Read Her Mistletoe Husband Online

Authors: Renee Roszel

Her Mistletoe Husband (16 page)

BOOK: Her Mistletoe Husband
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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, she 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?
Twirling, she hissed, “You've taken enough from me. Must you take my privacy—” She stopped short.
Cocking her head, she tried to get a better look at the figure rounding a large spruce. Uncertainty nagged at her. “Why, you aren't—” Before she could finish, he lunged for her. A rough hand clamped down over her mouth and nose, cutting off both her words and her air.
“Well, well, missy...” her attacker whispered, his voice gravelly, his breath rank with whiskey. “I been waitin' for this.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A
LEX didn't feel a sense of victory, only a hollowness as he scanned the legal papers scattered over Elissa's desk. Her tears had left the top page wet and puckered. Not sure why, he laid his palm over the dampened paper. An unexpected and disturbing feeling went through him at the touch, a ferocity of passion that he had never experienced, until now.
He was angry with himself for making her cry. He knew her well enough to realize she wasn't a woman who broke down easily, yet he had managed to drive her to tears. The page beneath his palm began to burn where only seconds before he'd felt cool moisture. A preposterous guilt tore at him, and he crumpled the piece of paper in his fist. With a dark curse, he threw it against a wall, damning himself for caring.
Less than three weeks ago, Elissa Crosby had been nothing more to him than a name. He'd come here with a legal claim on the property she thought was hers, and he had known he was within his rights to do so. Her problems had been no concern of his.
But now, his responsibility for her sadness ate at him. It shouldn't. He must
not
let it. With gritty determination, he cast the memory of her haunted expression from his mind. He'd known how this would come out from the moment she'd told him she would fight his claim. He'd known she would lose. So what was his problem?
The word “love” tried to claw its way through his defenses, but he blocked it. He didn't love Elissa Crosby. What he felt for her was a passing infatuation, a challenge. That was all. Struggling to regain his detached indifference, he left the office and walked up the stairs to the kitchen, his festive mood gone.
Helen shifted in her seat to look over her shoulder at him as he entered. “I thought I saw you and Elissa out side, just a second ago.”
Alex shook his head. “No—she went for a walk, but I've been downstairs.”
Helen frowned. “Hmm.” Turning back, she indicated the side window. “But...I was sure that was you with her, going into the woods.” Looking back, she said, “If it wasn't you then who—”
His gut knotting with cold, hard terror, Alex suddenly knew who was with Elissa.
“No! God, no
!” Turning on his heel, he grabbed the kitchen doorknob. “Call the police!” he yelled as he barreled outside.
He came to a halt midway between the inn and the fence. Alerting himself to the slightest sound, he even stopped breathing, trying to detect anything—the crack of a fallen branch, the squeak of snow compacted underfoot. The roar of his blood thundering in his ears was the only sound he could hear. “Damn me,” he moaned, scanning the ghostly woods. “I should have done more!”
“What the hell...” Damien came running down the steps, tossing Alex his parka and a flashlight. “What's going on?”
“Elissa's been getting threatening letters.” Alex shrugged into the coat. “I'm afraid the bastard who sent them has her.”
“Why the hell didn't she say anything?”.
Alex looked at him, his frustrated expression saying it all.
Damien's curse hung in the air. “Damn woman and her independence. Then, why didn't
you
tell us?”
“She said it wasn't my business.” Eyeing heaven, Alex exhaled, disgusted with himself. “I guess I wanted to believe that.” Turning away, he trudged deeper into the darkness. “We have to find her. Look for tracks.”
Just as Alex reached the fence, he spotted what looked like the trail. Two sets of footprints; one appeared as though the person had been half dragged.
“Over here, ”
he shouted, waving his flashlight.
Jack bolted out the door, shouting, “The police are on their way.” Both he and Damien jogged toward Alex as he leapt the fence. Running into the dense woods, he following the dim trail, getting a head start on the other men.
“Help!”
