggling delightedly with the new game.

  “Okay, everybody.” Damien drew her attention. “Let’s count it down. Ten, nine...”

  As Elissa joined in, holding her soup pan and ice-cream scoop high, she couldn’t help but surreptitiously seek out Alex’s location. He lounged against a nearby porch support, watching Gilly’s solo on the measuring spoons. She was startled to note that he held the wire whisk and colander up, poised for action. It had never occurred to her that he might actually join in the celebration.

  “Seven, six, five...”

  She felt an electric sparkle dance through her at the sight as he grinned at Gilly, jingling and dancing around like a tiny, winter nymph.

  His eyes shone in the reflected porch light, his deep chuckle rich with vitality. There was an energy, an air of enjoying life, about him that bothered her. She didn’t want to see that side of him, a side the woman in her longed to know, to touch, to kiss, to love...

  “Three, two, one...Happy New Year!” everyone shouted, banging and hooting to the high heavens.

  As the cacophony intensified, Elissa saw a pint-size body flash by in front of her. She looked down in time to see Gilly run to Alex and grab his trouserleg. Her spoons were nowhere to be seen, and she was sobbing, her eyes wide with fright. It was clear she had no idea that her little jangling recital would escalate into a deaf ening, scary experience.

  Elissa made a move to reach the child, halting in midstride when Alex gave her a quelling look. Laying aside his utensils, he scooped the wailing twin into his arms.

  The noise died down, for only Milhouse and Glory were still at it, unaware that Gilly was upset. In a high-pitched, shuddery sob, she cried, “Unka Alex! ‘fraid! Unka Alex! ’fraid!” Curling her chubby arms around his neck, she buried her face against his throat, her crying muffled in the thickness of his parka.

  “Oh, dear,” Helen said, “I didn’t think...”

  She started toward her daughter, but Damien took her arm. “No, let’s go on and celebrate. Alex is doing fine, and Gilly needs to learn a little noise isn’t going to hurt her.”

  Elissa watched Alex as he held the child, patting her back, crooning to her. He certainly seemed more comfortable with toddlers than he had a week ago. The others began to bang their implements again, only with less abandon, in deference to Gilly’s fears.

  After a minute, Elissa watched as the twin lifted her face away from Alex’s throat and stared at him. Her eyes swam with tears. He grinned at her and said something too softly for Elissa to hear. Gilly nodded, her death grip on his neck easing.

  At last, to Elissa’s amazement, Gilly allowed herself to be lowered to the floor. Alex kneeled beside her and held out the wire whisk. When she took it, he picked up the colander and nodded, obviously giving her the signal to hit it. She did, tentatively at first. Then, when Alex said more loudly, “Happy New Year, Gilly.” She grinned, and gave the colander a good whack.

  After a few more solid blows, Gilly turned to grin up at her mother and dad. She continued to whack the strainer and started shouting nonsensical things, just to make noise.

  Elissa found herself smiling and renewing her efforts at ringing in the new year with raucous enthusiasm. She banged her frustrations out on that poor soup pan until the ice-cream scoop handle broke off, sending the metal scoop flying into the snow.

  “Well, Elissa,” Jack said, chuckling as the noise died away, “working out our hostilities, are we?”

  She was experiencing a bizarre variety of emotions, but no matter how disconcerted she felt, Jack always rated a smile. “I was pretending it was your head, smarty-pants.”

  “On that charming note, I think we should go inside,” Helen said with a laugh. “Somebody start a pot of decaf while Damien and I get the girls to bed.”

  “Wait a minute,” Jack said. “I’m not moving until I get my New Year’s Kiss.”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” Lucy smiled and went into his arms.

  As they kissed, Elissa diverted her gaze, only to catch Damien taking his wife against him, kissing her possessively. Biting her lip, Elissa shifted to look out at the night The clear, black sky was a striking backdrop for a golden sliver of moon.

  She heard a throat being cleared nearby and feared it wasn’t Hirk Boggs. He was no doubt kissing Jule not far away. Unable to help it, she glanced at Alex. He watched her with a brow raised. His eyes glittered, but his expression gave away nothing of his thoughts.

  She tried to assess his features. Was he as uncomfortable being one half of the only couple out here not kissing? Despite his closed expression, she sensed heat in him, a heat he was willing her to feel. What did he think he was, a hypnotist? Did he think she would rush into his arms if he wanted her to? Or was her own longing tricking her into thinking she saw desire in his eyes?

  She swallowed hard, wishing she weren’t the only Crosby sister who didn’t have a love of her own, someone to drag her into his arms and sweep her away to paradise with his hot, lusty love. But if Alex D’armour thought he would ever kiss her again, he was loonier than-than-well, than she’d been when she’d let him kiss her out there in the snow.

