When the hot kiss finally ended, Damien and Helen stared at each other. Their breathing was heavy, and Helen's cheeks were pink. It was clear something had begun beneath that mistletoe that wasn't over solely because the kiss had ended.
Elissa shook her head at them. “If you two have something pressing to do, we'll watch the girls.”
Damien flashed her a grateful look, and without a word, took his wife's hand, leading her toward the stairs.
“Whew.” Jack shook his head, looking amused. “It's just a guess, but I think she liked his kiss best.” Walking into the parlor, Jack settled on the sofa beside his wife. When he looked at her, his expression was dear. “How are you feeling, Luce?”
She lay her knitting aside and placed a hand on his thigh. Elissa noticed that he covered her hand with his, squeezing gently. She fought back a tear. Love was everywhere in her inn these days. You could cut it like butter. The joy her sisters had found was glorious, filling their lives, making them whole. She struggled not to be jealous of their good fortune.
She tried to be philosophical, reminding herself that some people were meant to be part of a couple, and some weren't. She simply wasn't. She supposed she would have to satisfy herself with mothering them all. That was something, at least, and a role she found gratifying. “Look, you two,” she said as gaily as she could, “if you have business elsewhere, I'm perfectly capable of watching the girls for Helen and Damien.”
They turned from gazing into each other's eyes and beamed at Elissa. “We're fine,” Lucy said. “Besides, we wanted to tell you somethingâoffcially.”
“About you being pregnant?” Her smile refreshed itself with the reminder. She noticed that Alex was coming into the room and taking a seat on a chair opposite her, before the fire. She avoided looking at him or acknowledging his presence. “I guessed it when you and Jack ran out on breakfast that first morningâand all the oatmeal you've been
not
eating.” She reached over and touched her sister's hand. “When's the precious bundle due?”
“Independence Day,” Jack said. “Talk about timing.”
Elissa clapped her hands together. “It's a sign. Another president in the family.” She cast a loving glance at little Elissa Gillian, who was chewing on the foot of her “Feed-and-Wet Frieda” doll. “Of course Gilly will have to be elected to a full two terms, first, but after that, we'll get Baby Gallagher into office.” She closed her eyes in feigned rapture. “Of course, I will be secretary of state during both of their terms of office.”
“You'll be in a home with a lot of people who think they're Napoleon,” Jack laughed.
Elissa eyed him with pretended affront. “Jack Gallagher, do not rain on my presidential parade. I know leadership potential when I see it.” She waved a hand at Gilly, gnawing on the doll's leg. “That young lady has presidential timber written all over her.”
“She looks more like she has cannibalistic timber to me,” Alex interjected.
Elissa looked at him, her features stiffening. “That's not amusing.”
Gilly yawned, tossing down her doll. Pushing up, she toddled over to Alex and without preamble slid a knee onto the seat, grabbed a wad of Alex's sweater, and heaved herself into his lap. Before he could react, she'd plopped her head on his chest. With a handful of cashmere gathered into one little fist, she poked her thumb into her mouth.
“Apparently Madam President is going to take a nap,” Jack said through a chuckle.
Elissa watched Alex's flummoxed expression as his personal space was invaded by an alien being. He was plainly troubled, but no more so than she. A stab of envy went through her at the sight of her little Gilly snuggling on his lap. It was clear he didn't want the child. Why had her beloved little namesake chosen her arch enemy's lap over her own?
“What do I do?” Alex asked in a whisper as though afraid if he moved the coiled little creature on his belly would strike.
“Don't worry,” Jack whispered. “I felt that way the first time I held one of the girls. You get used to it. It's nice, really. Having somebody so tiny and helpless trust you like that.” He squeezed Lucy's hand again, glancing her way. “I can't wait for our own.”
Jack's reminder that they'd been talking about Lucy's pregnancy brought another question to Elissa's mind. “Does Helen know?”
Lucy laughed. “Oh, yes. After Alex draggedâ” She paused and pursed her lips. “I mean, after you and Alex left the table that morning, Helen ran upstairs after me. There wasn't much point in putting off telling her the truth, I couldn't hide my being sick.”
Elissa was sorry she'd been so preoccupied with her own troubles that she'd neglected to confirm the wonderful news before now. She tried to smile. “Well, it's the greatest Christmas gift you could give meâ
ugh!
