Her Mistletoe Husband

The tall pervert seemed to register having met her before, too, and those amazing eyes narrowed. “You,” he growled.

“Don’t just stand there,” she shouted, scanning the frozen cops and the detective who stood beside her stalker. “Grab him. Throw him to the ground and cuff him. He attacked me!”

The tall stranger scowled at her. “I attacked you?”

He took an ominous step toward her, and her ability to move returned. She waved the letter opener menacingly, adding some ad-libbed footwork, as if she were one of the Three Musketeers. “You certainly did attack me!” She eyed the cops with a pleading expression. “He’s dangerous, I tell you?”

“Me?” The stranger’s lips curled in a mocking smile. “Who was the one who ended up in a heap on the ground?”

The cop who had asked her to dinner took a step toward the tall man, but the detective waved him off.

“Why isn’t anybody arresting that psychopath? Don’t let him come near me!”

The scowling stranger touched his damaged cheek. “Miss, I wouldn’t come near you unless you were declawed and your feet were glued to the floor.”

“Elissa,” the detective broke in, moving forward and extending his hand. “I’m Sergeant Jerry Hamm.”

“I remember you, Sergeant.” She tried to smile but her emotions were too wrought up for pleasantries. “And your wife. Minny, I think?”

“Right.” The sergeant had a quiet, oval face, his features almost delicate. He smiled encouragingly, showing off small, straight teeth. When she didn’t relinquish her letter opener to take his hand, he dropped his arm to his side. “Anyway, this is Alex D’Amour. He owns the mansion, er, next to your property.”

Elissa had a protest on the tip of her tongue, but the sergeant’s words stopped her. Her mouth worked for several seconds before she could speak. “This—this man owns the D’Amour mansion?”

Sergeant Hamm nodded. “I’m afraid we’re here with bad news.”

She frowned, her gaze shifting from the sergeant to the tall, immaculately dressed interloper with her fingernail marks on his face. “Then you didn’t follow me last night when my car broke down, and stalk me outside the mansion all night, and when I came out you didn’t try to...” Her question died away as she watched a dark brow lift in incredulity.

Looking at him now, dressed as if he spent more time in boardrooms than insane asylums, the idea that he was her stalker was starting to seem a little crazy. Okay, maybe a lot crazy. Perhaps she hadn’t been stalked after all. Certainly not by this man. Her mind spun with anxiety and confusion. Was she merely overwrought because of the ominous letter, seeing things that weren’t really there?

Doubt settled in her stomach as if it were a hot rock. She could see in the cops’ expressions that, with her wild accusations that Mr. D’Amour was her stalker, they’d concluded she was nothing but a flighty female, crying wolf. She had to face the possibility that they might be right.

Trying to regain some of her pride, she straightened her spine. “Well,” she said warily, refusing to totally relinquish her suspicions, “just—just because you dress well doesn’t mean you wouldn’t stalk me.”

He inhaled, nostrils flaring in obvious exasperation. “That’s generous of you, Miss Crosby. But no thanks.”

When he moved toward her, she backed away wielding the letter opener again. “What are you doing?”

He lifted a leather briefcase and laid it on the oak reception desk that separated them. Flicking the latches, he opened it. “As Sergeant Hamm said, I’m bringing bad news.”

She eyed him with mistrust, recalling the sergeant had said something like that. Unfortunately she’d been too preoccupied with making an idiot of herself for his words to register. “Bad news?”

He retrieved a file folder and tossed it onto the desktop in front of her. “I recently discovered I’m the heir to the D’Amour mansion, Miss Crosby.” He lifted his gaze to meet hers again, dark lashes framing those stunning eyes. His expression was no longer angry, but hardly pleasant. “I also own this inn.”

She heard the words but they didn’t make sense. She stared at him, bewildered. “What?”

He tapped the folder with one long, tanned finger. “I’ve brought evidence.”

She shook her head, running both hands through her hair as she tried to clear her brain. “But—no. I don’t understand. I bought this inn from the caretaker. He’d been left the property in the D’Amour’s will.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Crosby,” Sergeant Hamm said. “I know this is a blow to you, but the man who sold you the inn is a con artist. Extremely good. Fortunately he’s in jail now, in Texas, for a similar crime.” He indicated the folder before her. “Mr. D’Amour brought you a copy of his arrest record. The jerk fooled a lot of people over the years with scams like this. He found a likely property. Had all the right papers. At least they look right enough to convince the probate court and the title company.” He shrugged sloping shoulders. “I’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you.”