He veered toward the sound. “Elissa?” Dodging and ducking, he crashed through the forest, evergreen branches stinging his face as he ran. “Are you okay?”
“Alex! Alex!”
She was gasping and sounded terrified. He couldn't tell from her voice if she was hurt, but he sent up a silent prayer of thanks that she was alive.
Weaving through the damnable undergrowth, he batted back limbs, his flashlight hardly penetrating the tangle of trees and snow-clogged weeds. In the dense wood, every shadow danced and lunged as his light swung and dipped with his mad dash. His heart pounded with dread and self-loathing. One eye began to sting, and he realized a branch had cut his forehead, bloodying his face. Half feeling his way, he charged through the tangle of snow-clogged weeds and branches, tripping and stumbling. “Elissa, are you hurt?”
He could hear Damien and Jack in the distance, but nothing else. He floundered in a drift, righted himself, then stumbled on like a blind man.
“Alex!” Elissa cried, sounding close by.
He skidded to a halt. Finding himself in a small clearing, he spun around to locate her. What he saw, stunned him. Elissa deftly took her knee to a burly man, who howled and doubled over. Almost faster than Alex could see it happen, Elissa whirled behind the man and rammed her foot into the back of his knee, knocking him into a kneeling position. With a warlike shout, she did some sort of karate chop to the back of his neck or between his shoulder blades, Alex couldn't be sure. This time, the man went all the way down, hard and flat on his face.
By the time he reached Elissa, she stood above her attacker, one foot squarely in the small of his back. Grasping a beefy arm with both fists, she twisted it behind him. The man on the ground moaned in agony.
“Elissa?” Alex asked, breathing hard. He was tensed and ready for battle, but it seemed the battle was over. “Are you okay?”
She smiled. Though the effort was weak, he'd never seen a more beautiful sight. “I bruised my knee, but I think it hurt him more than it did me.”
“Get this witch off me!” the man whined, but with another torque on his arm, he yelped, then grew quiet.
Jack and Damien rushed into the clearing. In a flurry of activity, the man on the ground was hustled out, his wrists secured behind him with Jack's belt. Watching the subdued attacker stagger along between the brothers-in-law, it was plain to Alex that he wasn't going to cause anyone else trouble for a good long while. He didn't look as if he felt well, bent over and groaning the way he was.
Alex turned to scan Elissa from head to toe. Her hair was tousled and he had a tremendous urge to brush it back from her eyes. Deciding not to think about it, he simply did it, grinning down at her. “You're dangerous, you know? I think you broke that man's arm.”
She slumped against an oak and closed her eyes. “Do you know who that was?”
He grew serious. “No. But he wrote those letters, didn't he?”
She nodded and looked at him, her expression sad. “I've heard about people like him. They're called loveobsessed stalkers. They pick a victim almost randomly—somebody who unknowingly attracts them while shopping or buying gas or whatever.”
She shook her head and stared off into the shadows, as though recalling something. “He—he worked behind the counter in the dry cleaner's I used to use. When they ruined a skirt, I complained and changed cleaners. I guess he took that as a personal rejection. I—I didn't connect it, but the first letter came a couple of weeks after I complained.”
She lifted her gaze to meet his. “Alex, I don't even know his name.” Her lips began to tremble, and he could tell the adrenaline rush was beginning to wear off. “When he was dragging me out here, he told me he started the fire. You were right about that, too—and I was wrong. I—I guess I'm pretty much a failure at eversrthing...”
“A failure?” he echoed dubiously. “After what you did tonight, how can you say that?” He reached out to take her into his arms, not caring about anything but comforting her.
She saw his intent and something like fear slashing in her eyes. “No...” She stiff-armed him, her fingers splayed against his chest. “Don't patronize me, Alex. Don't pity me, and
please
don't touch me.” Her voice was shaky, but uncompromising. “I appreciate your help, but I think you know we have nothing to say to each other.”