” She was suddenly the recipient of a second little body, lumbering into her lap. Big gray eyes gazed up into her own.
“Auntie Lissi?” Glory asked, looking serious.
“Yes, sweetie?”
“Gotta go potty.”
“Ah,” She took Glory's hands and helped her to the floor. “Well, honey-button, let's go.”
As she swept by Alex with her niece in tow, he whispered, “What do I do if this one has to go?”
She eyed him with disdain. “Dial Emergency 911.”
When Elissa and Glory returned to the parlor, Lucy and Jack were gathering up a limp little Gilly from Alex's lap.
“What's going on?” Elissa asked.
“We decided to take a walk with the twins,” Lucy said. “I don't think Helen wants Gilly taking a nap now and then staying up until all hours.”
Elissa nodded. “Good thinking.” She bent to talk to Glory. “Honey, you and Auntie Lucy and Uncle Jack are going for a walk. Will you bring me back some pinecones for a centerpiece?”
Glory's expressive little face screwed up. “Piecone?”
Lucy took her hand. “Sure, sweetie. You have them at mommy's and daddy's house. I'll show you what they are, to remind you. We'll get a sack in the kitchen.”
“Their coats are in the closet under the stairs.”
“Check,” Jack called as he left the parlor, hoisting Gilly in an arm. “Come on Gilly, wake up.”
“Juice?” Gilly asked sleepily, rubbing an eye with a chubby fist.
“Sure we'll get some juice. After we walk.”
Elissa noticed movement outside the parlor window, and was happy to see the mail truck lumbering along the road. She watched as it stopped at their box. “Finally,” she mumbled. “The mail's getting later and later.”
“It's Christmas,” Alex said, still sitting in the easy chair beside the fireplace.
She jerked to look at him, having momentarily been able to put his existence from her mind. “Wow, there's news,” she said sarcastically, spinning toward the door. “Christmasâa busy time for the post office. Who would have thought?”
“Use my jacket if you want,” he called.
She realized it was stupid to go out with the temperature below freezing, so she spun back. Stiff-jawed, she muttered, “Thank you,” grabbing up the ski parka.
He nodded, then turned to stare into the fire.
She slipped into his coat. It was huge, but warm. And it held his tobacco-cedar scent She snuggled deep into the collar when the cold wind hit her face, inhaling him with a combination of regret and guilty pleasure. He smelled good for a sleazy, property-stealing rat.
Though it was rapidly growing dark, the sunset was fiery and breathtaking. She inhaled the cold evening airâand Alex's scentâand found herself smiling. She decided the smile was for the crisp, fresh air and the striking sunset, and that was all.
She had a feeling the walk Lucy and Jack and the twins were taking out back in the woods would be short. But it would certainly wake up Gilly. The cold air was exhilarating.
Thumbing through the mail on her way back to the house, she saw
it
and staggered to a halt. This is what she had feared. Another smudged envelope with the same irregular scrawl. Her name, her address, in that heavy-handed brown ink. Just like the first letter.
Her hands began to tremble, and she dropped half the mail. Envelopes began to blow around the yard, but she hardly saw it, didn't care. “Oh...” she cried, her voice a quivery whisper. “Oh, no.” Tearing the thing open, she forced herself to read the coarse scribble.
Don't have you too happy a christmas, missy. I'm watching yu and I'm going to have my rivenge. You don't got no chance to excape. See yu real soon, missy. But yu won't see me coming.
Of course it wasn't signed. She didn't expect it to be. She scanned the postmark. Kissie, Missouri, a small town not far away. The other had been postmarked from Hollister, another nearby town. Maybe this creep had been lurking in the woods that night she'd hidden in the D'Amour mansion, after all. Maybe somebody really was stalking her. He could have put the board in the road with the nails in it just so she would have her flat tire right there. Just so that heâ
“Elissa, what's wrong?” came a concerned voice, not far away. “From the window I saw you turn as white as a shee.”
She shot a gaze at the tall man standing there coatless, watching her closely. For several seconds she was too affected to move, captured against her will by his arresting presence. For the blink of an eye, the crimson flame of the sunset gave him a radiant halo and he looked too perfect to be mortal. A thickness came to her throat, cutting off her ability to speak.
“Elissa?” he repeated softly, as though afraid she might panic and scream if he spoke too loudly. “What is it?”
