by Renee Roszel
She prayed the conversation continued in the direction of Damien’s latest novel. She didn’t want the myth to come up at all.
As she combed through her damp curls, she heard Alex enter the basement. Since she’d left the bathroom door open to make sure she caught him the instant he came downstairs, she spun to confront him. Tugging the lapels of her terry robe together, she stormed into the basement parlor.
He was closing the door to the stairway when she spotted him. Purposely she slammed the bathroom door and his head jerked up to see her glowering at him. As he scanned her, his expression changed from surprise to mischievous. Her knee-length robe was fuzzy aqua terrycloth. Goofy slippers swallowed her feet. He leaned against the wall, visibly amused. “I pictured you more as a Garfield slippers kind of woman.”
She gritted her teeth, having forgotten she was wearing the gift Helen had sent her for her birthday, saying the slippers were “from the twins, so they could all look alike this Christmas.” Trying to ignore his taunt, she crammed her hands into her pockets. “What is it with you?” she demanded. “I wanted you to act like an acquaintance, not my lover. What was with all the hot-to-trot eye contact and rip-off-my-shirt-baby grinning?”
He laced his fingers at his waist, templing his thumbs over his belt buckle. Wearing jeans, work boots and a beige Henley shirt, he looked more like a woodsman than a big-city lawyer. “Was I doing all that?” he asked, his tone teasing.
She harrumped. “I don’t think you’re funny. Cut the wattage, buster, or you’ll find yourself doubled over groaning in pain, again.”
He winced playfully. “Yes, ma’am.”
She looked pointedly at him, unconvinced by his easy capitulation. “I mean it.”
Pushing himself away from the wall, he ambled toward the couch and began removing cushions. “I read you loud and clear, Miss Crosby.” He glanced her way. “But if you don’t get me a room of my own soon, it won’t matter what I do. They’ll draw their own conclusions.” She felt the weight of his statement and dodged his intent gaze. He was right, of course. But there was nothing she could do about that.
“I’m all booked to New Year’s Eve.” Frustration edged her words. When he’d first come to the inn with his threats and legal papers, she’d relegated him to the fold-out couch, wanting him to be as miserable as possible. At the time, she’d been so angry this complication hadn’t really bothered her. “If there’s a cancellation—and I pray there is—” she vowed, “you’re out of here. Honestly, I’d rather have a rattlesnake sharing my quarters.”
He stared at her for another millisecond, just long enough for a lightning flash in his glance to inform her that her insult had hit its mark. Turning away, he yanked the Hide-A-Bed out with a screech of metal on metal. “You’re quite welcome, Miss Crosby,” he muttered. “Think nothing of it.”
Sunday morning, all the guests were fed and gone before Elissa’s sisters and their families came downstairs. She was happy to have only her relations sitting around the breakfast table. Except for the pleasant addition of babies and husbands, this morning’s gathering reminded Elissa of when the three of them had first bought the inn almost four years ago.
The only fly in the ointment was Alex D’Amour, whose contractors didn’t work on Sundays. What a shame. Another blot on her day was the way her sisters had maneuvered to get her seated at the table beside Alex.
She exhaled a slow, defeated sigh. She’d tried to tell both Lucy and Helen that she and Alex were merely acquaintances, nothing more, but that information had been about as effective on her beaming sisters as trying to teach a newborn baby how to cook. They imagined a romance in the making and not even kicking and screaming and beating her breast was going to change their minds. She decided the best idea was to be coolly friendly to Alex, while remembering not to give away her distaste for the man. She only hoped her conversation with him last night had made an impression.
Damien and Helen sat on one side of the big table with the twins on high chairs between them. Between bites of their own breakfast, each parent was keeping an eye on a twin’s plate, making sure it didn’t end up stuck to a wall.
Elissa and Alex, Lucy and Jack sat across from them. Elissa noticed Helen had stopped eating and was watching Lucy closely. Before Elissa had time to ask what had captured her attention, Helen said, “Lucy, you’re picking at your oatmeal. Are you okay?”