Tension stretched between them as their gazes clashed. Her hand pressing against his chest became the only thing in his world, his entire reality. One small force of will, commanding him to stay away. His heart cried out to brush her arm aside, to drag her against him and kiss away her fears. But when he looked deeply into her eyes, all he saw was reproach for him—and for herself.
Sirens off in the distance grew louder as the tension in the air between them became palpable. Suddenly Elissa propelled herself from the tree, hurrying away from him. Experiencing an odd mixture of relief and loss, he watched her go, her head held high. This was what she wanted—and what he needed. He'd almost lost control a moment ago, almost allowed himself to admit an emotion for Elissa that he couldn't consider—couldn't deal with—for it was an emotion he mistrusted.
 
At two-thirty in the morning, the police were gone and the attacker was in custody. Elissa sat at the kitchen table, staring into a cup of cooling coffee, sensing the glowers of her family. She felt like a specimen being examined under a microscope.
Glancing up, she peered around the table. Everyone was seated, except Alex. He stood some distance away, leaning against the wall near the kitchen entrance. He sported a bandage above his right eye. Avoiding his gaze, she lifted her coffee mug to her lips, gratified her hand was no longer shaking. She sipped the tepid brew, then set it down with a thump. “Look, everybody, it turned out okay. I wish you'd forget it.”
“Forget it?” Helen's whisper was horrified. Leaning across the table she took Elissa's hand. “The man could have murdered you, honey. Why didn't you think we should know?”
Embarrassed, Elissa pulled her fingers from her sister's grasp. “I didn't want to worry you. It could have been nothing more than a prank.”
“I'm not laughing.” Jack said. “Look, Lis, you don't have to take on the world by yourself. We're here for you.” He squeezed her shoulders. “Remember that.”
Her eyes filled, and she swiped at a tear. “Thanks...” She couldn't bear the soft reproof in his gaze, and shifted to look at Helen and Damien. “I know you're all here for me.” She made herself smile. “Let—let's all go to bed. Everything's okay.”
Alex cleared his throat. Against her will she glanced his way.
He crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes silver slits of disapproval.
She could read the message in his hard gaze. He thought she should tell her family everything—that she didn't own the inn. Gritting her teeth, she balked at the notion. “What is it with you, Alex?” she growled. “Do you thrive on being ejected from homes?”
His crooked grin was almost sad. “My parents helped me become accustomed to rejection. I can handle it.”
“What are you two babbling about?” Helen asked.
Elissa ran a hand over her face, silently condemning Alex to whatever hell meddling shyster-lawyers were damned to. “Nothing—nothing...” she muttered. “Everything's fine.”
Uneasy with her lie, her glance flitted back to Alex.
He held her gaze in a vise grip, but said nothing. He merely looked at her, almost through her. His steady perusal was unnerving and cruel, making her feel tremendous guilt. “Okay, okay,” she moaned, “maybe everything's not
quite
fine.”
“What does that mean?” Helen twisted in her chair to look at Alex. “What's going on?”
He pursed his lips and shrugged, his glance remaining on Elissa.
Helen turned back. “What are you keeping from us, Lips?”
Elissa felt sick to her stomach at the concern in her sister's voice. Dragging her gaze from Alex, she mumbled, “There's this
little
problem, er, with the inn...” Her voice caught and she couldn't stand the thought of saying it aloud. Lurching up from the table, she made for the door, but Alex snagged her wrist. “You're doing fine, don't stop now.”
She jerked on his hold. He let her go so easily she almost upended herself. Though his touch was gone, her skin still tingled from it, and she registered the loss.
Was she insane? How could her body betray her so with this man, even now!
Suddenly the decision was entirely hers. She could run, or she could stay and face her family. She could admit her failure, or she could go on hiding it. Whatever she did, she knew that ultimately the truth would have to come out Her conscience nagged,
Are you being fair to keep on lying and lying? Isn't it better, more honest, to tell them now rather than write them later? What kind of a sniveling chicken are you?
She cringed. Now her own conscience was against her—calling her names. That was too much! One thing Elissa had never been, and that was a coward.
BOOK: Her Mistletoe Husband
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