Her Mistletoe Husband. Renee Roszel

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.”

      A mocking brow rose, and Elissa was disappointed to see that her most intimidating glare didn’t have him shaking in his expensive wing tips. “Where’s the basement, Miss Crosby?”

      She marched away from him into the staircase hall, heading toward the kitchen. “It’s on the way to hell,” she snapped back. “I feel sure you’ll find it.”

      She was startled by the derisive chuckle at her back. How dare he find entertainment in the annihilation of her life!

      

      Alex D’Amour didn’t know who he was trying to push around. Elissa Crosby was not a woman to easily give up her dreams. The instant she hit the kitchen, she slammed the folder onto the table, startling Bella, the plump cook. Stubby hands fluttered to a ruffly bodice. Elissa looked up and tried to smile. “Sorry. Could you get me a cup of coffee?”

      The middle-aged woman nodded and hurried to the pot. The coffee in Elissa’s mug had gone cold before she looked up from the documents to take a sip. Making a face, she rubbed her eyes. It looked bad. Mr. D’Amour seemed to have every legal right to the property. But then, the documentation she had looked just as good—and it had passed muster with the probate court and the title company. Even so, the face staring up at her from the police rap sheet looked a little like the man she’d known as the caretaker who’d sold her the old Victorian house. Not exactly like him, but...

      And he had been in a hurry to sell, offering her a fantastic deal for cash. At least she’d thought it had been fantastic at the time. Unsettled by the thought, she bolted from the table and ran down the stairs toward her office, barely missing her unwanted guest as he was coming up. “Pardon me,” he said, sidestepping out of her way. She took no notice of him and barreled on, slamming into her tiny office.

      The windowless room was hardly bigger than a closet, bare cement walls and floor, without windows or adornment. When the three sisters first moved into the inn, a small cot had been crammed between the desk and the entry wall, giving Elissa a makeshift bedroom. Now she slept in the room that Helen had first used, then Lucy. The cot was thankfully long gone. In its place stood two gray metal filing cabinets.

      Her secretary’s chair was secondhand and worn, as was her metal desk and fax. But by heaven they were hers—just like her inn—and she loved every scratched, dented inch of each piece.

      With fingers that would hardly function, she dialed her old professor and mentor at the University of Missouri law school. Though she prided herself on her independence, not leaning on anyone, she was no fool. She knew she needed professional guidance in this. And there was no one who