Pulled from her trance, she didn't say anythingâhad no intention of involving him in her private life. She shook her head emphatically, hoping this letter would give police the clue they needed to find this lowlife before he decided to do something besides write letters. “It's nothing,” she muttered. Angered that Alex had been watching from the window, butting in to something that wasn't his business, she spun away, fumbling along the ground for the wind-tossed mail. “Are you going to help or just stand there cross-examining me?”
She heard his guttural curse, then watched out of the comer of her eye as he moved off to chase envelopes along the side of the house. By the time he was back with the mail, she had her story worked out.
“Sick friend,” she mumbled, stuffing the offending envelope into her suit jacket pocket. “It's sad to be in hospital during Christmas.”
He handed her the rest of her mail, his expression skeptical. “You're a lousy liar, Miss Crosby.”
That did it!
She thrust out her chin, hoping her quarrelsome bravado would be enough to get him to back off. “And you're a nosy trespasser who needs to learn to mind his own business.”
“Is it from your lawyer friend? Is it the proof of my ownership?”
She glared at him for another second, then stomped by. “Right. The whole world revolves around you and your business!” As an afterthought, she shrugged out of his coat and turned back to toss it at him. He snagged it as it sailed toward his face, his frown more concerned than angry. “Egotism is the last refuge of the scoundrel, you know!” she shouted.
“Whatever the hell that means,” he grumbled.
Quivery with rage, and the nagging torment of the sinister letters, she sprinted away.
Did Alex D'Amour own her inn? Was she going to lose everything? And if there really was a nutcase out there bent on some crazy revenge, did that mean she might lose her life, too?
She swallowed hard around the lump of dread blocking her throat.
CHAPTER FIVE
I
N THE dead of night, during the wee hours of Christmas day, Elissa was awakened by a sound. She lay motionless in her bed, listening. What was it? Scratching? No. It sounded more like something scraping against wood. She heard it again and bolted upright, her adrenaline pumping blood through her veins as if it were a freight train running through a tunnel. Her ears roared with the unfamiliar noise and her heart nearly leapt from her chest. Someone was trying to break into the narrow basement window above her bed.
With a cry, she sprang from the covers and vaulted toward her door, dragging blankets and sheets as she fled. Banging the door shut behind her, she sprinted toward the stairs in the total darkness, only to smash into a solid object that shouldn't have been there. She shrieked, positive a gang of thugs had invaded the place, bent on heaven only knew what horrible crimes.
She reflexively shot up a knee, but her target deftly moved, and her hands were clutched in a tight grasp. “Whoa,” came a sleepy, but familiar, male voice. “What's this? Surprise attacks at night, now?”
When she realized the man who held her wasn't a murderer or rapist, but another lowlife she had on her hands, she fell against him in an effort to push him toward the exit. “Somebody's breaking into my room,” she wheezed. “We have to get out of here!”
“Somebody's breaking into your room?” he asked, this time in a concerned whisper. She had a feeling he was frowning, but it was too dark to be sure. “Hell.” Releasing her, he headed for her bedroom.
“No!” She yanked on the back of his shorts. “Are you crazy?”
Brushing away her hand he opened the door slightly. “Any self-respecting robber would be long gone by now, once he heard that door bang shut.”
She scurried up behind him, needing the security of a strong human being nearby. Her hands fluttered to his shoulders and held on. Through her fingertips she could feel taut muscle, and knew he was tensed for a fight. She peered around him. “See anything?”
“No.” He started to step into the room, and she grasped his upper arm. “Don't go in there, he might have a gun.”
The lights flashed on. A scream of tenor rose to Elissa's lips, but died there, as she realized it had been Alex's doing, not a night-blind gunman.
When Alex stepped inside the room, she did, too, preferring his nearness to the basement parlor teeming with shadows. She was ashamed of herself for acting like a child. This was completely unlike her. Apparently the threatening letters had spooked her more than she realized.
She'd taken the second letter to the police yesterday, and was assured they would do their best to find the culprit. But she knew that Christmas time in Branson was a busy one for everybody, including the police. She doubted that two crank letters would get top priority. She'd also taken in a list of past legal clients who might have a grudge against her. Once again, she was assured they would do everything possible to get to the bottom of it.