Elissa peered around Alex. “Luce? Would you rather have something else?” She shook her head, smiling wanly. “Oatmeal. Yuck. It’s fine for the toothless babies, but not for adult types with full-grown taste buds.”
The rest of them were eating buttermilk pancakes with maple syrup, a fruit cup and Bella’s famous chicken hash. Why anyone would prefer oatmeal was beyond Elissa.
Lucy smiled weakly, her cheeks going pink from the attention. She laid her spoon into the half-full bowl of congealing muck. “I guess I’m just not very—” She bit off her words, pressing her fingers to her lips. The cast of her skin had gone a little green. “Jack...” She pressed her palms on the table, attempting to stand.
Her husband took her elbow. “I’ll come with you, darling.” A few seconds later the couple had made a hasty exit up the stairs.
Elissa was concerned. “I hope she’s not sick. What an awful way to spend Christmas.”
Helen frowned, turning to meet Damien’s puzzled gaze. As Elissa watched, they both slowly began to smile, as though some great revelation had come to them. An instant later, it dawned on Elissa what was going on. “Lucy’s going to have a baby,” she breathed, tears of happiness gathering in her eyes. “Oh, that’s wonderful.” She had no idea she’d clamped a hand on Alex’s upper arm and squeezed his solid biceps until the direction of Helen’s gaze and the gleam in her eyes told her so. Abruptly she dropped her hand. “Excuse me,” she muttered, grabbing her fork and shoveling up a pile of chicken hash.
“No problem, Elissa,” he murmured. “It’s hardly the first time we’ve touched.”
She had taken a big bite, and his veiled innuendo sent her into a coughing spasm. She eyed him narrowly as she got herself under control but decided it would be better not to respond. The less said the better.
“Do you think I should go up and help Lucy?” Helen asked Damien as she deftly caught a half-chewed piece of banana that Glory had just “uh-ohed” into space.
When she put the squishy mess back on her daughter’s plate, Damien said, “I think Jack wants to handle it, sweetheart.” He captured a torn piece of toast in midair and gathered it back in Crilly’s hand. “Okay, young lady. One more ‘uh-oh’ and no peaches.”
Elissa watched Gilly make a face as she turned the toast into pulp against her lips. Hardly able to contain a laugh, she glanced at Glory who was nearly through finger-feeding herself her serving of sliced canned peaches. With a grin she couldn’t contain, she thought Damien and Helen were the cutest parents she’d ever seen—with great coordination, too, considering they could snag food as well as any major league baseball player ever snagged a hot, bouncing grounder.
Helen looked at Elissa. “Alex tells us you met him on the D’Amour property last week.” She inclined her head. “What day?”
Elissa knew where this was going and she was determined to put a stop to it.
“I’ll never forget it,” Alex interjected, “It was—” He stopped in midsentence with his mouth opened. Instead of words, he emitted a guttural grunt, and his eyes went wide.
Helen and Damien stared at him, looking as though they were afraid he was having a heart attack. Elissa knew what was wrong, and it wasn’t a medical emergency. She’d kicked him hard in the leg. “Are you okay?” she asked sweetly.
Alex faced her, his flashing gaze demanding why in the hell she kept trying to cripple him. With thinned lips he nodded. “Yeah. I’m great. Thanks for asking.”
She smiled. “Well, if you’re sure.”
“Alex?” Helen said. “You looked like you had a pain. Don’t be brave. What if it’s seri
ous?”
With his jaw working he shifted toward Helen. “It’s not. I just forgot what I was going to say. I hate it when I do that.”
Elissa had a hard time suppressing a grin at his weak excuse. She supposed he didn’t get kicked under a table often enough to be very good at it.
“You must,” Helen murmured, her expression confused.
Surprising everyone, Alex pushed up from the table and grabbed Elissa’s wrist. “I’d like a word with you in private.”
She wanted to say no, but she could feel hard resolve in his grasp. Having no option but to drop her fork, she smiled stiffly. “Why, certainly—Alex.” Facing her sister and brother-in-law, she made an effort to appear at ease, though she had a sick feeling he planned to kick her back once they were alone. “We’ll just be a minute.”