  Shifting away, she squatted down. “Okay, who’s going to kiss Aunt Elissa. Happy New Year?” Her voice was strangely squeaky, and she cleared her throat, as Gilly and Glory rushed at her. But Milhouse won, grasping her by the neck and planting a juicy, baby kiss on her nose. She laughed, kissing him back. “Well, well, it looks like I have myself a new boyfriend.” Patting his rosy cheek, she accepted hugs and kisses from her nieces, and her mood lifted.

  Rallying the children, she got them to gather up their utensils and herded them to the kitchen. After the squealing toddlers had done their chore, the others came back inside. Hirk and Jule hugged everybody good-night and left for home with Milhouse. Damien and Helen took the girls upstairs to tuck them into bed, while Lucy and Jack prepared coffee and sandwiches.

  Elissa gathered up dirty cups and plates from the den. On one last trip to check for dishes, she felt Alex’s presence. Turning around, she feigned nonchalance, but her pulse doubled its beat. “What?”

  His grin was melancholy. “I wanted to wish you a Happy New Year.” He shrugged. “Now that we’re into the new year, I guess you were right. The letters were a hoax. I’m glad.”

  Stunned by his declaration, she hardly knew how to respond. It was curious, though, that the mere suggestion that he believed the letters to be a hoax lifted a great weight off her. Only now did she face how frightened she had been—how she’d been on edge all evening.

  She inha
led in an effort to look serene. “Apology accepted.” Her quick scanning of the room was due to nervousness at his quiet nearness rather than to any assumption that she’d missed a dish.

  He seemed to hesitate, and she couldn’t imagine what he was thinking. He didn’t seem any more comfortable to be standing there than she. Needing to fill the awkward quiet, she asked, “Something else?”

  He stood practically beneath the mistletoe, looking painfully handsome. The solid outline of his chest and shoulders strained against his cashmere sweater. She remembered the hard, manly feel of his body as she lay beneath him in the snow. A suffocating sensation tightened her throat as she fought a craving to run to him, to fling her arms around those wide shoulders and kiss him until they both burst into flames.

  “I—” He stopped, his lips closing in a firm line. “Nothing—Happy New Year, Elissa.”

  He turned to go, but something inside her couldn’t let that happen. “Alex—wait...”

  He shifted to look back.

  Now it was her turn to shrug. She scrambled for something to say. “I—just wanted to thank you for being so nice to Gilly.”

  One comer of his mouth turned up. “Did you expect me to kick her down the steps?”

  She felt foolish and lowered her gaze to his boots.

  His chuckle was scarcely more than a derisive grunt. “I’m gratified to see you continue to hold me in such high regard.”

  When her gaze shot to his eyes, she thought she saw angry lightning, but before she could ponder why he might be upset, the phone rang, jarring her.

  Glad for a reprieve, she edged past him to reach for the wall phone behind the reception desk. She didn’t care who was calling at twelve-thirty in the morning on New Year’s Day. Any distraction was better than standing there, fighting her longing for a man she couldn’t have—shouldn’t want.

  “Hello?” She was startled at how breathless she sounded.

  “It’s Jule, Miss Elissa.”

  She smiled into the receiver. “Hello, Jule. Forget something?”

  “Sure did.” The woman’s strong voice barked out a laugh. “Forgot to tell you a package arrived after you all left for dinner. I put it on your desk. I’m sorry, but we was having such a good time, it slipped right outa my mind.”

  “Oh?” Something heavy and hot dropped into Elissa’s stomach. “No problem,” she murmured, trying to keep sudden misgivings from her voice. “Thanks for calling.”

  “My pleasure. Now you all have a Happy New Year, ya’ hear?”

  “You, too...”

  Elissa sucked in a nervous breath as she hung up.

  “Hey, you two, sandwiches and coffee are ready,” Lucy called from the kitchen.

  Damien and Helen were coming down the staircase. “Music to my ears,” Helen said. “I’m starving.”

  Elissa waved, manufacturing a smile. “Me, too.” She didn’t know why, but she had a sick feeling that the package in her office spelled disaster.

  “Elissa?” Alex sounded cautious. “Is everything all right?”

  “Sure.” She waved him off. A package? her mind cried. The threatening letters loomed again in her brain. What if it were... She fought down panic. It couldn’t be! It couldn’t be a bomb!

  “Elissa, are you coming?”

  She realized Alex had moved ahead of her and turned back when she didn’t move.

  “Of course.” With a quick, fake smile, she ambled toward the basement, compelling herself not to run. “I need to check something, first. I’ll only be a minute.”

  Once she’d strolled halfway down the steps, Alex had gone into the kitchen, so she flew the rest of the way. Tearing around the comer into her office, she spied the thick Federal Express envelope. Scared to death, she crept to the desk, scanning it. Her gaze caught on the return address.

  Dr. Grayson!

  One fear vanished as another billowed in its place. It wasn’t a bomb, at least not one that could maim or kill. But the information in this envelope could be every bit as explosive—at least to Elissa’s life. Like a booby trap, it lay there, the truth about who owned her inn lurking inside.

  Fingers trembling, she tore open the package and dumped the contents on her desk. The documents she’d given her law professor lay there. But why had he sent them back without a word? Why hadn’t he called?