Alex stepped up on her bed and examined the window. “It hasn't been opened. This window's painted shut.”
“I-I did that last summer.”
He turned to look down at her as she huddled near the foot of the bed. Towering there, all California tan and muscle, he seemed like a Greek god, come to earth. She wondered what the name of the Greek god of mattresses might be, because if there wasn't one, she certainly had a candidate standing in front of her. Hopping off the bed, he scanned her, his expression concerned. “You're pale. Are you going to faint?”
She felt a twinge of shame at the question and straightened her shoulders. “No, I'm not going to faint” Gulping in a breath to fight her light-headedness, she manufactured a calm facade. “I was startled, that's all.” She backpedaled, trying to sound unruffled. “Being awakened out of a sound sleep can be frightening.”
“Are you sure it wasn't a dream?” Alex asked, concern etching his features.
She felt stupid and shook her head. “Noâno, I'm not sure.” Suddenly she felt very silly. “I guess I'm just goosey about theâ” She bit off her statement, wincing at what she'd almost let slip. “I mean-sometimes dreams can seem very real. That's all.”
His features didn't exhibit much faith in her story about a dream, and he turned to confront her. “Do you have dreams of people breaking into your room often?”
His sarcasm irritated her. “My dreams are none of your business.”
“Except when you come screaming into my arms. That makes them my business.”
She looked away, embarrassed, and counted to ten. She didn't want to fight and she was sure the more fuss she made, the more suspicious Alex would get. After all, she probably had been dreaming. What she heardâor thought she heardâwas very likely a fabrication of her overstressed mind. The last thing she wanted to do was ruin Christmas for her family.
When she looked at Alex again, she shrugged, working to appear nonchalant. “I'm sorry about overreacting, Mr. D'Amour. Let's just forget the whole thing, okay? At worst, a possum was trying to get in out of the cold.”
His steady interrogator's gaze was too intent for her peace of mind and she had to force herself not to fidget. She toyed with the idea of giving the police a quick call later. But because she'd brandished a letter opener, accusing Alex of attacking herâin front of three shocked policemenâshe would probably need concrete proof that something was amiss this time, or they might decide to label her as a kook and stop taking her case seriously. She didn't want to chance that.
Cocking his head in a gesture that said he didn't buy her story, Alex prodded, “What are you hiding? First that letter that frightened the wits out of you the other day and now, people breaking into your room?”
“Nobody broke into my room!” she snapped. “Get off that!” Stalking away from him, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over her dresser and stumbled to a halt. She was actually prancing around in front of this man in nothing but an oversize green T-shirt.
Tugging at the garment in a vain effort to magically make it longer, she watched her face color with embarrassment. Swiping nervous hands through her hair, she turned her back on him. “Look, don't you think it's possible I might be upset because of your attempt to pirate my property?” Improvising, she hurried on, “Maybe the break-in nightmare was about you and your attempt to steal my inn, did you ever think of that?” She whirled on him, a triumphant surge going through her. That should shut him up.
His features were drawn in a provoked frown. “The property was stolen from me, Miss Crosby.” His jaws worked and Elissa had a feeling that, this time, he was counting to ten. Visibly perturbed, he looked away, mumbling, “I told you I'd reimburse you for any improvements you've made. You know I'm not legally bound to do so. What more do you expect of me?”
His glance met hers again and she was struck by the eerie beauty of his silver eyes, his temper transforming them into a force of nature all their own. “The eighth wonder of the world” flitted through her mind, but she swept the thought away as quickly as it came.
Incensed that she allowed herself to be drawn to him, she jabbed a finger toward her bedroom door. “Would you leave? I have to get dressed.”
His expression grew puzzled. “Dressed?” He looked at his wristwatch. “It's four o'clock in the morning. Even Bella doesn't arrive for another hour and a half.”
She moved to the door and pointedly held it wide. “I have to start the Christmas turkey. Dad always smoked it on the charcoaler, and I intend to carry on the traditionâ
if
it's any of your business.”
Alex's eyebrows rose in apparent surprise. “A Renaissance woman. Is there anything you can't do?”
She was taken aback by the compliment but refused to be affected. He'd probably been mocking her, anyway. “Apparently I can't get men out of my bedroom,” she countered.
His lips quirked for a split second before his expression turned serious. “I can see where that could become troubling.” With a nod that was almost courtly, he left her to her privacy.