She stared at the sergeant, her mind numb.

“I understand you’re a lawyer so I suggest you read these documents,” Mr. D’Amour said. “Once you do, everything will be clear.”

When he withdrew his hand from the desk her gaze traveled sluggishly to the yellow folder then rocketed to those silver eyes. “No,” she whispered. “There’s been some mistake.”

He pursed his lips, his brows knitting. Without response, he shook his head.

“I’m so sorry, Elissa,” Jerry Hamm said, again, looking contrite. She’d met him and his wife several times at Branson functions, and liked him. She supposed he had to be there, to make it official, and she could tell he was far from pleased with the assignment. The sadness in his brown eyes frightened her more than anything this arrogant stranger had said.

“I know I seem abrupt, Miss Crosby,” Mr. D’Amour said, breaking through the tense silence, “But I’ve given up my legal practice in L.A. and I’ve decided to live in the Midwest, to turn my grandparents’ home into a golf club and lodge. Branson is growing by leaps and bounds, and a resort near the city would be a good investment.” He closed his briefcase, snapping it shut with precise movements. All business. “I’m afraid the inn will have to be torn down to make room for the golf course. But you may continue operations through December while you make other living arrangements.” He took the briefcase in his hand. “Don’t take reservations for after the new year, however. I’ll need to take possession then.” Scanning the place in a cursory examination, he added more to himself than to her, “It looks quite livable.”

She stiffened at the surprise in his tone. “What did you expect?”

His glance returned to her and he shrugged wide shoulders—the image of cold-blooded elegance. “I admit, I didn’t expect this. But since it’s in such good condition, I’ll use it as my operating headquarters while the renovations to my mansion are going on. Now, if you’ll show me to a room?”

Elissa stared blankly at the brazen man before her—the man who had, with only a few words, ruined her life.

“We’ll be going now,” the husky police officers mumbled, shuffling around to go. Before Elissa registered what was happening, both patrolmen and Sergeant Hamm had gone—no doubt along with her extra patrols or any credibility she might have had before she’d accused this well-heeled lawyer of stalking her. She supposed he had every right to be walking on his own property.

“Well?” That one word stirred her from her stupor and she glanced up in question. “My room?”

His room? The man had unbelievable gall! She glared at him. He might own the D’Amour mansion, but he did not own her inn! “You can’t come in here and take over! Get out!” She thrust a stiff arm toward the door.

His jaw worked and her gaze was drawn again to the damage she had done to him. It’s a good thing she didn’t know then what she knew now, or she might have clawed him to shreds. “I’m afraid you don’t have a legal leg to stand on, Miss Crosby,” he cautioned. “Don’t make things worse.” He inclined his head toward the stairs, a clear command to be shown to a room.

She battled an urge to kick him in the shins, but she was afraid she’d just end up seeing Sergeant Hamm again, under less-than-sociable circumstances. Hating the idea that she might have to humor this overbearing man for even a few days, she let her arm fall to her side. She told herself that it would only be until this thing got straightened out, then she could kick him out on his expensively suited backside. “I’m going to fight you on this,” she warned.

“Feel free to sue me, Miss Crosby. But, you’ll lose.” The way he said it, with such cool assurance and total absence of bluster, made her shiver. “My room, Miss Crosby?”

She eyed him contemptuously. She’d be hanged if she was going to give him one of her guest rooms. “We’re full,” she lied. It wasn’t totally untrue. She’d reserved her two best rooms for her sisters and their husbands, who would be arriving in a few days to spend Christmas and New Years.

“This is my inn, remember?” he said. “I could send everybody away if I chose. Think real hard.”

Those silver eyes held a determined glint and alarm skittered up her spine. With a mutinous lift of her chin, she said, “You can stay in the basement parlor. The couch folds out.”

His expression told her he knew exactly what she was doing, and his brows furrowed at her ploy. “Is there office space down there?”

“My office is down there.”

He didn’t looked thoroughly pleased, but finally nodded. “All right. Until a room becomes available.”

She grabbed the folder and pivoted away. “When hell freezes over, buster,” she growled under her breath.

“I heard that.”

She spun to glower at him. “I’m thrilled.”