Alex towed her from the room. “Maybe longer.”
After he whisked her down the basement steps, he shut the door and turned on her. “What the hell was that kick for?” His grip held her captive. “Technically, that’s battery, Miss Crosby. I could have you arrested.”
“Technically, so is what you’re doing.” She yanked on his hold. “You’re hurting me.”
“Bull.”
When she yanked again, he released her so swiftly she stumbled. When she steadied herself, she faced him with bravado. “And just what was that ‘It’s hardly the first time we’ve touched’ remark? You made it sound like we’re having an affair. I told you to back off the innuendos.”
“I’m sorry. It just came out.”
She eyed him with distrust, trying to decide if he was sincere. He wasn’t smiling, and he seemed earnest. Her ire sputtered, dying down in the face of his apparently genuine apology. “Okay, I’m sorry I kicked you,” she admitted. “It’s only that I don’t care to talk about when or where we met.”
“Why the hell not?” he demanded. “They know I own the D’Amour place. When and where we met doesn’t compromise our deal.”
“It does to me.”
He ran a hand through his hair, clearly annoyed. “I don’t get it. Maybe you’d better tell me all the rules so I don’t have to spend so much time limping or doubledover gasping for breath.”
“That’s all, Mr. D’Amour. Just don’t mention the real reason you’re staying here or that we met on your grounds last Sunday morning.” She held out a hand. “Deal?”
He eyed her outstretched fingers. Wariness riding his features, he leaned against the basement door and crossed his arms over his chest. “There’s more to this than you’re telling me. Come clean or there’s no deal.”
His insight bothered her. “It’s not important. It’s nothing.”
He snorted. “That nothing is going to turn into a nice size bruise on my shin. So it’s not nothing to me. Spill it or I’ll tell them the truth.”
“But you promised!”
He shrugged. “You assaulted me, Miss Crosby. Do I hear why you did it, or do I tell your family you bought this property in a fraudulent deal, and that you’re losing it after the new year.”
“It’s not true!” Fingers of dread crawled along her spine. “You—you wouldn’t.”
His lips twisted in a sly grin that was far from reassuring. “Watch me.”
CHAPTER FOUR
AFTER Elissa explained about the myth, Alex lifted his chin in a half nod, his expression a mixture of cynicism and amusement. “So...” he said, as though making sure he had all the facts straight, “you’re worried your sisters will make something of your being on my property on your birthday?” His lips lifted wryly. “Why? You didn’t sleep inside the mansion, did you?”
She hated the way he got right to the heart of the matter. He was like the TV detective, Columbo, who seemed to sense from the first second on the crime scene who the murderer was and then hounded him until he confessed. She bit her tongue to keep from doing just that.
Shaking her head, she lied, “Of course I didn’t sleep in the mansion. What an insane question.” She had no intention of bringing up anything about the threatening letter she’d received and how it had made her believe she was being stalked that night.
Now that she’d had time to really think about what happened, she realized it was silly to believe someone had known exactly where she would have a flat tire and had been waiting there in the woods for her. The crank letter had spooked her, that was all. The stalker had probably been a deer, the poor animal every bit as startled as she.
Still, Elissa had no plans to go into that or the fact that she’d fulfilled the fable’s requirements. The D’Amour myth was nothing more than a fairy tale, and her sister’s experiences were charming coincidences. Mentioning it would cause her trouble she didn’t need.
Alex pinned her with a dubious look. “I don’t quite believe you, Miss Crosby, but...” He stuck his hands into his jeans pockets, the image of a disgruntled male, too good-looking for her peace of mind. Deliberately she shifted her gaze to scan the faded wallpaper. “For now, I’ll take your word,” he said. “I don’t see you as a woman who would sleep inside a deserted mansion in order to snag a husband, then knee the first sucker you meet. It doesn’t fit.”
She silently thanked heaven that he was buying her story, but the “sucker” remark stung. She spun to glare at him. “Nice talk. What do you have against marriage and families anyway?”
His slow smile became a sneer. “Nothing. It’s a fine institution for the terminally self-centered.”