Once the door clicked shut she breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn't made a more insulting joke out of her badly worded retort. Such as, “You're lucky you can get any men
in
your bedroom,” or something equally cuttingâsince he'd made it clear that he thought of her as a love-starved old maid.
Sinking to her bed, she put her hands over her face. She had more serious problems than Alex D'Amour's opinion of her love life. Her mind churned. Had what she'd thought she'd heard really been a bad dream brought on by Alex's threat to take away her inn, or had somebody actually tried to break in?
She didn't want to think about it. Of course, if it had been a break-in attempt, it might have been unrelated to the letters. After all, it was a well-known fact that thieves loved to break in at Christmas time to steal all the goodies from under the tree. If that were the case, then her scream and the slamming of the door had foiled the plan and it was all over.
She decided to let it go, this time, and not bother the police. Ninety-nine chances out of a hundred, the sound she'd heard had been nothing even remotely ominous. After all, it was Christmas. Dawn was coming. Why make a fool of herself by crying wolf, again? This was a joyous holiday and shouldn't be spoiled with irrational worries.
Glancing at her bedside clock she realized that if she didn't get that turkey on, they'd be eating raw bird for their Christmas dinner instead of a juicy, smoked turkey. Hustling into a pair of black wool slacks and an oversize red sweater Lucy had knitted for her birthday, Elissa headed out of the basement and up into the kitchen only to find the lights on and Alex standing there, looking yummy in jeans and a dove gray cashmere pullover.
“What do you think you're doing?” She shifted her glance from his bothersome eyes to his neck. He exuded a sexy power that attracted her, and she fought it with a prickly attitude.
He shrugged. “I figured since I'm going to be a gentleman land owner, I should learn to charcoal meal I hear it's a popular pastime in the Midwest.”
She met his gaze with resentment. “And you think I'll teach you?”
Those wide shoulders lifted and fell again. “I thought you might.” His lips crooked in a wily grin, revealing unsettling dimples. “Especially since it's dark outside and thatâpossum could still be around.”
She experienced an inner shudder at the reminder of what had sent her barreling into his arms not long before. She hated to admit it, but Alex D'Amour's massive presence might be advantageous. Swallowing, she spun toward the cabinet where she kept the lighter fluid and matches. “Uh, the bag of charcoal's in the pantry storeroom.”
Without looking directly into those astute eyes, she led him through to the front of the inn. They grabbed their coats from the closet under the stairs, then went out the front door and around to the side veranda where the charcoal grill was kept. “All right,” she muttered grudgingly, “stack the charcoal in the grill.”
“Okay, professor,” he murmured, very near.
As he poured and stacked the coals, Elissa noticed twinkling flakes of snow in the light that spilled from the porch into the darkness.
It was snowing.
Moving to the rail, she watched the flakes drift down, silent and lovely.
“What do you see?” Alex asked, sounding wary.
She grinned into the darkness. “It's okay. It's just snowing.”
She heard his footfalls as he joined her at the railing. “Growing up in California, I never saw snow except when we went skiing in Colorado over Christmas.”
“We?” She peered at him, finding herself needing to know about his family. “That sounds like a nice way to spend the holidays. Do you have brothers and sisters?”
He looked at her, his features suddenly grim. “No.” Abruptly he turned away, stomping back to scan the charcoals, still blazing and far from ready for the turkey.
Elissa faced him, leaning on the rail. “Did your parents take you skiing every Christmas?”
He grinned, but there was no humor in the show of teeth. “My parents? No, Miss Crosby, they didn't.” When he lifted his gaze to hers, his eyes revealed a flame that Elissa sensed was from an inner vehemence rather than the burning charcoal. “Let's just say we weren't close.”
Clearly he didn't intend to expand on the subject, and Elissa tried to convince herself that she didn't care one way or the other. But she couldn't quite manage it. For a fraction of a second she'd seen something vulnerable in his eyes, and the memory haunted her.
The snow was coming harder, now, and it was evident they would have a white Christmas. Though Elissa was standing out on her veranda with her worst enemy, her spirits lifted a notch. What could be more picture-perfect than a snowy Christmas with lots of good food and a close family sharing the joys of the holiday? She smiled wistfully at the vision, struggling to push away her fear.