“You have quite a family, Elissa,” Alex said, drawing her gaze. “You didn't tell me your brothers-in-law were famous.” His perusal roamed appreciatively from Lucy to Helen, then back to Jack. “If Elissa had told me her sisters were as beautiful as she was, I wouldn't have believed it.”
Elissa stared at Alex, absolutely flummoxed by the out-of-the-blue compliment. What a shame he'd given up the law. He could dish out the bull as smoothly as any attorney she'd ever seen.
She caught both Lucy and Helen looking at her with designing glints in their eyes, and swallowed with difficulty. Darn that Alex DâAmour. He was overdoing it. She'd have to straighten out her sisters later. “Well, we'd better get you all settled in.” Restless and needing to escape Alex D'Amour's close scrutiny, she grabbed the first bag she saw. “Okay, Damien, you and Jack are in the room Damien used when he stayed here. Lucy, you and Helen can have the front comer room with the oriel.”
Damien chuckled. “I don't think so.” Allowing the squirmy girls to get down and scamper around, he took his sister-in-law's hand. “Not that I don't like Jack, but I'm old-fashioned. I figure I ought to get to share a room with the mother of my children.”
Elissa flushed. “Sorry. I don't know where my mind is.”
Lucy glanced from her older sister to the tall, dark man standing beside her. “I wonder?”
Elissa ignored the innuendo and headed for the stairs. “Everybody grab something.”
Lucy squealed and giggled. “Jack! Elissa meant a
suitcase.”
She playfully slapped his hand away from her bottom.
Elissa turned back. “Do I have to hose you two down? You've been married for almost two years. You should be sick to death of each other by now.”
Jack's chuckle was wicked, and Elissa could only grin at him. “Okay, we'll hurry.” In feigned dismay, she shook her head at the couple.
As she turned toward the staircase, she saw Alex pick up two big valises. Her surprise made her hesitate. She watched him for another second to make sure she was seeing right. When she realized he was truly helping, she had a fleeting urge to say thank-you, but her simmering bitterness overrode her gratitude. A spiteful voice in her head hissed,
“Good! Let's put him to work!”
Â
Elissa stretched and yawned. She was so emotionally drained she could hardly think. But there was one thing she had to take care of before she fell into her bed. She stood at the bathroom sink, towel-drying her hair. Staring at her pinched face in the mirror, she watched her green eyes flash with animosity. Alex D'Amour was going to get an earful as soon as His Majesty decided to come downstairs.
The last time she'd seen him, he was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and visiting with Damien and Helen as the twins played “uh-oh”âtossing bits of their dinner into the air, squealing a delighted
“uh-oh”
as food plummeted to the scrubbed floor. Elissa's laughter hadn't aided in Damien's and Helen's attempt to instill correct meal etiquette into their daughters, so she'd excused herself.
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 cancellationâand I
pray
there isâ” 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.”
Â
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 veryâ” 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 âuh-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 seenâwith 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 wasâ” 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 serious?”
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, certainlyâAlex.” 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 âIt'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.”