Shifting position, Elissa surreptitiously put more distance between them. When he was angry he seemed to take up more space. Unable to understand why her question upset him, she gave a half laugh of impatience. “You should go into the greeting card business, Mr. D’Amour. That’s a darling sentiment.”
He shrugged, his features solemn. “Do you want to finish your breakfast?”
The question took her off guard. She’d forgotten they’d left Damien and Helen upstairs gaping at their hurried departure. She made a worried face. “What do we tell them we were doing down here?”
He chuckled darkly. “I don’t think what we tell them will matter, do you?”
Her exhale was long and dejected. Why didn’t some family cancel their reservations so she could get this—this fly out of her parlor. As she trudged up the steps beside him, a pessimistic thought intruded. Or was he the spider, and was this his parlor?
December 23 dawned bright and cold, a brisk north wind ruffling the evergreens and the brown oak leaves clinging to their branches. The rest of the leaf population spiraled and danced over the winter brown lawn, slapping the windows with the urgency of a snowstorm.
The day was passing swiftly and pleasantly, since the guests were all in town taking in the shows and sights. Peace reigned at the inn.
“Oh...” Helen sighed and stretched, drawing Elissa’s gaze from her ledger. The youngest of the Crosby sisters stood atop a step stool in the parlor entrance. Elissa couldn’t get over how great Helen looked with her ultrashort, ultrafeminine haircut. The style was not only practical for a mother of young twins, but suited Helen’s face, making her lovely gray eyes seem large.
“I wish it would snow for Christmas,” Helen said as she lay a mistletoe branch over a small hook. Arranging the red ribbon tied in the greenery to its best advantage, she smiled down at her sisters gathered before the fire. Elissa noticed that her glance shifted to her twins, behaving amazingly well as they played with their dolls on the rug. “What’s the forecast, Lis?”
“Snow, of course.” Smiling, she sat back in the big old leather chair that had been their father’s. “I ordered the white stuff, myself. The weatherman and I are just like this.” She held up crossed fingers. “Flurries should start sometime Christmas Eve, just in time to give us a full-fledged White Christmas.”
Helen backed down the two steps on the stool. “Good. I know how much you spent for those s-l-e-d-s you bought for my you-know-who’s for you-know-what.” With a nod she indicated the towering Christmas tree in the nearby comer,
its boughs bright with tiny twinkling lights and Country Christmas ornaments collected from Branson craft shows. Two large sled-shaped packages stood against the wall behind a mountain of smaller presents. “I’d hate to see all that money go to waste.”
“It won’t,” Lucy interjected. “Even if it doesn’t snow this year, the you-know-what’s will be here for other Christmases. Right, Lis?”
Apprehension stabbed Elissa’s heart, but she hid it. She would not allow any negative thoughts to intrude on the holidays. “Absolutely. You don’t think I’d let you take them home, do you—I mean how much snow does New York state get?”
Helen laughed. “Oh, right. It’s a desert up there especially in the winter.”
The sisters laughed at Helen’s joke. Today’s newspaper had been plastered with pictures of the wild snowstorm inundating New York at that very moment. “Yes,” Elissa said with an emphatic nod. “You’re lucky you’re here in the Ozark mountains, where we have snow some Christmases.”
Helen folded the stool. “Now all we have to do is wait for the guys to get back from shopping. And Alex from overseeing construction on his mansion. We can get our Christmas kisses.” She gave Elissa a sly look. “Especially Alex. I bet you have a hankering to kiss that good-looking hunk. Don’t you, Elissa?”
Startled, she shifted to stare at her youngest sister. “What?”
“Or do you already know what it’s like to kiss him?”
Elissa could feel her cheeks color. “Now listen, you two.” She slapped her ledger book closed in her lap. “Do I have to have it tattooed on my forehead before you’ll face the fact that there aren’t any sparks of interest between Alex and me. Now, get over it.”
Helen picked up the stool to return it to the pantry. “Mmm-hmm,” she said, not sounding convinced.
Lucy shifted to curl her legs beneath her, drawing Elissa’s eyes. She gave the blonde a narrowed look. “You believe me, don’t you?”