  Shuffling through them, she found a sheet of plain stationery containing a handwritten note. She immediately recognized the bold scrawl of Dr. Grayson, though the script seemed less confident, even a bit unsteady. Confused and growing alarmed, she picked up the handwritten letter. It began:

  My dear Elissa,

  This is not the way I would have preferred to hand over this information to you. However I was in a car accident on the twenty-eighth, and have been in the hospital with a concussion and broken jaw. It wasn’t until today that I was allowed visitors and my assistant brought me the final results of your legal problems. I am sorry to have to report that I have determined that the property undoubtedly belongs to Mr. D’Amour.

  Sinking to her chair, Elissa forced herself to read on.

  I am distressed beyond words about the outcome, and if I were able, I would have traveled up there to be with you to soften the blow and to give you support during this unhappy time.

  I wish there were something I could do to ease your mind and heart. You know that I think of you as a daughter. So if you need anything—money or a place to stay—please don’t hesitate to call on me.

  Oh, concerning my condition, please don’t worry. You know I am too hardheaded to really be hurt. A few more days in the hospital and I shall be able to go home to recuperate. I will call you as soon as I’m able.

  Take care of yourself, and remain strong, my dear,

  Gregory Grayson

  “No...” Ice spread through her veins as she reread the dire words. She took in a shuddery breath, her grief a steel weight on her soul. The inn wasn’t hers. It belonged to Alex D’Amour, after all.

  A raw, primal grief overwhelmed her, and she crushed the letter between her fists. A sob escaped her throat. “No--reo--no... ” she cried, dropping her face to the pages and pounding the desktop in macabre cadence, keening denials issuing up from the depths of her being. “No-no--no... ”

  She didn’t care that her tears flowed over the papers that proved she’d been swindled, and that because of her, her sisters had been swindled, too. The inheritance their father had worked hard to earn, to set aside for his daughters’ well-being, that inheritance the Crosby sisters had pooled so that Elissa could fulfill her dream—was gone. Like a flower petal, plucked and released in the wind without thought or care. Gone.

  Everything-gone.

  She was a stupid fool. An incompetent, ignorant idiot who didn’t deserve the love and trust her family gave her. How could she have been so—so inept? Elissa Gardenia Crosby, the eldest, strong, competent sister who could handle anything all by herself, had proven to be nothing but a con man’s sucker.

  Wretched, she swallowed against the hot, sour taste of defeat burning her throat. The last threatening letter came back to her.

  Missy, don’t plan on having no hapy new year. You ain’t gonna have one.

  She choked out a despairing laugh that became a low, wailing sob. Alex might not have written the letter, but he certainly made it true.

  “Elissa?” Alex’s voice was hushed, troubled. “My God, what’s wrong?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “Go away.”

  A hand on her shoulder made her start. “What is it? What’s happened?”

  She drew up on one elbow, running a trembly hand through her hair. “I’m all right.” She swiped at tears with the heel of her hand, then peered at him. “Don’t you know how to knock?”

  He was holding a plate containing a sandwich. His expression grim, he set the dish aside. “Is it another threat?”

  She shook her head, looking away. “No—more like— a promise—” Her voice broke. Struggling to regain her poise, s
he pushed herself up, shoving a tuft of curls out of her face. “The inn is yours, Alex.” She gave him one brief glance, her expression controlled, though her cheeks were wet with tears. “Congratulations.” She fought to keep her anguish from shattering her dignified facade. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to be alone.”

  She walked stiff-backed from her office and was relieved that she couldn’t hear his footsteps following her. No doubt he was looking over the papers. Being a thorough man, he would find Dr. Grayson’s letter, though it was torn and wadded.

  When she reached the top of the basement steps, she turned away from the kitchen, where she could hear her sisters and brothers-in-law laughing and talking. Retrieving her coat from the staircase hall, she went outside onto the porch and gulped the crisp, cold air, trying to bolster herself. She felt so lost, alone and broken.

  With no destination in mind, and no reason to care where she went, Elissa trudged down the steps. Her ankle boots protected her feet from the snow, but she hardly noticed. She was so beaten down by the news, worrying about anything so trivial as catching a cold barely penetrated.

  The stillness and the quiet welcomed her; the blackness of the night seemed like an embracing friend. In a daze, she walked toward the darkness, toward the silent wood, not wanting to think. For to think would bring such crushing awareness and culpability down upon her, she wasn’t sure she could stand it. At least not now. Now, she needed to be alone. To be still. To walk the land she had grown to love.

  She needed to be able to say goodbye—alone—before she broke the news to her family. She had no choice, this time. They would have to be told. But not now. She would wait until after they’d gone, and write to them. To spare them until the end of their vacation. A few more days would make little difference.

  She heard a sound, a crunch of snow, and she frowned. Why must he follow her everywhere? Why couldn’t he leave her to her sorrow? Did he have to witness her suffering? Did he get some kind of sick jollies out of watching her grieve?